geckogeckogecko - Tumblr blog

geckogeckogecko · 4 months ago

Text

So Begins The Long Night

Chapter 4: Snow Warning

Previous Chapter / AO3 / Next Chapter

And yet, Lae'zel could not forget about her soft of body, heart, and mind comrades no matter how many years slipped by. What would Shadowheart say this emotional experience deep within her sinews is? It is not loss, but something else. An emptiness accompanied by a longing, an appetite for what is no longer there. Lae'zel missed them, these ra'stil, her companions in arms and soul. She bore their bruises, and they took on hers all the same come Vlaakith or ghaik.

Gone their separate ways following the defeat of the Absolute, Team Tadpole has reunited outside the Neverwinter Woods for a hunting tournament that will be one for the ages.

Unfortunately, an outsider has set their sights on them, determined to bring about a never-ending winter with the assistance of these heroes.

Can they defeat this nefarious presence or will they blanket the land in snow in his name?

Chapter: 4 of 7

Chapter Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: Action/Adventure, Lots of Monsters, Hunting in the woods, Gathering of Friends, The Gang is all Back Together, There's a little tiny bit of romance but it's not the focus, little gore

Snow does not agree with Lae'zel, and she has decided that she does not agree with it. This wet-yet-not abomination slows her deft movements in this frigid wilderness. She will not be bested by snow. She will conquer it, the same as she has so many of Vlaakith's fortified strongholds.

Ice magic exists and is put to noble purpose in the Astral Plane, but to play and prance in this horrid water state as Karlach does is preposterous to the gith.

Her silver great sword is drawn faithfully, a gift from the great Kith'rak Voss for her endeavors. Any beast should be so honored to die by this legendary blade forged within the heart of a felled god! Lae'zel will return victorious, bathed in the blood of her quarry, and graciously receive her prize—her companions' devout admiration. Compared to sailing the Astral Sea to slay her misguided githyanki brethren, this so-called hunting event is mere child's play.

Of her companions, she believes only Karlach might stand a chance of dominating Lae'zel in the art of the hunt. The tiefling is a trained soldier through and through, but her softened and squishy metal-heart will be her downfall. That is to Lae'zel's advantage.

Wyll, the she'lak, while a formidable and driven human, does not possess the battle-hardened prowess of Lae'zel and Karlach to follow through. He will fall hubris to his willingness to let others take to the skies. Chk. Astarion will preen and cluck loudly over whatever he brings back, but his thin, willowy limbs cannot carry anything larger than a wolf, and Lae'zel knows he only wishes to drop his catch at Hircine's feet so she might welcome him into her bed again. The simple-minded fools.

No. They do not compare to Lae'zel as she is. She honed her skills atop Qudenos, speared her eternal illithid enemies through their fleshy skulls, and shattered the yoke Vlaakith had ensnared so many of the githyanki in.

Lae'zel will not be defeated for she is fury, and she is death!

And then they will feast on the wizard's provisions in her name, etching this event into their histories to be told for generations to come.

To this group, they have lived out a few measly years on the material plane, dithering about as they do until their muscles become sludge from inactivity. Lae'zel rises above it all, for Orpheus and her people, she will overcome, for the past thousands of years she has experienced and for the thousands of more to come while embroiled within this battle for the githyanki freedom.

And yet, Lae'zel could not forget about her soft of body, heart, and mind comrades no matter how many years slipped by.

What would Shadowheart say this emotional experience deep within her sinews is?

It is not loss, but something else.

An emptiness accompanied by a longing, an appetite for what is no longer there.

Lae'zel missed them, these ra'stil, her companions in arms and soul. She bore their bruises, and they took on hers all the same come Vlaakith or ghaik.

A few years for them, but to Lae'zel millennia have passed her by in the whirling dervish of silver blades, flowing blood and boundless eternity of the astral plane. So many millennia where she has changed and fought and grown.

Yet these… friends stay the same.

And for them, so will she in their presence.

To shed her weary body of the battle-worn armor and don light leathers after so long, Lae'zel forgot what it meant to be comfortable and at peace. Last night was the first night in not even Orpheus knows how long that Lae'zel slept through the night, unworried and unburdened, wrapped in wool and laid out next to a small fire that somehow warmed her body more than the stone-melting flames of a great red dragon.

Comforts can make even the most hardened soldier complacent, so it would be wise to for Lae’zel to always be prepared come fiery hells or freezing snow. But one day, out of all of this eternity, she can lay her blade down and… relax as Karlach would say. No one knows better than the tiefling on how to ‘kick their feet up’ with a pint in hand.

Gale will have the finest ale for their return. It will pair perfectly with whatever beast Lae’zel presents.

If only such a thing would present itself before her.

There is nothing, hide nor hair, that crosses her path in these silent woods, yet Lae’zel will know no peace until a bounty is secured.

Amber eyes narrow, searching through the forest so dense with tree trunks and bushes that she cannot see more than fifty paces into the darkness. Even the overhanging branches do not allow light to penetrate their overbearing cover.

Aimlessness is not a welcome feeling among the gith. They have always had a purpose, some honorable goal—or false promise to work towards, but here in this Neverwinter Wood, other than the search for something, Lae’zel has neither marker nor means to identify a quarry.

Her will though, is unbreakable, infallible. The mortal Faerun might perish and Lae’zel will still stalk these woods in her need to accomplish.

To give up, to turn tail like a coward, is unthinkable.

And then she hears it, a rhythmic, harried crunching of snow getting louder from the west, heading right towards Lae’zel.

Her fervent grip on the loyal silver sword is renewed, braced for impact. Blood will be shed today.

By the sound, it will be upon her any moment now. Roaring, Lae’zel rushes to meet it in valiant combat. “Htak’a!” As her sword slices the air with a focused ferocity, a massive axe meets her blade, sparks flying with an echoing metallic clang.

“Whoa-ho! Lae, what a greeting!” Karlach laughs joyously, easily deflecting Lae’zel’s strength in a way only this hellish barbarian can.

Sword pulled back in a resting position, Lae’zel addresses her companion. “Karlach, greetings. You run with the heaviness of a noble beast. Were my strike true, you would not have survived.”

