The group sat in a tense semi-circle around the flickering campfire, their expressions a mixture of shock, confusion, and bitter acceptance as Alex revealed the truth about the Astral Prism.
“So... there’s been a mind flayer inside the artifact—the Astral Prism—all along?” Shadowheart asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. Her brows furrowed as her mind raced to connect the pieces. “Sounds like utter madness, even though I’ve seen it with my own eyes... The more I learn, the less I understand why I was sent to retrieve that thing.” She shook her head, her gaze distant before landing on Alex. “But it matters little now. The Prism is no longer my mission—saving my parents is.”
Karlach, sitting cross-legged beside her, leaned forward, her voice brimming with determination. “Do not worry, Shadowheart. When the time comes, we’ll be by your side.” Her words were met with a small, grateful smile from Shadowheart, a rare moment of vulnerability shared between them.
Astarion was next to speak, his tone sharp, yet layered with a simmering unease. “So we owe our lack of tentacles to one of the very creatures that kidnapped us?” He scoffed, crossing his arms with an exaggerated flourish. “This kind of irony leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.”
Alex glanced at him, his tone even but heavy with implication. “He was the one who put the tadpoles in our brains—at least in your cases.”
That revelation hit like a thunderclap. The group collectively stiffened, their eyes widening in disbelief as they stared at Alex. He could feel the weight of their gazes but pushed on.
“You don’t remember because he altered some of your memories. Mainly his appearance—just enough to avoid suspicion.” Alex’s voice carried a cold finality, his expression unreadable.
Wyll broke the silence, his voice tinged with righteous anger. “I’m glad I finished him off, Balduran or not.” His jaw clenched as the flames of the campfire reflected in his dark eye.
“Ghaik are never to be trusted,” Lae’zel growled, her voice firm and unrelenting. “Even those who wear the mask of kindness.”
A contemplative silence followed, broken only by the crackling of the fire, until Gale stirred, his voice thoughtful. “Do you think the mind flayer we met in the Underdark—what was its name?” He paused, searching his memory. “Omeluum. Do you think it had hidden motives as well? It helped us, even gave us its Ring of Mind Shielding.” Gale looked at Alex, his expression inquisitive, knowing Alex’s ability to become one with those he consumed granted him insights they could not fathom.
Alex's brow furrowed in concentration. “It definitely had hidden motives. I couldn’t say what they were, but I suspect it was simply curiosity. Perhaps it wanted to observe how its potion influenced the tadpoles. Mind flayers rarely act without some deeper intent.”
Gale nodded, his fingers absently tracing a random pattern on his robe as he mulled over the idea. “Quite the rug pull, eh? A mind flayer manipulating us this whole time.” He chuckled softly, the sound tinged with both irony and resignation.
----------------------------------------
As Alex absorbed the fire into his arm, extinguishing the campfire with a flick of his hand, he turned to the group. “I think it’s time to go,” he said simply. The first rays of sunlight pierced through the dense trees, casting golden light over them. It was the perfect moment to begin their journey toward Baldur’s Gate.
The others stood, checking their weapons, armor, and packs. A sense of quiet urgency filled the air as they prepared for the road ahead.
Astarion adjusted his collar and smirked. “Do you think we could make a quick detour to the abandoned castle? I left a few... personal effects there. Nothing too important, but the thought of a toadyanki rifling through them is positively unbearable.” He cast a mischievous glance at Lae’zel, whose face immediately darkened with displeasure.
“It’s githyanki, you bloodsucking degenerate,” Lae’zel growled, her hand instinctively moving toward her sword hilt.
“Oh, forgive me!” Astarion said with mock innocence, raising his hands in mock surrender. “A slip of the tongue, I assure you.”
Before Lae’zel could retort, a deep voice rumbled from the right, cutting through the tension like a blade. “They burned the place down.”
All heads snapped toward the source of the voice. Emerging from the underbrush was Shadow, the towering hunter Alex had created. His dark form moved with a predatory grace, and his glowing eyes scanned the group with an almost clinical detachment.
“Shadow,” Gale muttered, exhaling sharply as he relaxed slightly. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”
Shadow said nothing, his stoic presence unsettling even now.
“Are Bullet and Glut all right?” Karlach asked, stepping forward, her voice tinged with concern.
Shadow gave a curt nod. “Bullet immediately burrowed underground with his offspring. Glut is on his way.”
