Alex waved his hand, and the shadows surged around them like a living tide, swallowing them whole. A cold, fleeting sensation of disorientation washed over the group before the world solidified again.
They reappeared inside the Counting House Vaults, a place exuding wealth and meticulous order. The black and white stones that made up the walls and floor gleamed under the well-placed lighting, the cleanliness and precision a testament to the treasures hidden within. This was no ordinary vault—it was the heart of Baldur's Gate's prosperity, where fortunes were secured and secrets locked away.
Before them stood a massive, round metal door, its surface etched with intricate patterns and wards designed to deter even the most cunning thieves. It loomed imposingly, a silent guardian of the riches beyond. They stood on a raised platform overlooking nine tiles embedded into the floor, each marked with a number. The mechanism was clear—only the correct sequence could open the vault.
But they didn’t need to solve riddles or decipher codes. They had Alex.
With a casual raise of his hand, the door began to shimmer, encased in a purple aura that danced like ghostly firelight. A few moments later, a loud click echoed through the chamber. The sound of gears grinding and levers shifting followed, their metallic chorus reverberating off the stone walls as the door slowly creaked open. Behind it, a narrow hall stretched downward, disappearing into shadow.
Alex lowered his hand, the aura fading as a small, self-assured smile crossed his lips. "My part is done. Good luck."
Astarion stepped forward with his characteristic smirk, his ruby-red eyes glinting with amusement. "We do not need luck, darling. Not when I’m here. But your words are appreciated nonetheless." His teasing tone earned him a sharp but playful elbow from Karlach.
Karlach’s grin was wide, her fiery hair reflecting her barely contained excitement. Her movements, always deliberate and strong, were almost bouncing with energy. " I’m so excited. Minsc… I’m finally going to see him ."
Jaheira crossed her arms, her sharp gaze settling on Alex. "It’s a shame you’re leaving. But I suppose it can’t be helped." Her tone softened slightly, and the corners of her lips twitched in a rare, fleeting smile. "Now go, before I start sounding like a grumpy old grandmother."
Alex chuckled softly, a genuine smile playing on his lips. For a brief moment, his usually guarded demeanor cracked, showing a glimmer of warmth. Then, with a wave of his hand, the shadows engulfed him once more, leaving the party behind.
Jaheira’s expression hardened as the remnants of the shadows dissipated. She glanced at the group—Astarion, Karlach, Wyll, Gale, and Lae’zel—her gaze steady and commanding. "Let’s move."
Without waiting for a response, she strode forward into the vault, the others falling into step behind her, their footsteps echoing on the polished stone floor.
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Alex reappeared inside the warehouse, where Amanita and Shadowheart were already waiting. The tension in the air was almost tangible, swirling like an invisible storm between the two women. They stood apart, their silence heavy with unspoken words, but the charged energy between them spoke volumes.
The instant they noticed Alex, everything shifted. Shadowheart’s sharp gaze softened and strode toward him with purpose, slipping her arms around his right arm in a gesture both protective and grounding. Her grip was firm, as though anchoring herself to him would ease the gnawing unease in her chest. For a brief moment, she exhaled, relief washing over her like a balm. He was safe.
Amanita, stepped closer with a fluid, almost theatrical grace. Her lips curled into a playful smile, the kind that hinted at layers of depth and longing. She leaned into Alex, her movements deliberate and filled with an air of self-expression that couldn’t be ignored. She slid to Alex's left, her presence demanding attention. She puffed her chest slightly, as if daring the world to admire her.
Shadowheart’s eyes narrowed, the flicker of irritation betraying her calm exterior. 'She’s doing this on purpose, she thought,' her gaze briefly dipping to Amanita’s figure before snapping away, her jaw tightening. A faint blush crept across her cheeks as insecurities bubbled to the surface. Her chest wasn’t as… prominent. But she squared her shoulders, her inner voice rising in defiance. 'Alex doesn’t care about things like that. He’s practical. He values loyalty and strength,' she reassured herself. Still, her heart thudded when she snuck a glance at him.
Alex caught Shadowheart’s gaze. Mischief sparked in his eyes as a slow, knowing smile spread across his face. "No, I don’t care," he said, his voice rich with confidence but laced with teasing.
Shadowheart’s face burned crimson, and she averted her gaze quickly, flustered by how easily he’d read her. But beneath her embarrassment, a warmth bloomed. His words were a quiet reassurance, a steady reminder that she didn’t have to prove herself to him.
Amanita tilted her head slightly, her ruby eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and intrigue.
"Shall we go, then?" Alex asked, his commanding tone cutting through the tension with ease. He looked at Amanita first, his gaze steady but playful. Amanita’s smile widened, her eyes dancing with a sense of dramatic anticipation as if she were a performer on the verge of a grand act. Then he turned to Shadowheart, who nodded stiffly, her blush still lingering but her resolve unshaken.
