#Rugan took it pretty well

[meeeeeeese]

Alright those of you with charr characters I want to know how they handled getting a flea bath back when they were in the fahrar (or just when they were a cub for non-legion charr)

[alpydk]

Red on You (In a Heartbeat)

Part 2 - GalexRugan

Ao3 Link

“Now darling, don’t be annoyed at Rugan. He was merely suggesting that we get out of your hair, not that we go drinking.”

Gale tried not to be angry at what he was hearing, that another night would be spent sat up waiting for the door to be pushed aside and the protective spell to be inevitably tripped. Astarion had once again dropped by to the tower unexpectedly, not to see his long-time friend but to spend time cavorting the city most likely in search of a good brothel with Rugan. Gale knew he deserved better than this, and he glowered as the two of them laughed and traded their stories of crime and deceit.

Rugan lifted his glass, tilting it in Astarion’s direction. “You ever meet that sweet lass who worked in the Elfsong? Halfling bird, she could do that thing where she bent her leg up around her-”

“Gabby, Gabriella… Oh, what was it? I know who you mean. With the cherries.”

“Yes! That’s the chickadee. Gloria?”

Astarion concentrated, his pale brow furrowed. “No, it wasn’t Gloria…” Two hundred years of skulking Baldur’s Gate. He couldn’t be expected to remember the name of every barmaid.

“Isabella.” Gale interjected, wanting the topic to move on.

Rugan looked up with a grin on his weathered face. “Isabella. Gods, she was a pretty sight. Surprised you knew her name, though.”

“Oh, Gale here has always been quite the charmer. Isn’t that right, love?”

“Learning a person’s name is the least one can do,” Gale answered, scowling at them both as they smirked, their minds clearly trawling the gutters they would soon find themselves in.

Taking a sip from his drink, Astarion reminisced over the young barmaid. “I do wonder whatever happened to her. Not seen her in…well, an age.”

“Shacked up with someone, probably. You know how it goes, spread their legs, a couple of kids, no more cherries,” Rugan replied with a devilish look in his eyes.

“She died and became a mindflayer, like so many other tragic victims of the city, lest you forget.” With his response, Gale let the silence settle over them, watching as the uncouth banter of the evening became a quiet moment of guilt shared between them all.

Lifting his glass, Rugan spoke. “Well, to Isabella then and whatever bar she may be tending.”

Astarion mumbled in agreement, bringing his glass to his lips. He glanced over the rim, noting the uncomfortable silence that lay in the air, the tension between the two lovers growing with each second. Taking the break in the conversation as an opportunity to escape, he turned to Rugan. “Maybe it’s time we…”

“Yeah, we probably should.”

Gale sighed as they both placed their glasses down to leave him, the awkward shuffle as they acknowledged his gaze upon them, making everything more difficult to handle. Tonight would be the last night he would allow this to happen. He would leave the tower himself, clear his mind and come morning would face the harsh reality that his relationship was over. He took Rugan’s hand as it swept by him, a moment of unspoken contact as if to say, “Don’t do this.”

Rugan leant down, placing a gentle kiss on Gale’s brow. “Love you, poppet. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

The hand was pulled away and Gale once again found himself alone in the dim light of his tower, his heart breaking and his anger rising.

---

The smell had only been the start of what the young priestess had discovered as the gnome had removed his clothes, his skin blistering and, in some places, literally rotten to the bone. To say he was alive would have been a matter of opinion and he spoke in a matter of grunts and groans, constantly reaching for her wrists as she examined his wounds. Her healing spells were met with no change, almost angering the flesh they met and causing him further pain, and she worried that maybe a powerful curse had befallen the poor victim.

She placed a gentle hand on Tibs’ shoulder, moving quickly away as his head twisted sharply towards it. “I’ll get the high priest; you just wait here.”

Scurrying through the temple, her white robes flowing behind her, she could feel her anxiety rising. There was something about this situation that set her on edge. She knew she was relatively new to her calling, but she’d had experience with the sick and dying before in her short twenty-year life, and so this one person shouldn't have shaken her as it seemed to have. Multiple rooms were checked in search of the high priest before she eventually came across him knelt deep in prayer under the moonlight within the temple’s courtyard.