As if summoned by name, Glut materialized from thin air. His glowing blue armor shimmered in the morning light, the ethereal glow drawing all eyes toward him. The imposing figure approached, his silent intensity matching that of Shadow.
Alex’s gaze sharpened. 'Why did you remain behind?'
"I wanted to test my strength so I engaged some githyanki who were scouting the area just after you left." Glut responded in a measured tone, his voice resonating with calm authority. "One of them could disrupt my teleportation, but they couldn’t keep pace with me once I fled. The ‘greenies’ were quite displeased."
Alex’s mental acknowledgment was brief, the equivalent of a telepathic nod, before he turned back to his companions.
Astarion’s dissatisfaction with the situation boiled over. “So let me get this straight,” he said, gesturing toward Shadow and Glut. “We’re traveling with a nightmare beast that looks like it crawled out of someone’s worst fever dream”—he pointed at Shadow—“and a glowing knight who apparently plays tag with githyanki for fun?” He threw up his hands in mock exasperation.
Karlach burst into laughter, clapping Astarion on the back hard enough to make him stumble. “Oh, come on! It’s not like we were ever the picture of normalcy to begin with.”
Shadow remained impassive, while Glut tilted his head, his glowing visage betraying neither amusement nor offense.
“Dysfunctional or not,” Alex interjected, his tone final. “we have a mission. Let’s move.”
With that, the group began their march, the tension easing into a strange camaraderie as they stepped into the sunlight-dappled path ahead.
The party trudged forward, their boots squelching in the soft, muddy soil as they followed the uneven path that led into Rivington, the southernmost district of Baldur’s Gate. The smell hit Alex first, pungent and heavy—farm animals, manure, rotting hay, and the faint coppery scent of blood from nearby slaughterhouses. It wasn’t a place for the faint-hearted, and the grim atmosphere seemed to seep into the very air, clinging to their skin and clothes like an unwelcome second layer.
As they emerged from a narrow passage, the sprawling chaos of Rivington spread out before them. It was a far cry from what one might expect of a district associated with the illustrious Baldur’s Gate. Dirt and gravel roads twisted and turned in random directions, their slippery surfaces made worse by the recent rain. Haphazardly constructed buildings leaned precariously against one another, their wooden frames patched together with whatever materials the inhabitants could scavenge—mud, thatch, and even pieces of rusted scrap metal.
Alex stopped for a moment, closing his eyes to sift through his vast collection of memories tied to the area. The image of the Outer City came to him with startling clarity, a mental tapestry of disorder and despair. He could practically hear the cacophony of bleating sheep, squawking chickens, and shouting traders vying for attention amidst the restless throng of desperate souls who called this place home.
It was a world apart from the polished stones and strict order of Baldur’s Gate proper. The Outer City was a chaotic sprawl, an ecosystem built on survival. Livestock roamed freely through the streets, dodging children and mangy dogs. Packs of stray animals scavenged for scraps, their wiry frames a testament to their harsh existence. Above it all hung a misty haze, part natural fog and part smoke from the countless fires that burned to stave off the cold and cook meager meals.
The weight of returning to civilization settled over them like a tangible presence. Each of them carried their own thoughts about the city—memories both bitter and sweet, hopes and fears mingling as the spires of the inner city came closer into view.
Gale was the first to break the silence, offering a half-smile as he surveyed the distant skyline. "Civilization beckons at last," he said, his tone light but with a hint of relief. "It’s no Waterdeep, but Baldur’s Gate is a respectable runner-up—or at least a close third."
Karlach let out a laugh, clapping him on the back. “It’s not that bad once you get used to the smell.” She took an exaggerated deep breath through her nose, the corners of her mouth curling into a fond grin. “Ah, it smells exactly the same. Ten years on, and it’s like I never left.”
Alex felt a ripple of mental contact as Glut projected his thoughts into his mind. 'Are you sure you didn’t give her a lizard brain instead of a dragon heart?' the construct’s voice was laced with dry sarcasm.
Lae’zel, as stoic as ever, interrupted Alex’s faint smirk. Her tone was commanding, her eyes locked on him. “We should start moving. Voss will be waiting.”
Wyll, meanwhile, tightened his grip on Karlach’s hand as he gazed ahead, his expression softening.“My home. My city...” he murmured, the words almost reverent.
Karlach turned her warm gaze toward him.“Are you excited to return? Reluctant? A little of both?”
