The Amethyst Enclave was a labyrinth of purple crystals and hardened stone, a district that pulsed with an ancient, grim majesty. Cobblestone streets twisted through the heart of the nobles' domain, carving deep into the earth like the relentless flow of a river, their paths etched by the hands of long-dead architects. Each turn was purposeful, as if the streets themselves held the city's secrets in their winding embrace, splitting into narrower alleys that vanished into the gloom of this subterranean world.
The air clung to my skin, cool and heavy with underground moisture, yet instead of oppression, the atmosphere thrummed with an almost mystical energy. The glow of raw Amethyst veins embedded in the stone bathed the entire enclave in violet light, casting soft purple shadows across every street and tower. It was a light that did more than illuminate—it enchanted, giving the noble district an air of haunting beauty that felt eternal.
As we continued through the maze, the streets, worn smooth by the passage of centuries, bore the weight of history in their grooves, carved by the iron wheels of long-forgotten caravans. The facades of the noble houses were adorned with the intricate carvings of Duergar runes and symbols, a reminder of the ancient power that once ruled this underground kingdom. Overhead, walkways and bridges crisscrossed like strands of a web, connecting the towering structures, making the district feel as though it was a single living entity, its stone heart still beating in the depths below.
Each neighborhood we passed through boasted a similar but beautifully adorned pool, where once grand waterfalls had roared. Now, the cascades had softened to a gentle, steady flow, the water trickling slowly down the rock face in a delicate, shimmering veil. These once-magnificent water features now lie abandoned; however, they had lost none of their mystique. A serene pool stretched out before us, its surface still and pristine, glowing with a vibrant blue hue that defied the passage of time. The water seemed almost unnaturally pure, as though untouched by the world above and still continuously fed by small waterfalls trickling from the rocky formations surrounding it. Each fall created a soothing hum that reverberates through the cavern, the sound bouncing off the moss-covered walls.
I peered at the surrounding stonework, though worn by time, it still retained a sense of crafted beauty. Large, smooth boulders lined the edge of the pool, their surfaces softened by moss that has crept up from the earth, stealing the area back to its natural form. Along the water’s edge, plants and mushrooms had encircled the raw amethysts growing wilder with each passing day. Glowing mushrooms, their faint green light casting shadows, cluster in crevices between the rocks, while large red fern-like plants sway gently in the still air, their leaves shimmering with a delicate bioluminescence. The lush plants, thriving in the damp atmosphere, clung to the stones and spilled over the pathways, overtaking what was once a well-maintained space.
Turning away from the water feature, I took in the archways that loomed like sentinels, grand stone gates that separated the noble homes from the winding streets and sidewalks of the Amethyst Enclave. Each arch was flanked by thick stone pillars, their surfaces etched with the marks of ancient craftsmen, and atop every single one, a gargoyle crouched in silence, their twisted forms acting as guardians. But these were no solemn protectors. As I passed beneath one, I caught a glimpse of the stone creature’s hand—a subtle, almost hidden gesture of defiance. It was flipping me off.
A chuckle escaped my lips. It was no accident. The tradition was well-known among the masons who built the noble districts; these gargoyles were more than decorations—they were the craftsmen’s private jokes, their silent rebellion against the lords who commissioned them. Carved into monstrous shapes, the gargoyles stood as permanent monuments of the masons’ subtle disdain. Moss and mushrooms curled around the stonework, weaving between clusters of amethyst crystals that glittered softly in the purple glow, accentuating the impish nature of the statues.
Gale catching my chuckle and glancing at the stonework smiled, “It wasn’t uncommon in the history of the Amethyst Enclave for masons to incorporate, well shall we say… obscene gestures or mischievous scenes into the gargoyles, especially when crafting pieces for the nobility. These little acts of rebellion, these grotesque stone jesters, had been a way for the laborers to thumb their noses at the elite—insulting their patrons with smirks hidden in plain sight.”
"And here I thought the nobles might have had a sense of humor in their commission," I teased, unable to suppress a grin.
Gale matched my tone, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well, it is a Duergar city. You could actually be correct… for once."
We continued winding through the streets, our banter lightening the oppressive atmosphere. But the humor of the situation only grew as we passed courtyard after courtyard, each a mirror image of the last. The same water feature, the same rune-etched buildings, the same rude gargoyle sentinels—all standing vigil with that singular, defiant gesture. The Duergar, it seemed, had an almost obsessive fondness for symmetry.
