The sun was setting on the distant horizon, casting long shadows across the land as the group gathered for Minthara’s burial. The once bright sky now dimmed, turning a rich blend of oranges, purples, and deep blues. The air was heavy with silence, thick with grief and unresolved emotions. Alex stood at the forefront, his heart a turbulent sea of conflicted thoughts as he prepared to lay Minthara to rest.
Minthara’s body was placed on a pyre made of oak , a warrior’s farewell in the Underdark tradition. Her pale skin seemed to glow under the waning light, her lifeless form still adorned in the intricate armor she wore in battle—once proud, now silent, cold. The fires had not yet been lit. Her silver hair fell loosely over her shoulders, a ghostly contrast to the dark wood beneath her.
Alex approached her body slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. His mind flashed with memories—the fights and the laughers . Her strength had always been undeniable, her determination fierce. But now, that fire had been extinguished. What remained was the shell of a warrior, a leader—someone who, despite everything, had stood beside .
He knelt beside the pyre, feeling the coldness of death settle into his bones. As he reached out, his hand hovered over Minthara’s still form for a moment. He hesitated. Her face, now so peaceful in death, had once been filled with rage and ambition. And yet, there had been more to her. A complexity he hadn't fully understood and perhaps never will.
The others stood behind him in respectful silence—Shadowheart, Lae'zel, Astarion, Karlach, Wyll, Gale. Each had their own thoughts about Minthara, but this moment was Alex’s. He could feel their presence, but his focus remained on the body before him.
Finally, Alex whispered, “You were stronger than most, Minthara. Stronger than many could ever hope to be.” His voice wavered for a moment, but he steadied himself. "We fought on different sides ... But in the end, you deserved more than this."
He clenched his fist, feeling the weight of the moment bearing down on him. "I failed you." The admission came out in a low, almost inaudible murmur. "Maybe if I’d acted sooner, if I had found another way, you’d still be here."
The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant rustling of leaves as a gentle breeze rolled through the clearing. The sky was now fully dark, the stars above faintly glowing, witnessing the final farewell.
Shadowheart stepped forward, her expression soft, perhaps even understanding. She placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder, grounding him in the moment. "She made her choices, Alex. You didn’t fail her."
Alex didn’t respond, his gaze still locked on Minthara. After a moment, he stood, eyes heavy with the burden of loss and guilt. He looked at the gathered group, seeing the understanding in their faces. They were all touched by this war in different ways, and now they had to say goodbye to one of their own—ally or enemy, she had shared their journey.
He raised his hand, a swirl of elemental energy sparking to life at his fingertips. He extended his palm toward the pyre, flames began to flicker, then grow. The fire quickly spread, engulfing the wood and rising higher, casting long, dancing shadows across the group.
The flames began to consume Minthara’s body, turning it to ash. For a moment, the fire reflected in Alex’s eyes, illuminating the raw emotion he kept locked away. There was a weight to this loss, a finality that was impossible to ignore.
"May your soul find peace, Minthara," Alex whispered into the night. "Wherever you are now."
The fire burned brighter for a moment, a surge of heat and light before it began to slowly die down.
Alex stepped back, his heart still heavy, but there was a sense of closure. He had said what needed to be said, done what needed to be done. The path ahead would be fraught with more battles, more loss. But for tonight, they had honored a warrior—a friend, in some strange way.
As the flames of Minthara’s pyre crackled and flickered, each of Alex's companions stood in silent reflection, the firelight dancing across their faces, revealing the mix of emotions they all wrestled with.
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Karlach stood a little away from the group, her hands clenched into fists. Her normally fiery and animated expression was subdued, her red tiefling eyes reflecting the burning pyre. There was no denying that Karlach was a warrior at heart, but she was also someone who valued loyalty and camaraderie. Seeing Minthara laid to rest like this, she felt a pang of sorrow for the fallen drow.