“Andora, my dear. Sneaking up on an old man?”

He glanced over at her slight figure, admiring the way the robes had been pinched to her waist. Classically pretty were the words he would have chosen if he had to describe her to fellow priests. Blonde, fair skinned, large doe-like eyes that shone with innocence. Exactly his type.

His voice was calming and with it brought a relaxation to the young priestess’ shoulders. She took a moment to let her heart rate slow, not wanting to be seen as inept before her superior. Word around the church was that the Half-Elven leader had been in his position for many years, offering counsel to those in need, speaking for Ilmater himself, supporting the newer priestesses in their times of need, and that was exactly what she needed.

“Father. I’m so sorry to disturb your prayer, but there’s a matter I require your assistance with. A man has come in from the streets. He does not speak, but it is clear he is incredibly sick.”

The high priest stood, patting down his cream robes, and approached her, linking a withered arm around hers. “Calm, take a moment of silence to find your inner peace.”

Andora nodded; a deep breath pulled into her lungs at his command. She closed her eyes briefly, failing to notice the way his eyes drifted to the rise and fall of her breasts.

“Now, a sick follower, you say?”

“I’m unsure if he is a follower, father. But yes, sick. Incredibly sick. I have tried the basic healing spells and prayers at my command, but they have done little to lift his affliction.”

“Hm.” Stroking her arm in thought, his mind drifted between the matter at hand and the warmth of her skin that lay beneath her robes. “And what of potions and elixirs?”

“Nothing aside from what appeared to be a fire beneath his skin.”

“That is quite the conundrum, then. Take me to him, my dear.”

The stroking on her arm continued as they meandered through the corridors of the temple, her anxiety again rising, but this time not at what they would encounter but at the way the priest observed her and questioned her.

“Twenty? A fine age. Quite fine.” The words lingered on his tongue a little too long to be merely a passing comment. “I remember when I was but twenty. So young and naïve in the world. Do know that you can turn to me, Andora. For anything you might need.”

“Yes, father.” She couldn’t help but understand what the other priestesses had said now, when they spoke of his support.

He stopped his movements, holding her arm with a grip she had not been prepared for. “Anything.”

His eyes on her were piercing, as if she were a rabbit caught in the sights of a wolf. She felt her words stick in her throat; her legs frozen where they were, even though the only thought going through her mind was to run. It was the screams that broke the uncomfortable silence, desperate, terrified shrieks that burst through the walls with no relief. The grip on her arm tightened, and she felt herself being pulled towards the chaos of the main hall.

“What is the trouble-”

---

“What do you mean they’re not fucking dead!?” Shouted Friol as Darnys barricaded the sturdy door behinds them with crates and barrels she dragged behind her.

“As in undead… ghouls… zombies… fucking walking dead!” The sweat was meshing with her dark hair, causing it to stick to her forehead and she dragged her arm across it, sticky blood pulled with it and leaving a trail.

Friol shot her a scathing look. The bodies had been brought back as required and were ready to be burnt when the head of Dillie had unexpectedly exploded, throwing out viscera in all directions. Some had assumed it was the pressure of gasses as his corpse had been moved, others were more superstitious and blamed the gods for his involvement in the movement of a holy item. She’d put them all in their place, though, having them follow their orders: burn the two dead and get on with what they were supposed to do. As the hours had passed, more and more men grew sick. Rashes, blisters, nausea, and each had been confined to the basement of The Sleeping Snake tavern they’d been calling their base of operations.

Darnys panted against the wall of the back kitchen, her eyes glued to the door as the dull thudding could be heard against it from the other side. “Look, I’m just saying whatever they are, they’re not dead.”

“What about clerics? Surely, we have someone around here who can handle this type of shit.”

“Mads? Mads was the one with the eye hanging from his skull. Remember, part of his skull missing?”

“Fuck.” It was all Friol could respond with as she looked around the room for any weapons or escape. She noted the window above the countertops, large enough for her to fit through but possibly a squeeze if Darnys were to follow. It was considered whether the sacrifice would be worth it. “Right. Orders are to get that window open and get us out of here.”