As they prepared to leave, Amanita raised the hood of her robe, her movements deliberate and imbued with a touch of elegance. The fabric cast a shadow over her delicate features, the contrast between light and dark adding to her aura of mystery. She glanced at Alex, her lips curving into a subtle smile, before her gaze wandered to the streaks of golden sunlight filtering through the warehouse windows.
Shadowheart, adjusted her spear as the golden light fell over her armor. She let her eyes linger on Alex for a moment longer than necessary, her thoughts filled with a quiet determination. No matter what dangers lay ahead, she would protect him.
Alex stood between them, the steady anchor to their differing energies. His confidence radiated outward, a quiet but undeniable declaration of control. He glanced at each woman in turn, the weight of their trust in him both a burden and a source of strength. Whatever lay ahead, he would lead them. Failure wasn’t an option.
The three of them stepped into the fading sunlight, their shadows stretching long and intertwined behind them, each bound by their differences yet united by their shared purpose.
They traversed the streets of the Lower City in silence, the usual chaos of Baldur’s Gate subdued in the heavy, oppressive air. Their destination emerged as they turned a corner—a mansion standing stark against the horizon, perched dangerously close to the edge of the sea.
"Ugh. What’s with this smell?" Shadowheart grimaced, pressing her hand to her face. Her voice was muffled, but the disgust was clear.
The mansion loomed like a sentinel of decay, its silhouette framed by twisted, lifeless trees. Vegetation clawed at the structure’s foundation, but it was brittle and gray, as if drained of life. A putrid stench hung thick in the air, sour and cloying, clinging to their senses with an almost physical weight.
Nearby, a Flaming Fist dwarf stood, enduring a tirade from a halfling whose expression was a mixture of frustration and fear. "I’m telling you," the halfling barked, waving a hand toward the mansion, "it’s not just the smell! There’s something out there—lurking at night! I’ve seen it!"
A few feet away, a dragonborn druid knelt by a small tree, his scaled hands glowing faintly with restorative magic. Despite his evident effort, the tree remained barren, its bark blackened as if scorched from the inside. The dragonborn’s shoulders slumped in defeat, his frustration palpable.
The trio approached the Flaming Fist and the halfling. The halfling turned, his scowl deepening as he caught sight of them. "Don’t waste your breath," he snapped. "The Fists don’t care what happens down here. Why should they?"
The dwarf Flaming Fist gave Alex a weary glance, his tone dismissive. "I’ll make a report to the city maintenance teams. They’ll get to it… eventually." His voice lacked conviction, and his gaze darted nervously toward the mansion.
Alex’s eyes glinted faintly as he delved into the dwarf’s mind, sifting through the surface thoughts. The truth came to him swiftly—someone had paid off the Flaming Fist patrols to ignore the mansion, to keep their mouths shut and their heads down.
"I’m sure they will," Alex replied with a calm, neutral tone before turning away.
Amanita’s ruby eyes lingered on the mansion, taking in the lifeless surroundings and the faint flicker of movement in the shadows. "What’s the mission?" she asked, her voice steady but edged with unease.
Alex hesitated, his gaze fixed on the structure. "The crow told me about this location," he said finally. "Something’s made its home here. That’s all I know. But we’ll find out soon enough."
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The group circled the mansion cautiously, their footsteps muffled on the lifeless soil. It was Shadowheart who spoke first, her voice tinged with disbelief. "This place has no doors."
"There is one," Amanita corrected, her sharp eyes spotting the balcony at the back of the mansion. "Up there."
Shadowheart shot her a glare, her frustration evident, but she exhaled heavily, letting it pass. "Then what are we waiting for?"
Before either woman could respond, the world blurred, and in the blink of an eye, they were standing on the balcony.
Alex moved to the door, his hand hovering over the lock. His brow furrowed, and a faint pulse of magic radiated from his fingertips. "There are wards on this door," he said grimly. "Strong ones. Extremely strong."
The orb embedded in his chest flared with a faint, hungry light, its energy rippling outward. The wards crumbled under its influence, their magic devoured by the artifact. With a faint creak, the door swung open.
The stench hit them like a physical blow. Shadowheart recoiled, her hand snapping to her face. "Do you have a cloth or something?" she asked, her voice strained.
Alex handed her a cloth without a word. She pressed it to her nose and mouth, her eyes narrowing as she stepped inside.
The interior was a scene of horror. The walls were streaked with blood, and the floors were slick with congealed gore. The air was thick with the metallic tang of death, mingled with something darker—decay, rot, and something that defied description.
Amanita’s hand went instinctively to her crossbows, her keen eyes scanning the shadowed hall. Movement drew her attention—a figure ascending the stairs toward them, its form twisted and jerking unnaturally. A ghoul.