“We’ve lost so many, and it doesn’t get easier. Dammit, Minthara...” Karlach exhaled deeply, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of loss had finally hit her. She had seen enough death to last a lifetime, but something about this one struck deeper than expected. “Hope you find peace, wherever you’re headed. It’s what we all deserve.”
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Lae'zel stood with her arms crossed, her chin tilted slightly upward as she watched the flames consume Minthara’s body. The githyanki warrior rarely showed sentimentality, and this moment was no different. But there was a gleam in her eye—respect. To Lae'zel, Minthara had been a formidable adversary and an even fiercer ally in the end. A true warrior. And that deserved honor, even in death.
“She was strong,” Lae'zel said, her voice a low, almost reverent growl. “She fought with purpose, with conviction. A worthy foe, and a worthy ally when it mattered. In death, she finds honor.”
The githyanki’s gaze did not waver from the fire, her sharp eyes reflecting the embers, as though committing this moment to memory. For her, this wasn’t just a burial. It was a salute to a warrior who fought until the end.
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Wyll, however, was a man of emotions, and tonight was no exception. He had been standing silently, trying to keep his feelings in check, but the sight of Minthara’s body engulfed in flames broke something inside him. Despite their differences, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of all the lives lost along their journey—Minthara included.
"Another life, taken by this cursed war," Wyll muttered to himself, shaking his head. His voice was strained with sorrow. “Minthara made her choices, but… no one deserves to go like this.” He clenched his fists, his jaw tight. “She was fierce, complicated… But who among us isn’t?” He sighed, looking at the pyre with regret. “May the gods be kinder to her now than they were in life.”
The Blade of Frontiers turned away from the fire for a moment, running a hand over his face as if to wipe away the burden of guilt and sadness. But even as he looked away, the fire’s reflection danced in his eyes, reminding him that the cost of their battle was far from over.
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Shadowheart stood with her arms folded across her chest, her eyes focused on the flames, but her mind seemed far away. The death of Minthara stirred something within her—a kindred spirit, perhaps. She, too, had walked a dark path, and the weight of her choices haunted her. Seeing Minthara laid to rest brought those thoughts rushing to the surface.
“She was lost,” Shadowheart whispered, barely audible, her voice tinged with something between pity and understanding. “We all are, in some way.” Her gaze flickered to Alex briefly before returning to the flames. “But at least now, she has peace. And in the end, maybe that’s all we can ask for.”
Shadowheart’s expression remained stoic, but the sadness in her eyes betrayed her inner turmoil. The firelight seemed to cast longer shadows around her, as if the darkness of her past was creeping ever closer.
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Astarion stood apart from the others, his arms crossed as he watched the flames with a mixture of detachment and morbid fascination. He tilted his head slightly, the firelight casting sharp angles across his pale, vampiric features. Death had long ceased to have the same impact on him—it was a constant in his cursed existence. But still, there was something about this moment that drew his attention.
“Well,” he said softly, almost to himself, “there’s always a certain… beauty in the end, isn’t there?” His crimson eyes followed the tendrils of smoke curling into the sky. “Minthara wasn’t exactly what I’d call a friend, but she was... entertaining, in her way. Fierce. Dangerous. It’s a shame it had to end like this. But then again, it always does, doesn’t it?”
Astarion’s lips curled into a faint, bittersweet smile as he watched the fire consume the body. “A warrior’s death, I suppose. Fitting. Let’s hope her next life is less tragic. Or at least… more exciting.”
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Gale stood beside Astarion, his brow furrowed in thought as he observed the scene with a quiet solemnity. Of all the group, Gale seemed the most contemplative, his mind already working through the metaphysical aspects of life and death, of power and loss. He had never had the chance to fully understand Minthara, but that didn’t stop him from recognizing the weight of this moment.
“There’s something poetic about it, isn’t there?” Gale murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “In the end, no matter how powerful or cunning we may be, death is the great equalizer.” He sighed, glancing at Alex. “Minthara was a force to be reckoned with, and now... ashes. Such is the fate of all of us, eventually.”