Darnys rubbed her hands together, more trying to compose her senses than to provide herself with any warmth. She’d expected to be in trouble for not finding the artefact. What she had not expected was Bris to be outside the door, body parts and organs missing, pounding to get in to tear her limb from limb with other, now undead, Zhentarim.

A loud slam at the door caused it to rattle, and both survivors looked over at one another before turning to the window. It was no longer about orders or rules between them; it was about staying alive.

---

Astarion and Rugan sat with their wine in the back room of the Blue Jack Tavern. Conversation had drifted between the usual of past questionable activities, the opposite and same sex endeavours, and had finally reached the lull in the evening where the more serious topics emerged.

Rugan turned a white gold earring over in his hand, its sapphire stone glinting in the candlelight between them. “Thanks for the assist on this.”

“To see the drama between you two? No thanks are necessary.” Astarion swirled the red in his glass, becoming more and more hungry as the night dragged on. “Would it not have just been easier to steal an earring?”

“He wouldn’t have approved. Besides, I’m not that kinda guy anymore.”

“Wait, so the gold you stole from the Zhentarim around town to buy this… does not count?”

A sigh was produced before Rugan could find his words. “Let’s just say they owed me. Sort of a retirement payout for all my years’ service.”

Astarion smirked at the words. “Can take the man out of Zhentarim but can’t take-”

“Don’t even consider finishing that sentence. I’ve moved on, changed man, and all that bollocks.”

“Another drink?”

“Oh, yes.”

The two drank for some time, an impromptu celebration at what had been planned, before eventually taking to the streets of the Castle Ward.

Astarion supported Rugan as they wandered south through the streets towards the docks. It had got later than expected and in a few hours the sun would rise over the city, signally the start of a new day. “I can’t believe there is someone in this world that would want to marry Gale, of all people.”

“Hey…” Rugan slurred through his words, slightly envious of an elf’s ability to tolerate his liquor. “Gale… is… he can summon tentacles and let me tell you-”

“No, you will not tell me. I do not want to know.”

“I love him. He talks too much, and he likes perfume like any lass I know would. But gods, does he make me thankful to be alive…” His words drifted off, the image of Gale in his mind, tender kisses and loving embraces shared at their home together, a home Rugan always believed he’d never find.

“Turn the fuck around!”

The shout and speed at which the two women approached them instantly had Astarion trying to reach for a dagger, Rugan’s heavy weight putting him off balance.

Darnys and Friol darted past them, not stopping to question or attack them, and both stood in confusion at what had just happened, let alone the sharp words that had been shouted at them. It was as they spotted the hoard shambling through the shadows towards them, groans and screams growing with each lumbering step they understood.

Astarion was quick to turn, the momentum dragging Rugan with him. “Guess we listen to the ladies for a change.”

---

Tibs sat in the centre of the moonlit courtyard, his jaw barely hanging on, his eyes now dark festering pools. The pendant glowed around his neck, the chain sinking into the rotten flesh of his chest. Undead shuffled around him in search of further victims, some banging on the cloister doors trying to reach further recruits of their mindless army, others leaving the temple and chasing down anyone alive which they came across. Any humanity Tibs had before was now gone. All that was left was the walking dead shell, one that the previous day had been stupid enough to not follow orders.

[my-favourite-zhent]

New Tricks - Chapter 16

Status: Work In Progress Version: 1.01 Pairing: Rugan x AFAB!OC Rating: NC-17 (This chapter R for violence) Genre: Adventure/Romance Summary: Misadventures of Rugan and the original Zhentarim Gate's crew before and during the year of three sailing ships.

Notes: Sorry for the long delay folks. I ended up scrapping a lot of what was originally written for this chapter and some of it has been moved to the next one. But for what it's worth this chapter is almost triple the usual length so lets just pretend its 3 chapters.

Much love for my editor and plothole spotter @fistfuloftarenths as well as @dustdeepsea for their grammar and beta-reading support.

Table of Contents

Read on AO3 here or below the cut.

