We approached the imposing temple doors. They were crafted from the most beautiful Mystwood Oak and richly adorned with elaborate carvings that spiraled and intertwined like the roots and branches of the surrounding forest. The door’s edges featured motifs of rich, deep green oak, interspersed with veins of silvery white, creating curling vines, delicate leaves, and wild roses that seemed almost alive, as if imbued with the very essence of the forest.
The artist responsible for this door had intricately embedded within the Mystwood Oak, delicate iron filigree designs, twisting and weaving through the wood with a finesse that spoke of his unparalleled skill. The iron was aged yet resilient and had taken on a dark patina that enhanced the beauty of the wild flora and fauna carved into the door. The filigree patterns depicted enchanting scenes of moonlit forests, where tall, ancient trees stand bathed in the soft glow of a full moon. Each leaf, branch, and blade of grass is rendered with meticulous detail, creating a lifelike representation that almost seems to move and sway in the faintest breeze.
At its center, a lantern carved from the same dark green wood burned with an ethereal light, casting a warm, inviting glow that contrasted starkly with the creeping shadows at the edges of the temple. I looked up to the top of the arch, there was a complex frieze depicting the old gods of nature, their faces serene yet imposing, watching over all who would dare approach, and a beautifully carved crescent moon delicately resting in the center. The tips of the crescent reach outwards, almost touching, and are adorned with a fine, intricate lattice that sparkles faintly in the dim light, reminding me of stars scattered across the night sky.
Gale stood in awe of the doors design. He focused his attention on the airy sprites that could be seen dancing and flitting through the forest scenes. Their delicate forms, crafted from moonstones, shimmered subtly, capturing the light in a way that made them appear almost translucent. The sprites were depicted in various poses—some frolicking playfully among the trees, others perched gracefully on branches, and a few engaging in whispered conversations, their expressions captured in exquisite detail.
“Oh, the ancient tales and forgotten magics this temple must have held at one point in time.” Gale pondered.
Lyra's fingers grasped the door handles, masterfully crafted from Blackrock iron into elaborate forms of intertwined vines and branches, just beneath the softly glowing lantern. With a cautious tug, she eased the door open slightly; the sounds of a heated conversation spilled out from the shadowed room beyond, muffled yet urgent. Aware that the ogres outside would not be distracted by the goblins for long, we knew we had to act quickly. Lyra quickly slipped through the ancient doorway into the temple's dim interior, the others followed with Shadowheart bringing up the rear and quietly shutting the door behind us.
In front of us stood a Drow, his presence commanding and his demeanor arrogant. Dressed in elegant robes crafted from shadow silk and intricately embroidered with webs, a tribute to their Goddess Lolth, he exuded an aura of dark nobility. His long, silvery white hair cascaded down his back, a striking contrast to his dusky skin. Adorning his fingers were several intricate pieces of jewelry, most notably two giant silver spider rings with eyes made from fire rubies that seemed to flicker in the dim light.
The Drow was engaged in a very heated argument with the Goblin guards, his voice sharp and condescending. Every word dripped with disdain as he berated the goblins, who seemed both fearful and resentful of his presence. The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with the weight of their confrontation.
“Vith’ir! I will not be detained by filthy Gol iblith!” The Drow spat at the guard.
"Manners, manners,” the goblin replied with a tsk tsk tone. “You can call me every name in the book, feck shite. I’ll even learn ya some new ones. But you’ll not be steppin’ into the boss’s temple armed.”
“You dare address me in such a fashion!” the Drow roared incredulously. “I am Karreqis of House Raghvaril, House Wizard to Lhielith the Matron Mother.”
“And I be Crut of the shite heap out back, Warhowler and bastard child of Murmasza, cantankerous crone that woman is. Doesn’t change your situation any. You’ll not be goin’ past me and the lads with any weapons,” Crut said in a matter-of-fact tone as the other guards snickered.
Karreqis’s face twisted with rage, his silvery white hair gleaming under the dim light, contrasting sharply with his dark bloodred robes. The fire rubies in his silver spider rings flickered ominously, but Crut remained unfazed, his stance firm and unyielding. The room crackled with tension as the haughty Drow and the defiant goblin guard locked eyes, neither willing to back down.
“Mal’ai! I am expected by your betters, which judging by the looks of you, could easily be a pile of d’sansha. I demand as emissary to be let through.” Karreqis glared.
“What did you call Boss Sriax, spider tosser.” Crut hissed.
“I believe, and you will have to forgive me my Drow is a little rusty, he called him a pile of shit.” Lyra interjected. My eyes widened at her sudden interference. “Odd choice, but considering he is lying about being the emissary I am not surprised. Drow.” Lyra shrugged.
“What are you doing!” I hissed under my breath.
“So quick to lose faith in me,” Lyra whispered back.
“You dare speak in my presence, filthy darthiir! Filling the air with your ignorant lies!” Karreqis scowled at Lyra with pure hatred.
“You seem to be filling the room with rather a large amount of hot air, I doubt very much there is any room for me to add lies.” Lyra smiled politely, remaining calm and collected. This seemed to only push Karreqis further into a rage. Through gritted teeth he spat at Lyra.
“Watch your tongue! I am the rightful emissary of the Absolute, sent by her hand personally to assist in the capture of lost cultist’s, stolen from her before their final transformation.” Karreqis said through sneer.
“I’m confused so called ‘emissary’” Lyra furrowed her brow “Why would cultists that were ‘stolen’, your words mind you, need to be captured exactly? Unless, oh, do you not know the definition of rescued, that’s a shame.” I couldn't help but admire Lyra as she deftly navigated the tempestuous waters of her confrontation with Karreqis.
“I will not stand in the presence of lowly Gol and be spoken to by a vile parasite,” Karreqis hissed, his anger barely contained. “And I know what captured means!” he spat. With each word, Lyra’s calm, calculated responses seemed to unravel him further. My expression shifted to one of subtle admiration and intrigue, as my lips curled into a knowing smile. She was brilliantly edging the Drow toward a breaking point, and I was finding myself increasingly drawn to her cunningness and composure in the heat of this entertaining moment.
“Your delusions are almost as grand as your ego, pretender.” Lyra grinned back. “Tell me, does your matron know you have wandered away from your duties? Surely, she is missing her favorite court jester.”