Without hesitation, she loosed a bolt, the projectile striking the creature’s skull with a sickening crack. It stumbled but didn’t fall. Her second shot found its mark, and the undead collapsed backward, tumbling down the stairs with a heavy thud.
The sound echoed ominously, and then came the noise they dreaded: the relentless clatter of footsteps—many footsteps—rising from below.
Alex summoned his blade, Phalar Aluve, its dark steel glinting faintly in the dim light. The ghouls and ghasts swarmed the stairs, their guttural growls filling the air. Alex moved with lethal precision, the blade slicing through the creatures like a whisper of death.
"Sorry," Amanita said, her voice tight with guilt. "That was my fault."
Alex didn’t respond immediately, his eyes scanning the darkness. A sudden flicker of movement behind Amanita caught his attention. A shadow rose, coalescing into a hunched figure wreathed in malice.
Alex’s hand shot up, a sphere of radiant energy forming in his palm. With a sharp motion, he hurled it at the shadowed figure. The light struck true, erupting in a brilliant flash. The creature shrieked, its unearthly cry reverberating through the room as it disintegrated into ash.
"Do not let your guard down," Alex warned, his voice cold and firm.
The air remained tense, the oppressive silence broken only by the faint rustle of the dead around them. Whatever had made this mansion its home, it was far from finished with them.
Amanita and Shadowheart froze, their breaths caught in their throats as the room's oppressive silence seemed to intensify. The air grew colder, heavy with a sinister energy that prickled at their senses.
From the edges of Alex’s shadow, something began to stir. At first, it was subtle—a faint ripple, like ink spreading across water. Then, with terrifying speed, two wickedly long, clawed hands burst forth, their ebony talons glinting in the dim light.
The claws moved with malevolent precision, sinking deep into Alex’s legs before he could react.
"Alex!" Shadowheart screamed, her voice breaking with desperation as she lunged toward him.
But it was too late. The claws yanked him downward with a force that defied reason, pulling him into the writhing darkness of his own shadow. His form vanished in an instant, swallowed by the abyss as if he had never been there.
"No!" Amanita cried, her ruby eyes wide with shock and horror. She reached out, but her fingers grasped only empty air where Alex had stood moments before. Her breathing quickened, and her usually calm demeanor fractured, giving way to panic.
The shadow beneath Alex did not settle. It churned like a living thing, rippling and expanding across the floor in unnatural waves. From its inky depths, faint whispers began to emanate—low, guttural sounds that carried no words, only malice.
Shadowheart fell to her knees, her hand on her chest as her mind raced. "What… what just happened?" she stammered, her voice trembling. Tears welled in her eyes, but she forced them back, her desperation giving way to determination.
Amanita, shaken but resolute, loaded her crossbow with a shaky hand, her sharp gaze fixed on the shifting shadow. "We’re gonna save him," she said, her voice low but firm. "Do you hear me, Shadowheart? We are not leaving him."
Shadowheart nodded, her jaw tightening. "He’s not gone. He can’t be. I won’t let him be." She stood, her grip tightening around her spear, the faint glow of divine energy crackling at her fingertips.
The shadow rippled once more, and a dark figure began to rise from its depths—a monstrous, humanoid shape with elongated limbs and glowing, soulless eyes. Its claws dripped with inky residue, the same claws that had dragged Alex away.
Amanita didn’t hesitate. She fired a bolt directly into the creature’s chest. The impact sent it stumbling back, its blackened form contorting unnaturally as it absorbed the blow. But it didn’t fall. Instead, it let out a guttural, ear-splitting shriek that reverberated through the blood-stained walls, shaking the very foundation of the room.
Shadowheart stepped forward without hesitation, her shield raised high and her spear glowing faintly with holy energy. The light flickered like a candle’s flame, its radiance growing stronger with her resolve.
"Get behind me!" she barked at Amanita, her protective instincts overriding any doubt or fear.
The creature hissed, its glowing eyes flicking between the two women, as if calculating its next move. The whispers from the shadows grew louder, frenzied and chaotic, filling the air with a tangible dread that gnawed at the edges of their resolve.
Amanita ignored Shadowheart’s command. She was no damsel. Reloading her crossbow with an eerie speed, she fired a second bolt aimed at the creature’s head. This time, the bolt grazed its shoulder as the monster twisted with unnatural agility.
"Damn it," Amanita muttered, her voice tight with frustration.
The creature lunged, its claws slicing through the air with a speed that belied its monstrous frame.
Shadowheart braced herself, the impact slamming into her shield like a battering ram. The force pushed her back a step, but she held her ground, her muscles straining as she pushed back against the creature.
Her spear lashed out, striking its chest with a burst of moon light. The creature screeched, its form writhing as the light seared into its inky flesh.