New Tricks - Chapter Sixteen

Ships, gods he hated ships. Ever since Rugan had first set foot on one as a lad back in Luskan he had hated them. Had been a bit of a running joke with the crew. Born to the city of sails yet he took to the sea about as well as a horse. Didn’t help that he had never learned to swim. The waters around Luskan were cold and biting, and he had known more than one lad growing up who had gotten frostbite or Winter’s chill from a reckless dip in the River Mirar.

At least travel by river was steadier than by sea.  They weren't busy swaying to and fro, battling unseen currents. Rivers were flat for the most part, if there were rapids then those were always present, not like the surprise of choppy seas set on you based upon the whims of Umberlee. Any storms wouldn’t dump torrents of water on the deck like they would at sea, wouldn’t have the weight to batter and tip them over. 

Generally river boats weren’t as grand as the ships that set out to sea, but Athkatla and Crimmor sat along the Alandor river. The Alandor was wide and deep enough to accommodate the seafaring caravels. This one was large enough to contain a few cramped passenger’s quarters and a small galley. Rugan laid in his narrow cabin bed, propped up against the headboard and sighed. It was the fastest way to get to Athkatla, but with no work to do it left him with entirely too much free time. Nothing to prevent his thoughts from drifting back to Crimmor and Iz. 

He would’ve liked to have stayed longer, apologise properly, bed her down in those soft sheets at least a few more times. But then the sending had come from Sal. The delivery recipients had yet to make contact. Unusual, highly unusual, enough so that it had set his hairs on end.

There had been instances in the past where a client could no longer pay for a shipment, or had even died before it had arrived. But even then the Zhents had always been contacted. They'd keep the cargo in part or full as a due in the former, or someone else would come to collect in the latter. Valuables were still valuables after all. But absolute silence? It made Rugan's gut turn the way it did just before a bit of violence. 

What he had hoped would be a leisurely recovery instead became hastily making arrangements to take the river down to Athkatla the next day. And where once they had planned to go together he had instead insisted that Izzy stay behind. As much as he wanted more time with her there was no sense showing up to what may very well be a trap with a civilian in tow.

So instead he'd been forced to say his goodbyes on the dock. 

+++++

Mists obscured the riverbanks the morning of his departure. When a torrent of rain had come down he used the excuse to pull her under his cloak, holding her close in the last slivers of dark before daybreak. He pressed his face into her hair, arms encircling her waist. She smelled of jasmine oil and citrus fruits.

“Lots of nice book shops in the Gate, you know.” She couldn't come to Athkatla, not now, but maybe in a few days or so…

He felt her laugh more than he heard it. “Great connoisseur are you?”

“Picked up a thing or two from a pretty lass in Waterdeep.”

She pulled away to smile up at him, pensively, then gave a sad shake of her head. “You'll have to show me in the spring. I'll try and find some work up your way.”

“Ah, the spring then.” He worked hard to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“Wintersmoot is soon. It's a celebration to mark the end of the caravan season. Maybe you could come back after your job?”

But he was already shaking his head. “Need to get home, boss’ll want a proper debriefing after what a mess this whole trip has been.”

“Ah.” The corners of her cheeks were upturned, but her eyes were so damned sad.

“Iz,” he sighed, slipping his fingers into those thick tresses of hers. “I've been unkind to you.” He spoke softly, such that only she could hear him against the patter of the rain.

“We can speak on it when we next meet. I don't want to dwell on that now.” Isolde turned to press her lips against the corner of his mouth, and he turned in kind to catch her in a lingering kiss. She was so soft and sweet and if he could have he would've devoured her whole.

The tempo of the rain slowed, the sound of its fall receded until the first rays of sunlight began to peek over the horizon. And still he did not let go, putting off boarding till the last possible moment.

“We're shipping off now, Saer.” The shiphand called from a no longer obscured riverboat. At last Rugan was forced to pull himself away from her.

“Tymora smile on you, Zhent.”

“She always does.” His fingers brushed over her cheek once more before alighting onto the barge.