“Elg ‘caress!” Karreqis roared, fury blazing in his eyes as he finally broke. He turned abruptly toward Lyra, drawing a sword concealed within his elegant shadow silk robes. Raising the weapon high above his head, he charged toward her with lethal intent. His silver-white hair streamed behind him like a comet's tail, his robes billowing dramatically around him.
But as he closed the gap, his fierce charge halted abruptly. A look of utter confusion washed over his face. He glanced down at his chest, where an arrow, fired expertly by a goblin scout, protruded ominously. Positioned precisely where his heart would have been, the arrow's shaft quivered from the impact.
Karreqis's grip on his sword weakened, the blade clattering to the stone floor with a resonant clang. His knees buckled, and he dropped slowly, first to his knees, and then completely collapsed onto the cold, hard ground. His once haughty and menacing presence was now just a fallen heap in the shadow of his own defeat.
“Awe shit! Bloc, what’d ya do that for, ya bastard? I hates messes, and that's exactly what this is now, a fucking mess!” Crut grimaced, frustration etched across his face as he surveyed the sudden chaos his subordinate had created.
“Sssorry Boss, but he were armed” Bloc trembled, “You’s said anyone what’s try to make it passed us armed gets a backside full of arrows.”
“Surrounded by morons.” Crut sighed. He turned sharply to Lyra. “Right, for your sake, mate, you better hope you really are the emissary.” He then spun back to address the other goblins, who stood around with bewildered expressions, scratching their heads and shifting awkwardly on their feet. “Bloc! Hert! Dess! Grab this spider-shite's corpse and take it to the kitchen. Gneef might as well make a meal out of this prick.”
The goblins, still looking utterly confused, hesitated for a moment before springing into action. They quickly gathered around Karreqis’ fallen form, mumbling to each other. They hoisted the Drow’s body and shuffled off toward the kitchens.
“’ Elg ‘caress’?” I questioned Lyra.
“Hmm oh, in Drow, it means bitch.” Lyra replied.
“Bravo, darling well played,” I chuckled “a goblin kitchen is a fitting end for him.”
“Let’s just hope we don’t also end up in the kitchen.” Gale grimaced.
We now stood in the entryway, confronting only Warhowler Crut. Irritation was etched deeply across his face as the lesser goblins scurried from the room. Crut presented a daunting figure, his exhaustion palpable, likely from managing his bumbling underlings who seemed to share, at best, a single brain cell among them. His large, pointed ears fanned out from his head, and his skin, a textured pale green, contributed to his intimidating presence. Deep wrinkles carved his face into a permanent scowl, his mouth twisted in a sneer that revealed jagged, uneven teeth. His narrow, yellow eyes now fixed on Lyra, intensifying his menacing aura.
Clad in battle gear, Crut wore a simple leather harness across his chest, embellished with bones and beads. A spiked pauldron, crafted from the skull of a vanquished beast, guarded his left shoulder. His left hand clutched a formidable axe, its stone blade affixed to a wooden shaft decorated with tribal motifs and feathers. A raw savagery emanated from him as he sized up Lyra.
I observed intently as Lyra returned his gaze, matching his assessment with her own measured scrutiny. Through her eyes, I was beginning to understand that she could be just as cunning and fierce as the adversaries we encountered.
“Right, then,” Crut said through a sneer “You saw what happened to the last one which attempted to enter this temple armed.” I watched Lyra’s lips curve into a smile.
"You'll not be disarming my guards," Lyra declared, her gaze unflinching as she locked eyes with Crut. I watched, my mind racing with concern. Surely, she wasn’t about to provoke a confrontation right at the threshold—not after we'd managed to advance this far without resorting to any magic. What could she possibly be scheming? I shifted my attention to Crut, trying to gauge his reaction.
That’s when I noticed it—the red mark glowing ominously over his right eye. The very same mark that had granted us passage into the village. Clever girl, I thought, barely suppressing a smile. The arrogant Drow had been too blind with pride to realize he could wield his true soul powers to command the goblin. Lyra had ingeniously turned his hubris against him, provoking a rage that had ultimately led to his demise.
As I observed her stand her ground against Crut, a surge of admiration washed over me. Lyra was not just a formidable ally; she was astute, powerful, and startlingly ruthless. Watching her command the situation with such tactical acumen, I couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of awe—and an undeniable attraction—to her sharp-witted prowess. I shook my head trying to clear away my last thoughts.
“Don’t be daft girl,” Crut spat “I haven’t the patients for DeJa’Vu .” Lyra laughed and stepped forward her voice booming with authority when she spoke.
“I did not stutter; nor did I leave any room for questions.” She glared. “You will show us the highest level of hospitality while I am in your presence and my guards will remain armed.” The red mark on Cruts face burned bright as Lyra spoke. In a flash all his bravado was gone, and he stood trembling before her.
“Yyyesss… your true soulness…forgive me I knows my place.” He awkwardly bowed.
“Good, now that we are on the same page, I believe you were about to show us to the war council.” Lyra said with a smile.
"I was... Yes! Yes! This way, this way," Crut exclaimed, turning briskly to open the gates behind him that led deeper into the temple. As he faced away, Lyra allowed a brief smile to cross her face before she stumbled back. Reacting swiftly, I caught her, helping her regain her footing. I shifted slightly closer to her, aligning my shoulder with hers to offer momentary support as she steadied herself.
The toll of using the illithid powers was evident, yet it was clear that Lyra was mastering their control; she recuperated more swiftly with each use. Within moments, she stood upright on her own, her posture regaining its usual firmness. Before moving to follow Crut, she glanced back at me, a smirk and a wink acknowledging our shared recognition of her growing adeptness with her new abilities.
As we crossed the threshold of the iron gates, the sight of the ancient temple revealed itself in all its dilapidated grandeur. Arched ceilings, grandiose yet marred by the ravages of time, soared above us. Vines invaded from the exterior, weaving through the deteriorating stone walls. The walls themselves bore witness to history, with large, time-faded murals depicting lunar eclipses and mythical fey revelries under starlit skies. However, the temple's solemnity was desecrated by the goblins' presence. The pervasive stench of decay and unmistakable signs of goblin squalor tainted the once-sacred chambers.