“Awe, sorry for alarming ya! I actually saw a, er, noble beast. Some big moose or deer or somethin’, so I was chasin’ it down and here you are! Did ya see it?” Her greataxe stowed, Karlach stretches and flexes her muscled arms, sleeves ripped away, most likely because of limited movement if Lae’zel had to guess. A correct move, even in this glacial wasteland.

“Hmm. I have seen no such thing. Do you know the direction it is headed so I can track it?”

“That way!” Karlach points.

“That is west, Karlach.” Steeling herself for the journey deeper, Lae’zel treks on.

The tiefling gasps, “Wait, I saw it first! It’s my beastie!”

“As you… baldurians like to say, ‘tracker’s owners’.”

“Er, you mean ‘finder’s keepers’?”

“That is what I said.”

Guffawing loudly, Karlach’s voice reverberates through the woods, perhaps scaring off the beast she hunts. “How about we see who finds this thing first? I ain’t lettin’ it go that easy. Not even for you, Lae.”

“Chk. Do as you see fit. I yield to none.”

Side by side, the women press on, Karlach making casual—and loud—conversation that will surely alert this creature to their presence. However, Lae’zel will not dare to stop the deluge of words. The contentment she feels with Karlach’s presence, even with their rivalry, soothes the aching sting of bitter cold and loneliness.

In every direction, the snow is untouched, pristine, frozen in time, as the women mar the land with their steps toward a hard-fought reward. Even in pleasant company, Lae’zel is ready and alert, head twitching at the slightest noise—or it would, if there was a breath of life in the air at all.

Could these old woods be dying? Such is the mortal plane’s fate. To succumb.

“Hey, Lae,” Karlach begins, hands braced behind her head, elbows pointed out, as she walks, “how, uh, have you been?”

Directing her attention to the tiefling, Lae’zel assesses her rival for this match. “I sail the Astral Seas in a grand pursuit of my people’s freedom. I am dutiful and driven.”

A black eyebrow arches as Karlach considers her words. “Is that right? That must be nice, having some purpose… Don’t misunderstand, I’m so happy to be free from Zariel and Avernus, but…” She pauses, sighing deeply, arms flopping to her side, flaming eyes pleading, inconsolable. “I really miss you guys! It’s not fun being on my own.”

Intriguing. Last night, Karlach boasted about her nights out at all the taverns Baldur’s Gate housed, and spoke brazenly of her nightly conquests as well. The thought of Karlach being unfulfilled did not cross Lae’zel’s mind.

They share some manner of thinking…

The gith’s pace quickens, though Karlach’s long, muscular legs carry her easily across the land, and she matches stride easily as the tiefling continues speaking. “I know you have your-your grand pursuit, and I would never ask you to give it up, because that’s selfish and I love how devoted you are to it, but Lae, have you ever thought about, you know, comin’ back more? To Faerun? To us?”

There have been days and decades where Lae’zel never thinks of such things.

And then there are the centuries, every seemless minute running into the next where she can do little else but think of them. To sit around a campfire as Wyll entertains them with tales of his childhood or listening to Astarion complain ceaselessly about the infinitesimal bugs that apparently bother him at all times of the day.

The meals Gale would server them every night as they traveled Baldur’s Gate were, while not always filling based on their provisions, had a care cooked into them that no other githyanki possessed. Though quiet, Hircine had a hearty interest in Lae’zel’s culture, the good, the bad, and the lies, she learned without judgement of their ways, ever eager for the next reading of the Tir’su scripture.

While their beginnings were tumultuous, Lae’zel and Shadowheart formed a bond that even with the fading of their ‘relationship’, as it’s called, it is unbreakable. Their paths diverged, but Lae’zel would not hesitate to defend Shadowheart to the death, and she knows the half-elf would do the same.

But to return to them? Abandon her duty to her prince and to her people?

She would be labeled hshar'lak, condemned the same as Vlaakith has named her.

Voss granted her this rest for her bravery and commitment to the cause, anymore breaks in duty would be seen as weakness… a broken promise…

The temptation is almost too much. Let it all go, carve her own fate.

“I’m sorry, Lae’zel, if that was wrong of me to ask. I know how important this is to you, truly. All I care about is that you live to fight another day, forever, if that’s how it works out in sea space.” Karlach says.

“The Astral Sea, and no, you are—” Lae’zel tightens the bindings on her gloves. “I feel it too, that pull to return, but I cannot abandon my cause.”

A powerful hand claps her back—a comforting gesture that is very distinctly Karlach. “Hey! I get it, I really do! Do you think you’ll be able to defeat that old death-granny in my lifetime? The rager we’ll have in your honor will be something that even the mind flayers will talk about!”

For Karlach’s sake, Lae’zel hopes they can free all gith from Vlaakith’s fetters sooner rather than later. She thinks she might enjoy such a ‘rager’. “Yes. I swear it.”

“Awe, don’t put yourself out on my behalf. So, when the time comes, how do you can a lich queen-goddess? Does she have a phil-er-octeronomy?”

“A phylactery, and yes. It is well hidden, but we are scouring the endless sea for it. Once destroyed, then she will follow.”

“Damn, that’s really—”

“Halt,” Lae’zel commands, holding her arm out as she comes to a stop, finding that they have reached the base of a rocky outcrop. Chk. These trees allow for little visibility. Time feels slowed here, no sun to tell when they should return. For all she knows, it could be set now, and Wyll and Astarion have returned victorious.

Lae’zel will not be bested by them.

Jerking her head toward the growing stone barrier, Lae’zel directs them around, finding a massive hollowed interior.

“Whoa! A cave!” Karlach whisper-shouts. “Maybe we’ll find a bear hibernating. Seems a little mean to kill one while it’s sleeping.”

There is no remorse for a bear sleeping out in the open like this. It should have chosen a better spot if it did not wish to be skewered on her blade.

Sword held defensively, Lae’zel moves in, gritting her teeth as her tentative footfalls in the snow sound her arrival. A cursory glance shows this cavern stretches on far back, the expanse empty except for a neat pile of shiny, white snow situated in the center. No trail leads in from where this could have been deposited, and the ceiling of this cave is intact, so it could not have floated down from above.

In and out, the snow is undisturbed, as it has been throughout this entire venture. How has there not been a single bird flitting about?

