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Dataset card Data Studio Files
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"I know you're recounting the previous events, but that doesn't change the fact that your words sting just a bit." Gale, finally having regained feeling in his body, walked over to Shadowheart as she scanned street for any other unusual behavior.
The doors of the Highberry home opened, and Aethelle walked outside, pouch in hand.
"Well, Cora was great for the coin, but with a killer on the loose I imagine we'll have to rain check on that wine tasting," said the sorceress.
"A travesty!" Astarion dramatically threw his hands over his heart and leaned over, as if taking a fatal stake through his vampire heart.
"Anything of note on the bodies?" questioned Aethelle.
"A note and a key to a tombstone shop. The note has instructions to get in, too. A little on the nose, in my opinion," retorted Astarion. "Of course the group of murderers ravaging the city would set up shop in something equally macabre." He handed the note to Aethelle, her eyes quickly reading the details.
"No more on the nose than when we infiltrated Cazador's gothic eyesore of a palace and we were immediately swarmed with bats." Aethelle spoke with her eyes still glued to the note, her hand reaching to her pocket to find the murder target list they had originally found a few days prior.
Shadowheart noticed Aethelle's eyes begin to squint as she compared the two pages. "I'd wager he didn't go back to the shop when we're hot on his trail," the cleric of Selûne stated. "He probably went for another target, eager to finish the job before we interfere again."
"Agreed. He's got quite the list..." Aethelle's voice trailed off as she read the parchment.
"What is it?" asked Gale.
"There's someone I know on this list," Aethelle said worriedly. "Hopefully this murderer of ours hasn't gotten to him yet. Gale, can you see if you can detect where he teleported off to?"
Gale walked over to the spot where the would-be-killer suddenly vanished before their eyes. A spell of Dimension Door was clever of him, but Gale knew that even the most sudden teleport could be tracked. He spoke an incantation and held out his arms parallel to the ground, his palms facing where the assassin stood. He felt the Weave rush from his hands and spill over his body, a warmth he felt time and time again. His eyes glowed a pale blue as he tried to feel within the Weave where the assassin teleported to.
"Who do you know on the list, darling?" Astarion asked, wrapping an arm around the sorceress’s shoulders. "Hopefully not some forlorn ex-lover we need to go save."
"Ha!" Aethelle snorted. "I guess you'll just have to wait and find out. We were probably going to stop there anyways, no better time than the present."
"And what exactly does this friend of yours do?" inquired Shadowheart.
"No room for surprises today, huh Shadowheart?" asked Aethelle with a sly smile on her face. "Understandable, considering we just stopped a murder at a wine festival in broad daylight. I assure you, my friend is not a blood-hungry killer type."
The color of Gale's eyes soon began to fade from the glowing icy blue to his normal light brown. "I can't say for certain," said the wizard as the magical luminance faded from his body, "but I do believe it's further west of here."
"Gods damn it all. We better hurry, then." Aethelle shoved the papers back in her pocket as the group began to sprint through the streets of the city.
Aethelle threw open the doors of the boutique. The clerk, clearly shocked at the abrupt entrance, yelped a curse at her. The adventuring group hardly noticed as they burst through another set of doors, leading to an elegant tailor's workshop with several outfitted mannequins. The room's warm wood contrasted against the rich purples, blues, and reds of the silks on display.
The sorceress stopped dead in her tracks. There, the assassin from the wine festival stood, knife to the neck of a dwarf's paralyzed body. In another corner lay a halfling, similarly paralyzed, outfitted in Flaming Fist armor. Both were utterly helpless to the murderer; they were victims trapped in a prison of their own bodies.
"Careful, assassin. One wrong move and you're dead." Aethelle held up her hands, palms facing the criminal. One hand glowed orange as flames began to materialize, the other glowing a bright red, ready to counterspell any sneaky escape attempts this time around.
"Wrong move? No, my dear, it's you who have made the wrong move," the assassin snarled. "On me, brothers and sisters, for Bhaal!"
Gale, Astarion, Shadowheart, and Aethelle suddenly found themselves in the middle of several shapeshifters, once seemingly normal seamsters and seamstresses, now in their true form. The otherworldly humanoids were covered in ivory scales, their limbs and digits lengthened, and they stood towering menacingly over the adventurers. Their eyes, the darkest black with no irises or whites to them, gazed on them hungrily.
