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soluna-amarillis · 9 days ago

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Part 35 – Eleasis 23

Morning arrives with no further events. As Soluna crawls out of her tent, she sees that a few other companions had already began to take down their own tents.

“I had the strangest dream last night,” Astarion says, spying Soluna, a troubled look on his face. “There was a visitor promising me protection, and all sorts of delicious powers from the parasites in our minds.”

“Visitor?” Soluna repeats, dusting her hands off.

“I suppose you had a similar dream?” He asks, sauntering closer.

“Was that a dream?” She asks, staring into the far distance as she recalled the details. “It felt so real. Like it all really happened.”

“It certainly did,” Astarion grins. “This is excellent. Now we can see these tadpoles can do for us.”

‘I-I don’t know,” Soluna shakes her head, her voice quivering with uncertainty. “I’ve seen what happens to those infected. What if we turn into one of those things by using these ‘powers’?”

“Ugh! Is there a reason you’re such an utter drip?” Astarion whines, tossing his head back in frustration. He takes a deep breath and places his hands on his hips. “Do you have some sort of condition? Honestly! It’s like you hate good news!”

“You had a strange dream too, I take it?” Shadowheart asks, slipping up behind Astarion who jumps in response. “I was hoping my imagination had gotten the better of me, but this must be something more.”

“You too?” Astarion huffs, turning around and taking a step back so he stood between the two women. “Honestly, isn’t anyone at least a little hopeful about this?”

“Hopeful? When some stranger visits us in our sleep and claims to be an ally?” Shadowheart presses. “Promises to keep us safe so we can use the power of the tadpoles? I can’t say I’m too hopeful about it at all, Astarion.”

“Yes! We gain exceptional power, and he keeps us from turning into one of those tentacled freaks!”

“As tempting as these powers sound, Astarion, we should recognize this dream for what it really is – the tadpole’s little trick,” Wyll adds, tightening the strap of his belt. “No good ever came from trusting honey-tongued strangers conjured up by illithid worms.”

“For hells sake,” Astarion sighs, his shoulders slumping backwards as he dramatically stares at the sky. “I can’t believe you all.”

“The parasite has taken root, it would seem.”

“Of course you’d be against it, Lae’zel, you and the brothmaisse must have the same condition – or maybe you just have a personal vendetta against me!”

“Every promise this strange figure makes is ghaik deception! I’d sooner trust a night hag!”

“You have to admit, it is very curious,” Gale voices, sitting on a log near the pile of ashes from the previous night’s fire. “In all my readings on the effects of illithid parasites, I’ve never come across any accounts of correlating dreams between infected parties. Another unique quality of our predicament, perhaps.”

“See? Gale gets it!” Astarion gasps, pointing with his hands to the wizard. “Of course he’d be excited by the science of it, but at least he’s open to the idea!”

“I wouldn’t say I’m exactly for the idea,” Gale corrects. “We’ve far more to learn about the powers at play here before we make a decision. Gods only know we could use all the help we can get, but there’s nothing wrong with maintaining a healthy suspicion in such matters. Still, it might be wiser to keep an open mind on the matter. Our visitors’ promises of aid might yet bear valuable fruit.”

“Gods, you’re all just a bunch of wet blankets,” Astarion rolls his eyes.

“What about your thing, Shadowheart?” Soluna asks, turning to the half-elf, her hands mining the small spiky object. “Do you think that has anything to do with the mind flayers or the dream visitors?”

Shadowheart looks at the ground in thought.

“I don’t know… All I know is that it’s important that I get it back to Baldur’s Gate. At any cost.”

“Baldur’s Gate?” Gale hums. “It seems all roads lead to Baldur’s Gate. But why?”

Shadowheart lowered her brow and stared at the inquisitive wizard.

“Nevermind, forget I asked,” Gale waves his hand and looks away.

“You carry a githyanki relic,” Lae’zel hisses, glaring at Shadowheart as she approaches the half-elf. “I will have an explanation - or your head.”

“Walk away. Now,” the other growls. “I won’t warn you again.”

Astarion quickly steps away from the two ladies, joining Gale near the fire pit. He crosses his arms and watches the squabble with interest.

“Enough of this,” Wyll commands. “Both of you walk away!”

“Remove yourself if you are so easily offended,” Lae’zel quips. “This is not your concern.”

“You’re finally showing us what you really are,” Shadowheart interrupts. “A reaver to the bone!”

“Spare your indiginity. Every word that spills from your mouth is worth less than the last,” Lae’zel spits.

“We have far too much to do to be fighting amongst ourselves,” Wyll tries again, drawing closer. He slowly backs away as both women turn and glare at him.

“Incorrect!” Lae’zel snaps. “Judicious bloodletting settles feuds and roots out the weak – the deceitful.”

“Do you hear this tripe?” Shadowheart scoffs. “Our lives are at stake and she wants us to turn on each other!”

“No others, just you and me.”

“What the devils is this even about this time?” Wyll sighs, resting against the large boulder in the center of the camp.

“Lae’zel seems to think I have something important to her people. She’s clearly deluded!”

“Lies! She carries an heirloom of my people. I must know why!”

“The artefact?” Soluna interjects. “The one that saved us on the bridge to the temple?”

Both women glare at each other, giving a slight nod of confirmation.

“Lae’zel, if this thing is keeping us from becoming mindless slaves to the Absolute, I think we’d be better off with keeping it in our possession.”

Lae’zel hisses at Soluna.

“Let’s get rid of these damn worms first, then we can settle the argument over the artefact, deal?” She asks, holding her hands up.

“I doubt this one’s wits will be any sharper by then,” Shadowheart sneers.

“I do not wish to spill blood here,” Lae’zel returns the looks. “When the time comes, we will find a place to end this.”

“Fine! You can accept you’re wrong, or we’ll be ride of you – permanently. Either way, I win!”

Lae’zel huffs, her eyes narrowed, and walks away.

“Oak Father’s blessings to you,” The earthy voice of Halsin calls out from the entrance to the camp. “I hope I am not interrupting anything.”

Soluna spins around to greet the mountain-sized elf with a smile. He returns the gesture and steps closer, joining the circle of campers.

“Arron and Rath were able to fix the wagon the teiflings left,” He states. “Given you have only your tents and bags to carry, the wagon shouldn’t be too heavy for one or two of us to pull it.”

“Halsin, sir, you seem to have rather great knowledge on these parasites,” Gale turns to the First Druid. “How did you come to know so much?”

“Just Halsin is fine,” The elf laughs. “I had the unique opportunity to study one up close. Much closer than most would care to be to such a thing. A drow attacked me and I defended myself. Afterwards, I was able to examine the tadpole that emerged.”

“Emerged? As in left the host’s body?” Gale tils his head in thought. “Just like the man in the woods.”

“You’ve seen it happen, too? Hideous – but fascinating. Like nothing else in nature, I’m glad to say.”

“On that we can both agree,” Gale smiles and stands from the log. “Well, if we’re going to set off at a reasonable time, I might as well finish getting packed!”

Within half an hour, the tents had been dismantled and loaded onto the cart, along with a small chest in which Gale had piled a short stack of books and a small barrel of fresh water. I had been Halsin’s generous decision to pull the wagon since the group neither had a beast of burden nor strength enough to pull it themselves.

“Are you going to miss it?” Soluna asks the bear, Halsin as the heavy gate closes behind them. “It’s your home, after all.”

“If I’m honest, the grove was too comfortable for my tastes,” The bear rumbles. “I felt removed from nature. I’ll miss my books, but I can find all the wisdom they contain out here, first-hand.”

“We’ve managed to find plenty of books out here,” Soluna answers, glancing at the chest on the wagon. “And I don’t mean from the library or people’s homes. Gale’s managed to source a rather sizeable collection, already.”

“Is that so? Haha! Well, nature does abhor waste… I will keep watch, then. Thank you,” The bear looks up at Soluna, a pull at the corner of his maw in something of a smile. “I had a feeling time in your company would prove fruitful.”

Soluna smiles in return. She looks away when she feels her cheeks flushing.

“Halsin, this shadow curse you spoke of – surely it can’t be that bad, can it?” Gale asks, turning back to the bear.

The bear grumbles and growls his answer, leaving Gale to look hopefully to Soluna for translation.

“He says it’s had the whole region around Moonrise Towers in a chokehold of darkness and despair,” She reiterates.

“And what of the stronghold in the Underdark? Does he know more about it and the Dark Justiciars?” Shadowheart asks.

“Very little, he says. Aradin was the one who believed there was a hidden entrance in the Temple. He suggests if we wish to go that route, we should start there.”

“Go back to that gods-awful place?” Astarion shudders. “I only now got the stench off me from our last visit!”

Halsin continues to grumble and growl.

“What’s he saying now?” Astarion looks at Soluna expectantly.

“He says he helped to overthrow Ketheric Thorm and the Dark Justiciars, but wasn’t able to prevent him from unleashing the curse. He wants to get a chance to lift the curse.”

Shadowheart looks away, drawn into her own mind.

“Are you alright?” Soluna asks, jogging to catch up with the half-elf.

Shadowheart nods in silence, keeping her gaze to the path before them.