Strange.

Deeper she goes, with Karlach right behind her, humming quietly under her breath. If a bear were to hear them, it would not matter as it stands no chance against the ferocious women.

Skirting around the heaps of snow, Lae’zel finds them frozen to the touch, as if carved from ice. How its cooler than the air outside the cave, she does not know. Now further in, they find nothing yet, but perhaps a bear or other hibernating creature slumbers beyond.

“You want to keep going, Lae?” Asks Karlach.

“Yes.” Lae’zel answers. She will not stop now.

An earth-rumbling vibration shakes the whole cavern from behind them, knocking dust and loose rubble from the ceiling onto their heads.

Whirling around, they watch as the heap of snow packs together with threads of white magic, rising high above their heads, a giant creature of bulky ice limbs now stands before them.

Lae’zel growls. “A snow golem! It was left here to protect something of value within, I am sure of it.” Their size, though, while large, are never three times the size of a person. Powerful magic created this one.

The golem winds an arm up and swings, thankfully slow, so Lae’zel and Karlach can easily dodge out of the way as it bludgeons the ground, spraying icy powder in its wake.

Fire blooms from Karlach’s axe, illuminating the room in flickering hues of orange and yellow, and the tiefling grins devilishly. “I’d bet my pinky this snow bitch don’t like fire much!”

“Indeed!” Lae’zel agrees, wishing she had brought oil to dip her blade in to set alight. She didn't prepare for an event like this, and now she will pay the price of her thoughtlessness.

After all these years, a githyanki of her standing should know better.

Drawing the golem’s eye as she moves in, Lae’zel will distract it so Karlach can deal a a vital blow against the construct. It roars, deafeningly loud, and lunges in for a kill, but again, such a heavy bodied creature is no match for an agile warrior of Lae’zel’s caliber. Its blocky hand crashes against the wall, sending a shower of jagged rocks blasting towards Lae’zel.

“Et alibi!” She reappears some distance away in a plume of blue haze, sneering smugly at the golem in its confusion.

Karlach is next to it now, a fierce battle cry breaking from her lips as her flaming axe slices in an arc towards the golem’s chest. “RAAAGGHH!” The edge of her axe sinks in, extinguishing, dealing minimal damage to the mass of snow. “Uh, Lae?” Karlach questions uncertainly, as she harshly yanks at her axe now, unable to free it from the icy body.

“Get away from it!” Lae’zel shouts, summoning an invisible mage hand to assist with the axe’s retrieval.

The golem narrowly misses when Karlach dives away, axe in hand. The tiefling springs to her feet, and sprints to Lae’zel’s side. “So, uh, I don’t think that was supposed to happen.”

“Fire is a snow golems greatest weakness. There is dark magic at work here.” Assessing their situation, Lae’zel notes that the golem blocks the path whence they came with it body. Slipping by will not be easy, and the snowy ground outside could certainly aid its movement. “We must go deeper.”

“Ya sure?”

“Yes. Onwards.”

And they run as the golem howls after them, chilling the air with its frozen breath.

The cave narrows, ceiling sloping down fast as they press on, and Karlach bends her head low when her horn clips loudly along the tunnel’s edge.

It’s pitch black ahead of them, Lae’zel’s enhanced vision providing no clear markers to follow. Their feet slow to a shuffle when the walls squeeze them more and more, a suffocating existence should they become trapped inside. Silver sword pokes and prods along the path, seeking any hazards on the ground that might trip them up—or worse, kill them.

Not all that much later, the tunnel widens again, allowing them room to breathe and then—

And then they step out into the sun, a wide meadow untouched by the wintry cold, smattered with vivid wildflowers and lush berry bushes now lay beyond their feet.

Lae’zel halts, and Karlach smashes into her back, but neither fall as they take in the view before them.

Right in the center stands a most magnificent creature, an elk with monstrous antlers sharpened to deadly points, snow white fur that glistens in the midday sun as it grazes upon the verdant and bountiful field. At their arrival, its head raises, blood-red eyes glinting while it chews audibly on grasses.

Revealed by its side is Hircine, having shed her red cloak from the surprising warmth in this pocket of summer, stroking the elk’s fur, a peaceful smile twisting her lips up. She meets their gaze. “Well, what a surprise! Isn’t this place wonderful? I took a break after taking care of Gale and Shadowheart and just couldn’t believe my eyes! And this boy here, isn’t he handsome?”

Something about her words does not settle correctly within Lae’zel. Hircine is not one to wander on her own, especially when her limbs are so frail.

“Hey, that’s the beast I saw! Hircine, I called dibs on this one. Sorry, you’re gonna have to say goodbye to your friend!” Karlach yells from beside Lae’zel, striding her way over to their ‘comrade’.

“Karlach—” Lae’zel begins, a sense of foreboding chilling her spine, but Hircine interrupts, tutting softly. “Oh, no, he isn’t the friend I’ll be saying goodbye to today, not when he listens so well. You won’t mind will you, Karlach? It’s not like you have a heart, anyway.”

The tiefling stops in her tracks, appalled at the words that just came from the drow’s mouth. “What? If I’ve offended you, Hircine, tell me whats up. We don’t need to fight.”

“You’re right, we don’t. Stand down for our lord or suffer winter’s embrace.” Hircine sneers, backing away from the elk.

“Tsk’va! This is some impostor! Karlach, her words mean nothing.” Silver sword readied, Lae’zel prepares to attack. “We will slay the beast and return sense to Hircine after.”

The drow titters from afar, wiggling a finger like Lae’zel is some naughty mortal child. “Do you think the gith will even miss you? You’re just fodder at the end of the day, Lae’zel, for these never-ending wars. Being a pawn never sounded so boring! Don’t worry, you’ll be given new purpose.” And with a snap of her fingers, the meadow melts away, replaced by a bloody snowfield covered in the corpses of woodland creatures.

The elk is stained by gore and viscera, and it is not grass it chews, but the belly of a deer. It paws at the ground, lowering its head to present its antlers menacingly.

“Get them, boys.” Hircine jeers.

‘Boys’?