I found myself counting the courtyards as we passed, unable to shake the feeling that we were walking in circles. Four…five…six… It was always the same: water feature, rune-etched buildings, rude gargoyle. The joke of the repeating design quickly lost its charm, each courtyard a monotonous echo of the last. I could almost hear the stone figures mocking us with their perpetual sneers, as if the entire district was in on a prank we weren’t privy to.
The walk stretched on, the once amusing repetition growing wearisome. Our footsteps echoed off the ancient stone as we passed under archway after archway, each flanked by yet another gargoyle raising that same insolent finger. At first, it brought a wry smile to my lips—a private jest shared between mason and traveler. But as the pattern repeated, again and again, that smile faded. The humor dulled with every identical courtyard, the jest becoming a relentless fixture in the city’s eerie atmosphere. It was as if the entire district was collectively rebuking us, each stone figure silently reminding us of some unseen defiance.
By the time we reached what we hoped was the final courtyard, I was more tired of the joke than amused by it. But still, I couldn’t help but marvel at the Duergar’s dedication to their craft, even if it was at our expense. I tilted my head, staring at yet another rude gargoyle. The once-amusing sight now felt unsettling, as a creeping sense of unease began bubbling back to the surface. Something about this place wasn't quite right, and the more I looked, the more that feeling grew, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts.
As I was about to speak, Lyra leaned in close to me, her expression as if she was trying to solve a puzzle. “You know,” she began “what I don’t understand?”
“How someone of my roguish good looks and charm is here, walking through the dirt and decay of this gods forsaken city?” I replied eyebrow raised.
“Mmm no, but close.” She teased. “If the book was bound to you and calling out for you, why were the Zhentarim going into the manor house?”
“Darling, their black-market traders, what abandoned, and not so abandoned buildings would they not enter for the sake of shiny baubles and trinkets.”
“No, no Lyra has a point.” Gale added. “Lilah gave orders to the scouts coming here to find the library, it would hold far greater treasure and profit than the Lord’s manor house. She does not appear to be someone that tolerates orders not being followed.”
“You know what I don’t understand…” Karlach stopped to scratch her head. “Who approved the design of these gargoyles? Literally every single one is giving us the business, a subtle fuck you as we pass by it.”
Shadowheart laughing at Karlach’s confused look spoke up “Surely not all of them look over there that one is…absolutely flipping us off.” She trailed off.
Something strange was happening, and the realization was slowly beginning to dawn on us. We had been walking for what felt like days, retracing our steps through identical streets, yet we were no closer to the library. The path twisted and turned, always leading us in circles. The Zhentarim, who had been so eager for promised riches and swift completion of their orders, had been led astray, lured into houses where only death awaited. The gargoyles, ever present atop the archways, seemed to watch with mocking disdain, each one flashing the same rude gesture as if in on a joke we hadn’t yet fully understood. Every neighborhood mirrored the last—each with the same eerily identical water features, serene pools barely fed by trickling waterfalls. The sameness was unsettling, a creeping sense that we were being toyed with, like rats in a maze.
As we stood in one of those familiar archways, glancing at each other in growing confusion, we heard it—the faintest sound at first, but unmistakable. A cackling laughter, faint and distant, rising from the shadows around us. It was a cruel, mocking sound, and it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Snorts and giggles followed, as if the very air itself was laughing at us. Hisses and sneers, almost too quiet to place, faded in and out of hearing, like whispers carried by the wind.
We froze, every one of us feeling the weight of it—the realization that we weren’t lost by accident. We had been led here, step by step, by unseen hands. The laughter grew louder, filling the space around us, and with it came the undeniable feeling that eyes were upon us, waiting, watching... enjoying our confusion. It was no longer just the gargoyles mocking us from above; something far more mischievous, and perhaps dangerous, was at play. It was then we began to understand—we were not alone.
“Oh no, no, no, no…” Gale cringed.
“What is it, Gale?” Lyra’s face shifted with concern.
“Nasty little devils, though I suspect many would dismiss them as nothing more than the conjured fears of a child’s mind—a shadow in the corner, the faint creak of a floorboard, the unsettling feeling that someone—or something—is just out of sight. But no, my dear companions, these creatures are quite real. Fey tricksters they are, lurking in the forgotten crevices of the Material Plane, waiting for an opportune moment to slip through the seams of reality and wreak havoc upon the unsuspecting.” Gale paused, looking across all our faces for an ounce of understanding before he continued.
