As the sun rose the next morning, its rays painted the cave in a resplendent, warm glow. The light cascaded in, transforming the rocky walls into a canvas of golden hues that dazzled the eyes. I soaked in the soothing warmth on my skin, a welcome reprieve from the night's lingering cold. Outside, the waterfall had quieted to a gentle trickle, its subdued murmur a stark contrast to last night’s cascade. This calm would at least allow us a dry departure—though I really shouldn’t complain, considering the waterfall had previously served as an impromptu means to shed our clothes in its vigorous spray.
"Good morning," Lyra yawned, her voice soft in the tranquil morning.
"You sleep lightly, darling," I said with a grin, glancing over my shoulder at her. "I would've thought you'd be exhausted after last night." My words were teasing, light.
"Well," she replied with a smile that lit up her features, "if that was a goal you had in mind, I still have energy to spare." I pretended to weigh my options before smiling back at her.
"Tempting as you are," I paused, my eyes tracing her form in the morning light, "we really should get back before anyone notices I've stolen you away." Standing to face her, I was struck anew by her radiance. The morning sun bathed her in a soft glow, her skin shimmering as if dusted with fine pearls. Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders in gentle waves, enhancing her delicate allure. She giggled, a sound as playful as our banter, as she caught me admiring her. Swiftly, she slipped into her silver robe, now fully dry from the night before, and readied herself with a quick, elegant motion.
"Astarion," Lyra paused, her voice tinged with concern, "I wanted to ask you something before we go."
"I suppose you want to ask about my scars," I sighed, anticipating her curiosity.
"I did, yes. As always though, if you do not wish to tell me, I would understand," she offered gently, always considerate of my boundaries.
"My dear, I don't want to say a damn thing, but that won't really do anyone any good," I said, my voice thick with resignation. I paused, collecting my thoughts before diving into the dark waters of my past. "It’s a gift, well, a poem really, from Cazador. He spent an entire evening carving it into my back... making many revisions as he went, relishing in the pain he was causing me." My voice grew bitter. "He always said my screams sounded sweetest, like his favorite piece of music, one he had played over and over again, each time finding new joy in its haunting melody. If I dared flinch or silence my screams in the slightest, he would start over." My face hardened with anger at the memories of Cazador’s cruelty, a stark contrast to the soft morning around us.
" I know my words can't erase the pain, but please believe that my heart aches deeply for what you endured at his hands.," Lyra said softly, her empathy palpable.
"It’s not about being sorry; you need to know what we are up against. Cazador will come for me, and we need to be prepared," I said sternly, the weight of my reality settling between us. Lyra nodded; her expression etched with understanding.
"Can I ask... why did he choose Infernal for a poem? It’s not exactly a love language," Lyra questioned, her curiosity piqued despite the grim topic.
"Infernal! Uh... who knows, really. The bastard was insane," I replied, trying to mask my shock. Infernal! What had that prick been up to? Shaking my head, I softened my expression. "Enough pillow talk, darling. Let’s get back and hope the Tieflings have departed. Gods know I do not need anyone else thanking me for saving their tails." Lyra laughed; her amusement clear; my annoyance at doing anything heroic always made her chuckle.
Present Day...
I settled back into my chair on the balcony, the rough fabric of the ‘dreadful’ shirt scratching against the sensitive scars on my back—reminders of a brutal past. With a sigh, I acknowledged this shirt was my only choice until I could replace it with something finer from my favorite store, the Gilded Lily, assuming it still stood nestled in the heart of the upper city after the recent battle. The Gilded Lily was a beacon of high fashion and mystical allure, a truly exquisite boutique. It is brimming with garments spun from the rarest and most magical threads found across the world. Each piece in the store radiates uniqueness, crafted not only with expert tailoring but also with a touch of enchantment.
A happy sigh escaped my lips as I imagined stepping through the ornate, golden doors ready to be enveloped in an atmosphere of opulence and timeless elegance. The interior boasts a palette of exotic and enchanted colors, where deep amethysts blend seamlessly with the shimmering golds and the light blues of twilight. Soft, luxurious carpets and delicate, ambient lighting always ready to invite me into a world where fashion transcends the ordinary.
The racks were always adorned with stunningly curated collections of clothing, each piece more breathtaking than the last. The garments shimmered with subtle magic, some changed color with the light, others offered a faint, captivating glow that promised to turn heads.
Shopping at The Gilded Lily was more than a mere purchase; it was an experience. The attentive staff were well-versed in the lore of their wares, ready to tell tales of the mystical origins of their threads. Whether I was dressing for a gala, an important meeting, or a mystical night out, The Gilded Lily provided me with attire that was both incredibly beautiful and distinctly powerful. It is the only memory I still have of the life I once had before Cazador.
Leaning forward, I reached for my wine looking for comfort. Wishing nothing more than to erase Cazador from my mind, as he had my life before him. As I held the wine in my hand, the cool glass offered a brief distraction. But as I settled back again, the touch of the chair against my scars dragged me unwillingly back to not only Cazador, but the horrific night when he had etched his 'poem' into my flesh, a memory as sharp as the dagger he used, the Dreadthorn.
It was a jagged and twisted dagger, crafted in the deepest and unholiest forges of the Nine Hells. The blade, a smoldering black, seemed to absorb all light, casting a sinister cold shadow in its wake over my skin. Its surface was marred with intricate, infernal runes that pulsate with an ominous crimson glow, hinting at the dark magic bound within.
