Chapter Text
Back at the Elfsong tavern, none of those who stayed is getting any sleep. Gale is playing lanceboard with himself, but the fact that he's been stuck in the same move for half an hour shows that his mind is elsewhere. Karlach is pacing around the room, gesturing as though she were having a very heated argument with someone only she can see. It's making Lae'zel nervous, and she has no weapons left to polish or sharpen.
It was her fault they took the vampire. She should have been cautious instead of charging that spawn. How could she have possibly known he was versed in magic? Not underestimating an enemy is one of the first lessons she was ever taught. Is the ghaik tadpole erasing her memories? She should have been faster, too. It wasn't that long ago that she and Shadowheart took several gith warriors in the basem*nt. Once again, the cleric had to rush in and save her. She hates how this seems to have become a trend lately.
At least she can be sure that Shadowheart will survive the fight against Astarion's former master. She may look softer, but deep down her girl is as strong as silver. And cunning. She will keep a clear mind, stay safely in the rear and use her magic, which is her greatest asset.
Even so, going back to bed as though nothing had happened doesn't feel right.
“Fangs will be fine. They will all be fine,” Karlach bursts out.
By the look of it, she must be thinking out loud. Yet when her eyes meet Lae'zel's, she seems to be looking for reassurance. Lae'zel nods.
“Yes. If they were capable of defeating a dragon, a vampire lord will pose no challenge to them.”
“Indeed,” Gale chimes in. “I was involved in the confrontation with Ansur and let me tell you it was a demanding task. One we rose above masterfully.”
“S'pose you're right,” Karlach sighs, sitting on the couch next to Lae'zel. “I just have a very bad feeling about this.”
Just like Shadowheart does to her, Lae'zel runs her fingertips up and down Karlach's arm. A gentle touch to soothe. The tiefling flashes her a tired smile and rests her head on her shoulder, the ridges of her horn pressing against Lae'zel's cheek. She's hotter than usual, almost uncomfortably so. Lae'zel wraps an arm around her and kisses the top of her head. Hopefully that will make her feel better and cool her down a little.
“Ugh!” Karlach complains. “They shouldn't be out there having to deal with some undead Upper City asshole. We should all be saving our strength for that huge ass brain.”
“I admit that Cazador fellow did not choose the most suitable moment,” Lae'zel replies.
“But then again, no timing would be appropriate for that,” Gale points out.
The wizard rubs his eyes. He rises from the chair and stretches himself.
“May I offer you a little bit of dark pleasure? It is said to have some uplifting properties for the spirit.”
The two women exchange a confused look. It takes a moment for Lae'zel to realize what he's talking about. Of course, he returns with a bar of chocolate from his bedside table. With his hands, he breaks a few squares for each one of them and joins the two on the couch.
“Thanks, Gale,” Karlach says, the chocolate becoming softer between her fingers. “I think I could use something stronger than this right now, but I'm out of smokes.”
“Chk. This is much more effective than your strange hallucinogenic herbs.”
“Ah, good old dreammist!” Gale bites off a piece. “While many wizards consume it for performance enhancement, I personally believe chocolate has little to envy. And it brings far more joy.”
Lae'zel nods energetically in agreement and takes the treat to her mouth. She notices Karlach giving her a cheeky side eye. At least she seems to be lighting up.
“Ah, so this is where everything came from,” the tiefling's gaze travels down to her middle.
The corner of her own mouth curls up.
“There are worse sins to succumb to.”
All three of them laugh. The company and the lighthearted conversation is doing wonders to alleviate the tension. It dawns on Lae'zel that, after all, she's learning to appreciate that istik habit of talking about nothing important. Its function is starting to make sense to her.
Karlach's fingers – not the ones that are sticky with chocolate – brush subtly against hers. Lae'zel understands the message and holds her hand, marveling at the size difference and color contrast. Lime green meeting red. The tiefling's making hers look tiny. She traces Karlach's knuckles with her thumb.
A knock on the door startles them. Is it possible that the others are already back from the fight? Lae'zel's breath catches with hope and anticipation. A hesitant Gale rises and answers the door.
“Minsc?”
The bulky ranger is standing by the threshold, his hamster companion sitting on his shoulder. Both he and the piece of paper he's holding have bloodstains all over.
“What happened?!” Gale asks.
“They took her,” Minsc replies. “Jaheira.”
A couple of days after rescuing him, he and Jaheira moved to the latter's family home. Their absence has barely been noticeable because they have spent most of their time at Elfsong with the rest, giving Tav advice and planning their next moves with them. Only after Lae'zel's paralysis was properly healed have they seen less of them.
“Minsc tried to stop them, but they were shadowy and dangerous,” he explains, handing over the note. “They left this.”
As Gale unfolds the note, Lae'zel and Karlach hurry to have a look at it over his shoulders. The handwriting is angular and twisted. A sinister, exaggerated signature sticks out below.
Your alien friend may have escaped, but that fossil of a druid you consort with is mine now. Consider it your price to pay for what you did to my grandfather.
Come face me or the Harperling's wrinkled skin will feed my blades. Last one standing gets the Netherstones.
Orin
“No! Not Jaheira!” Karlach howls, punching the doorframe.
Can things get any worse on that night? All forces of destiny seem to be working against them. With one single look, they all know what needs to be done. No way around it. Time to gear up.
