Wyll sat hunched over on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. The dim light of the Elfsong Tavern’s upper room cast long shadows, wrapping his figure in an almost spectral silhouette. The tension in the air was suffocating, an unspoken storm brewing between him and Karlach.
“Wyll,” Karlach said softly, her voice trembling with concern as she sat down beside him. “Talk to me, baby. You can’t keep it all bottled up like this.”
Wyll’s hands fell away from his face, revealing eyes rimmed with anguish and blazing with frustration. He stared at her for a moment, and then a bitter laugh escaped him, sharp and cold. “Talk? What’s there to talk about, Karlach? My father’s dead. And Alex—the great and mighty Alex—the man who can move heaven and earth, refused to bring him back. Refused! He just stood there and said no, like it was nothing.”
Karlach’s heart ached for him, but she tried to keep her voice calm. “Wyll, you know maybe there are rules to these things. Maybe Alex had a reason—”
“A reason?” Wyll cut her off, his voice rising as he stood, pacing the room like a restless storm. His boots struck the floor with heavy thuds, matching the anger radiating off him. “Don’t you dare defend him to me. My father—my father, Karlach! He didn’t deserve to die like that. And Alex? He had the power to fix it, to undo it, and he chose not to. What kind of monster does that?”
Karlach stood too, her heart pounding as she followed him, desperate to calm him down. “Wyll, please. I’m not defending him. I’m just saying maybe there’s more to it. Maybe… maybe he thought bringing your father back would cause more harm than good.”
Wyll whirled around to face her, his expression twisted with fury and grief. “More harm than good? What harm could possibly outweigh losing him? He was my father, Karlach! The one person who—” His voice cracked, his words choking off as he turned away, his shoulders trembling.
“The one person who what?” Karlach pressed gently, stepping closer to him. “Who believed in you? Who loved you? Wyll, I’m still here. I’m still standing by you.”
He turned back to her, and what he said next made her chest tighten. “You don’t get it,” he said coldly. “You can’t get it. You’ve been fighting your whole life, but you don’t understand what it’s like to lose someone like that. To have the power to save them so close, only to have it ripped away by someone who claims to be your ally.”
Karlach’s jaw clenched, her tail flicking in agitation. “You think I don’t understand loss? You think I haven’t had to watch the people I care about get ripped away from me? Don’t you dare stand there and act like you’re the only one who’s suffered, Wyll.”
“Oh, spare me the lecture,” Wyll snapped, his tone venomous. “You’re always so damn optimistic, Karlach. Always so quick to believe the best in people. Maybe that’s why you can’t see Alex for what he really is. A heartless, self-righteous bastard who plays god and decides who lives and who dies.”
Karlach’s eyes widened, his words cutting deeper than any blade. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “That’s not fair, Wyll. Alex has done more for us than anyone else could have. He’s saved us more times than I can count. He’s not heartless.”
“Of course you’d say that,” Wyll sneered, his bitterness unrelenting. “You’re infatuated with him, aren’t you? Always following him around, always defending him. Maybe you should go to him instead. Maybe he’ll bring you some peace, since he’s so goddamn perfect.”
Karlach froze, his accusation striking her like a physical blow. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “How can you say that?” she whispered. “After everything we’ve been through together, how can you think so little of me?”
Wyll didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his back to her, his fists clenched at his sides. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of voices from the tavern below. Karlach’s heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, the weight of his words crushing her.
She reached out, her hand hovering over his shoulder, but she hesitated. “Wyll,” she said, her voice soft and pleading. “I know you’re hurting. I know this isn’t really you. Please, let me help you.”
He shrugged her hand away without looking at her. “I don’t need your help, Karlach,” he said, his voice low and bitter. “I don’t need anyone.”
Tears finally spilled down her cheeks as she stepped back, her heart breaking for the man she loved but could no longer reach. “Fine,” she said, her voice cracking. “If that’s what you want, Wyll. But don’t think for a second that I’m giving up on you. I’ll be here when you’re ready to let someone in.”
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Wyll alone in the darkened room, his grief and anger consuming him like a fire that refused to burn out.
A few moments later, Lakrissa knocked softly on the door before stepping into the room, balancing a tray with five bottles of strong liquor. Her usual cheer dimmed slightly as she crossed the threshold, the oppressive atmosphere wrapping around her like a suffocating shroud. The air was heavy, laden with unspoken grief and anger. Her golden eyes darted to Wyll, slumped on the couch, his rigid posture and tight grip on the armrests exuding barely contained fury. Her tail twitched nervously, hesitating near the doorway as the silence pressed in, amplifying every breath and step.