Veins of fire, imbued with a magical ink that left scars that no healer could remove, snake through the blade of the Dreadthorn, giving it the appearance of a living, breathing entity. These veins pulsed rhythmically, each surge glowing as bright as fire when exposed to dark rites, resonating with the hellish power that courses through from hilt to pointed tip. The hilt, wrapped in charred flesh, was meticulously crafted to fit perfectly in the hand of its master, Cazador, ensuring a firm and unyielding grip, connecting the blade’s ominous energies intimately to him in an unbreakable infernal pact.
The Dreadthorn was not merely a weapon, but a sentient extension of Cazador’s will. The dagger craves blood and pain much like its master, and when it strikes, it delivers an excruciating agony that goes beyond the physical, piercing the very soul of its victim.
Used in infernal rites, the Dreadthorn served as both a key and a catalyst, with the ability to unlock forbidden powers or seal dark pacts. The air around it shimmers with heat, and the smell of sulfur and burning flesh accompanies its every use. To wield Dreadthorn, for Cazador, was to embrace darkness and command the very essence of hellfire.
He took great pleasure in slowly and meticulously carving the scar into my back. The torture began as if night itself had sharpened its claws, ready to inscribe its darkest whispers upon the canvas of my flesh. The Dreadthorn traced its jagged edge across the vulnerable expanse of my back, each stroke a searing line of fire. The pain unfolded not unlike a macabre symphony—each slice, a note, each pause, a breath held in torment.
As the hours waned, Cazador deepened the scar, writing a cruel narrative etched with relentless precision. It was as if the icy fingers of fate were playing a violin along my sinews and skin, the bow ruthlessly dragging across strings too frail, too elven. The glow from the blade's infernal veins cast a sinister light, illuminating my torment with each pass, painting shadows that danced grotesquely against the dim walls.
The agony of my body mirrored the torture of my soul, a dual tempest that swirled within, leaving me in a trail of anguish that would not fade with the coming dawn. This scar was not merely a mark; to me it was a map of pain, charted deep and irrevocable, a constant reminder of darkness endured under the edge of Dreadthorn and Cazador.
Even with Cazador gone, the scars he left—both physical and emotional—remained as vivid and painful as ever. I had naively hoped that his death might allow the wounds he inflicted to heal, perhaps to fade away entirely. Yet, I was not so fortunate. Two centuries had passed since he gave me these scars, and still, the marks burned on my skin felt as raw as the day they were made. Though Cazador himself was eliminated, the terror of his cruelty lingered like a ghost I could not shake. Despite knowing he was no longer a threat, I frequently caught myself glancing over my shoulder, haunted by the constant fear of his return and the resumption of a nightmare I had desperately hoped was over.
As fear started to grip my heart, prompting a quick sip of wine to calm my nerves, I glanced over at Lyra. She lay there in peaceful slumber, her serene presence instantly soothing the turmoil within me. Lyra possessed an extraordinary intuition for sensing when I was ensnared by dread. She knew precisely how to usher in tranquility. Her gentle touch, her comforting smile, merely her presence felt like a beacon of stillness amidst my storms. With her by my side, what often felt like a descent into the nine hells transformed into a haven of peace. She was not just a source of comfort; she was my sanctuary.
Weeks earlier...
As we neared the camp, Lyra's steps quickened, lured by the tantalizing aroma of breakfast wafting through the air. She took a deep breath, a satisfied sigh escaping her lips while her eyes sparkled with the thrill of anticipating another of Gale's culinary delights. I couldn't help but laugh softly and roll my eyes at her boundless enthusiasm for food, which seemed almost as fervent as my own thirst for blood.
Suddenly, Lyra halted, causing me to bump into her, nearly toppling us both. I caught her just in time, pulling her close. Concern flickered across her face as she looked up at me.
"Did you get enough," she whispered, her voice dipping to a hush, "dinner, last night?"
I grinned, holding her gaze. "As delightful as you were, I didn’t want to overindulge," I replied, then released her. "Go on, get your breakfast. You’ll need your strength, darling," I added playfully.
Lyra paused, searching my face for a moment, then broke into a smile and turned back towards camp. "Don’t make promises you can’t keep, darling," she called back teasingly. I arched an eyebrow, amused that she’d thrown my own words back at me. Lyra chuckled lightly and continued on her way, heading straight for Gale.
I deliberately slowed my pace to let Lyra arrive at the camp a few moments ahead of me. The camp was deserted except for our small group of adventurers. As I walked past Halsin and Lyra filling their plates, I caught snippets of their conversation about the Tieflings leaving early that morning for Baldur’s Gate. Eager for a moment of rest, I headed straight to my tent. The comfort of my private space was a welcome relief as I stowed my pack away.
Sitting on my bedroll, I reflected on the evening's events with a satisfied grin. Everything had gone perfectly—Lyra had fallen right into my hands, a thought that made me chuckle quietly. To maintain her trust and keep her close, I knew I must continue to show her affection and nurture our connection. Pleased with my strategy to strengthen our alliance, I stood up and joined the others at the morning fire, where Gale had prepared a lavish breakfast. The feast was so impressive that I found myself wondering if Gale had sacrificed sleep to prepare it.
The table beside his tent was a testament to his culinary prowess. It was laden with an assortment of bread. Butter crust rolls, cinnamon-spiced star buns, and sugar-dusted blueberry scones steamed under the morning sun, each slathered with clotted cream and glistening jewelberry jam. Goblets filled with a rich, chocolate drink infused with enchanted vanilla offered sweet, soothing warmth, while the usual coffee percolated by the fire for those in need of a stronger kick.