The ground shakes from behind Lae’zel. Whipping around, the snow golem has reformed only a few feet from her and its club arm meets her side, launching her away. She lands on her back, snow burying her beneath the drifts, though Lae’zel’s grip on her sword does not falter. Karlach’s muffled barbaric cry can be heard from a distance, her duel with the elk has begun.

Rising swiftly, Lae’zel stands. The only death she would accept is one in the Astral Planes, not here, where their so-called friend has turned against them. Even if against her will, Lae’zel thought Hircine’s mind might be more fortified than this.

They will perform some mind protection lessons once these foes are felled.

The golem is on her yet again, though thankfully the giant still moves sluggishly in the snow, and Lae’zel skirts around the construct, keeping a careful distance as she thinks of what to do.

Karlach’s fiery smite did nothing to harm it. Were the flames not hot enough, or could it be magical safeguards?

She doubts this being of ice and snow could withstand the heat of the majestic Qudenos… but Qudenos is not here.

Well, not his body.

Rolling away once again as the golem slams its arm against the ground, spraying icy powder swirling into the air, Lae’zel digs a hand into a satchel on her belt, instantly finding what she is looking for. It’s a waste to use such a precious item in what should be simple combat, but nefarious magic is at work here. Lae’zel has friends to save.

A blisteringly hot bottle is pulled from her sack, illuminating her entire body in searing warmth, the snow surrounding her feet melting to slush.

Bottled dragon’s breath. The gith harvest it from the great red dragons as they make for excellent thrown weapons.

The bottle is pelted at the golem, exploding on impact into a inferno of blazing glory. The creature hasn’t a chance to scream in agony as the snow vaporizes, turning to mist, obscuring Lae’zel’s vision.

She must find Karlach. Attuning her ears to the grunts and yawps of the tiefling, Lae’zel seeks them out, ready at the slightest movement to drive her blade through the heart of that carnivorous elk.

Out from the mist, Lae’zel emerges, locking onto where the beast and Karlach battle. Karlach holds the elk by its antlers, eager to prevent it goring her through the chest while the creature tries in vain to tear its head away from her grasp, bugling its throaty cry.

Striding forward ready to assist, Lae’zel prepares to bring her sword down on the elk’s thick neck, sever its head for a trophy when it stops its struggle against Karlach completely, the red of its eyes staring past Lae’zel.

She should have known it wouldn’t be so easy.

The golem’s arm bludgeons into her body, knocking Lae’zel out cold.

2 notes · View notes

geckogeckogecko · 4 months ago

Text

Psst. Hey. If I've been a little quiet and you've wondered where I've been you should know I've got some life stuff going on including a surgery that is kind of a big deal. It's just been hard lately, and maybe I'll be able to talk about it a bit more and get back into being a bit more prolific again in a month or so, but RN my focus is getting myself figured out.

1 note · View note

geckogeckogecko · 4 months ago

Text

So Begins The Long Night

Chapter 1: Hot to Trot

Previous Chapter / AO3 / Next Chapter

A wall of mist appears suddenly from the darkness, engulfing him as snow gives way to melted slush, a rush of heat wafting across Wyll, chasing the cold away so easily. Crossing the end of the tree-marked path, the darkness gives way, revealing steaming pools of water dotting the landscape. The mineral-blue tinted waters inviting him in with their undisturbed, glassy surface. Wyll had hoped maybe a creature wandered here but other than the trees, there's no life to be seen. The Neverwinter Woods are huge and varied, but he's never heard of a hot spring being hidden within, ah, but that's magic for you.

Gone their separate ways following the defeat of the Absolute, Team Tadpole has reunited outside the Neverwinter Woods for a hunting tournament that will be one for the ages.

Unfortunately, an outsider has set their sights on them, determined to bring about a never-ending winter with the assistance of these heroes.

Can they defeat this nefarious presence or will they blanket the land in snow in his name?

Chapter: 3 of 7

Chapter Word Count: 2.5k

Tags: Action/Adventure, Lots of Monsters, Hunting in the woods, Gathering of Friends, The Gang is all Back Together, There's a little tiny bit of romance but it's not the focus, big bug thing

For as high as the sun is in the sky, the darkness enshrouding his immediate vicinity is puzzling. It curls and flickers around tree trunks, only dissipating when he draws near in his search for a creature worthy of his arrowheads.

Wyll chalks the darkness up to some ancient elven magic that weaves its way through the woods to ward off any stray travelers. His boots compact the snow underfoot, leaving a trail should anyone decide to come after him. It is peaceful out here in the icy tranquility of winter, no noises from twittering birds or rustling of leaves to break the silence. His breath puffs out in a mosaic of clouds that disappears after a few seconds, the only life on display within a thirty-foot radius.

Reithwin is always abuzz with the laughter of children and clattering of carts down the worn cobblestone streets, and while Wyll would never trade these experiences for anything, this break, this chance to be surrounded by his close friends once more, is worth every minute.

They're all happy with where they are in life, whether it be teaching at Blackstaff, lounging within the lower city of the Gate or devouring every book at Candlekeep for a peek into the unknown.

And Wyll is happy too.

Mostly.

He's fulfilled and has purpose, but there are these pieces missing. All but Halsin look up to him for guidance, and then the druid is so busy with his own matters of restoring the life to the actual land that they spend little time together. Wyll wants equals, not subordinates or someone in need of another helping hand—though he will always eagerly outstretch his to lift someone up.

In Avernus, he had Karlach for company, and while they were driven into every corner possible in search of an engine fix, he knew she had his back and he had hers, come archdevil or lemure. Karlach is also a riot, no one makes him clutch his stomach in laughter the way she does when skewering three pit fiends with a stick while telling jokes.

Last night, gathered around the tavern table showed Wyll what he's been missing, but he would never ask his companions to give up their comforts and peace—or war in Lae'zel's case—to go on the road again.

It's wanderlust, pure and simple. Maybe he's offered all he can to Reithwin. Halsin would understand and respect his urge to move on.

And it's time to meet Father. They've exchanged a few letters, skirting around what they actually want to say. Before Wyll left for Avernus, they had apologized for how everything went between them. While it was for the good of the Gate, Wyll entered into a pact with a devil, and Father then banished him for it, though being sworn to secrecy did not help Wyll's case at all.