The once pristine floors are now littered with debris: broken artifacts, gnawed bones, and discarded scraps of food that rot in corners. Makeshift nests are cobbled together from stolen vestments and fragments of tapestries, creating a patchwork of color amidst the grime. Dark corners of the temple have been turned into waste dumps, where the refuse piles high, attracting vermin and spreading disease. I scrunched my nose in disgust. The goblins had transformed this temple into a den of chaos and squalor.
As we advanced into the main hall, the temple's vast network of chambers unfurled before us. Each room branched off from the central hallway, having been repurposed far from its original intent. Directly ahead, a grand staircase ascended towards what must have once been the primary altar room, now likely converted into a war room. However, our progress was halted by an eerie noise that resounded sharply through the hall. Moments later, it reverberated again—a fierce, howling echo that seemed to shake the very walls surrounding us.
"What in the nine hells was that?" I asked, my gaze drawn to a staircase descending into darkness, the apparent source of the unsettling noise.
“Maglubiyet’s ballocks” Crut grumbled “told them fools to leave that damn bear alone until Boss decides what to do with it, they’ll go an kill it and then it’s me whats got to kill them. Hungry fucker took out a fair number of good lads already.”
“A bear made that noise?” Lyra halted; her gaze fixed on the staircase I had been eyeing.
“I’ll deal with it later, no need to bother your true soulness with such matters,” Crut remarked, not stopping in his tracks but throwing a glance back at Lyra.
“I want to see this bear. It must be quite the beast to make such a racket,” Lyra declared, firmly planted in her spot. Crut looked like he was gearing up for a retort but then thought better of it, turning back towards the stairs while muttering curses under his breath.
“Is this really the time for a tour of the goblin zoo?” I asked Lyra, raising an eyebrow. She chuckled and flashed me a grin as if I were the one missing the joke.
“When else should one visit a goblin zoo but in the spring?” She shrugged nonchalantly and started after Crut. The others followed suit with a shrug of their own. I paused, briefly wondering if she was once again under the effects of a confusion spell, or if the tadpole was wreaking more havoc than just sapping her strength. Seeing no eerie green glows and deciding it was best to trust her—after all, she hadn’t steered us wrong yet—I shrugged and joined the procession, grumbling under my breath in echo of the Warhowler.
We trailed Crut down several flights of stairs before arriving at a pair of imposing wooden doors. Two guards stood beside them, caught up in a fit of laughter as we approached. Their mirth was cut short by the sight of Crut barreling towards them, and they hastily shuffled aside, eyes glued to the ground to avoid his irate glare.
“I’ll deal with you sods later, open the doors!” Crut barked, his impatience palpable as he watched the two guards fumble in their haste. In their rush to obey, the guards scurried towards the door handles, only to collide with each other spectacularly and tumble backwards in a heap. They scrambled back to their feet, still avoiding Crut’s stern gaze, and yanked the doors open, their earlier laughter replaced by fear and silence.
We stepped into the dungeon; a vast, cavernous space crudely carved from the earth itself. The entire chamber was shored up with age-worn wooden beams that groaned ominously under the weight of the stone above. Moss and a persistent dampness covered the walls, adding to the thick air filled with the odors of decay and goblin filth. Eerie shadows danced on the walls, cast by the flickering light of torches, spotlighting the dungeon's lone, tragic occupant—a giant forest bear.
This majestic beast was tragically out of place, confined within a stark iron cage much too small for its formidable size. Observing the bear, it was evident that its once-lustrous coat had turned matted and lackluster, while its eyes, alight with a blend of fear and defiance, spoke volumes of its plight. The bear's growls were deep and sonorous, echoing through the dungeon, a response to the relentless abuse from its captors.
Encircling the cage, a throng of goblins reveled in their cruel amusement, tormenting the bear with sticks and hurling sharp stones. Their gleeful cackles and scornful jeers pierced the air, delighting in the sadistic control they wielded over such a grand yet helpless creature.
"Well, well, lads! What bit o’ sport have we stumbled upon here?" Crut chuckled as he approached the goblins cavorting around the bear's cage.
"We call it whackin' a bear, 'cause you grab these rocks here and you whack the bear!" one of the guards explained, beaming with a misguided sense of accomplishment. Crut sauntered closer to the guard with a mock-sweet smile.
"Is that right, Wogz? Dreamed that up all by yourself, did you?" he cooed.
"I dids, boss!" Wogz replied, puffing up with pride.
"Right, right," Crut continued, his tone shifting subtly. "But here’s what I can’t quite puzzle out, Wogzy, mate."
"What’s that, boss?" the guard inquired eagerly.
"Why yous ARSEHOLES are messing with a bear I tolds you lot to leave be." A hush fell over the goblins. Before Wogz could muster a reply, Crut landed a solid punch to his face and started booting the other goblins in their shins and rears. They yelped and scattered, Crut hot on their heels, herding them up the stairs with a torrent of curses and threats to steer clear of the bear.
Lyra deftly rummaged through her pack, her movements swift and purposeful. With a triumphant flourish, she brandished a potion bottle that emitted a faint mystical glow, that she had been eagerly searching for. I gave her a puzzled look.
“Potion of animal speaking,” she explained preemptively, sensing my imminent question. “We're looking for a druid, a rather formidable one at that. I don’t know about you, but that’s the largest bear I’ve ever laid eyes on.” As she drinks the shimmering liquid, her eyes flicker with understanding, and she turns to face the large bear, its eyes keen with intelligence and watching her closely. Her intentions suddenly became clear to me.
Druids were renowned for their ability to shapeshift during combat, adopting forms most suited to their needs. Lyra's keen insight had led her to suspect that the bear might be the druid we were seeking. In a den of goblins, with a band of green adventurers in tow, what better guise for a druid to assume than that of a formidable bear? Her quick thinking could very well have uncovered our best ally in this treacherous environment.
While Crut busied himself with his underlings, my attention was captivated by Lyra and the bear. They conversed in a complex series of growls and grunts, which to any passerby might have seemed a nonsensical exchange between a sorcerer and a wild beast. Yet, beneath the surface of these animalistic sounds, a deep and meaningful dialogue was unfolding. I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight, amused by the contrast between their primitive form of communication and the sophistication of their actual exchange.