"How utterly delightful." Before Astarion could even finish his sentence, an arrow whistled from his bow, piercing a shapeshifter in one of its deep black eyes. Now, only crimson could be seen from the socket, as it spilled over and leaked down its face. The body hit the floor with a heavy thud.
"Sometimes I can't tell if you're serious or not," remarked Gale as he dodged the claw of a shapeshifter, before another grazed his arm.
"Oh, I think he's rather serious," replied Shadowheart in her usual dry tone, even as she loosed the explosive guiding bolt from her hands into a nearby shapeshifter. The creature howled in an unhuman voice and glared at her vengefully, before leaping at her with all its might. Shadowheart deftly blocked the monster with her shield in one hand, the other thrusting her silver Spear of the Night through the creature's chest.
As the trio continued fighting the shapeshifters, Aethelle found herself one-on-one with the assassin. He leapt at her ferociously and a flurry of knife strikes filled her peripherals. She dodged one strike, then another, but the third deeply lacerated her bicep. The sorceress hissed and grabbed her now bloodied arm. She furiously chanted an incantation and thrust the hand on her injured arm forward, her other hand still gripping the wound. The motion made her wince as the magic exploded from her lame arm, pushing back the assassin with a wave of thunder.
Her spell was enough to knock the killer down, but her flinch caused the gust to dissipate quicker than she had anticipated. The assassin quickly regained his footing before lunging at her again, his knife aiming for her stomach. Aethelle pirouetted to her left, causing the assassin to strike nothing but air. The lack of contact sent the killer stumbling for balance, and in the opening, she grabbed the man by his arm and sent an electric current through his body. He screamed in agony and pulled away from her grasp, sending a shooting pain up Aethelle's bloodied arm. His eyes were bloodthirsty as he leapt once again at her with a reckoning force. The man was quick and agile, and Aethelle braced herself for the blow she knew she couldn't dodge.
A few seconds passed and Aethelle felt no contact of the dagger with her skin. The killer's body unceremoniously rolled to the floor, the tip of an arrow now emerging from the place the man's left eye previously was. She sighed with relief as she scanned the room for the next target, but found no one else.
Shadowheart quickly went to Aethelle, cupping her wound softly in her hands. The cleric whispered a quiet prayer, and within moments the laceration was healed. Aethelle rotated her elbow a few times, testing the mobility in her arm. There was no more pain, and the only evidence of her injury was her now blood-soaked tunic. Shadowheart nodded and smiled before walking over to the two victims.
"Are you all right, my love?" the vampire questioned, inspecting her arm.
"More than all right." She smiled affectionately at the pale elf. "I'm grateful you're a good shot with that." Aethelle gestured to the elegant silver bow on Astarion's back. When the light caught the metal, it almost seemed to radiate from within. Aethelle's eyes flickered over to the wizard. "What about you, Gale? You seem to have more autonomy this time around."
"Simply lovely, thank you." The wizard grinned.
"I'm lucky you all arrived when you did," said an unfamiliar voice. Aethelle turned around to see the halfling in Flaming Fist armor extending her hand, albeit a little shakily as the poison was still wearing off. Aethelle politely shook the investigator's hand and smiled. For a Flaming Fist, Devella didn't have the roughened exterior that most of the Fist had. Her tight blond curls framed her brown doe eyes. If Aethelle didn't know any better, she could have mistaken her for an Upper City socialite.
"My name's Devella. I've been investigating a string of murders around the city. I've got a few leads, but I'm afraid I must be off to the next one. I'll send for the Fist to come investigate the bodies for any further information." Devella's tone was heavy. Aethelle noticed the wavering fear in her speech.
"This is about the Bhaal cultists, isn't it?" asked Aethelle. "Your partner, Valeria, sent me. I found some damning evidence in Rivington. A murder list, to be frank." She pulled the list out of her pocket and handed it to the detective.
"By the gods, proof I was right!" Devella's brown eyes widened as she read the page. "I didn't think anyone in this entire city would have backed me up on this investigation. I knew my conclusions were sound, but I... I never expected this."
Aethelle listened patiently as Devella told her about the resurgence of ritualistic Bhaal murders around the city. Devella had certainly done her research, going so far as to ask local butchers about the adept cuts made on the murdered victims. And, from her research, Devella learned that nobody normal could have inflicted those wounds. From Aethelle's interactions with Orin, the fanatical Bhaal chosen terrorizing her through the city, Aethelle knew the Bhaalists were far from normal. As Devella recounted the history of the Bhaalspawn crisis from years ago to the sorceress, a nagging thought became the forefront of Aethelle's mind.