Crispy bacon and fried sausages jostled for space on the table, accompanied by a large plate of creamy scrambled eggs, laced with melted sharp cheese and herbs. Observing Gale’s culinary magic, I began to suspect that perhaps he wasn't so much a wizard as a chef who had mistakenly donned a robe and found himself in over his head. The amusing notion that Gale might have been mistakenly drafted into battle instead of a kitchen brought a smirk to my face as I settled next to Lyra, who was enthusiastically devouring her second star bun.
As I watched Gale bustling around, dishing out another lavish meal, I couldn't help but wonder where he managed to source all his ingredients. The local vendors at the grove surely didn't stock the exotic fare he whipped up daily. My eyes wandered around his tent area while I half-listened to the others chatting. That’s when I spotted it—a strap leading to what was unmistakably a bag of holding. I rolled my eyes.
Enchanted satchels of boundless storage, as they’re properly known, are indeed a rarity. Crafted from woven eldertree fibers and adorned with runes that flicker in the moonlight, these bags look unassuming but open to reveal a vast, 4-foot-deep interior capable of holding up to 500 pounds, yet always weighing a mere 15 pounds regardless of their bulging contents.
Spotting my gaze locked on his treasure, Gale cleared his throat and shook his head at me, causing me to give him a scrutinizing look.
“Let me get this straight,” I began, incredulous, “You're using a magical, inter-dimensional storage artifact... as a pantry?”
“Every adventurer needs a good meal to stay fit for battle, Astarion. Happy adventurers, happy life—or something to that effect. And let’s not reduce it to merely a ‘pantry.’ Inside that satchel lies an assortment of tomes for a cozy read by the fire, maps, potions, various magical items for…well that’s personal, and oh! Clean robes. Given the turn our adventures usually take, believe me, clean robes are a godsend.”
As Gale expounded on the virtues of his enchanted satchel, my right eye twitched with a mixture of annoyance and bewilderment. Lyra elbowed me, grinning and finishing her star bun, moving on to a piece of bacon. Karlach stood to grab another plate, her eyes darting excitedly over the remaining food choices. After loading her plate, she returned to join us by the fire.
"So, what's the plan, mates?" she asked, her mouth full of eggs, causing Halsin to laugh heartily at her relentless appetite.
"I trust everyone's cheery mood this morning means last night's celebration was a hit. It was well-deserved, but unfortunately, it might be our last for some time," Halsin said, his voice growing softer. "The road ahead is fraught with danger."
"Of course it is," I sighed.
"You mentioned a place called... Moonrise Towers, I believe?" Lyra inquired, looking puzzled. "Do you really think the answers to the tadpoles are there?" she asked.
"With certainty," Halsin replied. "The time I spent in the goblin dungeons was enlightening. There was a steady stream of captives while I was there."
"Captives?" Gale interjected, puzzled. "That's odd. Goblins usually aren't known for keeping prisoners—they tend to... well, eat first and forget to ask questions. It’s rare for them to hold captives, especially in large numbers."
"Indeed," Halsin confirmed. "I discovered that the goblins had entered into a lucrative agreement with the Absolute. Their orders were to raid camps and transport the strongest captives to Moonrise. I overheard goblins talking about a vast army being amassed in her name"
“An Army! Well, this just keeps getting better and better.” I muttered sarcastically, scowling.
"If there are answers, they'll be at the towers, I'm certain of it," Halsin responded, brushing aside my remark.
"How do you propose we get to Moonrise?" Lyra inquired, sipping the warm chocolate drink Gale had given her.
"It's said there's a lost city, once a stronghold for a long-forgotten goddess, that serves as a gateway to the shadow-cursed lands where the tower stands. Unfortunately, this city is in the Underdark," Halsin explained with a frown.
"The bloody Underdark," I griped, annoyance clear in my tone. "As if it wasn't bad enough that Moonrise sits in a cursed land, we now have to navigate through the perilous Underdark. What’s next? Don’t tell me, let me guess. We must defeat an army of cult fanatics?" I threw my hands up in frustration and rolled my eyes. Halsin shuffled nervously, then met my gaze and solemnly nodded.
“Oh, for fucks sake.” I growled. my irritation peaking.
"We don't have a choice, if we want these tadpoles gone, our path is clear," Lyra said, fixing her gaze on me. "Are there any gateways to the Underdark here?" She turned to Halsin.
"I had heard there was one in the goblin temple, which is why I joined that motley crew of adventurers seeking treasures and glory. All we found was a grim fate for many of them and a cage for myself. However," Halsin paused, his expression wavering as if debating whether to continue. "Ah... there is a portal, not far from here... crafted by a rather inappropriate, to put it mildly, hedge witch."
"Are you... blushing?" I stared at the towering elf. He merely cleared his throat, a subtle shade of red tinting his cheeks. His reaction was more understandable than one might expect. Hedge witches are a peculiar breed. Preferring the whispers of the woods to the clamor of civilization, they commune with the natural world, weaving their potent magic. They are robustly chaotic, often misunderstood due to their scant regard for human company and incredibly territorial. Living secluded lives, they devote their considerable skills to healing their beloved flora and fauna with a mix of divine and arcane magics. While they might occasionally agree to aid a human, such assistance never comes free, payment is always demanded upfront.
"Sounds like this witch is our best bet," Lyra mused, eyes narrowing with resolve. "Let's pack up camp and head toward her cottage. Once we're in the Underdark, we'll navigate our way to the lost city."
"After breakfast though... right?" Karlach piped up, her gaze lingering wistfully on the array of food still untouched on Gale’s table.
"Of course, Karlach," Lyra smiled indulgently, "After breakfast."