Amanita darted to the side with inhuman speed. Her reflexes were a blur as she rolled into position, firing two more bolts in quick succession. One struck the creature’s claw, pinning it momentarily to the ground, while the other embedded itself deep into its side.
The creature roared, pulling its pinned claw free with a sickening squelch. Black ichor dripped onto the ground, hissing and smoking as it hit the floor. It turned its gaze on Amanita now, its soulless eyes narrowing in rage.
Shadowheart saw the shift and reacted instantly. She slammed her spear into the ground, summoning her psionic mirror. The shimmering surface of the mirror rose beside her, its edges rippling like water. The light from the mirror reflected outward, illuminating the room in a radiant glow that pushed back the encroaching shadows.
The creature recoiled, its body twitching violently as the light touched it. But as the light grew stronger, the mirror began to shift, its surface darkening. The radiance faded, replaced by an oppressive shadow that seemed to leech the light from the room. Shadowheart’s psionic mirror wasn’t just a beacon of light—it was a balance of opposites, capable of bending light into darkness and darkness into light.
The creature howled, caught in the ever-changing glow of the mirror. Taking advantage of its disorientation, Shadowheart surged forward, her spear aimed at its throat. The tip of the spear struck true, piercing the creature’s neck with a burst of light . The monster reeled back, ichor spewing from the wound.
"Nice hit," Amanita called out, her tone laced with both admiration and a touch of competitive edge. She took the opportunity to dart in close, her speed making her a blur as she reloaded mid-movement. A smaller, rune-etched crossbow appeared in her free hand, and with precision born of her heightened reflexes, she fired a bolt directly into the creature’s knee. The monster collapsed onto one leg, its movements now sluggish and jerky.
But it wasn’t done yet. With a guttural growl, the creature extended its claws toward Amanita, black tendrils of shadow shooting out like whips. Amanita twisted away just in time, her movements graceful and unnaturally quick, but one tendril managed to catch her arm, leaving a searing black mark on her skin.
Shadowheart saw this and snarled. The psionic mirror responded to her fury, its surface glowing brightly once more. This time, the light burst outward in a concentrated beam, striking the tendrils and severing them from the creature’s body.
The monster shrieked in agony, its form shrinking slightly as it staggered backward. Amanita clutched her injured arm but didn’t falter. "I’m fine," she said sharply, cutting off Shadowheart’s concerned glance.
"Let’s finish this," Shadowheart said firmly, her spear thrumming with holy magic as she prepared for another strike.
Amanita nodded, her crossbows glowing faintly as she loaded another rune-etched bolt. The two women moved in perfect sync now, their earlier tension forgotten in the heat of battle.
Shadowheart lunged first, her shield raised high to deflect the creature’s desperate swipes. Her spear struck again and again, each blow infused with bursts of light that tore into the monster’s form.
Amanita flanked it, her speed making her a whirlwind of motion. She fired bolt after bolt, each one hitting its mark with deadly precision. One bolt struck the creature’s shoulder, another its chest, and finally, a glowing rune bolt embedded itself directly into its forehead.
The creature let out one final, earsplitting shriek before collapsing, its inky form dissolving into a pool of shadowy ichor.
Breathing heavily, Shadowheart lowered her shield, her gaze still wary. "Is it dead?"
Amanita approached cautiously, her crossbow still aimed at the dissolving ichor and fired one last bolt into the puddle for good measure.
The whispers that had filled the room faded, leaving only silence in their wake. But the tension between the two women returned as their thoughts turned back to Alex. He was still out there, somewhere in the darkness.
And they weren’t stopping until they brought him back.
They scouted the mansion, the oppressive silence broken only by their footsteps on the creaking floorboards. The smell of death thickened as they moved, its acrid bite making their stomachs churn. Flies buzzed incessantly, a macabre accompaniment to the grim scene that unfolded before them.
In one corner, a grotesque pile of eviscerated bodies lay slumped, torn open with almost surgical precision. Flies and maggots writhed in the remains, feasting on what was left of the flesh. A crude table sat nearby, strewn with dismembered limbs and viscera, as if part of some deranged experiment. The sight sent a cold shiver down Amanita’s spine, but she forced herself to focus, her ruby eyes scanning every corner of the room.
"This mansion must have been taken over by a necromancer," Amanita muttered, her voice low but filled with disgust.
Shadowheart’s gaze hardened, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her hand tightened around the shaft of her spear, its familiar weight a small comfort in this den of despair.
Finding nothing more, they descended the stairs, their breaths shallow, their senses heightened. The air grew colder as they moved deeper, the wooden steps groaning underfoot. Shadowheart took the lead, her shield raised, and her spear poised to strike. Amanita followed, her crossbow ready, her fingers trembling slightly from the tension—not fear, but the anticipation of battle.