“You see, their methods are not crude or brutish. No, they are artists of chaos, weaving mayhem through the subtle threads of daily life. Imagine if you will, tools misplaced in the dead of night, only to reappear in the most ridiculous of locations—like the rafters, or perhaps inside your stew pot. Animals spooked for no discernible reason, dishes shattered without a single hand laid upon them, and doors knocked upon by invisible hands, always vanishing when you rise to answer...”
“GALE!” we all collectively shouted.
“Well, my friends... we are about to cross paths with none other than these very creatures—the infamous Boggles, whose delight in mischief knows no end. I do hope you’ve all tied your boots properly and checked your weapons... because I suspect they’re already preparing to have their fun with us." Gale finished with a pointed nod.
“Oey, boggles?” Karlach laughed “That’s the terrible creature you’re afraid of, ah mate you must be pulling my leg.”
“Do not mistake their antics for mere childish games—oh no.” Gale warned, “While a Boggle’s penchant for pranks may seem whimsical, they possess a cunning that should not be underestimated. Imagine them dragging you from your bed, unseen hands tugging at your feet, or switching your finely honed blade with a broken, rusted mockery just before battle. They may even go so far as to lure you—yes, lure you—into danger, leading you astray into forgotten dungeons or perilous woods with false signs and misleading echoes.” Karlach's laughter and dismissive head shake only fueled Gale's urgency, pushing him to insist even more desperately on the danger we were in.
“Mark my words, their mischief knows no bounds, and while it may seem trivial at first, these vexing creatures have, on more than one occasion, caused disasters far greater than mere inconvenience. Infants misplaced in the dead of night, replaced with wild creatures—foxes or perhaps birds—leaving bewildered parents to weep over what they believe to be their transformed offspring. And yet, even in their most vile acts, one cannot help but recognize the perverse sense of glee they take in their work. They are no figments of overactive imaginations.” Gale's expression silently begged us to grasp the true danger of the creature.
"You think the boggles were guiding the Zhentarim into the manor?" Lyra paused, weighing her words. "And now that the Yeth Hound is dead, you think they're leading us somewhere else?"
"Exactly," Gale nodded, tapping a finger to his nose.
"I'll admit, it's frustrating being led in circles," Karlach grinned, barely concealing her amusement. "But what’s the real danger here? More rude gargoyles? Are they planning to hurt our feelings to death?"
I snickered, adding, "Or maybe they’re trying to bore us to death."
"Keep laughing," Gale shot us both a sharp look. "I’ll take your apologies when we survive... whatever is coming." His words trailed off as a low, rhythmic vibration began to pulse through the air, growing stronger with each passing second. The stones beneath our feet hummed and shook, small rocks skittering off buildings, falling onto the cobbled street around us. The eerie sound of the boggles' laughter faded into the distance, as though their work here was complete.
Our eyes all turned to the water feature behind us, now rippling and shifting in a way that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Something was coming.
The surface of the ancient pool rippled in the soft light, bubbles rising as the water began to churn. We stood at the edge of the stone platform, our breaths caught in our throats, every eye fixed on the disturbed waters. An ominous rumble echoed through the cavern as something massive stirred beneath the surface.
Unexpectedly, a massive, crystalline claw broke through the water, followed by another, both sparkling with water droplets. The ground trembled as the creature pushed itself onto solid ground. I grabbed Lyra’s arm and took a step back, our hearts pounding in our chests. The beast emerged slowly, a gargantuan amethyst dragon, its translucent scales glistening as water streamed down its body, cascading like liquid crystal. Its size alone was staggering—easily 50 feet long from snout to tail, each powerful movement making the very air around it seem heavy.
The dragon’s eyes, a vivid lavender, glowed with an ancient and unsettling intelligence. It fixed its gaze on Gale, as though assessing his every thought, his every intention. For a moment, no one dared move or speak. It was a silence of reverence and terror.
As the dragon stepped fully from the pool, the ground beneath our feet shook with each colossal footfall. Water droplets, clinging to its crystal scales, shimmered in the dim light, catching the colors of the dragon’s form in dazzling hues of violet and lavender. The cavern trembled with its presence, the air growing colder with every breath that we took.