"Wicked!" Karlach's face lit up as she sprang up to heap another plate with food. While the others began dismantling their tents and packing their gear, Lyra and Halsin exchanged their deep knowledge of the Underdark. Feeling defeated by their enthusiasm for the perilous journey ahead, I trudged back to my tent to pack up. As I grumpily stuffed my belongings into my pack, I stumbled upon the book, its cover etched with that eerie, silent scream. Picking it up, I met its piercing gaze, and as I did, whispers filled my ears, haunting words spoken by the spirits of the book flooded into my mind.
"Under the veil of shadowed civilizations, beneath a silenced city's heart, lies a tome of ancient whispers, bound in secrets, infernal and dark. Seek where light dares not to linger, find the echoes lost to time; a seeker true, with courage lit, shall unlock the pact sublime. Dare the depths where silence beckons, heed the call that few have braved, for only through the darkest passage, is the path to wisdom paved."
A hand touched my shoulder, pulling me abruptly back to the present. Startled, I spun around, clutching the book tightly. Lyra stood there; her expression laden with concern. I released the breath I hadn't realized I was holding and managed a forced smile.
"My dear, I really am going to have to get you that bell," I teased, trying to lighten the mood. This time, however, Lyra was not swayed by my playfulness. She crossed her arms, her face still marked by worry.
"That book gives me the creeps. Are you sure you’re, okay?" she asked, her eyes intently studying my face.
"Yes," I smiled back at her, though the unease lingered. "The book is... rather creepy, but—" I hesitated, unsure if I should reveal that the book had spoken to me.
"But?" she prompted.
"You said this morning, that the poem on my back was written in Infernal, are you sure about that?" I asked, looking up at her earnestly.
"Quite," she replied, her eyebrow arched in curiosity. "But what does that have to do with the book?"
"I'm not entirely sure, but the book... it spoke to me. Well, more accurately, it whispered a riddle to me, mentioning Infernal in the prose." As I spoke, Lyra's expression softened, and she uncrossed her arms, sitting down beside me.
"Do you think the book has information on Infernal?" she inquired gently.
"It's a very dark tome, filled with necromancy and powerful incantations for ruling the dead. Given the commonalities between necromancers and devils, it's possible it contains something pertinent," I mused. Looking down at the book, I felt an intense longing to open it, like a thirst building in my soul that could only be quenched by the knowledge inside.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
As I carefully opened the book, it seemed to take on a life of its own, snapping open with an eager sharpness and rifling through pages until it settled on a chapter near the end. "Sigils and Symbols: Language of the Lower Planes," the title read. I shared the summary with Lyra: "A practical guide to the sigils, symbols, and cryptic script used in infernal communication and spellcasting. It details the significance of each symbol and how they can be utilized to enhance magical practices or protect against demonic influences, complete with diagrams and illustrations of common infernal sigils and their variations."
Flipping quickly through the pages, I noted, "It seems the written language of the Hells is primarily employed for crafting contracts and pacts."
"Does it go into what these contracts are? Maybe we could cross-reference the scars with the symbols here and figure out what that bastard did to you," Lyra suggested, leaning in closer to examine the book.
"You... you would help me with this?" I paused, surprised by her eagerness.
"Of course I would. Stop looking at me like I sprouted an extra head and focus on the book," she replied with a reassuring smile. I returned my attention to the tome, turning pages until I reached the end of the chapter.
"Ah, here we are," I murmured, flipping to the next page before pausing and flipping back, then forward again, my frustration growing. My eyes widened as I absorbed the content.
"What?" Lyra inquired, noting my agitation. Through gritted teeth, I read her the final words on the last page of the chapter, the shock clear in my voice.
“"See book two for Chapter 666: Pacts of the Damned: Contracts with the Devils. This chapter serves as a guide for negotiating terms with devils. It outlines various types of pacts, from the simple exchange of services to the complex soul-binding contracts that promise immense power at a high cost. Sample contracts are provided, along with stories of famous pact-makers and the dire fates they met."
With an abrupt snap, the book closed itself, its spirits seemingly chuckling at my plight. I could almost hear their laughter echoing in my head, a cruel reminder that Xykrath had warned me about the mischievous souls trapped within these pages. "Of Course, the essential chapter is in another book entirely—how convenient!" I muttered sarcastically, rolling my eyes at the all-too-familiar frustration. What else did I expect.
The riddle that the book had whispered to me clearly hinted at the location of the second book, a piece of the puzzle I knew we would need. I sat back, letting the cryptic words marinate in my mind. Lyra watched me intently, her patience evident as she waited for my revelation. "Under veils of shadows, a sleeping city, where light dares not linger." The words clicked together in my mind like the pieces of a finely tuned lock.
I shot upright, startling Lyra with my sudden movement. "You know, darling, I think this whole Underdark venture that Halsin suggested is exactly what we need to pursue," I said, my voice tinged with excitement. "Chop, chop, we have a hedge witch to see," I grinned, eager to set the wheels in motion as the solution to the riddle began to unfold.
We swiftly packed up our camp and ventured deeper into the forest. Halsin mentioned that this hedge Witch had chosen one of the most secluded spots in the forest for her home, a place so remote that few would ever encounter it by mere chance. Her cottage, hidden away in the densest part of the woods, provided her with both isolation and sanctuary, far removed from the usual paths trodden by unwanted travelers.
We trudged through the dense forest for what seemed like an eternity, navigating under thick canopies and through lush undergrowth. My eagerness to reach the Underdark morphed into impatience with each passing hour. Doubts crept in, and I was just about to voice my frustration, suspecting that our Druid guide might be leading us in circles, when something unexpected caught my eye. Through a small clearing, I noticed the gentle curls of smoke wafting from a chimney. There, almost like a mirage, stood a quaint cottage, its presence instantly transforming my irritation into awe.