Gale looked into the fire, his thoughts drifting back to his past. “I just hope that when my time comes, I leave behind more than just... dust.”
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As the fire continued to burn, each member of the group offered their own silent tribute in their own way. The air was thick with unspoken words, with lingering regrets and fleeting moments of clarity. For a brief moment, all of them were connected—by loss, by battle, and by the fragile nature of life.
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And as the embers began to die down, Alex stood at the center of it all, feeling the weight of the moment settle into his soul. They had honored Minthara, but the journey ahead was far from over. There would be more battles, more sacrifices. But for tonight, they had given a warrior her final peace.
As the group gathered at the Moonrise Towers, the aftermath of Minthara's funeral still weighed heavily on their hearts. Alex, though composed, carried a subtle heaviness in his steps. His companions followed closely behind, their emotions hanging unspoken between them.
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They were greeted by an unexpected sight. Tav and Alfira were engaged in conversation, their voices low and filled with familiarity. Ellyka, usually reserved, stood by Alfira's side, occasionally chiming in.
Jaheira, noticing the group approaching, wiped at her red eyes, attempting to appear strong. But her expression betrayed her. The hardened leader of the Harpers had just said goodbye to another fallen comrades, and though she kept her posture straight, the weight of the loss was clear.
"Done with the funeral?" she asked, her voice hoarse but controlled. "We just finished ours."
Glut, walking beside Alex, sent him a telepathic message. 'How are you feeling?' the myconid queried, his voice echoing in Alex’s mind like a soft whisper through damp soil.
Alex let the emotions he’d been holding back spill into their connection, unable to hide the depth of his sorrow. 'Sad,' he admitted, his thoughts raw.
'Sadness is natural,' Glut responded, his own mind drifting to memories of his circle, his family—lost to the rot of time. 'From dirt we are born, and to dirt we return in death. It is the way of all things.'
Alex nodded faintly, his thoughts clouded by the lingering sorrow. Before he could respond, Shadow's voice slipped into his mind, cool and composed, as always.
"Alpha, I found a group of githyanki lying in wait along the main road to Baldur’s Gate. They plan an ambush."
His first instinct was to order their immediate elimination, his mind flashing with strategies to rid the threat. But something held him back.
"Scare them away," Alex commanded instead, the decision surprising even himself.
"Scare them?" Shadow’s voice held a note of incredulity.
"Do as I say," Alex affirmed, his tone leaving no room for argument.
There was a brief silence before Shadow responded. "On my way." Alex felt her presence retreating, already setting the plan into motion.
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As the group gathered closer, Alex addressed Jaheira, who stood nearby. “The ship is waiting at the docks. I’ve already sent her the coordinates for Baldur’s Gate,” he said, referring to the mind flayer ship now acting like a submarine.
Gale, ever the curious one, raised an eyebrow. “Her? Like she’s… female?” he asked, intrigued by the odd phrasing.
Alex smirked slightly. “Yes. And you’d be even more surprised by her personality.”
“Her personality...” Gale murmured, more to himself than to anyone else, clearly pondering the oddity of it all.
Jaheira gave a slight nod, though the sadness in her eyes hadn’t quite left. “Thank you, Alex. We’ve been through hell, but it’s time to head home.” She turned to the group, raising her voice just enough for everyone to hear. “Everyone! To the docks! We are going home!”
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Alfira paused as she said her goodbyes to Tav, then slowly approached Alex. Her usual exuberance was dampened by the weight of the moment, her amber-colored eyes searching his for something.
“See you at Baldur’s Gate,” Alex said, his voice gentle as he opened his arms.
Alfira stepped forward and hugged him tightly. “See you soon,” she whispered, before walking back to her friends. As she left, Alex caught Lakrissa’s gaze. He expected anger or jealousy, but all he saw was sadness mirrored in her expression.