Information passed fluidly between Lyra and the bear. As their conversation deepened, Lyra's expression shifted to one of contemplation, clearly pondering a significant piece of information the bear had shared. After a moment, she turned towards our group, her eyes briefly meeting mine in a gaze laden with meaning. With a final, decisive nod to the bear, it was apparent an agreement had been reached—an accord that promised mutual benefit and cooperation, sealed by the shared language of the wild. Lyra stepped back towards our group, the others huddling in close.
As Lyra broke the news, a grin played at the edges of her mouth, "You're not going to like it." She gestured toward Halsin, the bear, who turned to us with a nod, almost as if he were part of the conversation. "Halsin knows where the source of the tadpoles is coming from—a place called Moonrise Towers."
Impatient, I urged, "What are we still doing here then? Off we go." I made motions toward the door, trying to rally everyone to action.
Lyra's smile faded slightly into a more sheepish expression. "That's the part you're not going to like... We need Halsin to help us navigate through the cursed lands, and—well—he'll only come if we kill the goblin leader." She flinched at the last words, bracing for my reaction.
Before I could unleash my objections, she quickly raised her hand to silence me. "We only need to kill the leader. The horde will disperse. It'll save the grove, and Halsin will help us."
"Oh, fabulous!" I exclaimed sarcastically, throwing my hands up. "We'll just stroll into the war council chambers, approach the War Chief, and say, 'Excuse us, but we must assassinate you, terribly sorry,' and that will be that."
Lyra muttered under her breath, "We might have to deal with part of the war council too." I shot her a look of exasperation as she hurried on, "Seeing as I've already agreed..."
"You what!" I interrupted, incredulous and annoyed by the casual way she'd roped us into such peril.
"Now, now, Astarion, while the prospect of engaging a goblin horde wasn't exactly what I had envisioned for our afternoon, I remain confident—nay, certain—that Lyra has devised some strategy that steers us clear of wholesale slaughter."
Karlach's enthusiasm broke through, "I am all for bashing some goblin heads."
The gith chimed in with a glint of eagerness, "My blades ache to be used; it's almost evening, and they have remained idle thus far today."
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
"Gods damn it," I sighed. The pressure was mounting. "Well, darling, if you've got a plan, now's the time to share it—before Crut finishes off those fools."
Lyra turned to me with a sweet, somewhat mischievous smile, the kind that hinted at the price I'd soon pay. "Astarion, darling,” she mimicked my tone “might you still have some vials of wyvern poison in your pack?"
“I do…and I don’t sound like that” I raised an eyebrow at her.
“Perfect! Halsin overheard the guards—they're throwing a bash tonight, a prelude to battle. They've sniffed out the grove's location and plan to strike at first light. Slip the poison into their ale, and we'll simply watch them collapse!” Lyra’s eye shimmered with the thrill of her cunning plan.
“Hmm, let me mull that over,” I said, stroking my chin in mock contemplation. “Yes, mmm hmm, right I can see that, it does sound foolproof—except for, oh yes! the part where I end up skewered! The room will be swarming with goblins, and I can't imagine they'd neglect their ale.”
“Oh, they will be distracted,” Lyra grinned “Karlach is going to regale them with her war stories, loudly and as animated as possible in the middle of their feast.”
“Oh! Oh! Oh! I have the best story ever! I could tell the one about the Night Hag or…or! The one about the Baatezu! Caught that bastard off guard when he was entertaining a Succubus none the less, dunno if he was more upset at dying or not getting to finish…. you know wink wink.” Karlach bounced back and forth with excitement.
“This…is my life now.” I rolled my eyes squeezing my nose between my fingers. As we broke the huddle Lyra leaned over to me smiling sweetly.
“Just think of all the goblins you get to eliminate.” She leaned in closer and whispered into my ear “It will be fun.” Catching her wrist as she started to move away, I pulled her back to me leaning in and whispering back in her ear.
“My sweet there are other things in life that are considerably more ‘fun’, if we survive this, I’ll give you a personal lesson.” Lyra’s cheeks flushed slightly as she glanced up at me.
"Better prepare your poison now, or the fun will end before any lessons are taught." Lyra's grin widened as she returned to the others. A smile tugged at my lips while I searched through my pack for the vials of poison. My thoughts briefly drifted to the various 'lessons' I could introduce to Lyra. It had been a while since I had last entertained someone, after all. Given our ongoing predicament with the tadpole, a bit of diversion seemed harmless. Perhaps a touch of intimacy was exactly what was needed to solidify our bond, ensuring her unwavering loyalty. A smirk crept across my face at the thought—you might be exploiting her, but Cazador won't see what's coming. I secured the vials in my pockets, still smiling to myself.
Crut rejoined our group, muttering discontentedly under his breath. He appeared visibly worn out, his exhaustion stemming largely from interactions with the other goblins. I could fully empathize with his frustration as I surveyed the rest of our party.
“Sorry lot they are.” He shook his head. “You done muckin’ about with the bear?” he glowered at Lyra.
“Quite.” Lyra answered him curtly.
“Great! Grand!” Crut grumbled, his voice a low growl as he muttered further obscenities under his breath while herding us toward the door. We ascended the winding staircase back to the main hall, with Crut shoving past us, still grumbling. "This way, unless you lot fancy a longer tour," he snarled. Lyra disregarded his irritation, and we trailed after him through the hall and up the steps to what was now the goblin war room.
The newly converted war room was vast and ancient, commanded by a monumental statue of a long-forgotten goddess, her presence casting an air of lost splendor. Several ornate yet deteriorating arched doorways flanked the main entrance, hinting at the former grandeur of what was once a sacred place of worship. Now, the room had been repurposed for chaos by its goblin occupants.
At the center stood a long table, heaped with goblin fare that formed a makeshift banquet. Despite the daring assortment, including mud-crusted spiny toad legs, roasted rat tails, and bog snail sliders, I doubted even Render would find them palatable. Around the room, numerous ale kegs were strewn about, primed to support both the raucous merriment and the tactical scheming of the goblin horde. I eyed these kegs carefully, mentally marking which ones would receive a dose of poison when the moment arrived.