There were shouts and hollers as the deckhands cast off the lines. They pushed off from the mooring with long poles, keeping the boat parallel to the docks as it slowly drifted into the river. Only when they reached the deeper waters of the river’s centre did they move to unfurl the sails. From the deck Rugan watched Izzy's solitary figure on the wharf till she too was consumed by the fast returning mists of the Alandor river.

+++++

The Adamantine Mug was an ostentatiously decorated inn. Everything was gleaming in silver: the bar rails, the wall sconces, the doorknobs. Salazon supposed this lent an air of respectability for its mostly merchant clientele, but he couldn't help but find it to be a bit of a waste.

Despite that, the rooms were surprisingly cheap, or at least they would have been if Bellar hadn't picked a fight with the innkeeper the first night. Sal had smoothed over the argument enough that the rooms were still affordable, but he wasn't pleased with paying half more than the going rate.

The trio were seated in the inn's taproom. Their table was tucked into a comfortable alcove to the rear of the building, and naturally they had their backs to the wall. From here they had a clear line of sight to the front door and could easily slip out through the kitchen if need be.

The place was quieter this time of year. With caravan season almost at its end there were less merchants in the city. Still, it was one of the more popular establishments and a good number of tables were taken up by groups of patrons chatting away or quiet individuals enjoying their drinks. 

It was also a good day to be indoors. The rain outside was pelting down, and seemed to form a thin layer of ice everywhere it touched. 

“Can you believe they made me get a licence to cast spells? What's next, a licence for breathing?” Salazon slammed his mug down on the table for emphasis.

“Zarys handled it, so what's the problem?” Bellar was leaning back in his chair, boots on the table, idly cleaning his nails with a knife.

“It's the principle of the matter!”

Olly sighed into his mug for the umpteenth time that afternoon, not being much in the mood for actual drinking.

“I already told you he's fine Olly.” Sal was getting a bit exasperated, it had been over an hour.

“Then why isn't he here yet?”

“I am here, you bastards just don't know how to use your damned eyes.” Rugan appeared at the right side of the alcove, throwing his hood back.

“Rugan!” Olly jumped to his feet. The boy was so earnest that Rugan forgot all his anger in an instant. Damn it all, that was going to make scolding him all the more difficult.

“Well if it isn’t Tymora’s chosen himself.” Sal smiled warmly.

“Should’ve tattooed a shamrock on your ass instead of that black hand.” Bellar added with a smirk.

“If I was half as jammy as you two seem to think, I wouldn’t have fallen ill in the first place.”

“Pretty girl falls out of the sky and puts you up in a nice house. If that’s what you call bad luck then Beshaba grant me her blessing.” Sal complained.

“He's been complaining like this the whole trip,” interjected Bellar. “Can't tell if he wants to fuck your girl’s friend or her library.”

“I'd happily take either.” Sal agreed.

“How did you get in here without us seeing you?” Olly piped up.

“Been here a while before you lot came down, lad. Bit disappointed no one was paying attention considering our current predicament.” He cast his gaze over Sal and Bellar. At least the former had the decency to look sheepish. Bellar didn't even meet his gaze.

“What situation? So they're a little late, if they don't show we just pawn the goods ourselves. Easy as that.” Bellar squinted at something on the tip of his blade.

“We don't even know what the cargo is .” Sal huffed.

“Aye, and that makes it all the more suspect. Usually we’re given a proper manifest but this one was all hush hush. Don't sit right with me, so mind your surroundings and no one goes out anywhere on their own.”

“Is it really that bad?” Asked Olly.

“Maybe, or maybe it's nothing. But I'd rather we were overly cautious and it turns out to be nothing rather than the opposite.” Rugan took the seat next to Sal. He hung his cloak over the chair's top rail and angled it such that his back was to the wall.

“Now that's a fine cloak.” Bellar noted, impressed. “Get that from your bit of skirt?”

“So what if I did?”

“Might've misjudged you, thought she was running a game on you but it looks like it's the other way round.”

Rugan bit his tongue. Better to let Bellar believe he was using Iz than to deal with the fallout of … well of them being what to each other exactly?

“That is nice,” remarked Sal eyeing the material, before locking eyes with Rugan and raising an eyebrow.

Rugan averted his eyes and instead flagged down the pretty blonde barmaid as an excuse to ignore the unspoken question.