Wyll was hunched over, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles were white. He looked like a man barely holding himself together, his pain simmering just beneath the surface, ready to erupt.
“Wyll,” Lakrissa said gently, setting the tray down on the low table. “I brought the bottles you requested. But… are you sure you need all of them? You seem… troubled.” Her voice was soft, laced with genuine concern.
Wyll glanced at her briefly, his face a mixture of sorrow and irritation. He leaned forward, grabbing one of the bottles, and uncorked it with a sharp, almost violent motion. “What does it matter to you, Lakrissa?” he muttered, pouring the liquor into a glass and downing it in one swift gulp. The burn didn’t even register.
She hesitated, her tail curling slightly as she mustered her courage. “It matters because I care. You’re the Blade of Frontiers, the hero who’s always there for others. You don’t have to carry this weight alone, Wyll. Maybe talking about it would… help?”
Wyll’s grip tightened around the glass, his jaw clenching. He didn’t look at her when he replied, his voice low and cutting. “You think talking will help? You think some kind words from a barmaid will magically make everything better? What do you know about it, Lakrissa? About loss, about failure?”
Her ears flattened slightly at the venom in his tone, but she stood her ground. “I know more than you think,” she said softly. “You’re hurting, Wyll, but pushing everyone away won’t—”
“Don’t,” Wyll snapped, cutting her off as he finally turned to glare at her. His dark eyes burned with anger and frustration. “Don’t you dare stand there and lecture me about pain.” His voice was laced with venom, his words cutting like a blade. “You’re just a tavern girl—a tiefling tavern girl at that! What do you know about real suffering? About carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders? You serve drinks and smile for tips. Don’t pretend that makes you qualified to understand any of this.”
Lakrissa recoiled as if he had struck her, her golden eyes widening in shock and hurt. Her tail stilled, and for a moment, she was silent. The room felt colder, heavier, as the weight of his words settled between them like a chasm.
“That…” she began, her voice trembling, “may be true. I’m no hero like you, Wyll. But that doesn’t mean my feelings, my experiences, are worthless. I’ve lost people too. I’ve seen the cruelty of this world up close. You don’t have a monopoly on suffering.”
“Oh, spare me the sob story,” Wyll spat, rising to his feet. His towering frame loomed over her, his presence oppressive. “Don’t pretend you can understand what it means to live with the burden of being a hero.”
Lakrissa’s hands trembled slightly, her tail curling tightly around one leg as she stepped back. Her golden eyes darted to Wyll’s face one last time, searching for a trace of the man she once admired. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Wyll,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite the tears shimmering in her eyes. “But you won’t find it by tearing down the people who care about you.”
Without another word, she turned and left the room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. The door closed softly behind her, leaving Wyll alone in the suffocating silence of his own making.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Karlach, leaning by the wall outside the room , watched Lakrissa go, her hands balled into fists at her sides.
A couple of empty bottles lay scattered at Wyll’s feet, their once-pristine surfaces now dulled and lifeless. As he finished draining yet another bottle, he lifted it above his head and hurled it against the wall. The shattering glass sent a sharp echo through the room, but the fleeting satisfaction it offered did nothing to quell the storm raging inside him. Wyll muttered something under his breath before staggering to his feet.
The walls seemed to close in on him, pressing down like an invisible weight. The room was suffocating, and every breath felt like a struggle against the crushing tide of his grief. He couldn’t bear to stay another moment. Without a word, he stumbled out through a side door, avoiding the main hall of the Elfsong Tavern, and into the dimly lit streets of Baldur’s Gate.
Every step he took was a painful reminder of his father, the ache in his chest growing with each echo of his boots on the cobblestone. The city lights blurred and swayed in his alcohol-addled vision, the vibrant glow muted by the haze of his sorrow. His legs felt like lead, barely able to carry him forward.
As he wandered aimlessly, Wyll ducked into a dark alley to relieve himself. When he emerged, a woman stood waiting. Her appearance was unremarkable—plain clothes, plain features—but there was a kindness in her eyes that caught his attention.
“Are you all right, sir?” she asked, her voice soft, her concern genuine.
Wyll didn’t respond. He tried to walk past her, but his unsteady legs betrayed him, and he stumbled. The woman stepped forward, steadying him with a firm yet gentle grip.
“Sir, please,” she urged, her arm wrapping around his shoulders. “Let me help you. You shouldn’t be out here alone in your condition. I can take you somewhere safe.”
Too tired to argue, Wyll gave a reluctant nod. His head swam as she guided him through the streets, her hold on him steady and reassuring. The city around him blurred into a kaleidoscope of light and shadow. He vaguely remembered stepping through the doorway of a house, its interior warm and inviting. He was seated on a chair, and moments later, another figure emerged from the shadows.
The second woman, cloaked in flowing black robes, exuded an air of mystery and foreboding. Her face was hidden beneath a dark hood, and her movements were deliberate, almost ritualistic, as she approached him.
“Let me take away your pain,” she said, her voice smooth and hypnotic. Her hand reached out to touch his forehead. Before Wyll could protest, darkness enveloped him, pulling him into its depths.
Karlach entered the room Wyll had left in disarray. Her eyes swept over the scene—the broken bottles, the lingering stench of alcohol, and the overwhelming sense of emptiness that hung in the air. Her heart sank as the realization hit her.
“Shit,” she muttered, clenching her fists. Without hesitation, she sniffed the air, her keen senses picking up his faint scent beneath the haze of liquor. She followed the trail out of the tavern, into the labyrinthine streets of Baldur’s Gate. Her determination burned hotter with each step as she weaved through the city.
The trail led her to a building on the edge of the Lower City, its shadowed facade looming over the canal. The structure stood solemn and imposing, a quiet sentinel by the water’s edge. Its weathered stone walls were softened by ivy, the greenery climbing and curling around the building . Red terracotta tiles capped its sloped roof, casting a rustic charm .
A broad wooden staircase ascended to the raised entrance, framed by an intricately carved archway. Above it hung a weathered wooden sign, its inscription barely legible: House of Grief. The name sent a chill down Karlach’s spine, but she steeled herself, gripping the hilt of her weapon.
“Fuck, this is bad,” she muttered under her breath, her thoughts racing. Memories of Shadowheart’s conversations with a follower of Shar surfaced, along with his warnings about this place. The urgency pressed against her like a vice. “I need Alex,” she murmured, hesitating briefly. But there was no time to fetch him now. Wyll needed her.
Taking a deep breath, Karlach pushed the door open and stepped inside. The interior was deceptively welcoming—clean floors, warm lighting, and a sweet, cloying scent that hung in the air. Yet the tension was palpable, a lurking menace just beneath the surface. Her sharp eyes caught sight of a dwarf standing guard by a door to her right, his posture rigid and his expression unreadable. Ignoring him for now, Karlach made her way to the counter, where a striking wood elf woman stood.
The wood elf was radiant in her simplicity, her presence commanding yet unassuming. Her pale blonde hair was swept into a loose bun, with soft strands framing her freckled face. Her piercing blue eyes, almond-shaped and luminous, seemed to see straight through Karlach, their intensity both unnerving and captivating. She wore a sleeveless navy tunic, its edges faintly embroidered, and her posture exuded a quiet vigilance.
“Welcome to the House of Grief,” the wood elf said with a serene smile. Her voice was calm, almost melodic. “Are you here to be unburdened? Whatever ails the heart, whatever weighs upon the soul—we can help.”
Karlach’s jaw tightened. “I’m looking for someone,” she said, her voice steady but edged with steel. “A human man. He would’ve come through here recently. Where is he?”
The wood elf’s eyes flickered with faint amusement, but her expression remained neutral. “Many souls come here seeking solace. What makes you think he’s with us?”
Karlach leaned forward, her fiery determination unmistakable. “I don’t have time for riddles. Where is he?”
The wood elf studied her for a moment longer, then nodded. “Very well. Follow me.” She stepped away from the counter, leading Karlach toward the guarded door. The dwarf stepped aside without a word, and the wood elf pushed the door open, gesturing for Karlach to enter.
Karlach’s heart pounded as she stepped inside, bracing herself for what lay beyond.
The room was serene yet unnervingly oppressive, a paradox that clung to Karlach’s senses. The faint, sweet smell of incense lingered in the air, almost masking the tension that seemed to vibrate beneath the surface. Candles burned softly in each corner, their flickering flames casting shifting shadows that danced across the smooth walls. Flowers in terracotta pots adorned the room, their blossoms unnaturally vibrant, their colors almost glowing in the candlelight. In the middle of the room was a single stone bench, unadorned but commanding. Standing beside it was a robed figure, the fine tailoring of her black and gold robes hinting at wealth and power. Though her hood concealed her face, her posture spoke of unshakable authority.
Karlach followed the elf who had escorted her, her every step heavy with apprehension. The elf gestured toward the bench, silently instructing her to sit next to the hooded woman with her back turned to her. Without a word, the elf turned and left, the door clicking shut behind her.
Karlach hesitated, then sat as instructed. She shifted uneasily, her gaze flicking to the robed figure. Before she could utter a word, the woman spoke, her voice firm yet melodic, like the chords of a somber song.
“Do not look upon me,” the woman warned, her tone strict but not unkind. “This is your time, not mine. Look inward. See what will be discovered.”
Karlach stiffened, instinctively pulling back. The authority in the woman’s voice left little room for protest.
“You are here because something grieves you,” the woman continued, her voice softening slightly. “Perhaps you know what that is. Perhaps you merely think you know. The Mapping will reveal your heart’s form, and then the healing can begin. Answer the questions I put to you, and answer honestly. The lips may try to deceive, but the heart will offer the truth, in the end. Let us begin.”
Karlach opened her mouth, a protest forming on her lips, but something brushed at the edge of her mind, a subtle compulsion that stilled her resistance. She swallowed hard and nodded.
“What last caused you to shed a tear?” the woman asked.
Karlach’s throat tightened. The venomous words Wyll had hurled at her returned with stinging clarity, each syllable a dagger to her chest. She closed her eyes, her voice barely above a whisper. “The harsh words of someone I love.”
The silence that followed was deafening, stretching long enough for doubt to creep into Karlach’s mind. Just as she began to wonder if she had said something wrong, the woman’s voice returned, measured and unyielding.
“So be it. The second question: What is your unspoken desire?”
Karlach’s gaze dropped to the tiled floor. Her hands clenched into fists as she fought the wave of vulnerability threatening to overtake her. “To be free,” she murmured, the admission tearing from her as though dragged from the deepest recesses of her soul.
Again, there was silence. This time, it felt heavier, laden with unspoken truths and judgments. When the woman spoke again, her words cut like a blade.
“You have a wayward heart,” she said. The words were not cruel, but they carried an undeniable weight, a truth Karlach could not deny.
Karlach’s head snapped up as the robed woman rose to her feet. Her movements were deliberate, graceful yet commanding. Karlach’s breath caught as the woman reached up and pulled back her hood, revealing her face.
The drow woman’s presence was magnetic, her every feature a testament to her dark elven heritage. Her deep indigo skin shimmered faintly under the candlelight, smooth and flawless. High cheekbones and an angular jawline lent severity to her face, while her piercing, silvery eyes glowed with an unsettling wisdom. Her long, white hair cascaded down her shoulders in soft waves, framing her sharp features like a crown. There was elegance in her every movement, but an edge of menace lingered, a predator’s grace beneath the veneer of refinement.
Around her collar rested a silver choker, its spider-like motifs accentuating her predatory aura. Her gloved hands rested lightly at her sides, but her fingers twitched ever so slightly, betraying a readiness to strike.
“I am Viconia DeVir,” she said, her voice a blend of silk and steel. “The House of Grief is mine. But what lies beneath...” She paused, her silvery eyes locking onto Karlach’s. “That belongs to my Mistress. And that is where you must go if you wish to see your lover again.”
Before Karlach could respond, Viconia turned and walked to the far end of the room. Her gloved hand pressed against an inconspicuous brick in the wall, and a faint click echoed through the chamber. The stone wall slid downward, revealing a hidden spiral staircase. The faint glow of torchlight flickered from below, casting ominous shadows against the damp stone walls. Banners bearing the symbol of Shar draped along the passage, their dark fabric swaying slightly in the unseen currents of air.
Karlach’s breath hitched. “Fuck...” she muttered under her breath, her hand instinctively moving to the glaive strapped to her back. She glanced at Viconia, whose expression remained impassive, then took a deep breath to steady herself. Without another word, she followed the drow down the spiral staircase, each step echoing like a heartbeat in the silence.
The descent was suffocating, the air growing colder and heavier with each step. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to seep into Karlach’s skin, weighing her down. But she pressed on, her resolve hardening with every banner of Shar she passed. Whatever awaited her below, she would face it—for Wyll.