Wyll’s smile wavered as memories began to flood back.“Baldur’s Gate is where I raised a glass for the first time at fourteen—and got tipsy on cheap wine. I puked in Dillard Portyr’s bushes.” A chuckle escaped him before his expression soured. “It’s also where I stole a peach from a cart in the Wide and got chased halfway to the docks by the Flaming Fist.” His voice faltered, growing quieter. “It’s where my father taught me to hold a rapier, to read law books, to distinguish right from wrong…”
He paused, his tone heavy with regret. “It’s been seven years since I left this place—”
“Exiled,” Astarion interjected sharply, his voice cutting through Wyll’s reminiscence.
Wyll rolled his eyes but conceded. “Exiled. Yes. It’s no paradise, but it’s home—and it’s worth saving.”
Astarion’s lips curled into a sneer.“Eh. If you ask me, I’d burn this city to the ground. Too much trash clogging the streets, and not just the literal kind.” His voice carried a bitterness that left no room for ambiguity. “I don’t know what you see in this place, Wyll. Maybe it’s because, as the duke’s son, you didn’t see the ugliness I did.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The vampire spawn’s tension was palpable, his shoulders tight, his movements sharper than usual. The others shared uneasy glances but said nothing; they understood this was more than Astarion’s usual snark—returning to Baldur’s Gate meant coming back to a place that had enslaved him for centuries.
Shadowheart, walking slightly apart from the group, muttered under her breath, her tone cautious. “The city is close now. My former peers will be watching, no doubt. Waiting for my return.” Her wary eyes scanned the horizon as if expecting danger to leap from the shadows. “We should find them before they find us. What they know could help us.”
“What should we be looking for?” Wyll asked, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.
Shadowheart thought for a moment before replying.“Wyrm’s Crossing is a choke point. If I wanted to intercept new arrivals, I’d wait somewhere before the bridge. Blend into the crowds and strike when least expected.”
Astarion nodded slightly, his gaze distant.“Wyrm’s Crossing—the welcome mat of Baldur’s Gate. If they’re watching, that’s where they’ll be.”
Gale, spoke up. “Then perhaps we should change our appearances. It would give us a moment’s advantage, at least.”
Shadowheart agreed, though her tone was cautious. “It’s worth a shot, though I doubt it will fool them for long. They’ll have contingencies in place, but any edge is better than none.”
Gale and Alex exchanged a glance before simultaneously raising their hands, casting a spell that rippled outward, cloaking the group in illusion.
Astarion’s signature pale features darkened, his platinum hair becoming a deep brown, and his crimson eyes shifted to a piercing blue. His fangs were rendered invisible, though he ran his tongue over them to confirm they were still there. “At least I don’t look like myself,” he muttered, inspecting his hands. “Though I’ll miss my usual... flair.”
Shadowheart’s striking silver hair shifted to a muted brown, and her dark green eyes softened to a dull hazel. The change stripped her of the severity she usually carried, leaving her looking almost ordinary.
Karlach, usually defined by the fiery red scales that adorned her body, now appeared entirely human. Her smooth, tanned skin gleamed in the morning light, and her rugged, damaged clothes were replaced by simple but clean garments Alex conjured—a pair of trousers, a loose blouse, and sturdy boots. She stretched awkwardly, as though unused to the lack of her familiar scales.“Well, this is weird,” she admitted with a grin, running a hand over her bare arm as she could still feel the hard but smooth scales
Gale, whose refined style often reflected his academic background, now looked more rugged. His mousy brown hair became jet black, and his neatly trimmed facial hair grew thicker and unkempt. His elegant robes were replaced by a simpler, travel-worn tunic, giving him the appearance of a common traveler. “I suppose this’ll do.” Gale said, adjusting his cloak with a smirk, “Though I daresay I miss looking like myself already.”
Wyll’s typically neat and noble demeanor was replaced with something darker and more menacing. His dark brown hair remained, but it now fell messily across his face, losing its polished rows and taking on a wilder, unkempt look. The cropped sides were ragged, as if carelessly hacked shorter. The scars on his face deepened, their jagged lines more pronounced, running across his cheeks and neck like battle-worn trophies.
His good eye turned even blacker, like a void pit, the crimson red pupil glowing faintly, adding an otherworldly intensity to his gaze. His bloodstone eye glinted ominously, darkr now and veined with faint streaks of red, as though it pulsed with a hidden power.
His horns, once smooth and regal, now appeared more jagged, their surface cracked and weathered as though they’d endured centuries of battle. They curved back sharply, giving him a truly fearsome visage. His modest hunting outfit transformed into something more severe—a blackened leather coat reinforced with dark steel plates, well-suited for both combat and intimidation.