+++++

The wooden steps of the inn creaked beneath Rugan's feet as he and Olly ascended. The evening in the taproom had passed quietly enough. There was still no word from the buyer but that could have been chalked up to the poor weather. The pair reached the top of the stairwell and passed down the carpeted hall.

“This is me.” Rugan nodded to the room on the right. “You're bunked with Sal?”

“That's right. He wanted to save some coin.”

“Good. Keep an eye on each other.” Rugan moved to unlock the door.

“Rugan, about what happened at the pass.” Olly hesitated for a moment, averting his gaze. The guilt had been steadily eating at him. He felt anxious, his stomach queasy. 

Rugan turned to him with a sigh. “Olly, I don’t think I need to tell you how blindingly stupid you were. And while we both know it warrants further discussion it’s one I’d rather not have till the job here is done, understood?” In truth it was one he would rather not have ever but it was overdue.

Olly nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, of course.”

“Right, get some sleep. Smother Sal if he snores.”

“Night, Rugan.”

+++++

As Rugan descended the stairs for breakfast the next morning he caught the eye of the barmaid from the night before. She straightened at the sight of him and scurried over, blonde curls bouncing with each step.

“Rugan, was it?” She asked sweetly.

“That's right, lass.” He smiled but inwardly wondered the best way to turn her down.

“Letter came for you this morning.” She pulled out an envelope from her apron and gingerly handed it to him. He felt a split second pang of disappointment when he didn't recognize the handwriting and hoped it didn't show on his face.

“My thanks. By any chance can you recall the likeness of the one who dropped it off?”

She scrunched her face up as she tried to remember. “Mmm, not one of the regular couriers, didn't recognize him. Human, short, tan with brown hair? Think I remember the hair being a bit longish in the back. Can't tell you much more than that.” 

Rugan placed a silver coin in her hand and smiled warmly. “That's plenty. But do let me know if you remember anything else, might be there's another coin or two in it for you.”

The girl brightened at the sight of the coin and nodded her head emphatically. “Yes saer, of course.”

Rugan was already climbing back up the stairs before she'd finished. If this wasn't from either Izzy or Zarys, there was only one other possibility. He opened the letter at the top of the stairs, reading and rereading it before advancing down the hall. Rugan quickly rapped on Bellar's door. 

“Come on then.” He jerked his head towards the others’ room when Bellar opened the door. The pair went down to the next door, an expectant Olly swinging it open just as Rugan raised his hand to knock.

“How did you…” Bellar trailed off.

“Heard Rugan through the door.” Olly replied sheepishly as he stepped back to let them in.

A Salazon-sized lump lay covered on one of the beds, and Rugan roughly pulled the blankets back.

“Up Sal, it's already well towards Elsun.”

The wizard groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Haven't you any manners? Is this how you usually wake people?”

“Usually waking pretty girls but if you want my cock up your arse next time I'll make note of it.”

Sal grumbled as he sat upright. “Well, why are we all in here, then?”

“Buyer made contact, they expect the delivery at Thulsun today, Wave District.”

“Thulsun’s not for a while,” Olly said tentatively.

“Too soon for my liking. But it's enough time to prepare ourselves.” Rugan handed the letter to Sal. “You're the most lettered, maybe you'll catch something I missed.”

The wizard’s eyes scanned the page. “It's a bit terse, but I don't see any hidden meaning or context. Writing’s neat, too.”

Rugan mulled over their next steps. “Bellar, how did you try to make contact when you first arrived?”

“Left a message with the innkeeper at the Sea’s Bounty Tavern as we were instructed. Checked back with them a few times since we've been here, but no messages were left.”

“And the warehouse where Zarys told us to store the cargo. How was it?”

Bellar shrugged. “Well lit, well guarded. Wasn't cheap to store it there.”

“Seemed popular with the other merchant houses,” added Olly. “Saw a lot of different emblems.”

“There were sigils about the place too,” remarked Sal. “So they must have a licensed wizard on staff.”

“Better do with what they charged us,” muttered Bellar.

“Good, Zarys' done her homework then. Not that I ever doubted her.”