There's a father-son relationship that needs to be repaired.

Come our festive parting, I will return to Baldur's Gate, he resolves.

Deeper and deeper into the forest he ventures, no more sun to chase the chill that seeps through his heavy layers, his hands flexing to keep the treated leather of his gloves from stiffening up. Wyll should have asked Hircine if she had anymore of those enchanted bangles, he'd like some of that magical warmth right now.

Something has to reveal itself soon, even if it's just a snow hare or fox, Wyll will take it. He has no interest in the competition itself, he only wanted to be a part of the gathering, though he won't turn his nose up at some grand buck crossing his path. It would make for an exciting story to relay to the children back at Reithwin if he won, and being hailed the Blade of Avernus and of the Neverwinter Forest wouldn't be so bad.

The snap of a twig has Wyll's head swiveling on his shoulders, now looking due east—he thinks. Without the sun to guide him, the directions are muddled, unsure. He takes careful steps towards the sound, willing the snow to silence as he creeps along with bow drawn and arrow nocked.

Should he loose the arrow, it will fly straight and true to his target's heart or brain once he lays eyes on it. A clean kill is important and Wyll knows he can earn high marks in that category, even if his quarry isn't the biggest.

By Baldura—By the gods, this darkness is interfering with his hunting. If only he had the forethought to request Gale cast a darkvision spell on him.

It's strange as he inches closer to where that branch snapped, the trees are perfectly uniform, lining out a path as he walks along. Has he come across some old elven ritual site? Or perhaps it's that settlement of druids Halsin spoke of, the Ring of Swords… That could be an unfortunate encounter to stumble upon when he's hunting.

A wall of mist appears suddenly from the darkness, engulfing him as snow gives way to melted slush, a rush of heat wafting across Wyll, chasing the cold away so easily.

Crossing the end of the tree-marked path, the darkness gives way, revealing steaming pools of water dotting the landscape. The mineral-blue tinted waters inviting him in with their undisturbed, glassy surface. Wyll had hoped maybe a creature wandered here but other than the trees, there's no life to be seen. The Neverwinter Woods are huge and varied, but he's never heard of a hot spring being hidden within, ah, but that's magic for you.

He'll need to map out this location and bring his companions back for some well-earned relaxation. There is always more fun to be had with them involved.

Un-nocking his arrow, he places it back into the quiver and loops his bow over his shoulders. Time to explore since nothing else is on offer.

Gale might have been wrong about the animals leaving their dens if this is how empty the woods are all throughout.

Approaching a pool, Wyll pulls a glove off to dip his fingers into the heated water. It's bliss as all the warmth returns to his frost-touched digits. Sighing, his breath still puffs out in white clouds while he submerses his hand fully under steaming water, both gloves removed now. Maybe Shadowheart and Hircine will take this humble off—

SPLASH

Jumping to his feet, Wyll searches for the sound. Now what could that be?

He's drawing his bow again when an innocent giggle reaches his ears. Oh, so he has found the druids, or perhaps an elven hideaway.

Bow yet again stowed away, Wyll heads to the noisemaker. "Hello?" He calls out, hesitant.

The laughter again rings out followed by a voice he knows well. "Wyll! Over here!"

What in the nine hells is Hircine doing out here? He trudges along the snow, reaching a raised ledge where mass amounts of steam rise from the pool within. Resting along an edge facing Wyll is Hircine, who is absolutely nude, thankfully hidden by the murky water.

Wyll averts his eyes, "Oh, uhm, Hircine, it's good to… see you. What—No, how did you get out here?"

"I went on a walk and found myself here… and I mean, how could I just not take a dip? Gods, it's amazing. Want to join?" She laughs, splashing some water around.

Wyll clears his throat, taking a step back. "No, that's alright. I was passing through for my hunt and stumbled upon this place. I would hate to interrupt your fun, so don't mind me, I'll—"

"What?! Wyll, you silly boy, it's no bother at all! Trust me, this is exactly what you need to get reinvigorated. What happens if you come across a yeti that's perfectly limber and you're too stiff? It'll rake its claws right through you!"

'Silly boy'? While he and Hircine aren't incredibly close, they knew each other before the Absolute Crisis. Prior to his banishment from Baldur's Gate at the tender age of seventeen, his father, Duke Ulder Ravengard, brought Wyll along to many a Zau'viir soiree or ball if they held one. The family was made up of proud dancers, and he remembers fondly the performances Hircine would put on with her sister and brothers.

That doesn't mean he wants to bathe with her—naked, though he will not deny the call of a warm soak in this bitter cold.

"Will you be able to make it back on your own? I can escort you if you wish, Hircine."

She giggles, and he finds it so unlike the drow when she holds herself on solemnity and reservation. "Oh, come now, Wyll! Do you think so little of me? We've survived worse! I understand if you don't want to get all the way in, but what about your feet? I'd hate for you to miss out on this."

He doesn't want to be rude, especially when Hircine is being open for once, and it will only be for a short while… "Alright. Just for a bit." Brushing snow off the springs ledge, Wyll begins unlacing his boots before removing them and his socks. Pant legs are rolled up and he settles on his cloak, dipping his feet into the water, failing to hide the satisfied moan as warmth flood him. "Now that's the stuff…"

"Isn't it? If only everyone had gathered here, it would all be so easy." Hircine sighs happily, stretching her arms up and he must avert his eyes yet again.

“Well, perhaps later we all can. I'm not sure how to map this area out—the darkness, did you see it too on your entry? I've been having a terrible time figuring out where I am.”

“You can't see past a little darkness, Wyll? Tsk, you humans… What's the point of that special eye then?”

Wyll frowns. He thought Hircine had moved on from her family’s hateful upbringing. “It's a sending stone, remember? Mizora used it to keep track of me. Though it's defunct now with my pact broken.”

She splashes at the water, uninterested in his answer. “Ah, right. Well… we didn’t get to speak much yesterday. How is your father, Wyll?”

Kicking his feet beneath the mineral-clouded water, he sighs. “Good—I think. He’s most likely run ragged with the Council of Four and the Flaming fist, but I, uh—I haven’t spoken with him in a few months. Perhaps soon I will return to the Gate, patch up what I can of our relationship.”

“You think he wants that?”