Several goblins bustled about the room; each group engrossed in distinct tasks. A handful were diligently arranging platters on the long table, preparing for the imminent feast. Nearby, another group lingered by barrels of ale, casting eager glances, awaiting the signal to kick off the celebrations. At the heart of the room, the scene shifted to one of intense deliberation. Seated at the central table, a gathering of Battle Priests, Warblades, and Warhowlers were deeply engaged in strategic discussion. Commanding their attention was the imposing figure of Warlord Sriax, a large Hobgoblin who directed the war council with authoritative gestures and a commanding tone.
The Warlord's presence was undeniably imposing, marked by a fierce, war-worn expression. His snarl revealed prominent tusks, while his furrowed, greenish brow was creased from countless battles. The intensity of his gaze was sharpened by small, piercing red eyes, and his thick black beard, intricately braided with bones, added a savage grace to his appearance. His pointed ears, adorned with red jewels, lent a regal touch to his otherwise menacing demeanor, highlighting his high status and formidable nature in the goblin hierarchy.
The Warlord's armor was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, detailed with ornate patterns and symbols that signified his allegiance to his war clan. Crafted from polished metal, it bore a dark, almost black finish that gleamed under the light. The armor included thick, layered pauldrons that shielded his broad shoulders, enhancing his imposing silhouette. These shoulder guards were prominently embossed with circular, emblematic designs that proclaimed his esteemed rank as Warlord, reflecting both his authority and martial prowess.
Warlord Sriax ran a hand thoughtfully under his chin, thinking over the suggestions made by a Battle Priestess sitting by his side. He let out a grunt of approval. Crut turned to us looking nervous for the first time since we met him.
“If yous know whats’ best for ya, you lot will stay put until Boss addresses ya.” Crut swallowed saying a silent prayer before moving toward the Warlord. He stopped a few feet from Sriax and waited to be addressed, knowing better than to interrupt.
“Approach,” growled Sriax, his attention fixed elsewhere as Crut hesitated, his lips moving in a silent prayer before advancing timidly beside the warlord.
“Yes, Sir... well, ah…” Crut stuttered, his voice trembling. Suddenly, Sriax's fist thundered down on the table, startling Crut and several others. “Spit it out before I crush you under my foot,” Sriax snarled, his gaze still averted.
“The Absolute’s emissary is here… Emissary… eh… Emissary,” Crut faltered, his panic escalating as Sriax turned a menacing glare upon him. “Shite! I didn’t get her name,” he blurted out, his complexion turning a ghastly shade of green.
In an instant, Sriax swung his clenched fist at Crut, sending the Warhowler sprawling back several feet, leaving him crumpled on the floor. I leaned toward Lyra and whispered nervously, “It’s not too late to flee, is it?” But Lyra, unfazed and resolute, stepped forward boldly.
“Are all of your guards this incompetent?” she challenged, locking eyes with the formidable warlord. My face remained impassive, but internally, I recited my final prayers.
“I find myself mostly in the company of incompetence,” Sriax responded dryly, his voice cutting through the tension. The room's anxious silence broke slightly as everyone exhaled in relief.
“I see. I hope the Absolute has not placed trust where it does not belong. I’d hate to have traveled this far only to find a useless hoard of goblins,” Lyra continued, her tone unwavering as she maintained her challenging stare. The room’s brief relief was sucked away in a sharp intake of breath. This was it; her defiance was going to seal my fate. I subtly tightened my grip on my daggers, prepared to defend my life if needed.
The room was abruptly permeated by an unusual sound—a deep, resonant noise that reverberated against the stone walls. It was Warlord Sriax, and he was laughing. His amusement, booming and rich, was wholly unexpected and filled the war room with a mix of awe and unease. As his laughter swept through the hall, it was as if the air itself vibrated with the force of his presence. The commanding, yet eerie sound of his mirth left everyone momentarily stunned, with wide eyes and a collective pause. The array of reactions was telling, and mostly made of bewilderment with a tinge of wary fascination. It was a stark contrast between his usually fearsome demeanor and this outbreak of joviality that shocked everyone present.
“Got balls this one does!” Sriax said as his laughter faded. “Almost makes me like you, maabet. Your Absolute sent you just in time, by tomorrow you will have what you seek, Emissary.” He grinned broadly.
“We shall see.” Lyra said plainly. “If they escape again, it will be your head I will be handing the Absolute.
"Ha! I could use something mouthy to entertain me at our feast. Join me," Sriax declared, gesturing to several seats hastily vacated by his war council. Lyra moved towards the table, and we followed suit. With a mixture of hesitation and resolve, we all took our places around the table. I leaned over to Gale.
"Maabet?" I inquired softly.
"Hmm, an ancient goblin curse, never translated into anything comprehensible," Gale whispered in response.
"Asax! Beat the war drum, it is time we feast and drown ourselves in ale! Tomorrow we itaa!" Sriax boomed across the room.
"Attack," Gale murmured to me, preempting my confusion. Asax dashed to a drum near the table and started to beat it with fervor. The goblins around erupted in cheers, jumping and thrusting their weapons into the air, their voices merging into a raucous chant. As the drumming ceased, they descended upon the feast laid out on the table, attacking the food and ale with as much vigor as their earlier chanting.
As the goblins reveled around us, Lyra engaged the Warlord, her guise as the emissary flawless. Sriax, buoyed by several mugs of ale, bantered with Lyra with a hearty laugh. Meanwhile, my gaze lingered on her longer than necessary, considering my task was to monitor the kegs and Karlach for the opportune moment to act. Yet, my attention was irresistibly drawn to her; it became increasingly difficult to focus on anything else. She relentlessly pressed Sriax in their conversation, never yielding. His amusement at her audacity grew as he continued to drink heavily.
A sharp jab jolted me from my reverie, a precision strike from Gale's elbow to my side. While the intrusion was irritating, it successfully anchored me back to the present, though I would never admit my gratitude to Gale. I responded with a slight, irked huff and subtly shifted in my seat. Glancing at Gale with a brief glare, I turned my attention towards Karlach.