“Take it you don't intend to bring the cargo to the meet.” Bellar arched an eyebrow before grinning. “Expecting a fight then?”

“I'm not intending and I am expecting.” Rugan agreed.

“Any particular reason besides them being late?” Sal yawned.

“The whole damned job. Rare for us to go this far south, what with the lack of Zhent presence in the city. The fact that they didn't have a warehouse or some other location for us to simply drop off the goods. And now, on top of being late to make contact, they wait specifically till I've shown up to reply. It's uncanny.”

“Could be just coincidence.” Bellar offered.

“Sure, and Wave District being home to the Galvarey Estate might be just a coincidence too.” Rugan crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

Sal pursed his lips. “They don't still operate out of there do they?”

Rugan shrugged. “Can't see them staying in such a notorious location, but then again if it was me I wouldn't go far.”

There was a tense silence as everyone mulled over the implications. At long last Sal broke the silence with a sigh. “I'll get my spells ready.”

“And make sure to wear your leathers.” Rugan added.

“Yes, I know. I'm not completely green.”

+++++

The quartet went about their preparations together. All leathers were thoroughly oiled to the point that they bent and folded almost as well as cloth. 

Blades were sharpened and hidden, Bellar took extra care when returning his jock knife to its usual hiding place.

Olly and Rugan then moved onto sharpening the bodkins and bolts.

“Nice thing about a properly honed Broadhead, sometimes you can get it sharp enough that they don’t even know when you’ve stuck ‘em.” Rugan put down his whetstone and admired his work.

“On arrows sure, but the bolts don’t seem all that useful, using those little hand crossbows,” remarked Olly as he rubbed a bit of grease on an arrowhead. “Don’t got nearly the range of a longbow.”

“True enough lad, but besides Waterdeep you’ve only fought your battles on the open road so far. No, if this is a trap, and I do believe it is, they’ll come for us in the alley ways. You try swinging a longbow around in a ginnel that hardly fits two men abreast and you’ll see the use of a hand crossbow. Have a bolt already loaded in there, and you can squeeze yourself out of a tight situation.”

“Just don’t be like Brem and accidentally set it off into your own arse,” chuckled Bellar as he slid another knife into his boot.

+++++

Before long Thulsun was nearly upon them. Rugan grimaced as he and Bellar exited the Mug. By all rights the Adamantine Mug was a reasonably priced inn, but Rugan found it ostentatious and the rest of the Gem District was even worse. This was where the nouveau riche of the city lived, and it showed in the elaborate shoppes and fanciful houses. Each edifice more gaudily fashioned than the last. Perhaps the only building in the whole district that was not overwrought was the Dome of the Rose, a temple dedicated to Lathander. Rugan wondered idly what Izzy thought of the Gem District.

He felt more at ease as they entered the Wave District. There was a building of anxious energy as they got closer to the meet, but the Wave District felt more comfortable, more familiar. Folk here worked hard, honest trades. His trade might not have been honest but it was certainly hard.

The street was conspicuously empty as Rugan and Bellar approached the curio shop indicated in the letter. Perhaps the thin layer of ice that coated it could have deterred most residents from leaving their homes, but that didn't explain why every window was shuttered. As he had predicted, the roads and laneways were cramped in this section. Easy to bottleneck a group that might be more used to defensively circling wagons than back alley fights. Might .

“I thought there were more of you.” Came a call from the alley to their left and they both turned to look.

He was a human, of somewhat diminutive stature. His skin reminded Rugan of that of acorns and his hair was like the ochre he had seen on the banks of the Chionthar. The mysterious courier no doubt.

“Our comrades are just procuring the shipment while we iron out the details.”

“What's left to iron out? I've your coin, all four hundred gold pieces.”

So he knew that much, but Rugan was still suspicious. 

“Payment’s one thing, logistics is another. I don't see a warehouse.”

“You're looking at it.” The man patted the wooden planks behind him and Rugan realised it was a sliding barn door he hadn't made out due to the slant of the alley. 

“Where's your party, then? Surely you didn't mean to unload it all yourself. After all, it's not a light load.”

