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Dataset card Data Studio Files
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Shadowheart is her next unexpected visitor of the day. "Nethandre?"
If it were anybody but her, she'd tell them to fuck off, but Shadowheart is oddly calming. She doesn't mince her words, but isn't deliberately cruel to her. (Her voice is nice, too.) So, because it's her, she twists her head to meet her eyes, hands still deep in the chest. "Do you need anything?"
"I wanted to ask you something, if you have the time."
She slowly nods, mechanical. "I suppose I do. Just ... one moment."
She continues to dig in the chest until her hands finally brush the wide metal of their shovel — damn, why is that thing buried so deep, anyways? Then, she reaches to the other side to grab the handle, pulling out her trophy. With a flourish, she sticks the shovel into the ground, then pushes herself up with its weight.
"There. Ask away."
"I... I'm going to bury Alfira after this."
"Ah, right." She nods, seemingly impassive You won't be offended if I ask about her, right?"
Nethandre’s lips tightened in a grimace, but she shook her head. "If it's important, it's alright, and you don’t tend to ask stupid questions."
"Alright, then. I cleaned up the site, but there was something I was curious about. Alfira’s blood was used to create this strange symbol." She gestures over to the scene, now clean except for the aforementioned symbol and a bloodied lump wrapped in a tarp off to its side. The two make their way over for Nethandre to re-inspect the area. "It looks like a ritual circle of some sort. Do you recognize it at all?"
Yellow eyes scan over the marking, and a strange, alien pride swells in her chest that makes her bite down on her lip. Dragged back to reality by the pain, she can only let out a sigh. "No, I don’t know. I really don't remember a thing."
"It looks like an offering, almost..." Her fingers hover over the blood, eyeing it curiously. "I’ve never seen anything like it before."
"To be perfectly fair, you sacrificed your memories to a dark goddess."
"Your memories are gone, too. Maybe you were possessed by a dark goddess yourself."
"Are — are you serious?" Her face drops instantly, and the urge smiles.
"No, no, I’m just joking!" Shadowheart’s face splits into a smile, her laugh bright and clear. Yes, she likes the sound of it.
"Oh. Hm." Her mute reaction to the joke doesn't go unnoticed — oh, well. "Would prestidigitation work?"
"I don’t know, I’m not a bard. Try it yourself."
She hums a little ditty and waves her hand over the circle. Just like that, it’s gone — the smell remains, but she was right that the odor of goblin rot made it completely unremarkable. It bothers her, though. Her magic is woven through music and song, a gift Alfira returned to her, and now it’s being used to erase the evidence of her murder.
"Are you alright?" Shadowheart’s voice gently pulls her out of her own mind.
"Obviously not." Despite her bitter words, she laughs, a hint of humor leaking out. "I was just ... thinking."
"Well, care to share with the rest of us?"
"If "the rest of us,’ means just you, sure." She takes a look at the now empty ground, hesitates, and then takes in a deep breath. "This magic. My music. It feels wrong now."
"Oh." Shadowheart stood in silence, deep in thought. Nethandre allows her time to respond — she’d be just fine dropping it, but she seems to have more to say. "Lady Shar teaches us to embrace loss, and use that loss to empower us. Don’t run from it. Let everything she’s given you make you stronger, and move forward. If you wallow in your despair, you won't accomplish anything."
Before now, Nethandre didn't understand Shar’s teachings. She held no hatred for Shadowheart’s faith, but couldn't grasp why anybody would follow such dark doctrine, although she appreciated it for the comfort it brought the cleric. In this dark hour, though, she had to admit it was comforting, a balm to her wounded soul. To know that her death could have some sort of purpose, could empower her, help her move forward — it was nice.
"Thank you. Your Lady... She can be very persuasive." She smiles at her, soft and genuine, and the cleric returns it. There’s a twinge of something there, something she doesn’t understand. Something in her doesn’t want to understand it just yet.
"I know. You’ve been surprisingly receptive to my faith, you know. I appreciate it."
"Oh, please. I’m in no state to judge any of you. Besides, I trust you."
Something hot and angry flares inside her at the admission, spreading through her body and making her fingers twitch with the instinct to tear her apart. Resolutely, she ignores it.
"There's something I'd like to do for Alfira. Could I have some help burying her?" Shadowheart's company was nice, but there was more than that — she doesn't trust herself with the body alone.