"You said Sarevok, the one who originally started the Bhaalspawn crisis years ago, died? Is there any chance he could still be alive somehow?" Aethelle asked inquisitively.
"Stranger things have come back to haunt this city." Devella lowered her eyes and crossed her arms. "But now that this assassin is dead, the people you found on your murder list should be safe, for now at least."
Devella let out an exasperated sigh. "Look, I've no place to ask you this, but I've been reassigned to the Upper City. I'm the only one who believes in this Bhaalist resurgence, but the Fist wants me to make sure a few nobles are looked after. If you're able to sniff out wherever these freaks are hiding, I'd be greatly appreciative."
"Shouldn't the Fist have a duty to all of the people of the city, not just those who were born in the right place at the right time?" jabbed Gale.
"Indeed. But that's not how the Fist has been working lately." The venom in Devella's voice was hardly concealed. Lord Gortash, now the archduke of Baldur's Gate, was an expert tyrant. While Orin sowed chaos in the streets, Gortash was seen as the saving grace of the Gate, implementing his omniscient Steel Watch to enforce justice in the Lower City. However, his idea of justice was a killing blow to the offender, for even the most minor crime - if there was even a crime to begin with. Bane's Chosen was doing excellent work at putting the city in his chokehold.
"I imagine I'll have business with these Bhaalists anyways," said Aethelle. "I'll take care of them. But please, see if you can convince anyone in the Fist of these fanatics. You know as well as I do that the Lower City deserves more."
"I do," said Devella. "I sure as hell do."
The stylish boutique owner struggled to stand. Shadowheart helped brace him upwards, as he clutched his head in pain. The dwarf wore a regal blue jacket, decorated with golden embroidery and hardware. The silken violet shirt underneath was still crisp and barely wrinkled, a testament to the dwarf's artisanship, having nary a mark despite the circumstances.
"Gods, I don't know what would have become of me if you didn't appear when you did." The dwarf's voice wavered as he continued to gain his footing. "You're always welcome in my shop. Figaro Pennygood, at your service. They call me the Facemaker, because if you didn't have a memorable face to begin with, you certainly will after leaving my house of fashion." Figaro finally stood upwards, his own flattery seemingly empowering him.
"I would certainly hope so," Aethelle stepped out from behind the wizard and the rogue, and smiled warmly at the fashionista.
Figaro's jaw dropped and let out a guttural gasp. "My gods, Lady Veluthezara?! Was it you who saved me? Actually, that's a silly question - I can see the charred wallpaper clear as day. Dear gods, where have you been? You look like an absolute wretch!"
"Thanks, Figaro," Aethelle said dryly. "Would you believe me if I said it had something to do with the people who just tried to murder you?"
"Knowing you, I most certainly would," replied Figaro. "Come upstairs, dear, let me take care of you. I will not have my most cherished customer leaving my boutique looking like a wet tavern mop." Figaro whisked her upstairs quickly. The three left in the workshop could hear their laughter echo from the second floor.
"Well, that was curious," said Shadowheart. "Sometimes I forget our bloodstained elf is one of nobility."
"Veluthezara?" questioned Gale. "Did she tell either of you her surname?"
"No," said Astarion, his face becoming increasingly perplexed. "You would think of all people, I would have known."
"A lady has her secrets," replied Shadowheart. "Besides, I have a feeling we're about to learn a lot more about her when she comes down from whatever she's doing."
"To be fair, when have we really questioned her about her life, aside from her noble Baldurian lineage and innate ability to wield arcane tempest magic?" said the wizard, mimicking Aethelle's lightning blasts with his hands. "She's spent most of this journey so far making sure that we were taken care of, that our own needs were met." Gale looked down, shame washing over him. "What friends are we, that we didn't ask how or who she was much further than what was on the surface, and the tadpole in her brain?"
Shadowheart and Astarion, the two of their group usually undisturbed by most revelations, now looked increasingly discomforted as they realized the truth in the wizard's words. Shadowheart was Aethelle's best friend, and Astarion was Aethelle's lover. Their kind sorceress had helped guide them through the most traumatic and liberating experiences of their lives in the matter of a few weeks. As much as either of them wanted to form a response to Gale's question, their hesitation was suddenly broken by the voice of the clerk who initially cursed their arrival.
"I can't have customers coming in here to see a trail of bodies and blood on the floor," the clerk said sharply. "I appreciate that you saved Master Pennygood. I'd hate to be out of a job. But I will be, if this mess doesn't get cleaned up, and as you can see, I'm a tailor, not a crime scene investigator. If you're going to stand there and talk, at least be useful." The clerk walked off in a huff and began hurriedly attending to an outfit on display.
The three adventurers looked at each other incredulously. Gale was the first to move away and began casting telekinesis on the lifeless bodies, carefully guiding them out of the shop's backdoor into the alleyway behind the boutique. Shadowheart recited an incantation and water suddenly materialized on the store's wood floor. The cleric moved her hands in flowing motions, pushing the bloodied water through the backdoor, and into the alleyway's gutter.
"I love it when I don't have to get my hands dirty," reveled Astarion. The two spellcasters glared at the vampire.
"You can repay me by putting an arrow through the skull of the clerk," quipped Shadowheart.
"Now, wait just a minute," said Gale worriedly.
"Please?" begged Astarion, his bow already drawn.
"Ugh, you're no fun," scoffed the vampire to the wizard. "At least our fearless leader would have considered it."
"She would have considered it because she's nice to you," replied Gale matter-of-factly. "But, she wouldn't let you, in the end."
"Do wizards ever have fun?"
"We do. That's how I ended up with an explosive ball of magic in my chest."
"Alright, alright. Point taken." Astarion sheathed the bow once again.
"It is a wonder to me how she is so kind to you at all, given your murderous tendencies," retorted the wizard.
"Oh? Suddenly have an opinion on the matter of my affairs, do you now, Gale?" hissed the rogue.
"Look, I mean no offense. I'm simply stating that most people I've come to court usually respond much better to a homecooked meal, maybe some flowers, that sort of thing. Ever thought of giving it a try?"
"Ha!" Astarion laughed haughtily. "Maybe you should practice what you preach, mister I-tried-to-give-my-lover-a-bomb."
"I didn't know it could be a bomb at the time," asserted Gale. "But, point taken. Truce?"
"Truce," responded the vampire spawn, and he began pulling the salvageable arrows from the dead shapeshifters.
The wizard and the rogue were quite different, but over the course of their journey together they had become quite the unlikely friendship. On the outside, at least, the two were polar opposites. However, they bonded early on for their mutual appreciation of literature. They read quite different topics, but Gale had been impressed at the well-read vampire. Both had also been tempted with great power, which they subsequently refused in the end. Astarion, with the opportunity to become a fully-fledged vampire, and Gale, with the chance to regain the crown of Karsus and ascend to godhood. The two men both decided these ends were not worth the means. However, only Gale still had the chance to change his mind, as the Elder Brain was yet to be conquered. How could he, though, when even the vampire spawn next to him showed restraint?
Gale pondered once again on his mysterious sorceress friend. Aethelle had softly encouraged him to return the crown to the goddess Mystra once the brain was finally defeated, despite being vehemently object to Mystra's requests throughout their journey. He was almost surprised in the Stormshore Tabernacle, after meeting with Mystra for the first time in ages, when Aethelle suggested returning the crown. But she was right. He didn't have to return as Mystra's lover, but he at least wanted to be himself again. Free of the Karsite weave in his chest, he could return to what he does best: wizardry. This time, undisturbed by the whims of a petty goddess.
Astarion looked up from his gruesome task to see Gale lost in thought, as per usual. The wizard looked heavily perplexed as he mulled over the recent events of his life in his mind.
"Careful now, darling. I'd hate for you to bust a vein in that head of yours," quipped Astarion.
Gale blinked, suddenly returning to reality. He quickly looked around the alley. "Where's Shadowheart?"
Astarion looked around and shrugged. The both of them walked through the boutique's backdoor and into the store's workshop. They walked through the room, now pristine despite the murder attempt that had previously occurred. As they searched for their cleric companion, they finally heard her on the other side of the workshop's doors, talking and laughing. The two men opened the doors to the waiting room and stopped dead in their tracks. Shadowheart was smiling and talking to - who was she talking to?
"Ah, I hoped you hadn't wandered too far off," Aethelle smiled brightly at them.
Aethelle, now out of her usual embroidered top and pants stained of dirt and blood, was wearing a floor-length velvet gown of pale blue and silver. The shoulders and neck of the gown were an elaborate silver piece, before giving way to the velvet draped across her slender figure. The long sleeves of the dress moved with effortlessly with her motions and matched that of the gown's full skirt. The only part of the gown that didn't drape against her skin was above the sweetheart neckline of her corset, where the dress exposed her cleavage. The corset had silver detailing along the bust that worked its way up to the silver piece on her shoulders. Her hair, usually loosely braided into a bun, was now braided in a crown on the top of her head. The rest of her waves fell delicately to her lower back. Her face and skin were clean of any blood splattered from their enemies, and only her signature smoky eyeshadow remained. Suddenly the pair realized that their friend was indeed an elf of nobility, despite knowing it all along.
Gale coughed as if suddenly choking on nonexistent water in his throat. "A lovely visage," he finally said. The wizard looked over to his rogue companion who was still staring in shock and awe at the sorceress. Gale elbowed Astarion in the side.
"Oh yes, quite right," the vampire finally choked out.
Aethelle looked at the pair quizzically before turning to Figaro. "My dear Figaro, you've outdone yourself yet. You seem to have broken my two companions," she said with a sly smile. "What do I owe you for this masterpiece?"
"You wouldn't dare ask me for my price after you just saved my life in my own shop," laughed Figaro. "No, my dear, time and time again you seem to come through for me when I need it most. If you must owe me, go ride up to the Upper City and flaunt about as you usually do. I could use a bit of business since they locked up the Upper City from the Lower."
"Wait, they've barred the Upper? Why?" asked Aethelle.
"All this murderous cultist business, of course. Why protect those of us here when they could simply use us as bait for the Upper City?" Figaro said matter-of-factly. "The citizens here can't visit the Upper, but they still send carriages through for the nobles wishing to visit shops like mine. The show must go on, for them, at least."
Aethelle pursed her lips together and furrowed her brow.
"Not you, of course, my dear," smiled the fashionista warmly. "I know you'd sooner electrocute the whole line of imbeciles blocking off the gate. But if you do that, trust me, the Steel Watch will not be happy with you. Let me call for a carriage for you, and the Fist will escort you back into the city, along with your..." Figaro paused to eye the heavily-armored cleric, the rogue with two daggers and a bow strapped to him, and the wizard with the glowing magical staff.
"...your bodyguards, it seems. Though I'm not quite sure why you of all people need a bodyguard, Lady Veluthezara."
"Dangerous times, Sir Pennygood," replied Aethelle. "Dangerous times."
"Quite right?" hissed Shadowheart quietly to Astarion. Aethelle was several paces ahead, a very flushed Flaming Fist helping her into the carriage while not so slyly looking at the elf's chest. "She comes out in that and the only thing your usually smart mouth can say is quite right?"
"Oh, and what was your reaction, pray tell?" retorted the vampire spawn.
"I said she looked beautiful and that I loved it!" Shadowheart's words spat more venom as she continued lecturing Astarion. "If I didn't know any better, your undead face would be redder than the blood you suck from her neck. You better think of something better to say once we get in there," the cleric said sharply, gesturing towards the carriage.
Gale could hardly contain his laughter. He did enjoy watching Shadowheart admonish someone other than himself.
Shadowheart, quick as a whip, turned to him. "Do you need some help getting the water out of your lungs, Gale?" The cleric swiftly hit his back between his shoulder blades. He sputtered.
"Come now, kids," called Aethelle from the carriage. "Don't be unruly in public."
The three seemingly bodyguards climbed into the carriage. Shadowheart sat across from Aethelle, and Gale followed, sitting next to the cleric, leaving room for the two elves to sit next to each other. Astarion slid into the carriage and sat next to his sorceress. He shut the doors to the carriage, and it didn't take long for the air inside to feel heavy.
Astarion's keen nose suddenly picked up the wafting smell of vanilla and... gods, what was that? He closed his eyes to focus on one sense at a time. He inhaled deeply, realizing all too well that the musky scent of amber filled his nostrils. It was almost too much to take in all at once. Of course it was amber of all things, he thought to himself. The decadent vampire was no stranger to notes, and the perfume of sweet vanilla and sensual amber gracing his lover's skin, along with the corset tightly hugging her form would be his undoing.