“We she travel through the Underdark,” She states. “If this shadow curse is as bad as Halsin says, we should avoid it.”

“The stronghold. Halsin mentioned something about the Dark Justiciars? Who are they?” Soluna questioned. Shadowheart glances toward the others and lowers chin.

“I could have died in that pod,” She says softly. “Back on the nautiloid. You could have died, spending precious moments trying to free me. But you did it anyway. I – I one you my life. Twice over, in fact. You supported me against Lae’zel. I’m not sure I would have survived in that moment if you hadn’t stepped in to speak reason to her.”

Soluna blinks, unsure how this correlated to the question she asked about the Dark Justiciars.

“You’re welcome?”

“I’m trying to say that you’ve earned my trust in a way very few ever have…I want that to mean something. I – I want you to know more about me – at least, from what I can remember.”

“Remember?” Soluna repeats, looking at the other with a confused look.

“A group of us were sent to retrieve the artefact. This mission requires the utmost secrecy – and so we all submitted to having our memories suppressed so that we couldn’t betray Shar’s confidence.”

Shadowheart glanced up at Soluna, timid vulnerability in her eyes.

“You worship Shar? Blimy, She and my beloved Mystra are not exactly friends.” Gale turns his head to address Shadowheart who meets his nosey gaze with a sharp glare. He turns back around and quickens his pace. Shadowheart looks back at Soluna as if waiting for her harsh judgement.

“If I reach my contact in the city,” Shadowheart continues, realizing the elf had no ill words toward her faith of choice. “I’ll have my memories restored. Until then, I have to guard the artefact with my life.”

“Sounds like you’re taking it very seriously,” Soluna nods. “I hope you succeed, then.”

“Thank you. I am,” Shadowheart smiles, a real, warm smile. “I’m glad that you’re taking this quite well. Perhaps I could have confided in you sooner.”

“I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to do so now,” Soluna smiles. In truth, she had little knowledge of who Shar was other than the events of the Spellplague when Mystra fell at the hands of Shar and Cyric. Religious history was never a favorite subject of hers as a child, less so now.

Shadowheart stepps to the side of the dirt path and stoops to pick a small flower. Soluna waits for her, letting the wagon pass.

“As long as I’ve prayed to Lady Shar, I’ve wished to serve her as a Dark Justiciar,” Shadowheart continues, her voice just above a whisper, following at the end of the procession.

“There is scarcely a greater way to fully dedicate yourself to Lady Shar – save perhaps if you become the head of her church,” She continues, twirling the flower mindlessly in her hand. “To become a Dark Justiciar is to become the Nightsinger’s sword arm – her implement with which she will cast down the unbelievers and win the final battle to restore her perfect, endless darkness…”

Endless darkness? This is a good thing?

“It’s all I ever wanted. I prayed it was my calling. But ‘Mother’ forbid me from seeking to prove myself worthy of the rank. She said I was not ready.”

“Your mother?”

“Not my mother-mother,” Shadowheart shakes her head. “The Mother Superior. Head of Lady Shar’s enclave in Baldur’s Gate.”

Shadowheart grows silent, staring woefully at the flower in her fingers.

“Sometimes – I wonder if she would ever deem me ready. I owe her everything. I only wish to serve, yet she can prove … inscrutable.”

Soluna turns her own gaze from Shadowheart’s face to the road beneath her feet. She knew that feeling; wanting to prove yourself and yet being told over and over you weren’t ready. It mattered not how many hours you trained, or the perfection of the basics – it was great aunt Casseia that decided if you were ready for your debut.

‘Her form is still sloppy. Aelin had far better form at a younger age!’

Arn’ar’oma Astria, the grand-matriarch of the circus, was the one who saw Soluna’s potential and made the decision to follow through with the debut. It was the last thing she did before travelling to Arvandor.

“I’m sure she’ll relent,” Soluna offers a reassuring smile. “She’ll see your dedication. If not through her own decision, then made by someone higher still.”

“Perhaps,” Shadowheart smiled weakly. “If I succeed in my mission and reach Baldur’s Gate --. Hope has little place amongst Lady Shar’s children – it’s an illusion, a distraction. But for this… I hope my time will yet come.”

“I hope, no matter what happens, you find your happiness,” Soluna offers, gently placing her hand on the half-elf’s arm.

Shadowheart turns, a soft warmth in her eyes.

“Thank you. I had a feeling you’d be understanding.”

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soluna-amarillis · 14 days ago

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Part 34 – Eleasis 22

Pain radiates through her body, a throbbing and aching far worse than anything she’s felt before. Her head pounds and her skin burns. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she fears – she knows – what this is. Soluna tosses and turns, squirming restlessly like the worm in her skull.