"I don't see why not." From her coy little smile, Nethandre can tell she’s more enthusiastic about helping than she’s letting on.
Nethandre stands up, making brisk paces to her tent, shovel still in hand. Shadowheart follows, curious. She's seemingly unaware of the cleric's presence, dipping in briefly before retrieving her lyre. She holds it gently, reverently, as if made of glass and not wood.
When the tiefling turns around only to be greeted by Shadowheart's face, she startles and grips it closer. "Hells!"
"I thought you would've had better instincts than that. Why do you have your lyre?"
"Alfira gave it to me. It was her mentor, Lihala's." Just looking at it feels wrong. "It’s not mine. It shouldn’t be mine. I ... I'm going to bury it with her."
She swallows the dry knot in her throat, preparing to hear some sort of comment or tease from the other woman, but she just does that strange half-smile. "Alright, but you’ll need another shovel."
Shadowheart carries the body. Nethandre hadn’t even considered asking anybody else, but she hadn’t expected her to. Too many people, and she might explode once again. They walk in silence, and Nethandre is grateful for it. Neither of them, while not particularly squeamish, actually wanted to see the state of her body, so they left her as is.
"So, what exactly are we looking for? I imagine you have a spot in mind."
"I don’t know, exactly. I think I’ll recognize it when I see it."
The forest is beautiful all around, but she wants to find something special — a little place she can see Alfira singing in. She wants to find a place she can hear the music in, a place like her little alcove in the grove where they met.
Everything is so alien and new to Nethandre, even now that it’s been more than a tenday. She aches with curiosity with every step, every new sight, every new person spoken to, absorbing every experience like a sponge, greedy for more. When she woke up, everything was in shades of red. When she met Alfira and discovered something else that drove her, she began to see the colors in between, the pinks and oranges and blues. She couldn’t understand the meaning behind it all, yet, but, oh, how desperately she wanted to.
The pair are finally stopped in their tracks when they see a clearing. A meadow, with flowers blooming and light shining down, making the colors more vibrant. Luscious greens, deep purples, sunny yellows, the greenery all around them creating a breathtaking sight. It almost sings to her, calling out, weaving an enchanting melody.
"I think... I think this is it."
"How do you know?"
Nethandre’s mouth opens, ready to wax poetic about the sight, but no words her mind conjures can capture the simple beauty of this place. "Alfira would like it," is what she decides on.
"Hm. I think she would." It’s difficult to read her companion, but she thinks she’s satisfied with her answer.
The two get to work, Shadowheart laying the body to the side while they dig. It’s hard work, but less so when there’s two hands. The silence once again falls over them like a thick blanket, comfortable and familiar, neither of them wanting to break that unspoken solidarity.
She finds she appreciates this, the mechanical monotony of digging into the earth, tossing the dirt on the pile, et cetera. A comfortable nothing. She should find more hobbies like this, but preferably ones that didn’t involve burying the bodies of her friends.
By the time it’s done, Nethandre is caked in sweat, but she’s not even mad that her cleanliness lasted for a grand total of two hours, if that. A deep hole lays before them. She wipes the sweat off her forehead and turns her attention to the body wrapped in the tarp.
Her mouth feels dry, gaze fixed on the lump, stuck to the spot. She’s going to have to unwrap her now.
She’s going to have to face what she’s done yet again.
she can’t she can’t she can’t she can’t—
Before she can move, Shadowheart is already doing it herself, gingerly kneeling before the bard’s body and picking her up, much like she did before. Nethandre can’t even look, her eyes fixed on the empty grave instead. If she looks, she’ll have to remember every gory detail, feel the pride swell up in her once again, recall the taste —
"I — Can you put her in?" Her voice sounds so very weak. Ever so quiet, she adds on, "please?"
"I suppose I can." There's no amusement in her tone. Nethandre closes her eyes — she can’t help it — and hears a decisive "thump’ as Alfira is dumped unceremoniously into the pit. Shadowheart begins to pile dirt back in, and she doesn’t even realize what she’s waiting for until she speaks again.
"I can’t see her anymore. You can open your eyes."
"I ... Thank you," Nethandre murmurs in response.
Nethandre finally picks the lute back up, looking at it one last time. No — Lihala’s lute, not hers. It was a gift, and one she didn’t deserve to keep. Unconsciously, she strums a few notes on it, only recognizing it as the 1-2-3-4 of Alfira’s song once the melody has been played.
Dance upon the stars tonight, smile and pain will fade away...
Gingerly, she places it in the grave, and finally sets her free.
The dirt covers it up, slowly, surely, until the only memories that remain of the bard are the ones Nethandre holds close to herself. The weight feels a little lighter now, the grief a little less impregnable.
Shadowheart’s right.
The only thing she can do now is move forward.
If someone had told Ash that they would have been plucked off the street of Baldur's gate by a Nautiloid only to have a tadpole forced into their brain. Ash would have asked what drugs the person was taking before brushing them off, as a crazy person. But this is the predicament the Tiefling warlock finds themself in. Trudging towards a Druid grove alongside a Githyanki, that tried to run them through with a long sword when they first met. A Half-elf, carrying a weird trinket box. A wizard, Ash had to pull from a rock, and had the fucking nerve to call their infernal powers a "Sliver of the Weave", Last but not least the pale finely dressed elf, who Ash swore kept looking at them with a deep hunger in his crimson eyes. This motley crew shared one thing in common. The unwanted guest that was slowly chewing at their grey matter. Hearing from some Tieflings, Ash had convinced to let Lae'zel go and leave without starting a fight, that a Druid called Nettie would be able to assist them with healing.
Lae'zel had been grumbling for what felt like the last hour, about how they should ignore the druids and look for the crèche that may be close by. Their constant reminder that time was of the essence, and the more time wasted, the closer to turning they got. Left a throbbing headache to slowly spread from behind their eyes. Ash could not be sure if it was the stress, or the unwanted guest causing the pain. But the sharp stabbing caused Ash to stop walking, pressing their greyish blue palms into their eyes, and gritting their teeth.
"Ok... time for a break." Ash hissed as another wave of pain rocked through their skull. "Just five minutes, I just need a breather." Ash cut off the Githyanki before she could protest. Before their companions could say anything. Ash walked a little away from the group, and under a nearby tree. Closing their eyes, they sent their magic inside themselves. Searching for the cause of the pain. Finding the source being a build up of stress, and not a happily feeding brain worm. Ash cast a small cantrip on their fingers, pressing their now chilled touch to their forehead to relieve the pressure. Letting out a sigh of relief as the pain started to ebb away under their cold touch.
"My my, what a little firecracker you are." A voice purred from to Ash's right. They jumped to their feet and turned to see a human man leaning lazily against another tree. Dressed in a finely tailored suit, fine gold threads was skillfully embroidered over the jacket. His trousers tucked neatly into waxed dark leather boots. His dark hair was pushed away from his tanned face, and curled slightly at the nape of his neck. Just above the starched white ruffles of an undershirt, that peeked from beneath his jacket. It was his eyes that caught Ash off guard. Deep browns that in the sunlight seemed to have a glow to them. As Ash took in his appearance, he had moved, hands clasped behind his back, and he slowly walked closer to the surprised Tiefling.
"I do believe I can be of.. an assistance to your little problem." His voice was rich as he spoke. Coming to a halt in front of Ash. "But as much as this little place has it's charms." He looked around the small pocket of trees they both stood in scrunching his nose up at the sight. "I know the perfect place for us to continue our conversation."
Before Ash could respond a bright white flash flared around the both of them. The brightness caused Ash to close their eyes, wincing as the pain in their head flared up again. Only to be washed away with a familiar heat, that embraced them. Looking around to find they were no longer in a little grove of trees.. but inside.
The room was large, but its lavish decor did not make it feel empty, it gave the room a lived in feel. Deep crimson tapestries lay draped over the walls, the candlelight bouncing a crimson hue around the room. In the centre, a dark cherry wood table, with an assortment of foods piled upon silver platters on it's surface. As if awaiting a banquet's worth of guests to enjoy its delights. The smells of the food were mouth watering, and complemented by the heavy incense that filled the room. The sweet scent of cherries and rich sandalwood.. and was that slightest hint of sulphur? clung to Ash as they looked around. A grand fireplace roared with life.. and above it, a large and well painted portrait of a Devil lourdes from its resting place on the wall. No, not a devil. A Cambion. Ash noted, before their attention was pulled away from the painting. By the man who now stood in front of the fire. Said painting looming behind him.
"Now that is much better." He said with a sigh. "Nature for all its wonders, can not be compared to the lavishness of home." He spread his arms wide. " I bid you welcome to my House of Hope. my little respite in the hells." A slightly chuckle escaped him, as if laughing at his own joke.
A frown grew on Ash's face as they connected the clues around them. The infernal heat that embraced them like an old lover, the decor that gave the Warlock the sense they had seen it before. But they could not place where they had seen it. What was the final nail to drop was his eyes. That glow Ash had notice before was more a hellish heat that made his eyes tinkle as he took them in.
"But please, help yourself." He gestured to the bounty on the table. " I had it prepared especially." He strolled over to the table, pulling out a plush wing back armchair and gracefully reclined in it. Crossing a long leg over the other and pouring himself a glass of deep red wine. Raising it slowly to his lips and looking over to Ash over the rim as he took a sip.
"A place of hope in hell... ironic isn't it?" Ash pulled a seat out and sat on the edge. The devil across from them gave a deep chuckle as he placed the glass down, and ran a finger around the rim.
"Ah...us devils do so love a little irony." Raphael leans back and holds his hands up. " But who could blame us for that." He flashed Ash a sharp toothy smile. "But to business. I came bearing a proposition. A reprieve from your tragic situation you find yourself in. A nice juicy worm nestles itself deep within that interesting brain of yours. I offer to remove it, to pluck it from its new home, and set you free from the cruel fate you have been dealt."
Ash tilts their head. "That is a pretty big offer, coming from a Cambion. Aren't you biting off more than you can chew?" The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, and Ash nearly missed it. Clearly a nerve has been hit.
"My how impressive." He gave a snap of his long fingers. Hellish flames washed over him, washing away the human disguise, and revealing the red skinned devil's true form. Two impressive horns grew , curling back over his head. A smaller set curled off from their base. Large leathery wings fluttered open casting an imposing silhouette. His fingers tipped with sharp black claws that clicked against the wine glass as he picked it up. His yellow eyes glowed brightly from the black sclera. "But this Cambion is the one offering you the salvation you desperately wish for." He proclaimed with a flourish of his hands.
Ash spied a bowl of cherries in front of them. Their deep crimson flesh shone in the candlelight. The fruit had been pitted and their stems removed, so it can be eaten easily. They reach out to pick one up. The devil's eyes were fixed to it, watching intently as they rolled the berry in their fingers, A small bead of juice running down one of their fingers. "So what do you gain from this deal." Ash titled their head, watching the small ruby bead as it dripped down onto the table top. The bright red trail left behind contrasted with the pale grey of their skin. " Cambion or not, all hellish offers come with some sort of cost." Ash added, popping the fruit into their mouth. An explosion of sweet juice popped in their mouth as they bit into the flesh.
Something sparked in the devil's eyes as he watched them eat the small fruit. "You are correct my dear. But all the best deals come with some sort of price." He tapped a clawed finger on his chin. " Alas your soul is off the table. Someone else holds that prize. No, my reward should be something more.. but what to ask for." He pulled a slight pout and looked Ash over.
After a moment he stopped tapping his finger. " Tell me , little mouse. Do you wish to be cured of your ailment?. How desperately do you want your unwelcome guest removed? What will you do for my help?. What are you willing to part with for my assistance?" His voice purred as he asked, his gaze holding Ash's as they swallowed.
"You're not the only one who can help. There is a druid close by who can remove it." Ash said with a shrug earning a deep laugh from the devil.
"Shop around all you wish." He held his hands out wide. "But know this, at the end of the day, only I can save you." He leaned closer to Ash, placing a hand on his chest as a grin spread on his face.
Ash rose slowly from the table and walked over to the devil. His gaze fixed on them as they moved closer. " I'll consider your offer, if the druids aren't any help." The Tiefling stopped as the devil pushed his chair back, turning to face them. Lounging back in his seat, He lazily reached out for his wine glass and took another sip.
"As you wish, little mouse. Take your time, I shall be here waiting if you change your mind. " He snapped his fingers with a flourish.
The bright light engulfed Ash once again. Once it fizzled out, Ash found themselves back in the small grove of trees they were before the encounter. Their headache had not returned much to the warlock's relife.
"There you are. Are you finished with your rest? If I have to listen to that Gith complain any more I will not be responsible for my actions." Asterion's voice pulled Ash out of their thoughts as he walked closer.
"Yeah I'm done, I need to talk to you all though, something just happened." Ash turned to rejoin the group , starting to explain the encounter with the pale elf as they walked.
They had been working their way through the Shadow cursed lands for a few days, maybe a week. It was hard to judge time as the dense black fog that surrounded them made telling the time impossible. They had saved the refugees from Moonlight tower, and Rolan from an early death at the hands of whatever the hells lived in the shadows. On their travels the party had learned about a temple of Shar, that could be found in a Mausoleum close to the House of Hope. Shadowhearts interest peaked. From having Shar protect her special favourite from the curse affecting this land. Now there is an abandoned temple that was calling to her. Ash had agreed that they would look into it. After all They had never seen Shadowheart so excited.
The group, consisting of Shadowheart, Astarion and Karlach trudged through the dark. The glow of the blessings given by the Pixie and Isobel kept the darkness at bay as they moved. The slight movement at the edge of their vision, kept Ash from fully relaxing. Occasionally they felt Karlach's warm hand touch their shoulder, reassuring them that they were ok. Ash's mind wandered back to the deal that Astarion had made with Raphael. At some point he was going to pop up and explain the infernal contract on his back. Although Ash could read the language, the legal jargon that made up devil contracts were confusing on purpose. The wording double sided, leaving the ability for loopholes for those clever enough to find them. Without the rest of it for context, the phrase meant nothing. Talk of infernal hells and punishment only alluded to something horrid. The vampire spawn had leapt at the chance of asking the Devil to find out what it ment, once he found out the basics. Raphael had looked smug as the vampire danced around explaining why he needed help, before vaguely offering his assistance. As they travelled to find the temple, they tried to contact their patron, to ask for assistance. Only to be shut out by the Arch Devil. His interest.. like always was elsewhere.
As they drew closer to the temple Ash could swear they heard voices. No. not voices. A voice.. Ash paused and listened. Whoever it was they were reciting a poem, stopping and hissing to themselves in infernal, before repeating the line again. The tone of their voice was slightly different on the second attempt. Changing the tone of the line. Shooting the rest of the group a confused look, Ash led the way closer to the voice.
There at the entrance of the Abandoned Sharan temple, was Raphael. Dressed in the same finely tailored outfit he wore last time they met, When Ash had inerupted His and Mol's chest game, Bumpin into the bord to give the young theif a distraction. His back was towards the group and hands clasped behind his back, as his deep voice continued to recite the poem. The soft crunch of decaying branches underfoot gave them away. As Raphael turned to face the group of confused adventurers.
"Our Hero thought but of treasure ahead. Did not consider the peace of the dead." He moved to stand in front of them. "Through the dark he went creeping. And awoke what was sleeping... A new grave they dug, which he himself fed." His lips curled into a smug smile as he finished.
"How long were you going to repeat that?" Ash asked, as they tilted their head at the Devil.
"Until it was perfect." He chuckled. "If it isn't my favourite adventurer. It is good to see you again, little mouse." Ash felt Karlach shoot them a confused look. "I have grown quite fond of you, and that is why I thought it fair to warn you. Of the dangers ahead."
Ash shifted slightly, raising an eyebrow. " What dangers?"
"Oh we both know they are soon to be revealed." He waved a hand lazily. " It would be pointless of me to bar you from entering. But I can set the scene as it were. Prepare you for your role."
Ash heard Karlach grumble about "Devils and their fucking flowery language." They let out a sigh. "Never straight forward is it... fine, paint me a picture." They watched as his face lit up. Devils and their theatrics, Ash shook their head at the thought.
"There is a stage down in the dark upon which a great drama has suspended itself in time. It's actors dwell there still, mired in the languor of their long tired scenes. If you however , through the dark go creeping and awake what is sleeping... Chances are many more graves than yours alone will soon be fed."
As Ash watched the devil speak, they noticed a slight twinge of... desperation on his face. The way one of the corners of his eyes twitched gave him away. The Tiefling paused, if something was driving the devil to be this desperate. Something important to them was in there..
"So something sleeps in the depths of a Sharan temple.. care to elaborate a bit more." Ash flicked their tail gently against the debris filled path they stood on.