"Karlach, this celebration demands a tale!" I declared, raising my voice as the goblins erupted in cheers around us. "A tale of bloody battle, vanquished foes, and a city plundered!" The goblins' excitement reached a crescendo, their arms waving wildly in the air.
Interrupting Lyra abruptly, Sriax stood up. "Yes! Let us hear a saga of blood and conquest!" he roared, throwing his arms up and emitting a fierce growl.
Karlach rose, her excitement palpable as she retrieved a cigar from her pocket and lit it with a series of deep puffs. Climbing onto the center of the table, she began her tale, addressing the goblin crowd with vibrant enthusiasm.
"Come close, mates! I've got a story that'll sear your ears—a fierce battle in the infernal realms of the Nine Hells!" Karlach announced, taking a large puff of her cigar and exhaling a cloud of smoke over the captivated goblins before tucking the cigar back into her mouth. "In the shadow-drenched lands where the Baatezu rule, a place thick with the intrigue of conquest and treachery. Imagine, in the hellish realm of Baator, an epic saga unfolds, driven by the Baatezu's insatiable lust for power. Fueled by envy, greed, and hatred, they betray both allies and foes in their ruthless climb to supremacy."
Karlach paused, drawing the room deeper into her grasp with a dramatic flair, "And imagine the fury of a demon lord interrupted during his date night!" she exclaimed with a wicked grin.
The goblins erupted, howling with laughter and clamoring for more. They banged their mugs on the tables and jostled closer, each eager to soak in every word. As the room's attention tightened around Karlach's vivid storytelling, the commotion provided the perfect cover for me to quietly slip away from the table, just as more goblins surged forward, hanging on to her every word.
As Karlach animatedly paced up and down the table, her lively tale causing mugs and plates to fly, the goblins were completely engrossed, leaving the ale kegs unguarded. Seizing the opportunity, I subtly removed the stoppers from the vials of poison tucked away in my pockets. Pretending to be captivated by Karlach's vibrant storytelling, I leaned casually against the nearest keg. With no eyes on me, I slipped the first vial into a small air vent at the top of the keg, hearing it clunk to the bottom just as Sriax bellowed for more ale, his laughter booming in response to Karlach's antics.
I swiftly filled a mug with ale from the second, untouched keg, maintaining my cover. Meanwhile, Asax, eager not to miss a moment of the tale, hurriedly refilled four mugs with the now-poisoned ale from the first keg and dashed back to the table. With Asax distracted, I smoothly deposited a second vial into the next keg. Two kegs sabotaged, two more to go.
I edged closer to the third keg, still holding my mug. As Karlach's story reached a particularly uproarious point, causing the goblins to erupt in laughter, one tearful goblin staggered towards the kegs for a refill. Noticing me, he approached just as I took a hearty swig of my ale, timing my laughter and a slap to my knee with the loudening of guffaws from the table. This perfect distraction allowed me to continue my mission undetected.
The goblin sidled up to the keg, quickly filling his mug and downing it just as fast. Ale dripped from his chin as he chuckled, filling another mug before glancing over at me. I hastily finished my own drink and poured another from the third keg, playing along.
"Riot, that one is," he laughed, nodding towards Karlach, and then sauntered back to the uproar at the table. I rolled my eyes and leaned back against the keg, seizing the moment to drop the third vial into it. The soft thud of the vial hitting the bottom signaled success, and I moved swiftly to the fourth and final keg.
As I positioned myself to introduce the last vial of poison, disaster struck—the end of Karlach's story. Applause and laughter erupted as the goblins began to disperse from the table, their attention now turning towards the kegs for a refill. Karlach took her bow, basking in self-cheers, and the crowd’s movement towards the kegs accelerated. Panicked and still leaning against the final keg, I took a quick gulp of ale to maintain my composure, scanning for any chance to complete my task amidst the growing bustle.
As I scanned the room, calculating my next move amidst the chaos, Lyra caught my eye. Rising from her seat, she approached with a deliberate, graceful stride, stopping just inches from me. Her smile, coy and knowing, lit up her face as she reached out and took my mug, finishing the ale with a playful glance.
"How thoughtful of you," she murmured, her smile widening. Realizing her intention, I recognized the opportunity she was providing—a perfect distraction. My response was instinctive; a broad smile spread across my face as I reached out to gently twirl a rebellious curl around my finger.
"My sweet, thoughtfulness is just one of my many services," I quipped, drawing a chuckle from the goblins nearby who nudged each other, amused by our flirtatious banter. As they focused on Lyra leaning closer to me, I subtly slipped the final vial of poison into the last keg with my free hand. Lyra's cheeks warmed with a blush at my words, her gaze lifting to my lips as she tilted her head slightly. Leaning in, I closed the gap between us, her lips millimeters from mine.
"Ahem…perhaps now is not the time for personal celebrations." Gale interrupted. The annoyance flared within me—I was going to end him, I thought darkly. Lyra caught the irritation flashing across my face and chuckled, gracefully stepping back towards the table.
I turned back to the keg, frustration simmering, and filled a mug with the now-poisoned ale. "Have a drink!" I offered Gale with a forced smile.
"After you," he retorted with a knowing wink, turning away to rejoin the others at the table. Rolling my eyes at his back, I returned to the table, discreetly placing the mug next to an unsuspecting goblin before slipping back to Lyra's side.
Sriax quickly drank the four mugs Asax set before him, slamming each one down on the table as he finished it. Asax, knowing her boss would want more quickly returned to the kegs getting another four mugs. If goblins and hobgoblins were known for anything, gluttony would be at the top. At the rate they were drinking the ale it would not be long before we would start to see the effects.
I had severely underestimated Lyra's battle prowess and her cunning ruthlessness. Of all the poisons in my pack—Assassin’s Blood, Midnight Tears, and Torpor—she selected the most lethal and agonizing: Wyvern poison. This venom insidiously infiltrates the victim’s bloodstream, gradually intensifying its fatal grip. It mercilessly accelerates the collapse of veins and arteries, blazing a destructive trail towards the heart. The potency of a single vial is formidable, capable of dispatching 10 goblins with ruthless efficiency. I smiled to myself, recognizing that, like many truly lethal creatures, Lyra's danger was cloaked in sweetness, beauty, and intelligence. To underestimate her was a deadly error. Lyra leaned over to me, possessing an uncanny knack for detecting whenever she occupied my thoughts.
“So, about these services you offer…care to enlighten me on what exactly they are.” She grinned.
“Your eager aren’t you.” I smiled and leaned closer to her. “I am afraid, darling, you will have to be patient. Were about to be surrounded by utter bedlam and I can’t have you distracted by my magnificent self.”
“I could say the same to you,” she winked at me. “How long do you think it will take for the poison to work?” she asked. Before I could reply, chaos erupted. A goblin at the end of the table toppled face-first into his plate. Initially, the others laughed, assuming he had merely passed out. However, as he remained motionless, panic took hold. A neighboring goblin, shaking him vigorously, suddenly fell as well. More and more goblins began to collapse amidst growing confusion and alarm, each thud marking another victim of the poison.
Sriax observed his hoard collapsing around him and, with a growl, lifted his mug of ale to his nose. The bitter scent caught his attention immediately, and his eyes shot open in alarm. "POISON!" he bellowed, rising to his feet unsteadily as the toxin began to affect him. Clutching his axe, he glared at our party, his massive frame resisting the poison longer than his underlings due to his size. Reacting quickly, I stood and seized a half-drunk mug from his table, sniffing it and grimacing at the potent smell before hurling the mug to the ground.
“Who did this!” I shouted looking around the room. “What a waste of a perfectly good ale.” Sriax glared at Lyra and let out a fierce roar.
“YOU!” he shouted, raising his axe high, a white foam began to weep from his mouth. He was enraged, his face twisted in fury. His muscular frame bristled with a powerful intensity. He gripped his massive two-handed axe, its blade jagged and stained, tightly. With a roar, he raised the axe high above his head, muscles tensed and eyes burning with rage, preparing to unleash a devastating attack. Sriax’s battle stance was wide and stable, he was ready to bring down the full force of his wrath upon Lyra. I could see fear for the first time in her eyes and I felt my heart racing in panic, there was no time for me to react and guarantee her safety.
Just as the goblin warlord raised his axe over Lyra, a sword whistled through the air, striking Sriax squarely between the eyes and pinning him to the chair behind. His face registered shock as he slowly dropped the axe, which clattered loudly onto the table. Everyone’s gaze shifted to the end of the table from where the sword had originated. The gith stood there, surveying each of us before nonchalantly shrugging her shoulders.
“I've seen more skill in a hatchling's first swing than in his entire battle strategy,” she remarked dryly, adding, “I’d say he was a disgrace to this so-called tribe, but I suspect they’ve already drastically lowered their expectations.”
“Well said,” Gale chuckled, color returning to his cheeks.
“Looks like goblin bashing time!” Karlach growled eagerly. “Shall we put your blades to good use clearing out the rest of this lot?” She turned to the gith.
“If we must,” the gith replied coolly, “these creatures are hardly worth our effort.”
“Aw, c’mon grumpy pants, let’s go have some fun,” Karlach said with a grin, leading the charge into the fray against the goblins, some of whom were already weakened by the poison.
“Chtuk,” the gith muttered, rolling her eyes but following, nonetheless. Shaking my head at their eager dive into battle, I turned to Lyra. She exhaled a breath she didn’t seem to realize she had been holding.
"What were you thinking!" I exclaimed, exasperated. "You just stood there— he could have split your head open with that axe." Lyra turned to me, studying my expression. She narrowed her eyes briefly, then her face softened into a smile.
"Aww, you were worried about me," she teased, her grin broadening.
"Of course I was worried!" I retorted. "Imagine the disaster for me if my favorite meal suddenly vanished. No, it simply won't do. Next time you hatch one of your 'brilliant' plans, darling, let's ensure its fully baked, shall we?" My smile mirrored hers, mixing concern with affection.
"For the love of Mystra," Gale grumbled under his breath. "Shall we head to the dungeon and free our healer druid friend, hmm? I'm sure he's as eager to escape that cage as I am to escape listening to the two of you." My smile widened; every ounce of annoyance I inflicted on Gale filled me with delight. Indeed, Halsin was right: with Warlord Sriax eliminated, the horde was scattering. The grove was secure, thanks to our efforts, and we would be hailed as heroes—a notion I found utterly intolerable. I despised every moment of this heroism.
Present day...
I took another sip of wine, reflecting on Lyra’s astounding prowess. Throughout our confrontations with both ogres and goblins, her brilliance was unmistakable. With a mix of wit and steely resolve, she had ventured into the ogre cave, cleverly leveraging Gale’s loquacity and knowledge to charm our way through. Her strategic acumen was clear as she navigated us straight to the temple’s front door.
Inside, the Drow stood no chance against her. Within moments, Lyra had measured the emissary, besting him in a lethal battle of wits that ended with his addition to the dinner menu. Throughout the ordeal with Crut, she remained poised, expertly employing her illithid abilities to keep us well-armed. I found myself chuckling at the memory of her masquerade as the false emissary, a role she embodied flawlessly. Despite the grim tasks, like aiding Halsin in assassinating Warlord Sriax, her heroic actions were often difficult to condone, yet her sheer capability to accomplish them could almost earn my forgiveness. I laughed softly at the thought.
Warlord Sriax was a formidable figure, notorious among the Tieflings for his cruelty and quick temper. He terrorized the region, raiding caravans and ransacking camps, mercilessly leaving no survivors. Many had tried and failed to bring him down. Yet, Lyra succeeded where others had not, and she accomplished this feat without resorting to her magic. Her quick, strategic mind crafted a sound plan that sealed his fate.
At the time, my thoughts were clouded by my own selfish desires, and I didn’t fully appreciate the gravity of what was unfolding. Only in this moment on the balcony did I recognize the depth of my growing admiration for her back at the goblin camp. Unbeknownst to me then, my feelings for Lyra had begun to deepen, I was already smitten with her.
This realization brought with it a surge of self-loathing. I gulped down another hefty swig of wine, draining the mug before slamming it onto the table with a resounding thud. "Shit!" I muttered under my breath, holding back a curse as I glanced through the window at Lyra, relieved that she hadn’t woken. "Idiot," I silently rebuked myself. After pouring another glass, I gently set the bottle down, overwhelmed by a wave of disgust.