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Lae'zel glanced toward her 'son', the githyanki boy waving to her from the distance. Astarion, smirked at her. “Lae'zel, what about your son? What will he learn if you let him aboard a mind flayer ship? Perhaps he’ll start making friends with them, hmm?”
Lae'zel sneered, unamused. “How funny of you, little spawn. What about you? That elf you were mingling with last night seemed to wobble a bit as he left.”
Astarion's smirk faltered for a brief moment before he regained his composure. “I didn’t drink his blood—” He paused as all eyes turned to him. “Without his consent,” he added with a mock-defensive tone.
Shadowheart shook her head, a bemused smile tugging at her lips. “Astarion... I suppose the rats weren’t enough?” she teased, her voice soft but carrying enough weight to ease the tension a little.
Astarion grinned in return, the banter helping to lighten the mood, even if only for a moment.
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Wyll, turning to Halsin, asked, “Will you come with us to Baldur’s Gate?”
Halsin, shook his head. “I must stay a while longer. There’s much to do with Oliver and Thaniel, but as soon as I’m done, I’ll head to the city. I’ll see you there.” As he passed by, he patted Alex’s shoulder gently, a brief gesture of camaraderie.
As Lump the ogre began to follow Halsin, Alex sent him a telepathic reminder. "Don’t forget, Lump. I’m always watching."
The ogre gulped nervously and nodded before hurriedly trailing after the druid.
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Tav approached the group, his gaze flickering between them before dropping to the ground. The tension between him and the rest of the party was thick, a chasm of unspoken guilt and remorse standing between them. His steps were hesitant, unsure.
Karlach, ever the heart of the group, couldn’t take it anymore. “Ah, fuck it! Come over here!” she shouted, closing the distance between them and wrapping her muscular arm around Tav’s neck. She pulled him into a rough, affectionate embrace, playfully rubbing her fist on his scaly head.
“I can’t stand seeing you like this, looking all depressed!” she said with a grin, her warm energy breaking through the heavy atmosphere.
Tav blinked in surprise, his body initially tensing before finally relaxing into her hold. Her infectious spirit had a way of lightening the darkest of moods.
Around them, the others began to smile as well, the heaviness of the last few days lifting, if only for a moment. Even Lae'zel allowed a small smirk to tug at the corner of her lips, though she quickly masked it with a sharp glance at Astarion.
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As the laughter and soft chatter echoed through the main hall, the sharp sound of barking interrupted the warmth of the moment. Alex’s gaze shifted toward the staircase. Scratch, tail wagging and eyes gleaming with excitement, bounded down the steps. Behind him, a skeletal hound trotted with unnatural grace, and at their heels came the wide-eyed owlbear cub, its little talons clicking against the floor as it tried to keep up.
Shadowheart’s face softened as she watched them play, a smile tugging at her lips. “They’re so cute,” she whispered, almost to herself. There was something disarming about seeing such creatures, each so different yet so full of life—or unlife—in their own way.
Aylin and Isobel entered the hall shortly after, their hands loosely clasped together. The bond between them was unmistakable, a silent comfort they shared amid all the chaos. Alex felt Isobel’s gaze catch his from across the room. There was something in her eyes—something that said more than words ever could. She nodded at him, a silent acknowledgment that a conversation between them was long overdue.
“Aylin,” Isobel began softly, turning to her lover, “I need to speak with Alex in private.” She reached for Aylin’s hand, her fingers lingering, as if seeking strength in the touch. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded into the background.
Aylin smiled gently, her thumb brushing across Isobel’s knuckles. “Of course, my love,” she said, her voice filled with understanding. She leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Isobel’s forehead before stepping back. “I’ll be with the others. Take your time.”
As Aylin turned and made her way back toward the party, Alex and Isobel began their silent ascent up the stairs. The sounds of joy and laughter from the hall slowly faded, replaced by the creaking of old wood beneath their feet. The weight of unspoken words pressed down on them both, making the quiet between them feel even heavier.