It was a charming sanctuary, almost grown rather than built. Its thatched roof, thick and lush, drooped cozily over the structure, sheltering the earthy walls constructed from a whimsical mix of stone and wood. Vines cling lovingly to the surfaces, weaving their green tendrils around windows that glow warmly, inviting glimpses into a world of magic and mystery.
Around her cottage, a vibrant garden bursts with life; flowers of every imaginable color bob their heads in the gentle breeze, mingling with herbs and mysterious plants known only to those versed in the ancient arts of herbology. A small, clear brook curves gracefully around the garden’s edge, its waters murmuring soft secrets to the pebbles and plants along its banks.
Lanterns hang from the eaves and stand sentinel on poles, crafted from twisted branches and glowing with a soft, enchanting light. They cast a golden hue over the garden, adding a touch of magic to the already peaceful setting. The air is alive with the scent of lavender and rosemary, mingled with the damp earthy moss of the surrounding forest.
As we approached, the cottage door swung open as if prompted by our footsteps. In the doorway stood a striking elf. Tall and willowy, she exuded an otherworldly grace, her icy blond hair flowing over her shoulders like a waterfall of light. Her eyes, a deep and vibrant purple, pierced through the mundane, hinting at a deep understanding hidden beneath their surface. Her skin, as fair as fresh snow, provided a stark contrast to the lush greenery and floral accents that adorned her clothing, making her appear as an integral part of her forested surroundings.
"Halsin," she called out, her voice a melodic blend that resonated sweetly yet carried a hint of sly recognition. She offered him a wry smile. "You’ve come back."
"Aradia," he responded, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. "It would seem I have."
“You must be desperate to grace my door after the last time.” Her smile remained sweet, masking the underlying edge.
“Oh…what did you do? I must hear this.” I grinned expectantly. Halsin quickly interjected before Aradia could elaborate.
“Aradia, I would like you to meet…” Halsin started, but the witch cut him off sternly.
“I know who they are,” she said, her voice soft yet firm. She gestured gracefully with her hand. “My friends keep me well informed about who trespasses into my forest... and past lovers who brave a return to my sanctuary.” As she spoke, Aradia smiled warmly at a few small woodland creatures peeking out, intrigued by the mention of friends, before they darted back into their hiding spots.
I shifted my gaze between Halsin and Aradia, as did the rest of my companions. She maintained her cool composure, her eyes fixed steadily on Halsin as she addressed him. Despite his towering stature, Halsin appeared somewhat diminished and noticeably flustered beside her. A subtle hint of apprehension lingered in his eyes—not from the magical prowess Aradia possessed, but from the personal stories she might reveal. My grin grew broader, relishing his evident discomfort, but before I could inquire further, Lyra stepped forward and interjected.
“We need your help, Halsin said you would be able to create a portal to the Underdark.” Lyra addressed Aradia. Without taking her eyes off Halsin, Aradia’s smile widened.
“Did he now” She answered.
“Aradia, please.” Halsin replied. “You know I wouldn’t be here if the need wasn’t dire.”
Aradia’s expression shifted abruptly; her once gentle features tightened, her eyes narrowing into sharp slits. The warmth that had softened her face gave way to an icy, steely resolve. The ambient light around her cottage seemed to wane, casting a colder hue over the scene. The lively chirps and clicks of the forest creatures fell into an uneasy silence.
Her voice rose in fury, each word slicing through the air. "I am not a creature to be used and discarded at your whim, only to be summoned again when you need something!" With a screech that echoed through the trees, she turned and slammed the door to her cottage, the sound reverberating with her anger.
I leaned over to Halsin, barely suppressing a laugh, and whispered, "Not exactly your smartest line, especially to an ex when you're asking for a favor. I thought druids were supposed to be wise?"
Halsin chuckled lightly. "My friend, wisdom and love affairs rarely go hand in hand for me." Halsin tried the cottage door, only to find it firmly locked. He sighed, shaking his head in mild frustration.
"Please open the door, my little dewdrop," Halsin coaxed gently. "I meant no offense."
Before I could chime in, Lyra elbowed me sharply. "Oh, you're no fun, darling," I sighed, amused by the absurdity of his sweet talking the locked door.
“We might as well make ourselves comfortable,” Gale spoke “Matters of the heart are rarely mended in moments.”
With a collective sigh, we each found ways to pass the time while Halsin tried to coax Aradia into opening the door. Gale pulled out some romance book from his bag, Chronicles of the Celestial Court by E.R. Moonstone, and settled by a small brook. He used a bit of magic to turn the pages, allowing him to run his fingers through the water's gentle flow. The gith chose a boulder for her seat, meticulously sharpening her array of weapons. Meanwhile, Shadowheart and Karlach fashioned a makeshift checkerboard in the dirt, engaging in several rounds of Crowns and Conquers.
I claimed a cozy spot of earth near a stump, perfect for a nap. As I settled back against the stump and stretched out my legs while crossing my arms, I prepared to drift off. Before I could close my eyes, Lyra approached. Her smile told me she wanted to join me, I nodded to her, and she happily nestled her head in my lap, closing her eyes. A warm breeze, stirred anew by the slamming of Aradia's door, softly played through Lyra's hair. I leaned back, letting the peaceful scene and the distant sound of Halsin's pleas lull me to sleep.