Back then, my only intention had been to exploit her. I had deployed every manipulative tactic taught by Cazador to draw her in. Now, I longed to recall our first kiss and the moments of intimacy that followed as cherished memories. But the truth was harsh—I had used her, and there was nothing genuinely special about those beginnings. My regret was deep and bitter, tainting the memories I now wished could have been pure.
Weeks earlier...
I couldn't leave the goblin-ruined temple quickly enough. The dank air inside carried the stench of decay, a scent that seemed to comfort only the goblins themselves. As we cautiously opened the temple doors, we peered out into the grounds, vigilant for any lingering goblins. Render and his two lackeys had efficiently captured their goblin quarry for the feast. Outside, the courtyard was eerily silent, a deep stillness enveloping us.
As we stepped outside, the night sky greeted us with a majestic display—a vast sea of stars and a radiant full moon casting a gentle glow through the darkness. I drew in a deep breath of the night's crisp, clean air, a refreshing change from the stifling atmosphere inside the temple. The others seemed equally relieved, savoring the fresh air. Our moment of peace was shattered when a piercing screech sliced through the silence, followed by a series of faint cries. We all froze, scanning the darkness for the source before another terrified screech echoed around us.
"What in the nine Hells was that?" Karlach asked. Both Lyra and Halsin spotted the source of the noise simultaneously and moved toward it.
"Son of a bitch," I sighed, of course they went toward it. With no use in protesting, I trailed behind them. We arrived at a smaller courtyard, where the goblins had repurposed what once must have been a tranquil garden into a makeshift racetrack. Boxes, crates, and barrels formed a winding path among the crumbling stone benches, all leading to an ancient grand fountain. At the end of the track stood a statue of a long-forgotten goddess, seemingly poised to greet the winner.
In a secluded corner of the garden, a mysterious arrangement caught our attention: several crates were haphazardly stacked with a deliberate opening in the middle. A chain stretched from a stake in the ground, disappearing into the dark recesses of the crates. Lyra approached the makeshift entrance cautiously, stopping closer than I would have dared. As she lingered there, two bright, glowing green eyes suddenly emerged from the shadows. Despite the potential danger, Lyra knelt by the entrance, extending her hand toward the glowing eyes while softly cooing, attempting to soothe or perhaps beckon the hidden creature. Halsin remained just behind her, watching intently.
"Gently...gently," Halsin whispered to Lyra as the shadowy figure cautiously peered out from its crate shelter. The creature, an owlbear cub, scanned its surroundings with large, expressive green eyes, turning its head quizzically first towards Lyra and then Halsin, gauging each with wary curiosity. As it fully emerged, the details of its appearance became clear. This owlbear cub, used by the goblins for their racetrack antics, possessed a soft, slightly beaked face and fluffy plumage that shimmered in creamy white, light brown, and hints of gold. With a series of clicks and coos, it communicated its curiosity, settling down with its small, clawed paws neatly placed in front. The cub's demeanor was entirely innocent and inviting. Lyra, responding to its unspoken invitation, extended her hand slowly, pausing just before touching the cub. After a moment of hesitation, the owlbear cub leaned into her touch, its soft purring filling the air, a sound of contentment that seemed almost magical.
Lyra's bond with the owlbear cub grew as she gently stroked its feathers, whispering words of comfort. With careful movements, she began to untangle the chain from around the cub’s neck. Delighted, the cub hopped from paw to paw, emitting joyful, owl-like screeches. Lyra's affection for the creature was evident in her tender smile as she interacted with the little owlbear.
“Oh no, darling, no. You already have one pet at camp—Scritch, Stitch, Scratch, or whatever it's called,” I protested, hoping to curb our expanding menagerie.
“Scratch will love his new little brother, Sniff,” she chuckled, completely disregarding my concerns.
“Wicked! I’ve always wanted an owlbear for a pet!” Karlach exclaimed, clearly thrilled.
“Scratch and Sniff...gods,” I muttered under my breath, my protests continuing to go unheard. Halsin let out a deep laugh at the site unfolding before him.
“Well, I’ll leave you with your new companion; the grove calls for my care tonight. Come find me at dawn, and we’ll plan our next move. I'm certain the Tieflings will want to express their gratitude for your help. Karlach here can attest, they know how to throw an unforgettable bash.” With those parting words, Halsin swiftly employed his wild shape ability, transforming into a large tabby cat, and darted toward the Emerald Grove.
"Come on, Sniff, let's head back to camp and get you something to eat," Lyra said with a smile, rising to her feet. The owlbear cub hooted excitedly in response. As we trekked back to camp, the air was filled with the lively chatter of our companions. Gale was enthusiastically sharing his dinner plans, which featured Grilled Frostfin Trout, Fire-Roasted Vegetables, Herb-Infused Wild Rice, and Honeyed Fruit for dessert, all of which he detailed to an intrigued Karlach. Meanwhile, Shadowheart and the Gith were caught up in their usual spirited debate. Beside me, Lyra walked silently, her eyes on Sniff as the playful owlbear cub darted joyfully among our chatting companions.
As we walked, I stole glances at Lyra's face, illuminated by the soft moonlight. Her beauty was as striking as ever, but tonight, exhaustion was etched across her features. The day's trials seemed to weigh heavily on her, darkening her usually vibrant eyes. She looked as though she might fall asleep the moment we paused. Sensing my concern, she offered a weary smile.
"I'm sure all that talk of food has you feeling rather... hungry," she teased, her smile lingering.
"Famished, darling," I responded with a grin. "However, tonight I plan on hunting for my food." As her smile began to wane, I raised a hand to forestall any objections. "While you are quite the delectable feast, today has clearly taken its toll on you. Besides, if the Tieflings are throwing a celebration for us, you'll need a good night’s rest to keep up with me." I winked at her.
"Will I now?" she responded coyly, her eyebrows lifting in playful challenge. "You'd better find a rather large beast tonight if you plan to keep up with me."
Her words sparked laughter between us, our flirtatious teasing matching beat for beat. We continued our walk in contented silence, savoring the cool night air. I could tell she was, like me, thinking ahead to tomorrow's festivities and the promise of a memorable evening—after all, I had guaranteed her a night she would never forget.