Wyll blinks, startled. “What do you mean?”

“I just—Why would he want you back in the Gate? You ran off the second the absolute fell and never looked back, so you could continue your endless crusade to be a little hero. A son only concerned with inflating his ego… I imagine it must be shameful for the Duke.”

He’s rendered speechless by her words. How could Hircine say that?

“Forgive me, I’m not sure I heard you correctly, Hircine. What did you say?”

She sighs, exasperated. “You’ll never be the hero you want to be, Wyll. Get it into that thick head. You. Aren’t. Special.”

Retreating from the water, Wyll pulls on his socks and boots once again. “I don’t know what’s upset you, and if I have angered you somehow, then let’s speak on it later when you wish to hold a proper conversation. There is no need for such insults.”

“Oh,” Hircine mocks, “can’t take the verbal heat, can you, Wyll?” And she stands, heated water running in rivulets down her naked body before Wyll can look away. Splashing water up at him, she laughs. “You survived the Hells, but can you live through this?”

The ground shudders beneath them, the spring water slapping against the snowy pond edge. A hiss sounds from the north, steam erupting from a massive snowbank as glowing red spots light up in a spiral path, before the snow melts in front of Wyll’s eyes in seconds, revealing a massive centipede-like body of a fully grown remorhaz.

Its cobra frills flutter when it shakes the melted snow from its form, antennae twitching left and right and black compound eyes locking onto Wyll, roaring shrilly, sending a chill down his spine.

Hircine is gone, but he can hear her bitter laughter carried in on the freezing wind.

Wyll is on his own.

Scorching chitinous armour layers over the remorhaz’s undulating body, ready to sear him to the bone should he land any attacks on it. These creatures love to snap their razor jaws around their prey, eager to swallow and digest them as soon as possible. If Wyll wants to stay alive, he can’t fall within its needle-teeth grasp.

But he can’t escape it easily either, as long as Wyll is on the ground, it can feel his movements.

The monster clicks its jaws, body coiling around trees as it prepares to strike.

Rapier drawn, Wyll stares his foe down, swirling a hand in a circular motion, shouting “Provolo!” Hasting himself in preparation, he will not go down without a brutal and bloody fight.

The remorhaz lunges, mouth outstretched to gobble Wyll up whole, and he dives backwards and to the side, avoiding throwing himself into a pool of water. In a burst, slush goes flying, obscuring his vision as the remorhaz collides with solid earth, loosing an ear-piercing screech that blasts scalding steam out from its lungs. The air warms substantially around them, and Wyll swipes at his brow as sweat beads on his forehead.

He might not see clearly, but such enormous creatures still make easy targets. Rapier jabbed through the mist, it strikes true, unluckily only piercing the tip into chitin, flesh still unharmed within its protective casing.

Heat blooms in the hilt of his blade, and Wyll is thankful for the leather grip and gloves that stifles the worst of the burns. Gritting his teeth, rapier is drawn back and a vow of enmity is made.

This overgrown boiling bug will fall by my hand.

Knowing he won’t win squarely on his feet, Wyll steps quick, listening as the remorhaz rises again, another steaming bite at the ready. Climbing up a trunk onto thick branches, then jumping from one tree to the next, he makes his way deep into the forest once again, buying time and distance as Wyll thinks about his plan of attack.

Physically, he’s not completely prepared for such a fight; draped in stiff leathers and furs to keep him warm in this frozen land, and only his rapier, a skinning knife, and a bow that aren’t really suitable for monster-killing. To break through the remorhaz’s armour, he’ll need something with a little more oomph.

None of that matters, of course, if the playing field was never level to begin with.

Swinging down from the treetops is Hircine, silvery threads tied around her limbs, halting Wyll’s progression forward. Her eyes are a milky-white as she sneers hatefully at him. “Running away from a fight? What a hero!”

There have been times she held hate in her heart, but it was never turned towards them, her companions.

This isn’t Hircine.

“Who are you?” Wyll questions, slowly wrapping his fingers around his knife. He won’t be caught flat-footed again.

“A servant.” She responds, smiling uncomfortably wide. “Our lord is powerful, but he understands how to delegate.”

“Your lord? And who is—”

Hircine launches towards Wyll, feet meeting his chest as she shoves him backwards off the tree.

And right into the waiting jaws of the remorhaz.

4 notes · View notes

geckogeckogecko · 4 months ago

Text

Posting has begun!

All of our talented contributors will begin posting this week!

If you'd like to support everyone please visit our AO3 collection. And keep watching our blog as we share them here. There are some multi-chaptered works that will be updated over time make sure to keep up with those.

53 notes · View notes

geckogeckogecko · 4 months ago

Text

So Begins The Long Night

Chapter 1: A Place To Gather

My piece for the @bg3-winter-big-bang

AO3 / Next Chapter

A wave of a porcelain-pale hand catches her eye before it disappears behind a thick trunk. A secret rendezvous already? Well, she wanted to finish that conversation that got cut off much too early from last night. The logs are set back down before Hircine hesitantly steps across the snow over to where Astarion beckoned her. She reaches the tree, ducking below the low-hanging branches to peek around, but finds no one there. "Astarion?" Hircine calls. "What are you doing?" A glance down, Hircine finds the snow here undisturbed and her heart sinks to her hollow stomach. That wasn't Astarion.

Gone their separate ways following the defeat of the Absolute, Team Tadpole has reunited outside the Neverwinter Woods for a hunting tournament that will be one for the ages.

Unfortunately, an outsider has set their sights on them, determined to bring about a never-ending winter with the assistance of these heroes.

Can they defeat this nefarious presence or will they blanket the land in snow in his name?

I worked with the awesome @geckogeckogecko on an illustration for this fic, which will be showcased on Chapter 7 once it's available.

This fic will update twice a week.

Chapter: 1 of 7

Chapter Word Count: 2.6k

Tags: Action/Adventure, Lots of Monsters, Hunting in the woods, Gathering of Friends, The Gang is all Back Together, There's a little tiny bit of romance but it's not the focus

Pairings: Astarion/Named Tav, Gale/Shadowheart

Freshly fallen snow layers the ground in thick drifts, a field of crushed diamonds that sparkle and flash in the Morninglord's rising rays. Hircine stands beneath a large tree decorated in white, unworried that it might deposit its icy gift atop her head. She avoids direct sunlight since even after an entire year reveling in daylight, her eyes take a while to adjust to the insanely powerful and harsh brightness beaming down upon them all.