I was jolted awake by the jarringly loud growls of a bear. In my surprise, I accidentally dropped my arms onto Lyra's face, waking her with a start. Her initial bewilderment about the abrupt awakening vanished when she too heard the growling. She sat up quickly, scanning for the source of the noise. Confusion flickered across her face again when she noticed Karlach, barely containing her laughter.
"No need to worry, mate," Karlach snickered, her amusement clear. "Halsin finally got her to open her... door, if you catch my meaning." She winked and burst into laughter.
The growls emanating from the cottage grew louder, seeming almost to make the very walls tremble. Several small creatures scampered from the garden into the forest, seeking refuge. Karlach's grin was infectious, and I found myself mirroring her amusement. Lyra relaxed, settling back against the stump we shared, and let out a light chuckle.
"I'm glad I don't sound like that," she laughed.
"Don't you?" I teased, dodging her playful elbow as she pretended to be offended, only to succumb to laughter once more.
The cottage finally quieted down after a few more emphatic growls. The little creatures that had scurried into the forest cautiously made their way back, once again settling peacefully among the flowers and herbs. The door of the cottage swung open, revealing Halsin adjusting his tunic, with Aradia following close behind, her blonde hair tousled and a mischievous smile on her face.
Halsin cleared his throat. "Aradia has graciously agreed to help us with the portal."
"And the price has been paid," Aradia added, her grin widening. "Come inside, I need to gather some ingredients for the ritual." Her tone light and teasing, it was clear their earlier contention had found an amorous resolution. We ventured inside the cottage, a grin spreading across my face as I glanced back at Halsin.
"Dewdrop?" I teased, raising an eyebrow. His laughter followed me into the dwelling.
Aradia's cottage unfolded before us, and it was filled with a magical warmth and cozy charm. Natural elements seamlessly intertwined with her mystical aura, creating a sanctuary that brought the forest indoors. Lush greenery adorned every corner: potted herbs, leafy shrubs, and blossoming plants thrived, enveloping us in a verdant embrace. The rustic walls, highlighted by exposed beams, added a touch of quaint, old-world charm that supported the structure and accentuated its homely feel.
At the heart of her living space lay a large, plush area rug, richly patterned in deep reds and blues, anchoring a cluster of handcrafted, cushioned seats. Each piece of furniture bore the marks of nature in its raw, unpolished surfaces, affirming Aradia's deep connection to the wild.
To the left, a small fireplace crackled softly, its flickering flames casting a warm glow that danced over the room, illuminating an array of mystical symbols and artifacts. Shelves above were laden with jars and bottles filled with enigmatic ingredients, no doubt essentials for her potions and herbal concoctions.
A sturdy wooden table occupied a central spot, cluttered with the tools of her trade: vials, mortars, pestles, and open books brimming with ancient spells and secretive recipes, hinting at the depth of her arcane knowledge.
To the right, a cozy nook flourished with more greenery and housed a small collection of old, leather-bound books. A ladder extended up to a loft space, her bed nestled quietly under the eaves, surrounded by slightly tousled blankets and pillows. Fairy lights, interwoven among the foliage, cast a soft, magical luminescence throughout the room, reflecting off glass and metal with a star-like twinkle. Combined, the spaces inside were a vivid extension of Aradia herself.
Aradia gestured toward the floor cushions, and as we settled in, she snapped her fingers. On the hearth, a teapot crafted from enchanted brasswood vibrated softly, coming to life. The pot, modeled after a traditional design, featured a round body and an elegantly long spout. It was adorned with an intricate lattice of branches that formed both the handle and the spout, intertwined with delicate leaves and blossoms that added vibrant colors to its surface. Along these branches bloomed small, pale flowers, their centers maturing into bunches of berries. Atop this botanical display sat a beautifully sculpted bird, which held an almost unnervingly alert expression.
As I observed the bird, it turned its head towards me and chirped softly. Then, in a stunning display, it shook its previously static wings and lifted the teapot, gliding effortlessly to hover over the center of our seating area, where it paused, waiting patiently. From a nearby shelf, several small teacups were transported to us by a group of tiny field mice. With their tails coiled securely around the handles, they scurried forward, stopping before each of us to offer up the cups. Lyra, with a warm smile, took her cup and held it out. The bird then approached, carefully tilting the teapot to pour the steaming tea into her cup with surprising precision.
Gale, with a look of utter satisfaction, eagerly took his turn. He sighed contentedly, "Ahh, this is quite lovely," as he sipped the hot beverage, a smile playing on his lips. The others followed, lifting their cups for the bird to fill. The mouse holding my cup looked up at me, its expression one of puzzlement. I waved it off, and with a small shrug, the little mouse returned the cup to its shelf. Aradia raised an eyebrow in my direction.
"No offense to your gracious hospitality, but tea... well, it isn't really my drink," I said, nodding respectfully toward her. Aradia's snapped her fingers again. This time, a drowsy possum uncurled itself from a nook in the bookcase, yawned widely, and shuffled over to the pantry. It wrapped its tail around a bottle of Blood Wine—a rich, earthy dark red wine from Aglarond—and laboriously carried it over to set it before me.
In the same moment, a Chalice Vine creeping across the beams above began to wind its way towards me, its tendrils adorned with stunning purple blooms that were hard as glass. Known for its decorative and functional beauty, the pale green Chalice Vine wrapped around shelves and beams, its blooms used as drinking vessels, true to its name. I plucked one of the blooms and poured a generous amount of wine into it, nodding to Aradia in gratitude. These vines were cherished in homes that adored nature, seamlessly blending aesthetics with practicality.