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The dragon paused for a moment, towering over us, its serpentine neck stretching up as it shook its enormous body. Water scattered in all directions, the force of the motion sending fine droplets down on to us like rain, while others splattered the cavern floor with the weight of falling stones. The air was now thick with tension and magic, humming with an ancient power that made my skin prickle.
With a deliberate slowness, the dragon raised its head high. In an instant, its maw opened wide, and a violent plume of purple flames shot out, illuminating the cavern in a breathtaking display of power. The flames roared overhead, casting long shadows over us and sending waves of heat pulsing through the cavern. The flames licked the stone ceiling, leaving behind faint traces of violet embers that shimmered and danced in the air before vanishing into the ether.
As the fire subsided, the dragon lowered its head once more, its glowing eyes settling on Gale again. There was no malice in its gaze—only a deep, unfathomable wisdom. Its voice, when it finally spoke, was like thunder softened by age and vast knowledge.
“I am Thalmyrion. You have come far, mortals... But you tread a path only the bold dare walk. Speak, if your courage holds."
Gale stood frozen; his breath shallow as he absorbed the weight of the dragon’s words. Thalmyrion waited with serene patience, his massive crystalline chest rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic cadence. The dragon's scales shimmered, catching the light and scattering it in every direction, like amethyst fireflies darting through the air. With a subtle tilt of his head, Thalmyrion cast a sideways glance at Gale, still wide-eyed and motionless, though whether from awe or fear, it was hard to say.
With a playful glint in his eye, Thalmyrion leaned in toward Lyra, as though about to whisper some grand revelation. "Is this mortal broken?" he mused, his voice carrying a trace of amusement. "Tell me, child, has he lost his voice, or is he simply mute?"
Lyra stifled a laugh. "You've caught our rather talkative wizard in a rare moment of silence," she replied, her eyes twinkling with humor.
"If we had known you’d be this effective at shutting him up," I added dryly, "we’d have sought you out much sooner."
Thalmyrion leaned back, surveying our group with a slow, deliberate motion before settling down, his spiked tail curling neatly around him like a coiled serpent. The sight of him, vast and commanding, was awe-inspiring in a way that stirred both admiration and fear. I had never encountered an Amethyst Dragon before, and being this close to one felt unnervingly surreal. Typically, this would be the moment Gale would launch into one of his long-winded lectures, but he seemed completely lost—whether it was Thalmyrion’s majesty, grace, or sheer terror holding him captive, I couldn’t tell. That left me relying on what little I knew about these dragons.
Amethyst dragons were renowned scholars, wise beyond measure, and held in esteem even among their own kind. They were creatures of diplomacy, but indifferent to the moral struggles of lesser beings, seeing them as inconsequential distractions from their study of the planes and cosmic forces. Solitary by nature, they preferred isolation, finding the company of others—no matter their race or status—beneath their intellectual pursuits. And if memory served me right, some of the older ones, like Thalmyrion, had developed a talent for telepathy.
Just as that thought settled, a deep, rumbling growl echoed within my mind, sending a cold shiver down my spine. The tadpole in my head recoiled, burrowing deeper in a futile attempt to escape the intruding presence. Thalmyrion’s voice followed, resonating through me like a thunderclap. “Well remembered, child,” he intoned, his words fading as suddenly as they had come.
I flinched, startled by the unwanted invasion. It was bad enough having that damn tadpole squirming around in my head, not to mention the incessant demands from the cursed books. The last thing I needed was an Amethyst Dragon rooting around in my thoughts. Thalmyrion, oblivious—or perhaps entirely aware—of my discomfort, simply smiled, his attention drifting back to the rest of the party as though nothing had happened.
Apparently deciding to try his luck again with Gale, Thalmyrion leaned in close, his pointed snout mere inches from Gale’s frozen face. Lowering his head to meet Gale's eyes, the dragon stared deeply into them, as if expecting some kind of response. Gale, however, remained perfectly still, as though he had been turned to stone. Thalmyrion let out a low, contemplative hum, clearly weighing his options.
“I seem to have broken your friend,” the dragon remarked, his tone almost playful. “This simply will not do if we are to conduct business.”
"Business…" Lyra began, but her words were cut short as Thalmyrion uncoiled his massive tail and rose to his full height. Without warning, he lifted his tail high above him and brought it crashing down into the pool of water behind him. The impact sent a towering wave hurtling into the sky, before cascading down over all of us.
The force of the water was like a tidal wave, drenching every inch of our party. To say we were soaked would be an understatement—I felt as if my entire soul had turned to liquid, my very essence flooding and swirling as if I were now water incarnate. Streams of it poured down my face, clinging to my skin like a second layer of being.
Thalmyrion, shaking droplets from his crystalline wings with a bemused smile, glanced down at us. “Perhaps that will wake him up,” he mused with a chuckle.
“Twice in one day, for the love of Mystra,” Gale groaned, his tone thick with exasperation as he snapped back to reality. Our entire party, soaked to the bone, turned as one to glare at Gale. The water may have drenched us, but it did nothing to wash away the collective look of irritation etched across our faces. Each of us, dripping and cold, wore an expression that spoke louder than words.
Thalmyrion, completely unfazed, smiled with a calm, almost regal amusement as he settled himself back down with effortless grace. His crystalline scales shimmered in the light, still glistening from the recent splash. “Welcome back, little wizard,” he rumbled, his voice smooth and rich with humor. “I trust your courage now holds?”
Gale wrung out a portion of his twice-soaked robe, offering the dragon a wry smile before bowing slightly. “Forgive me, it’s not every day one meets an Amethyst Dragon.”
Thalmyrion’s grin widened as he watched Gale’s futile attempts to dry his robe. Accepting the inevitable, Gale turned his attention fully to the dragon. “Gale of Waterdeep,” he said with a nod, “You mentioned business. I do not know of what assistance we could provide?”
“How could you know?” Thalmyrion mused, his voice carrying the weight of centuries, deep and measured. “I’ve yet to tell you, my needs.”
“Ah, touché,” Gale chuckled.
Before the conversation could continue, I interrupted, “Can we get to the damn point already? We’re wasting time with pleasantries when we should be finding the library!”
At that, the ground trembled beneath us, the low rumble building into a deep, rolling laugh that seemed to rise from the very core of the dragon. Thalmyrion’s ancient, booming laughter filled the cavern, shaking the walls as his massive head swung side to side, trying to contain the mirth that spilled from him. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached up with a colossal claw to gently wipe away a single tear, still grinning.
“My impatient child,” he said, his voice full of ancient wisdom and amusement, “do not let me keep you from your urgent quest. But, if it’s the library you seek, perhaps it would be wise to entertain me a little longer. After all, you’ve passed its doors at least six times in the past few hours.” As Thalmyrion’s words settled in, our group exchanged bewildered glances, then looked around at the sprawling city. Six times? How could we have passed by the library six times? We had been wandering for hours along stone roads, cutting through abandoned noble estates and beneath archways where gargoyles seemed to sneer down at us with every step.
“The boggles,” Gale muttered, breaking the confused silence. His eyes flicked to the shadows, piecing together the trickery.
“Ahh, indeed,” Thalmyrion rumbled with satisfaction, leaning closer to Gale. “It was wise to awaken you. I do prefer the company of learned creatures.”
“But why would the boggles care about the library?” Lyra asked. “Boggles are not known to horde knowledge; their tastes tend to run more to shiny trinkets.”
“Yes, my child that is true,” Thalmyrion glanced at Lyra, “but tell me little one, where does one keep its horde.”
“They made it their home?” Lyra shook her head.
“Quite.” Thalmyrion replied with a smirk.
“The boggles have been manipulating us to walk in circles for half the day” Gale mused.
“Not circles,” Thalmyrion corrected “they have been leading you repeatedly to my doorstep in the absurd hope that I would devour you for your trespass. Fortunately for you I have no such intentions… yet”
“I don’t like the sound of that ‘yet’” Karlach winced.
Thalmyrion paid no attention to her. Instead, he once more leaned closer to Gale and Lyra, as if they were the only two capable of understanding. “I am here conducting a ten-thousand-year study on Flumphs for my book Psionic Symbiosis: A Study of Flumphs in the Abyss.”
“Flumphs, you say, fascinating.” Gale said bring his hand to rest under his chin in contemplation.
“Oh Gods, please no…” I begged. Thalmyrion’s massive eyes gleamed with excitement as he prepared to share a topic that clearly fascinated him. He settled into a more comfortable position, his ancient voice carrying both weight and genuine enthusiasm.