“They're just through here. We can discuss logistics inside.” 

Wrong answer, the expected response to ‘a light load’ was ‘for a stubborn mule’.

Rugan angled one hand behind his back so that only Bellar could see the gesture he made. ‘Trap.’

Not that he had needed to bother, Bellar was also familiar with the password. In fact, Bellar was already grinning in anticipation.

“Lead on, friend,” said Bellar. He was already grinning in anticipation.

The man threw open the door and stepped inside the darkened interior as they approached. He had a strange quirk to his gate as he stepped over the threshold. Rugan squinted and realised there was a tripwire running along it.

Noting a plank of wood leaning against the opposite wall, Rugan slid the door back shut with a slam and quickly jammed it in place with the plank. He felt two hands roughly take his shoulders and yank him back. Just in time, a quarrel knocked into the door where he’d just been standing.

They both turned to see a woman on the adjacent balcony reload her crossbow. It was the barmaid from the mug. Only now she was decked out in leathers and her blonde curls were pulled back in a high ponytail.

The door before them jolted as the man inside tried to get back out and into the fray.

“Teaberry! Now!” He shouted through the planks and a stout halfling stepped through a second story window on the opposite building. He was decked in wizard’s robes and his hands were glowing with some unknown spell.

Rugan and Bellar took off in opposite directions from one another, the sound of the door bursting open echoing behind them.

“You said rolling heads!” The blonde angrily shouted at her newly freed leader before running across the rooftops after Rugan.

The man and the halfling gave chase to Bellar, though the halfling was at a great disadvantage, stumbling over rooftops in his heavy robes. As Bellar approached the main thoroughfare an elf in cleric’s robes stepped out into the alley before him. He was shaking as he recited the beginnings of a prayer, a morningstar tightly gripped in one hand. The Zhent leapt and grabbed onto an overhanging shop sign, using his momentum to swing feet first into the cleric, knocking the elf to the ground. His head hit the stones with a thud. 

Bellar came back up in a roll and rounded the corner into the avenue. It opened into a larger plaza at one end and he continued in that direction. The man wasn’t far behind and charged at the Zhent, short sword in hand. Bellar turned to face him, drawing his own blade, the ring of steel on steel filling the air. There had been a dozen or so civilians milling about in the plaza, and they all stopped to gape at the ongoing fight. The pair traded slashes and feints. Bellar was easily able to ward off each strike, but had yet to make any serious attempt at his own.

Teaberry, tired of struggling over the rooftops, clambered down the first ladder he found and continued at street level. As he came out into the avenue it seemed he finally had a lucky break. In this wide open space he could easily cast at the Zhent from a distance. With a crackle, a bolt of lightning leapt from Teaberry’s fingertips. The sight of magic brought cries of horror from the onlookers and they fled the plaza in record time.

Bellar gave a cry of pain as the spell found him and staggered back. The brown-haired man sought to press the advantage but found himself coughing and gagging as a yellow cloud of gas engulfed him. He hastened forward to escape the cloud but was struck by an arrow to his thigh and screamed in pain.

“Nice one Olly.” Sal cheered from the rooftop where the pair were overlooking the plaza. Theirs was the tallest building on the perimeter and gave them a clear view of the battlefield.

Meanwhile, Teaberry had been similarly struck by the noxious fumes and had lost all concentration on his chain lighting. The mage stumbled back from the stinking cloud and seeing his friend hit, ducked behind the only available cover: a storm-lantern just as tall as the halfling himself. 

How unfortunate for him that Olly's next arrow was greased. Sal reached for it, a flickering flame appearing in his hand. A quick pass of Sal's hand and the arrowhead was alive with flame; Olly let it loose with the twitch of a finger.

In an instant the storm-lantern shattered in an explosion of glass, the oil within catching alight. There was a great roiling flame and shrieks of pain from the halfling wizard. The glass left deep lacerations across his whole body but especially his face, as flames licked at his oil soaked clothing. He dropped to the ground, rolling along the icy cobblestones to try and extinguish his robes. It was shocking and perhaps a testament to the mage’s experience that he had the presence of mind to even do that. