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Astarion behind him scoffed. "So we’re messengers now?"
"It’d be good to try and help them," Gale deflected.
"Tch’k. If you must waste our time with this grove, then at least allow us to find this Zorru, the one who has seen my kin."
"Zorru?" Zevlor asked. "Yes he... He did speak of running into a strange people out on the roads. Speak to him in the grove, if you must, but I ask that you do not distract him from his duties. And, please, if you do have the compassion and time, find me in the caves to speak more about First Druid Kagha and the others."
Yuta nodded, looking down the mouth of the Grove’s entrance.
First Druid Kagha was the issue then?
Yuta had hardly reason to find kinship amongst tieflings besides simply being one, living sheltered for decades in a tall tower in the mountains with little else but goats and chickens for company, and the cruel controlling nature of those he was forced to serve. Cruelty was a grave sin. He would have none of it.
Lae’zel found Zorru. She seemed to be... Antagonizing him. He knelt before her as Yuta glanced to the pair in the distance. He hoped she wouldn’t cause him any harm.
"Your friend is... A little rough around the edges," the Blade of Frontiers said, holding his rapier loosely. "Though she does get results."
"Sorry, we don’t mean to cause trouble."
"After what you did for us at the gate? I think a little trouble would be fine," he half joked with a bright smile. "Have you had the chance to speak with Zevlor? He knows more about this situation than I. Though through the tiefling vine, as it were, I heard the Druids have taken one of the tiefling children. They won’t let me through," Wyll shook his head. "If the both of us march our way down, perhaps, seeing as we saved this grove together, they might let us sort this situation. That Kagha is a snake in the grass. I’d hate to see anyone, especially a child, get hurt."
This Kagha, then, has now kidnapped a child? Yuta’s jaw tightened. He hadn’t known the woes outside his tower. He hadn’t felt kinship like this, not ever. But these people were his kin. Wyll, their friend and guardian. He would be Wyll’s friend, too.
"Let me speak with Zevlor, then we’ll make ourselves down," he said with uncharacteristic confidence.
It took courage to leave the Spire which he had been bound since childhood. If he could overcome the fear of that, of leaving, of punishment, then he could overcome anything. Especially for others.
Gale perused a Druid’s wares, Astarion and Lae’zel bothered Zorru, and Shadowheart sat on a stone. She worked on a strange icosahedron, trying to pry it open. Yuta paused to watch. It was the artefact from the ship. She was rather protective of it.
"Do.. You need help?" He asked.
Shadowheart grunted in frustration as her fingers slipped from the crevices. She slapped it against the stone. "Moon’s shadow this blasted thing..!" She sighed. "No, I... It’s fine. It’s not your concern." She put it away. "Are we heading out?" She was quick to change subject as though it were innocent query.
"Not yet. The Blade will join us once I speak with Zevlor. There is... A snake in the grove."
"So I’ve heard. Honeybadgers are fearsome things. Perhaps we can convince the druids to show us their mighty claws."
Yuta nodded at her as he entered the caves.
"I don’t need a bodyguard," he heard Zevlor comment. "This isn’t Avernus."
"Just a precaution," another tiefling insisted, her sword out, flat blade resting against her pauldron. "The monsters there at least looked like monsters." She shifted, glancing to Yuta, but relaxed somewhat seeing a fellow tiefling.
Zevlor followed her gaze, smiling tiredly at Yuta.
"Come, friend. I’m sure you’re quite busy as it is with your party, so I won’t take much of your time."
Yuta clopped across the stone and dirt, but wobbled slightly at the uneven ground, his hand out against the stone to still himself.
Zevlor and his bodyguard eyed him, smiling quietly to themselves like he were a newborn fawn unused to his legs.
"Have you seen many adventures?" Zevlor asked, knowing the answer was no.
"Not really," Yuta answered honestly, hands clasped politely together. "I.. Only recently came to our new-formed group. On a common errand to find a healer."
"Goblins get you?" Zevlor’s eyes darted around Yuta’s frame with genuine concern.
"No, for... An ailment we each share. It’s a story for another time."
"I see... The First Druid Halsin is a famed healer here, but sadly Aradin’s band abandoned him with the Goblins. Kagha swept the opportunity and has now begun the Rite of Thorns." The Paladin rested his hands on his sword, looking across his table of maps and notes. A few places were circled, a few more crossed out. This grove was circled as safe, then crossed out. Yuta tried not to frown pityingly.
"She seems... Unkind. She’s taken a child, even," Yuta reported.
Zevlor clicked his tongue in frustration. "Yes, I’m aware. Mragreshem."
"Does she..." Yuta was careful with his voice, lowering it. "Need to be dealt with?"
The bodyguard eyed him, a quiet surprise masked by duty.
Zevlor did not bat an eye.
"A dark thought... But not one that hasn’t already crossed my mind. I cannot get close to her. But you, though," he lowered his own voice. "They owe you audience at the least."
"Would you be so swift to cast me to the wolves?" Yuta didn’t mean it as harshly as it sounded.
Zevlor took a half step back.
"I apologize. You’re right. It would be dangerous. Especially when we don’t know her allies. Even if you are a stranger, you’re still a tiefling. They hate us enough as it is. They’d simply see it reason to slaughter us if you get caught."
"I will take care of it. But it will have to be delicate. I hope you understand, uhm... Zevlor, right?"
"Yes. Yuta, if I recall?"
Yuta curtsied politely.
Zevlor found himself curious about the tiefling cleric. His heraldic vestments carried the sign of a skull with a scroll between its teeth, a quill adorning its brow. He recognized it, vaguely, but could not recall the god to which it belonged. Odd, really. Was the boy from a cult? He prayed not the Absolute cult that seemed to spread across the Sword Coast so readily, but the symbol wasn’t quite the same.
Still. Aid was aid.
"Please make haste, Yuta. The rite they are chanting will cast us all out. We will be left nigh defenseless against hoards of Goblins and Gnolls. Though, the goblins have acted rather unified. I suspect they are being controlled by a force that is, well... More organized. If not Kagha, then perhaps the source of their unification. Their unnatural leadership. I understand this is no small task, especially for an adventurer so new to all this," Zevlor half-pleaded. And was careful with his words. He knew how to pull heartstrings, how to tug at kin.
Though, in truth, he didn’t need his manipulative machinations, Yuta was already deeply invested in the safety of the tieflings. At any cost.
"Hm... The Goblin leadership, then... I’ll see what I can discover. If you don’t mind, Wyll, the, erm... Blade of Frontiers?"
"Have you not heard of him?" The cleric seemed awfully sheltered, Zevlor thought. He knew neither the Descent nor the Folk Hero of the Western Heartlands?
"Honestly, I haven’t," Yuta tucked dark hair behind his ear, grinning diffidently. "My studies were more in... Ancient than contemporary times."
"You lived in a cloister, then?"
"No, not quite... But that matters not. Wyll, myself, and my group will help you. You have my word."
Yuta curtsied once more, cutting off Zevlor’s questions.
A temple or cloister, perhaps, would account for his temperate nature and hermetic countenance. The boy knew little of recent events. Studied ancient history. Wore an ancient sigil of an ancient god upon his vestments. His face was gaunt, his frame waifish under heavy mails. His horns...
Zevlor pursed his lips as the cleric left. Silently, he prayed he didn’t send him to his grave.
Six days had passed with little word. Zevlor hardly slept at all as he mapped and remapped and strategized and restrategized. Time was running out. His teeth hurt from being clenched all the time.
Goblins have not attacked yet. The impending ritual would surely be soon due.
He stifled the fear in his chest, choked out the anxiety. His people needed him. He needed to be a leader. Needed to solve their problem. With each passing day, drawing his sword to Kagha himself began to look better and better. But he couldn’t risk the children. Not the civilians. Not the innocents. He already lost his oath. His faith. He couldn’t lose their lives.
Arabella had been freed from Kagha’s clutches. Poor girl threatened with the venom of a snake, but alive. He wished he could take her fear into himself. All their fears and house them. He would be their sacrificial goat if he could. It gave him purpose. His tail swished with nerves.
The children were good at hiding.
He felt terrible but they seemed to enjoy acting as his little spies, finding crevices to hide and weave through. The pale elf had taken something from Kagha, handing it off to Mattis. The note was left on Zevlor’s table, painting Kagha a Shadow Druid. He knew little of the ways of Druids, but it seemed incriminating. He kept it safe.
He had gone down to the grove after hearing an altercation, fearing the worst.
He heard the clangs of steel too late, rushing down the stairs but Druids turned animals kept him and others out, growling at a standstill.
Kagha had emerged, hair half undone with blood and shame stained across her face. She came to the other druids, her head held high, but Zevlor could see the edges of regret in her gaze as she glanced at him.
"We will end the rite," she said. "Your people may stay sheltered here, but know it will not stop the Goblin hoards to come."
Relief, for the first time in ages, washed over him.
Zevlor stepped aside, sheathing his sword. He saw the party emerge from the grove. He wanted to push past, but feared he would break what little pleasant grounds they’ve made with the druids insofar.
Instead he saw Yuta, who dusted mud from his hip and clap dirt away from his hands, gently laying healing spells on his companions. Shadowheart wove water between them all, dousing off the blood and mud, enough until they could launder better.
The clerical tiefling felt eyes upon him, glancing over. He grinned, saying quick word to the group before he left to greet Zevlor proper. On the edge of the steps, he curtsied politely.
"You’ve stopped the rite," Zevlor said with appreciative astonishment.
"As I promised. Or, half-promised. The Goblins may still attack, but now we know where their camp is and who is left in charge. They have the Druid Halsin captive in their cells."
"You’ve been busy," Zevlor complimented brightly. He could feel days of tension wash from his shoulders. It did not solve all their problems, but it gave them ample time to prepare.
Yuta tried to climb the stairs but tripped, catching himself on the stone. He hissed. Zevlor tried to help.
"Sorry, I. My ankle."
The Paladin wrapped an arm around the younger’s back.
"You don’t have to," the cleric protested, but Zevlor did anyway, both equally stubborn goats butting courtesies. Thus, Yuta let him aid him up the stairs with a frustrated, embarrassed flush across his cheeks.
"There is no shame in needing a little help. Especially after what you’ve done for us."
Yuta gave a rueful smile.
"I could wrap it for you," the former Hellrider offered. He was no healer, but knew basic war-medicine.
Zevlor blinked in surprise. Yuta was quick to answer, panicked almost.
"I’ll be fine, really. A day’s rest after all that’s happened."
The red tiefling wouldn’t pry. He worried, somewhat, though. He could add Yuta’s worries to his roster of worries, carry the cleric’s concerns on his shoulders with the others.
"Whatever you say," he finally replied, staring tenderly at the younger fawn.
His arm slid from Yuta’s back as the cleric insisted he was fine, waving Zevlor off as his group caught up and they made way to their own camp.
Music played as Alfira strummed her lute. She sang her new song and a few other tieflings danced. One toppled over after spinning too many times, drink spilled over the dirt.
Yuta’s frost-kissed eyes darted over the affair, smiling politely as he saw Wyll sneak off towards the shoreline, the folk hero lifting a mug in silent greeting.
Yuta spotted Zevlor. The older tiefling stood off away from the others, nursing a mug alone. Yuta couldn’t bound fast enough to his side.  
Zevlor’s ember eyes lit to a hearthfire at Yuta. The cleric’s presence was a bellows’ stoke to his lonesome smolder.
"I hope you’ll pardon them," he said apologetically, drumming his fingers against his mug. "They were meant to wait for you," he said with only placid annoyance, just loud enough for others to hear and grin, some rueful, others unabashed and raising glasses and mugs and tankards. Zevlor sighed with a shake of his head. He turned back to Yuta, tall in stance, gratitude writ over his asmodean-red face. "It’s been some time since they’ve had call to celebrate. I’m glad to see they haven’t forgotten how. Will you join them?"
Yuta noticed Zevlor left himself out of the topic of celebration.
He noticed Zevlor left himself out of the tiefling group he shepherded often.
Zevlor smiled softly. He let his shoulders drop, his guard let down ever so slightly.
"I... don’t want to ruin their celebration early," he admitted. "I must do that come morning. I meant to plan our next steps, what lies ahead on the road, but... You’re right. Baldur’s Gate will still be there. Come, then."
In the center of camp, between the dancing and revelry, narrowly avoiding Bex’s spinning dance before she fell, Zevlor looked up to the sky as it began to darken. The gibbous moon was filling in, the stars not quite twinkling.
He took a deep breath, then peered to the cleric. "Thank you. You... Saved us all. Turned Kagha from shadow, scattered the Goblin horde, brought Halsin to safety... It’s more than we’re capable of repaying you, though we will certainly try." He was grateful the cleric had turned down the coin he gathered from the tieflings – it hadn’t been much, what little they had. Yet he still felt selfish for not rewarding him.
He thought of something he hadn’t done in quite some time. Not since the Hells.
Zevlor’s hands fell to Yuta’s shoulder, then gestured him to stand there.
"I hope you don’t mind a little pageantry. It’s a tradition we developed in Avernus."
Yuta stilled obediently, but ice blue eyes watched with piqued curiosity.
Zevlor quietly prayed he could still perform it. Helm hadn’t been behind him in quite some time. Gods, he quietly prayed, Please, grant me this one, small thing.