“Flumphs,” he began, his tone reverberating with a deep, ancient wisdom, “are one of the most intriguing creatures I have ever had the privilege of studying. Many dismiss them as mere floating jellyfish of little consequence, but they are far more than that. They are philosophers, carriers of psionic energy, and perhaps the greatest conduits of moral balance in our realms. Their sensitivity to the thoughts of those around them, particularly to evil, gives them a unique role as sentinels of purity. They absorb psionic energy, but unlike most who consume such power, they seek not to wield it selfishly. Instead, they offer it freely, using it to cleanse themselves and others from the corruption they sense.”
Thalmyrion paused, watching us intently to ensure we were following, judging by the looks on our party’s face, no one had any immediate plans for interrupting a 50-foot dragon. “You see,” he continued, “they glow to express emotions—a most fascinating biological trait. Imagine, a creature so attuned to the very essence of thought that it cannot help but wear its emotions like a shroud of light.”
Thalmyrion’s tone shifted, deepening as he lowered his head slightly, as if inviting us into a secret. “Their glow, their very nature, reveals a truth about the multiverse: that thought, emotion, and morality are all intertwined in ways even I, after millennia of study, am only beginning to unravel. Imagine the possibilities! The Flumphs, in their simple, delicate form, are nothing short of living mirrors to the soul.”
He straightened holding his head high with pride, his awe palpable despite the majesty of his ancient presence. “I have watched them for years, and each day they reveal more of their intricate connection to the psionic web that underlies this world. To study the Flumphs is to glimpse into the fabric of existence itself. Ah, to witness their glow change when they encounter darkness—there is no experience quite like it. And to think,” he added with a small, satisfied grin, “most creatures overlook them entirely.”
"Thalmyrion, if the Flumphs are such potent conduits of psionic energy and moral balance, have you ever observed them play a pivotal role in shifting the outcome of conflicts or altering the moral compass of those around them?" Gale asked with genuine curiosity.
“Now, now Gale,” I said through gritted teeth “We must wait for the book to be published, it wouldn’t be fair to his readers.”
“Yes, and we must really not take more time away from your research,” Lyra added subtly kicking Gale’s shoe “You said you needed our help?”
Thalmyrion's eyes narrowed slightly, his immense form shifting with a subtle but undeniable weight of authority. "Yes, child, as a matter of fact, I do require your assistance. You are, after all, the reason I now find my enclave infested with boggles," he snorted, a ripple of mild irritation threading through his voice. "Until your arrival, the boggles were content to lead every stray adventurer, treasure hunter, or fool who wandered into the Amethyst Enclave directly to Evershade Manor, leaving them to the hound's mercy." The dragon's lips curled in faint disgust, his disdain for the Yeth hound's brutal methods unmistakable. "Now, these foul little beasts seem to believe I will take it upon myself to deal with any trespassers who dare approach my threshold. I have no desire to stoop to such... vulgarity."
His piercing gaze swept over the group before fixing on Gale. "You, however, have upset my Flumphs by bringing your little... stowaways with you." Thalmyrion's nostrils flared in annoyance. "Since you are the root of both my problems, you will rid my enclave of the boggles and leave my domain in peace so that I may continue my research."
Lyra, ever cautious, asked, "How are we to find the library? You yourself said we continue to pass it unnoticed."
Thalmyrion's expression softened into a cold smile. "Clever child," he purred, "In exchange for your word that you will dispatch the boggle nest, I will grant the little wizard true sight for one hour. But heed my words carefully." The dragon's voice dropped to a low, ominous rumble. "Accept my bargain and betray me, and you will know no peace—on this plane or any other. I will hunt you to the ends of the multiverse. No magic, no ally, no sanctuary will shield you from my wrath."
His eyes blazed violet with the weight of his ancient power, the threat hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break. "Do not make the mistake of testing me."
"Fair enough, I should think," Gale nodded without hesitation. "One eradicated boggles nest it is."
Thalmyrion's reaction was immediate. His massive belly began to tremble with a deep, rolling laughter, the sound echoing like thunder through the enclave. The force of his amusement sent ripples through the garden pool, shaking loose dirt and debris from the nearby buildings as they quivered under the weight of his mirth. The laughter carried a sense of ancient power, as if the very earth beneath him was responding to his joy. His eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and anticipation, the sound both thrilling and unsettling.
"I thought you might see it my way," Thalmyrion grinned, his teeth gleaming with satisfaction. "Now, do not move, little wizard."
Without warning, the enormous dragon leaned in, his massive head looming inches from Gale’s face. The sheer proximity made the air thick with the dragon's hot, ancient breath. In a barely audible whisper, Thalmyrion intoned, "Donium Veri Aspectus," each word vibrating with power.
As the last syllable rolled off his tongue, a faint violet glow began to emanate from deep within the dragon's throat, casting eerie shadows across Gale's face. Slowly, deliberately, Thalmyrion parted his colossal jaws, his thick, serpentine tongue extending to gently lick Gale's left eye, then his right. I imagined it like being grazed by a living storm.
When the dragon finally pulled back, the silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the wet sound of Thalmyrion's jaws closing. Gale stood frozen, his face glistening with thick, sticky dragon spit, leaving him utterly speechless. I fought hard to suppress the sheer joy bubbling up inside me at the sight of Gale, once again, drenched in something sticky. This time, it was even more satisfying—thick, glistening dragon spit, clinging to his face in wet strands. And, judging by his grimace, the smell was as bad as I'd imagined. Dragons might be magnificent, but their breath. Foul, ancient, and utterly rank. The sight of Gale standing there, soaked and reeking, was almost too much to bear. I bit my lip to keep from laughing, but the corners of my mouth betrayed me, twitching with barely contained delight.
Lyra meant to shoot me a warning look, but the sheer hilarity of the situation wasn’t lost on her. As our eyes met, she struggled to suppress her laughter, her lips twitching in a poor attempt to keep her composure. She swallowed hard, trying to mask the amusement boiling up inside, but a stifled giggle escaped just as she turned to Thalmyrion.
"Thank you for your most generous gift," she managed, though the last word came out as more of a chuckle. Quickly clearing her throat, she tried to regain control. "We should be going; we only have an hour to find the entrance." She bowed her head at the dragon, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement.
Thalmyrion, unfazed, rumbled, "Make haste, little ones, and remember our bargain." With that, he rose to his full height, his immense body stretching with an ancient grace. Turning back toward his pool, the dragon moved with fluid elegance. His head dipped smoothly beneath the surface, followed by his long, sinuous form in a serpentine glide. The crystalline waters seemed to part effortlessly for him, and soon only gentle ripples remained, lapping softly at the edges of the pool, as if the massive creature had never been there at all.
Karlach stepped in front of Gale, barely containing her grin as she held out a handkerchief. "You’ve got a little something on your face there," she said, her voice laced with amusement.
Gale, clearly irritated, snatched the fabric from her hand and wiped his forehead and face, pausing in disbelief to wring out the now thoroughly damp cloth. The sight of it made Karlach’s snicker turn into a poorly stifled laugh. "Keep it, mate," she managed to say through her amusement.
"How kind of you," Gale muttered, sounding thoroughly exasperated, as Karlach's barely hidden laughter echoed in his ears.
Lyra, smiling and biting her lip, glanced over at Gale. "Which way to the library?" she asked with a playful lilt.
Gale, clearly in no rush, took his time meticulously folding the damp cloth Karlach had given him, smoothing out each corner before tucking it carefully into his pocket. He straightened his robes, adjusted his sleeves, and then, with a deliberate calm, surveyed the skyline of the city. "To the east, about half a mile or so, you'll find the grand spires of the Amethyst Athenaeum," he said with a flourish, gesturing toward the stone road ahead. "Shall we?"
"Oh, by all means, after you," I replied with a teasing smile. Gale, huffing in mild irritation, turned on his heel and stomped off toward the library, his footsteps heavy with exasperation, while the rest of us stifled our snickers and followed behind.
Lyra, clearly enjoying the moment, sidled up to me and elbowed my side. "Careful, darling, your little wizard might just poison your feast—or worse, never grace you with his lavish meals again." I responded with a sly smile.
"Hmm...You better hope that’s not true, Astarion," she shot back, a wicked grin curling her lips. "If I’m starved for sustenance, so shall you be."
Before I could reply, Lyra sauntered ahead, her steps confident and playful. She turned back once, casting a teasing grin over her shoulder and biting her lip ever so slightly. I winked at her, the gesture making her cheeks flush just the tiniest bit, before she turned her gaze forward, grinning all the while.