With a final flick of her fingers, Aradia directed the teapot back to its spot by the fire, where the bird delicately placed it down before resuming its motionless perch. The drowsy possum ambled back to the bookshelf, curling up snugly in its familiar nook. Aradia herself moved elegantly to her workbench, beginning to sort through her assortment of tools and ingredients. As she organized, she called out to us without turning, "Make yourselves comfortable. I still have dimension chalk, but I'll need to prepare some Emberdark ink for the sigils. And by comfortable, I mean quiet" she said firmly.
Silence suited me just fine as I leisurely sipped my wine, observing Aradia at work. She opened a container filled with gems, retrieving a fire opal, a stone highly prized by the Drow. She placed it meticulously on her workbench and then picked up a hammer, its handle adorned with blue runes that glowed intensely. As she tightened her grip, the runes shifted to a bright white. With a decisive motion, she raised the hammer and brought it down on the fire opal, which split with a fiery hiss into several small orange and red shards.
Aradia then carefully collected the fragments, placing them into her mortar. She grasped the pestle, murmured a swift incantation that made it glow with a vibrant green light, and began to grind the opal pieces into a fine powder with vigorous, twisting motions. Next, she took a small wooden bowl and skillfully combined it with Eldertree Resin, Extract of Starlight, and Griffin Marrow Gel.
Each ingredient was chosen for its unique properties essential to the varnish's creation. Eldertree Resin, tapped from ancient, magical trees, not only thickened the ink but also provided a protective quality, preventing the ink from smearing or running. The Extract of Starlight, a glowing liquid gathered from moonlit-blooming flowers, imparted a subtle luminosity to the ink, enabling it to be seen in the dark. Finally, Griffin Marrow Gel, a rare binder extracted from griffin bones, enhanced the ink’s durability and adherence to any surface, ensuring longevity and resilience in its application.
As Aradia completed the varnish mixture, she added the powdered fire opal, stirring it meticulously to ensure every particle was fully incorporated. Carefully, she decanted the ink into a small jar, making certain not to waste a single drop. Positioning her hand over the jar, her eyes, glowing a vivid purple, illuminated the dim workspace as she began chanting a powerful incantation, her voice resonating deeply, "Transformatio sub-tenebris atramentum!"
The jar trembled gently on the table as the ink inside began to churn and bubble energetically. From within the depths of the jar, a fiery red glow emerged, gradually intensifying and spreading outwards, engulfing the ink in a luminous inferno. As the entire jar pulsated with this vivid fire, the color of the ink started to transform once more, settling into a deep black suffused with a mystical purple shimmer, signaling the completion of its magical enhancement.
Aradia faced us, her expression serious. "The ingredients are ready, but such a portal to a place of darkness can only be opened under the cloak of night."
Peering out the window, I noted the late afternoon sun, realizing we had hours until dusk. As I looked at my empty glass, I held it aloft, proposing, "Shall we have more wine?"
Gale's face lit up with enthusiasm. "Or I could whip up a fantastic dinner!" he exclaimed. "Vegetarian, of course, to honor our gracious host." Aradia's smile broadened at his suggestion, and she gestured towards the garden.
"After you," she said with a playful grin, inviting him to start his culinary adventure.
Gale and Aradia devoted the next several hours to crafting a splendid dinner in the enchanting outdoor kitchen of the back garden, equipped with a clay stove and grill. The dining area featured a robust table crafted from a large, round base of a fallen oak tree, supported by smaller stumps that also served as chairs. Aradia had draped a purple cloth over the table and decorated it with small bowls filled with lilies and floating candles, setting a serene ambiance. She also made sure an ample supply of wine was available at the table.
Lyra and the others exchanged tales from their lands, their voices mingling with laughter and moments of reflective sadness. The stories revealed hardships too, particularly from Karlach, who recounted her past suffering under cruel employers, including one who had sold her to the archdevil Zariel, entangling her in the blood wars of the Nine Hells.
As the evening progressed, Gale and Aradia began presenting their culinary creations. Gale set down a plate of Blue Mushroom Caps first—each cap richly stuffed with herbed goat cheese, walnuts, and a hint of truffle oil. Aradia complemented this with a dish of Pixie Poppers, vibrant mini pixie bell peppers stuffed with spiced ricotta and crowned with golden breadcrumbs. Next, Gale served bowls of creamy Butternut Vine Soup, a luscious blend of butternut vine flowers and sweet potatoes, beautifully adorned with a swirl of herb cream.
Aradia continued the feast by adding plates of Woodland Harvest Risotto and a wild spinach salad to the spread. The risotto, a creamy mixture of arborio rice, was perfectly cooked with wild forest mushrooms, green peas, and parmesan, all enriched with a hint of spicy ghost pepper oil. The salad, vibrant and inviting, combined tender baby spinach, arugula, pomegranate seeds, and slivered almonds, lightly dressed in a fig balsamic vinaigrette. For dessert, Gale showcased his culinary prowess with Crystalized Ginger Pear Tarts, featuring poached pears and sweetened ginger encased in a flaky pastry crust and topped with crystallized sugar, rounding off the meal with a touch of sweetness.
Lyra surveyed the spread with a grin, "Gale, you treat every meal like it's our last."
Gale returned the smile, his tone a mix of jest and gravity, "Considering the wee beastie we're hosting in our heads, it very well might be. Let’s savor the moments we have and not let our uninvited guest spoil our dinner."