A soothing presence nears, the pain in her body subsiding - like cool water easing the sting of a day full of sun. Soluna’s eyes blink open, her vision hazy at first as they struggle to focus. Two ethereally glowing eyes stare down from over her, golden locks cascading down his gilded armor.

“I came just in time,” He sighs, holding a hand near Soluna’s throbbing head. A vibrant yet gentle light flows from the palm of his hand across her soak-drenched face as the pain fades. “You are transforming.”

Soluna closes her eyes, burning heat radiating from behind her lids. She sees the Ar’Tel’Quessir in her mind, visions flashing through her brain.

On the nautiloid, during the attacks – he was there. Is he infected too?

She looks into his golden eyes - like her father’s.

Soluna tries to speak, but her voice does not obey.

Your voice… Soluna wills her voice to convey her thoughts. I’ve heard it before. On the ship.

The mysterious stranger smiles.

“Yes, you have,” He nods as if she had spoken aloud. “I saved you before - ”

Another vision flashes through her mind.

She’s falling. Plummeting from the ship as it crashes around her. Her unconscious form stops mid-air, only feet from the sandy banks of the river.

“ – And I’m here to save you again. Don’t worry. You will not become a mind flayer. Not while I’m around. I will protect you.”

As the stranger stands, Soluna looks at the gleaming armor he wears. Though she cannot place its origin, it seems to be made from some other worldly materials. Could he be from the Feywilds?

Her small but calloused hand fits comfortably within his larger, gloved palm. With little effort, he pulls her to her feet. The camp had vanished, now replaced with disjointed chunks of stone and debris floating about. A fraction of some stone building – a column and a trellis – provides the core chunk of land they now stand on.

“We haven’t much time, so listen closely,” The stranger urges, an urgent yet calm tone to his voice. He turns and leads her to the edge of the mass. Chunks of land of varying sizes float by against a sea of purple dotted with unfamiliar constellations.

“There is great potential within you,” He continues, turning back to face her. “It comes from that parasite. Your instinct is to resist the power it gives, but you must accept it. Nurture it.”

Soluna’s stomach drops at the idea. This thing – the parasite that had been forced upon her, that saps her strength and threatens to consumer her…

“I will keep it from consuming you,” He states, surely hearing her thoughts as easily as she thinks them. “But for the sake of both of us, you must learn to wield it.”

His gold eyes stare into hers, imploring her. He feels so familiar, yet she can’t quite place him. Eyes like her father, freckles like her brother.

What Soluna had thought was a rocky wall turns out to be a clump of debris forming a protective shield. As he turns from her, waiving a hand across the scene before them, the clump moves, revealing the terrifying scene of an otherworldly war.

A sharp-toothed skull complete with a golden spire crown plays host to a battle as explosions flicker like fireflies across its surface. A rainbow-colored flicker ripples under the force of the barrage. Glowing humanoid shapes zip around the giant skull, hurling attacks.

“A fight for the fate of Faerûn,” He explains. “A fight we are losing.”

Soluna looks at the man, eyes wide in alarm.

“For now,” He adds. “You can change that, but only if you embrace your potential.”

A pinkish glowing figure zips around a ragged piece of floating debris, a glittering storm erupting from its hands and engulfing a vivid blue figure. The second figure quivers before shattering into an electric spark-like explosion. Soluna gasps, taking a step back.

“I have to go,” The stranger says, turning away from the sight solemnly. “The enemy is closing in. But I will be back.”

A loud rumbling ripples through the air, a bright pink light racing toward the two. As Soluna raises her arms to shield herself, the stranger lifts a hand, holding off the surge. At the same time, he raises his other hand toward Soluna. She feels something shift inside her, like an anchor being raised from the water. Her feet do not move and yet she is pushed back, back, back.

“Wake now. You’ll feel better – I promise.”

The voice echoes within her head, her vision obscured with vibrant white light. As suddenly as it began, the feeling stops and Soluna is once more back in the camp. She gasps and pusher herself upright. She’s back in her tent. Her lute is propped carefully against one of the poles and the flap moves carelessly in the cool early-morning breeze. Soluna holds her breath, trying to slow her beating heart that drowns out all other sounds.

What the hells was that? Was it a dream? A vision? A warning?

Soluna crawls to the entrance of her tent and sticks her head out. She looks over to Astarion’s tent before scanning across to the others’. Other than the croaking of the frogs on the bank, all was quiet – and still.

Soluna crawls back into the security of her tent. She pulls the blanket over her shoulder, tucking her hand under her chin.

Maybe it was just a dream. A very, very weird dream. I don’t know how the N’Tel’Quessir deal with them…

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