Mother instilled within Hircine the notion that drow were superior in every way, but Mother also hasn't stood outside in a few hundred years, so clearly there are some things she can be wrong about—not that Hircine ascribes to drow superiority.

Would Astarion's sunwalking ring allow Hircine to be more comfortable? Perhaps, but his need for it is a little more important than hers.

Adjusting the blood red hood of her fur-lined cloak so it conceals her face from the light, Hircine watches her companions bustle about, preparing for the day ahead of them. She, Gale and Shadowheart will stay behind to set up camp and welcome the participants of their competition back dutifully, while Wyll, Lae'zel, Astarion and Karlach venture out into the Neverwinter Woods in search of a formidable beast to fall.

It's comforting to be back together again after drifting apart following the defeat of the Absolute and its cultists. The letter arrived from Gale a few months ago, requesting a meetup, which then developed into Karlach begging—multiple times—for some kind of event since getting the "Team" back together is a big deal. With winter's approach, they agreed on a hunting competition with Hircine and Shadowheart taking on the judging role since the duo had no interest in actually hunting. How clean the kill, the size of the beast, and difficulty in acquiring said beast will be evaluated by the two women.

Gale was banned from judging because everyone knows he will suck all the fun out of it by taking exact measurements of the creatures and then lecturing ad nauseam about whatever creature was brought back. He cooks best anyway, so that's his job for the day.

Bedecked in an array of fine furs and waxy, tanned leathers, the hunters ready themselves with weapons newly sharpened and stowed in their holsters. Karlach is dressed in a lighter fit comparatively to the rest as she hops and whoops around the soon-to-be campsite. Her infernal engine, while fixed, no longer requires her to stay stranded in Avernus, but her body heat is still higher than normal, steam roiling off her body in these sub-zero temperatures, no worries of snow sticking against her clothing.

When she isn't throwing herself around with abandon, Astarion hovers close by, soaking in her heat like a cat cozying up to a fire-warmed blanket. If he asked, Karlach would be more than happy to keep the vampire warm in an inescapably crushing hug.

Wyll and Lae'zel discuss the best techniques for dispatching an elk should one find themself on the wrong end of its fearsome antlers. Hircine is positive they are both saying the same thing but somehow disagreeing about it.

Deciding she's done enough useless observing, Hircine trots her way to the center, pleased that the enchanted bangles she spent a pretty coin on allow her to be barefoot on the snow without worry of her feet freezing off. Shoes are not to be tolerated. Gale hums a pleasant tune as he digs through a bag of holding, pulling out pots and pans of all kinds for the regale he will provide them with once the sun sets. "Anything I can help with right now, Mr. Professor?" Hircine asks when looking over his shoulder.

He smiles good-naturedly, brunette and gray-streaked hair peeking out from his hood. "Oh, well, there's plenty I need help with, but I think our hunter's are about ready to go, so let's see them off first."

Hircine nods, standing beside Shadowheart as the hunters gather by the edge of the forest, a picturesque scene of snow untouched. Giant spruce trees line the perimeter, branches bowing under the weight of packed snow, hiding the animalistic bounty within their evergreen foliage.

"I don't think any of you slow moving lackeys stand a chance. Will you be taking swiftness into consideration as well for the judging? Because I assure you I will be back first, ready for my prize." Astarion boasts, holding his gloved arms out beside him in a grand gesture of haughtiness.

Shadowheart doesn't hesitate to respond with dryness. "If you come back too early, we will deduct points for the interruption. And that rule only applies to you, Astarion."

He scowls back, hands on hips and spitting like a prissy cat, "I see your indoctrination into Selûne's arms has done nothing to make you more friendly."

"Enough of your inane drivel. We have beasts to subdue." Lae'zel says, steeling herself for the task at hand like the hard-trained soldier she is. Nothing will distract her now.

Karlach guffaws loudly, the sound echoing across the snow-blanketed land. "Awe, I really missed you guys, but Mama K is bringing home the goods today!"

And Wyll, ever friendly and considerate, says, "Good luck to you all, and may the best hunter win!"

The trio staying behind waves them off with their well wishes, and once their friends have disappeared into the deep recesses of the woods, do they jump to action, preparing the camp for the splendid return. Sunset is the indicator to end. That should be more than enough time for each group to complete their tasks.

Gale sets to unburdening his bags of all their contents once again while Hircine and Shadowheart pitch tents, which consists of Shadowheart doing the hard labor while Hircine holds tent poles stable.

Hircine just isn't built for such things—or so she likes to say. Gods forbid a noble lady breaks a nail!

Tents are to be set up in a semi-circle around where the feast will be held, a large open space that Gale efficiently cleared of all snow with a flick of his fingers. A shallow trench is dug for where the fire should go, followed by a conjured massive oak table with chairs placed beside it so they can eat comfortably, and then fresh ingredients are laid out, ready to be prepped.

Shadowheart continues with her prior duty unaided, not needing help in the slightest, while Hircine sheepishly moves on to help Gale chop and dice vegetables, since her meager talents might be more useful there. The wizard-professor raises a brow, "Do you know your way around the kitchen?"

Hircine scoffs, scandalized. "How dare you! Just because I was raised with a maid to make all my meals and sometimes feed me doesn't mean I am completely helpless… mostly. I may not be as experienced as you are in the kitchen, but I promise I am offering a helping hand, not a destructive one."

"No offense meant, my lady. I appreciate any help when Karlach is around. She could inhale an elk, especially after such 'strenuous' activity. But before we get ahead of ourselves, would you mind collecting the wood? I'll get this all ready for our knife play!" Gale winks.

Stepping away from the table, Hircine pulls her cloak tight, thankful that there is no breeze after the howling blizzard that blew through the night before in Neverwinter. Even the locals seemed disturbed by the hazardous storm that had rolled in, remarking on the bad tidings that came with the whooshing of the wind and the tap, tap, tapping of branches on poured-glass window panes. Hircine isn't quite sure what that bad omen was all about, but it passed with little fanfare. Team Tadpole worried that if the unfortunate weather would last, their competition might be canceled, but Tymora smiled down on them and the blizzard died out before the sun came up, leaving a gorgeous and untouched winter wonderland in its wake.