Lae'zel's yellowish-green skin had softened to a muted beige tone, blending easily with the typical hues of humans in the region. The black accents that once adorned her face and neck had faded completely, leaving her features smooth and free of distinguishing marks. Her ochre eyes had shifted to a light hazel, soft and warm, lacking the piercing intensity they once held.
Her facial structure had subtly changed; her flattened nose had become slightly more rounded, and her sharp cheekbones were less pronounced. The ridges at the back of her ears had smoothed out entirely, and her pointed ears had shrunk to resemble those of an average human.
Her scars had vanished completely, including the prominent one running from her nose to her chin. Without them, her face appeared softer and far less menacing. The black mottles on her cheeks had disappeared, leaving an even and unblemished complexion.
Her auburn hair, once adorned with silver braids and tied into a small bun, now extended a little past her shoulders, styled into a loose, natural flow that framed her face. The intricate braids and bun were gone, replaced with a simpler, understated hairstyle.
Her wiry, athletic frame had remained, but her posture had shifted. She no longer carried herself with the proud and intimidating gait of a seasoned warrior, appearing instead more relaxed and casual. Her warrior's attire had been replaced with plain, nondescript traveler’s clothes—a simple tunic and trousers in muted earth tones, complemented by a hooded cloak that allowed her to blend into the crowd.
In this new guise, Lae'zel no longer looked like a hardened githyanki warrior but rather an unassuming wanderer, someone who could easily disappear into the bustling streets of Baldur’s Gate.
As the group took in Lae'zel's altered appearance, Astarion let out a low whistle, his lips curling into an amused smirk.
“Well, well, look at you,” he drawled, tilting his head as if appraising her like a fine painting. “From fearsome githyanki warrior to... what is this exactly? A retired farmer’s wife? Or perhaps a reclusive librarian with a penchant for gardening?”
He chuckled, his crimson eyes glinting with mirth. “I must admit, darling, it’s unsettling seeing you look so... approachable. Almost makes me forget you’d stab me for calling you a toad.”
Lae'zel’s eyes narrowed sharply, and her hand instinctively twitched toward her sword hilt. Astarion, noticing the movement, raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” he added with a playful lilt. “It’s a vast improvement—for survival, of course. Though I do miss the battle scars. They gave you character.”
Glut’s armor lost its mystical glow and intricate design, shifting into something far more utilitarian. The once-elaborate blue plates now appeared as simple steel armor, painted a muted blue that lacked its former brilliance. The sleek, otherworldly elegance of his former form was replaced with a grittier, more grounded look, better suited to a mercenary or soldier.
Alex’s already pale complexion grew even more ghostly, his skin taking on an almost alabaster tone, though the sickly gray tint around his eyes softened slightly, blending better with his new disguise. His curly brown hair remained, but now it hung looser around his face, less meticulously slicked back, giving him a rugged, unpolished appearance.
His blue eyes darkened to a deep slate gray, almost black, with faint streaks of silver threading through the irises, lending them an enigmatic quality. His usual layered attire changed as well—his vest and hoodie disappeared, replaced by a tattered cloak with frayed edges that added an air of mystery. Underneath, he now wore a patched brown leather jerkin over his white shirt, which looked worn and slightly discolored, as though he’d been traveling for months without respite.
His plain brown pants remained, but his boots were more weathered, scuffed, and patched with mismatched leather, completing the look of a weary, roguish wanderer.
Wyll looked down at himself again, frowning at the intimidating reflection in a puddle nearby. His horns gleamed menacingly, his crimson eye glowed faintly, and the jagged scars across his neck and cheeks gave him the air of a villain stepping straight out of a dark folktale.
“Guys, I think this might grab a little too much attention,” he said, his voice laced with unease.
Shadowheart smirked from the side, her green eyes glinting with amusement. “He looks like a dark lord—or worse, a cultist,” she quipped, crossing her arms. “I bet Mizora would absolutely love it.”
Wyll’s expression soured further at the mention of the devil who had sealed his fate, and his gaze shifted to Gale and Alex, silently pleading for help.
Alex stepped forward, raising a hand in Wyll’s direction. “Hold still. Let’s make you... less of a walking demon overlord.”