As Alex and Isobel walked through the ruined halls of the once-majestic tower, silence stretched between them, thick and oppressive like a fog neither could clear. The crumbling stone walls seemed to echo with memories long forgotten—whispers of lives lost to the relentless tide of time.
When they finally reached the door, leading to Isobel's bedroom , she paused, her hand resting on the handle, her eyes searching his face for the words he had yet to say. Alex felt the weight of what was to come settle in his chest. Ketheric’s memories pulsed through his mind, as vivid as if they were his own. He knew the history behind these walls. He knew the pain that lingered here.
As the door creaked open, the room inside seemed frozen in time—a bed untouched, a small dresser, dust coating every surface. It was a room once filled with love and warmth, now suffocated by loss.
Alex took a deep breath, stepping inside. “Isobel… there’s something you need to know. Something I’ve learned about your father. About… everything.”
Isobel remained standing near the door, her gaze steady but shadowed with the grief of someone who had lost too much already. “I’ve heard enough lies, Alex. What more can there be?”
“It’s not a lie,” Alex said softly, moving closer but keeping his distance. “Your mother… it wasn’t just illness that took her. It was Shar.”
Isobel’s eyes flickered with confusion, then a flash of anger. “Shar? How? What are you saying?”
“Shar was behind it all,” Alex began, his voice low and heavy with the weight of the truth. “One of her servants—disguised as a loyal follower—poisoned your mother’s drink, slowly killing her. It wasn’t something healing magic could fix, because it wasn’t meant to. She was taken from your father on purpose.”
Isobel’s face paled, her lips parting in disbelief. “No… that can’t be. My father would have known, he would have—”
“Shar was playing a long game,” Alex interrupted, his voice thick with sorrow. “She wanted Ketheric broken, wounded beyond repair, so she could use him. Balthazar… he was a follower of Shar, tasked with pushing Ketheric further into despair. When your father fell, when he lost his way, it wasn’t because he was weak. It was because Shar manipulated him. And when Ketheric failed—when he was killed by the Harpers—Shar cast Ketheric aside, leaving him to wander as a broken soul.”
Isobel’s breath hitched. She stepped back, shaking her head as if she could physically push away the words. “No, that’s not true. My father… he ...”
“He fought for you,” Alex said, his voice trembling now. “There is more to the story. When Myrkul plucked Ketheric’s soul from the void, he gave him a new mission, something powerful enough to keep him moving. You. Reviving you. But at the same time, Myrkul bound your souls together.”
Isobel froze, her wide eyes filled with confusion and fear. “Bound our souls? What does that mean?”
“If one of you were to die,” Alex whispered, barely able to meet her gaze, “the other would follow soon after.”
Isobel’s hands flew to her mouth, stifling a sob as tears welled in her eyes. “No… no, that’s why… that’s why he fought so hard. He wasn’t just blindly following Myrkul —he was trying to save me.”
Alex nodded, his heart breaking for her as her tears began to fall. “He wasn’t the man you remember, not by the end. Shar twisted him, used his love for you as a weapon against him. He thought he could protect you… but he was trapped, Isobel. And in the end, he couldn’t break free.”
Isobel collapsed onto the bed, her body shaking with sobs. “I thought he abandoned me. I thought… I thought he’d become a monster. But all this time, he was trying to save me.”
Alex knelt beside her, his voice soft but pained. “He never stopped loving you. Everything he did… was for you.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, punctuated only by the sound of Isobel’s quiet weeping. Outside, the wind howled through the shattered windows, carrying with it the weight of lost souls and broken promises. Alex stayed beside her, unable to offer more than the truth and the sorrow that came with it.
In that moment, they were both haunted by ghosts—Isobel by the father she thought she had lost, and Alex by the burden of knowing the truth that had shattered her world.