Gale picks up an amulet and a map from the common chest. He quickly explains that they obtained them when they confronted Sarevok and his Murder Tribunal. That must be the grandfather Orin was talking about in her letter. Seemingly, they will need those to access the temple of Bhaal hidden under the city.
Lae'zel is amazed that they all manage to fit through the manhole connecting with the sewers. She covers her mouth and nose with her palm and tries to hold the air in her lungs for as long as possible. The pestilent waters that run next to the stone ground they walk on is making her feel nauseous.
“This stink is worse than Avernus,” Minsc comments, “but we must push through.”
“You been to Avernus?” Karlach asks in surprise.
“Minsc has forgotten most of it, but he and Boo became prisoners after the city of Elturel was swallowed into the hells in the Blood War. Fought for our tiefling friends.”
Karlach's eyes glisten in admiration. Lae'zel can only wonder what may be going through her mind. Coughing to herself, Karlach nods.
“Yeah, let's keep moving.”
Following Gale's instructions, they finally reach a sturdy wooden gate. According to Minsc – or rather Boo – this is where the Undercity used to be. Lae'zel tries to push it open and gives a start when it starts speaking.
“You will not be allowed to enter unless you prove your worth to the Murder Lord.”
They all turn towards Gale, who clears his throat and produces the amulet.
“I have slain your Murder Tribunal,” he announces, lifting it up in front of invisible eyes. “And I bring this amulet as evidence of my crimes.”
“Unorthodox, but valuable,” the door creaks open. “You may enter.”
Easier than expected. That can only mean whatever is awaiting them on the other side will not be. Lae'zel wishes she had been around to take part in the slaughter of that so-called Murder Tribunal. Oh well – she'll get some action soon enough. It's been a while since she's felt the call of steel.
“Bhaalists are most treacherous creatures,” Gale whispers solemnly. “We must proceed with caution.”
The corridor that extends in front of them is dark and reeks of blood. Being the only one who can see in the shadows, Karlach leads the way. The four of them tiptoe down a long and twisted staircase and try to be as stealthy as possible.
Well, tough luck. They're halfway through when a group of cultists ambush them. Flurries of arrows follow them as they rush deeper into the temple, clouds of daggers crossing their path and fireballs barely missing them. They manage to cross a stone bridge virtually unscathed. While a hooded archer precipitates into a chasm thanks to one of Minsc's shots, Lae'zel spots a creepy figure observing them from the heights, gesturing and whispering some sort of spell.
A chill runs down her spine. There's something ominous in his horrifying smile and stare.
No hesitation, she misty steps closer to him, readying her silver sword. It's not enough. She climbs the ladder that separates them as fast as she can, ignoring how tiring it feels to pull her own weight. She makes it to the top breathless, the weapon heavier than a corpse.
Yet she runs her blade through him, just in time to interrupt whatever ritual that was.
As if by magic, all the other attackers seem to freeze, their swords up in the air, their fingers on their bowstrings. It must have been some sort of trial.
At least they find no more obstacles in their path to Orin's actual lair. Bones and blood, blood and bones everywhere for decoration – the wizard mutters a comment on the Dead Three's poor taste under his breath. After trudging through rocky walkways and broken staircases that appear to hang in the air, they find Orin standing by an altar, looming over an unconscious Jaheira. Lae'zel hopes she is only unconscious. With her twin blades in her hands, the pale woman speaks to her victim in murmurs, her voice brimming with a passion that could be mistaken for sexual. They are a few steps away from her when she raises her head. Those white eyes make Lae'zel feel sick.
“You made it!” Orin exclaims with fake enthusiasm, laughing maniacally. “Just in time to watch me make art of your friend.”
She runs the tip of her dagger along Jaheira's neck slowly, drawing a single drop of blood. Then she licks it off, moaning in delight.
“Enough!” Lae'zel roars, unable to take it anymore. “We have answered your call. Now let the Harper go.”
“And why would I do that? You killed my grandfather. He was mine to slay! You had no right to take that away from me.”
Her fist tightens around the handle in fury. She lifts it up. Mere seconds before it finds the prisoner, Lae'zel moves towards her.
“Stop! It is me your wicked god wants. Come here and fight me like a true warrior.”
“Uh, Lae'zel? What are you doing?” Karlach whispers, putting a hand on her shoulder.
Lae'zel whisks it away and steps forward. The circular platform where the altar stands is surrounded by cultists shrouded in darkness. They could easily be confused with statues. Volunteering to take Orin one-on-one is probably a foolish idea, but Lae'zel can't help herself.
That bloody woman tried to abduct her. It is her fault she spent a tenday confined to her bed.
Orin looks her up and down. Her bone-colored face twists into a smirk that would freeze the Nine Hells.
“Well, if it isn't the slippery toad! I see you've been feeding well, githling. These blades will enjoy having so much meat to slice through.”
“Chk. You underestimate me, Bhaalist. It is your blood that will paint my silver.”
“There is only one way to find out. And I'm going to enjoy every second of it.”
The hollow eyes of the skull carved on the wall behind Orin glow red. A screech comes out of it, making the whole place quake. The Chosen One's limbs writhe as they transform. Suddenly a gigantic, insectoid creature is standing in her place, teeth and claws sharp as knives.
Screaming in her native language, Lae'zel lifts up her sword, preparing to attack.