With a wave of Alex’s hand, the glowing red eye dimmed, its hue softening into a subtle amber color. The jagged scars smoothed slightly, appearing more like faint battle marks rather than grotesque disfigurements. His horns shrank, becoming shorter and curving less sharply, blending naturally into his appearance without drawing as much attention. His blackened armor softened into dark leathers, rugged but practical, perfect for a soldier or traveler rather than a cult leader.
Wyll glanced down at his reflection again, relief washing over him as he saw the more subdued transformation. “Much better. I’d rather not look like I’m about to demand someone kneel before me.”
Shadowheart chuckled softly. “You’re welcome, by the way. Glad I could inspire change.”
“Not bad,” Astarion said with a smirk, running a hand through his now-darkened hair. “I’d almost say we look respectable... almost.”
Wyll rolled his eyes, but a small smile crept onto his face. “Let’s just focus on getting into the city without causing a riot, shall we?”
The group barely set foot in Rivington when a small, scrappy girl approached them, followed closely by a red-haired cat with a thick, matted coat.
The girl hesitated for a moment, clutching the hem of her ragged shirt as she stared at Alex with wide, mismatched eyes—one green, the other blue. Her tanned skin was dotted with freckles, and her unkempt red hair fell in uneven strands around her shoulders. She was small, thin, and visibly underfed, but there was a fierce determination in her stance.
After gathering her courage, she spoke, her voice trembling slightly.“Erm… ’Scuse me…” Her gaze darted nervously between Alex and the rest of the group before settling on Alex. “I can’t find my mum.”
Alex knelt slightly to meet her eye level, his expression softening. “Where did you last see her?” he asked gently, his tone soothing.
The girl bit her lip, her small hands wringing the hem of her shirt. "She was… erm… she was sick," she said hesitantly. "She had spots on her face and hands. She went to get some herbs… she said she’d be back the same day, but… that was last tenday." Her words came out more like she was confused than saddened.
Astarion sighed dramatically from the side. "It sounds like her mum is probably dead," he muttered, earning himself a sharp elbow to the ribs from Karlach.
"Shut it, fangs," Karlach hissed, her fiery eyes narrowing as she glared at him.
Alex shot a warning look at Astarion before focusing back on the girl. He reached into his clothes and pulled out a gold coin, holding it out to her with a warm smile. “I don’t know where your mum is,” he said softly, “but here—take this.”
The girl’s face lit up as she took the coin, holding it tightly in her small hand as though it were the most precious thing in the world. “Wow! Thanks! My mum would like this. She’s the best cook in the world, you know. She even taught me to cook!” she said brightly, a glimmer of hope momentarily breaking through her sadness.
Alex nodded, his smile unwavering. “I’m sure she did. You hang onto that, okay?”
The girl turned to leave, her red-haired cat padding alongside her, but Alex called out to her before she could go far.
“Wait.”
She stopped, turning back to look at him with curious eyes.
“Do you have something that belongs to your mum?” Alex asked, his gaze thoughtful.
The girl looked down at her wrist, where a simple, woven bracelet rested. She hesitated, her small fingers brushing over the delicate threads.
Alex crouched down again, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Listen,” he said, leaning in slightly, “I don’t look it, but I’m actually a grand wizard disguised as a simple traveler. And by chance, that
bracelet of yours is the missing piece I need for a very strong spell—a powerful luck enchantment.”
Her eyes widened, a spark of awe in her expression. “Really?”
Alex nodded solemnly, keeping his tone serious yet kind. “Once I’ve used it, I’ll bring it back to you. The luck enchantment should help you find your mum. What do you say?”
The girl stared at him for a long moment, her small face filled with a mix of wonder and hesitation. Finally, she nodded and carefully slipped the bracelet off her wrist.
“Here,” she said, holding it out to him. “But you have to promise you’ll bring it back.”
“I promise,” Alex said, taking the bracelet with great care.
To her surprise, he pulled out another gold coin and placed it in her hand. “For safekeeping,” he said with a wink.
The girl’s smile returned, brighter this time, and she clutched the coins tightly. “Thank you!” With that, she turned and dashed off, her cat trailing close behind.
Alex’s gaze darkened slightly as he watched her disappear into the misty streets. His eyes flickered to the faint movements in the shadows—figures watching the girl from a distance.
'Shadow,' Alex commanded silently, his voice a calm ripple in the psionic link. 'Follow her. Make sure nothing happens to her.'
From the shade cast by Alex’s feet, a tendril of darkness unfurled and Shadow slipped soundlessly into the girl’s shadow. The girl’s own shadow darkened imperceptibly, a protective presence now entwined with her.