"I'll drink to that," I said, pouring myself more wine. As my companions relished their meal, I turned my thoughts toward the perils awaiting us in the Underdark and my urgent quest to find the book. I needed it to uncover precisely what Cazador had inflicted upon me. For centuries, I've borne a painful mark on my back, under the guise of a poem—a cruel joke I had chided myself for believing. Cazador, the merciless, would never bestow something as gentle as a poem, especially not on someone he deemed as inferior as me. Driven by a desperate need to belong, I had clung to his deceptive words, foolishly accepting them as truth, even from the cruelest of masters.
Unknowingly, I tightened my grip on my wine glass, emotions from two centuries of pure shit stirring within me like a storm. I was on the verge of screaming, of unleashing a fury so deep it pulsed beneath my skin, all directed at Cazador. A cold, relentless rage surged, clawing at my chest, demanding release. That's when I felt it—an unexpected, gentle warmth. Looking down, I saw Lyra's hand on my knee. Our eyes met, and her smile, paired with a reassuring squeeze, halted my spiraling thoughts.
She leaned closer, her whisper barely audible, "I’ve got you." My fingers relaxed around the glass, my breath escaping in a slow, deliberate exhale. The rage began to ebb, replaced by a cascade of new, confusing emotions. Fear, disbelief, and something else—something elusive that I couldn't quite identify, or perhaps was simply unwilling to acknowledge.
Lyra withdrew her hand, returning to the conversation with the others, leaving me adrift in the moment. I had teetered on the edge of raw anger, yet with her simple touch and soft words, I found myself inexplicably soothed. I quickly downed the rest of my wine and refilled my glass, steeling myself to concentrate once again on the challenges that lay ahead.
"It is time," Aradia declared, rising to her feet. "Please follow me." We hastily finished our drinks, and Karlach grabbed a few more bites, before trailing Aradia to a secluded spot just past the garden and beyond a small brook. Bathed in moonlight, the area was enchanting. A circle of towering trees stood as sentinels around the perimeter, their leaves whispering secrets in the gentle night breeze. The ground was carpeted with lush green grass, dotted with large mushrooms in a spectrum of vivid colors, creating a mosaic under the celestial glow.
"Wake up, my little darlings," Aradia cooed, her smile radiating affection. The objects I had mistaken for mere mushrooms scattered across the grass stirred to life, yawning and stretching as they emerged from the soil. Illuminated by the moonlight, the Myconids revealed themselves in a stunning display of colors that glowed softly in the dark. These creatures, as varied and unique as the fungi they resembled, shuffled sleepily toward Aradia. Each Myconid was distinct, varying widely in size and shape. They possessed two plump, elongated arms and delicate, spindly legs, with their fingers and toes varying in number, each configuration as unique as the individual itself.
"Quickly, my little ones, please form a circle," Aradia gently instructed, her voice sweet and encouraging. A high-pitched chirp resonated through the air as the Myconids joyously complied, forming a large circle in the clearing before sinking back into the ground. With maternal care, Aradia took her dimensional chalk and traced a circle around the Myconids.
As she completed her drawing, Aradia extended her arm and gave a soft whistle. The night air was pierced by a loud screech, and from the darkness above, a magnificent black owl descended, its form barely discernible under the starlit sky. After a few graceful loops, the beautiful creature landed delicately on Aradia's outstretched arm. The owl's dark feathers were a stark contrast to its pale orange beak and captivating purple eyes, which mirrored Aradia’s own.
"Hello, Midnight, my love," she sang sweetly to the owl. "Would you be so kind as to gift me one of your stunning tail feathers?" In response, Midnight affectionately nudged his beak under her chin. With a warm smile, Aradia gently plucked a feather from the owl's tail. Midnight issued a soft screech in reply.
"Thank you, darling boy," Aradia murmured with heartfelt gratitude as Midnight melded back into the darkness of the night sky. She then dipped the quill of the owl's feather into a vial of Emberdark ink. With the precision of a seasoned artisan, she meticulously inscribed several sigils around the perimeter of the circle. Completing the pattern, she tapped the final sigil gently and spoke the incantation, “Aperian in tenebris.”
One by one, the sigils ignited. They began with a gentle white glow, then intensified into a deep, vivid purple, casting an otherworldly light across the clearing. As the last sigil flared to life, the green grass at the center of the Myconid circle dissolved, replaced by a pulsating blue light that shimmered like a gateway to another realm.
"Mind your step," Aradia cautioned with a stern intensity that commanded attention. "Crush any of my children underfoot, and you will regret ever meeting Aradia Thorne." Her gaze swept over us, firm and unwavering. "This is a one-way portal. Be sure you wish to enter." Turning to Halsin, her tone softened slightly, "A... pleasure as always."
"Aradia," Halsin acknowledged with a nod. One by one, Lyra and the rest of our group stepped into the portal, each disappearing with a resolve that seemed to solidify the air around us. I paused, the weight of what lay ahead pressing heavily upon me. Though my primary desire was to erase Cazador from existence, I couldn't ignore that with each step forward, I was drawing ever closer to him. Shaking off the hesitation, I reminded myself of the necessity to press on. Cazador's threat loomed large, but he wasn't my only concern—the tadpole within me was a ticking clock of its own. And the one person crucial to overcoming both threats had just stepped through the portal.
With renewed determination, I followed, stepping into the swirling energy. A quick flash of light enveloped me, and then all was consumed by an encompassing darkness.
The portal in the clearing snapped shut abruptly, and the Myconids began to emerge from the ground, reclaiming their positions in the moonlit clearing. One paused, tilting its head toward Aradia as if posing a silent, inquiring question.
"Madness awaits them, my love," Aradia responded, her voice tinged with a grave certainty. "It lurks in the shadows, waiting with breathless silence, ready to consume them completely."