There is the concern that the creatures they wish to hunt will be burrowed away completely, leaving their friends with no game to catch. Not a single feather, hoof nor paw print of any kind could be seen going in or out of the forest when they arrived early this morning. Gale assured them that the animals would reappear into the world again come sunrise, so here is hoping that the participants have no issue finding what they seek.

Thinking back to last night at Driftwood Tavern, Hircine becomes lost in her thoughts. It's like a void is filled within her now that she's back in the presence of her friends. They've sent letters occasionally, eager to update one another on the high-points of their lives, but no in-person meetups were held until this week. Karlach notified them first thing when she and Wyll escaped Avernus following the fixing of her heart, and Karlach settled in Baldur's Gate, reliving what life was like before she was sold off. Finding purpose in helping others as is fitting, Wyll joined Halsin in the recovering Shadow-Cursed lands and they have made amazing headway in rebuilding the community of Reithwin town.

Lae'zel was quiet until Gale's invitation, off fighting Vlaakith's forces, which is an almost never-ending job, apparently. The stoic gith, at least, now made time for them. Gale is a professor at Blackstaff academy and forever the most verbose, he sends the most letters and Hircine responds to all of them, enjoying the updates on Tara and his students.

Having immersed herself in the clergy of Selûne, Shadowheart rose quickly in their ranks, now a High Initiate—whatever that means, all while taking care of her aged parents. She sends seeds from her garden sometimes to Hircine, but having no permanent residence to settle down in, there wasn't much to do with them yet.

And then there's Astarion, everyone's favorite, snappy vampire. He sent a letter once, only to let everyone know that he had settled down in the Underdark with his sibling spawn and the seven-thousand others that were meant for Cazador's hellish ritual, otherwise it was silence on his end… not that Hircine reached out at all. Per Gale, he was the first to respond to the get-together request with an immediate agreement, regardless of plans.

Hircine and Astarion didn't part on bad terms per se, but there was so much left unsaid and neither are the best at communicating. Astarion lied to and manipulated Hircine because of his personal traumas, and then Hircine's personal traumas were so great that she couldn't easily abandon his lies, holding them against Astarion for far too long.

They've come a long way since then and seeing him again last night reminded Hircine that if she got a fresh start, then so should Astarion. To be friends again, that would be nice, and if more happens? Well, then the wheel of fate will turn as it does.

The conversation they had at Driftwood Tavern last night… She can only pray to Eilistraee for a continuation of it.

Smiling to herself as she walks towards their firewood stack, Hircine feels hopeful for the future. She currently resides at Candlekeep, having gained entry by gifting a runic tablet excavated from Throrgar to further her knowledge on the Far Realms. Soon though Hircine might move on somewhere else, to where yet, she does not know. One hundred and fifty years is a long time to never experience the real world, so she's soaking it all in on her own time now that she has the freedom to.

As she collects logs and a handful of sticks from the wood stack, a biting wind whips up, blasting Hircine with fresh snow right in her face and knocking the hood off of her head. Between the blinding gleam of the snow and the unblocked rays of the sun high in the sky, Hircine is dazzled by the sunshine, dropping the logs with a cry before shielding her eyes with her fingers.

Her hood is pulled up swiftly, protecting her poor, accustomed-to-darkness eyes once again from the sun's brutal welcome.

A deep laugh, as icy and unfriendly as the darkest recesses of the Lowerdark, rings out from within the forest, sending a shiver skittering down Hircine's spine, her layers of wool, furs and magic unable to stave it off. Is someone playing tricks on her? Gale would be the only one capable of whipping up the wind like that, but he's not one for mean practical jokes…

Blind spots obscure her vision as she looks along the edge of the forest, the thick spruce and cedar trees that once obscured what lies within are now withered and gnarled, curling in on themselves as if that is the only comfort they can find in this snowfield.

Hircine blinks rapidly, clearing her sight of the dark spots, finding that the trees are green with life once again. I can't be that tired, she thinks while tucking her hands into the thick folds of her cloak, shaking off the chill that clings to her clammy skin.

She came here for wood. There's no need to let a little breeze frighten her, especially after the tadpole-infested ordeals they've been through. As she bends down to pick up the logs she had dropped, a whisper, insistent and imploring, reaches her pointed ears on the wind. It is an accented voice she knows well. "Hircine, over here…"

Back ramrod straight, Hircine scans now for Astarion among the dense thicket of trees. Shouldn't he be hunting? Or is the silly man so confident that he'll finish early that Astarion took a brief detour to speak privately?

A wave of a porcelain-pale hand catches her eye before it disappears behind a thick trunk.

A secret rendezvous already? Well, she wanted to finish that conversation that got cut off much too early from last night. The logs are set back down before Hircine hesitantly steps across the snow over to where Astarion beckoned her.

She reaches the tree, ducking below the low-hanging branches to peek around, but finds no one there. "Astarion?" Hircine calls. "What are you doing?" A glance down, Hircine finds the snow here undisturbed and her heart sinks to her hollow stomach.

That wasn't Astarion.

The temperature plummets, ice crawling up Hircine's feet, then to her legs, the enchanted bangles unable to hold up under the onslaught. She is frozen in place, and when her hand rests against the rough bark of the tree to knock some ice off, it becomes encased in ice, same as her lower extremities.

That laugh again, now filled with sheer malice, comes from the opposite side of the tree from where Hircine stands trapped. She jerks her legs, fully unmoving.

No escape.

A man, elfin and regal in stature, steps out into view, skin blue as a glacier and eyes whiter than death, staring at her like he's taking in an appealing sculpture. Feathery wisps of silver hair whip around his form, fading out like powdery snow in the blistering wind that's now scalding Hircine's cheeks with its icy sting. His smile holds no warmth. "Let the domain of winter reign. Rise, my chosen hunter.”

His hand clamps over Hircine's mouth, a creeping chill working its way down her throat, silencing the beginnings of a scream.

11 notes · View notes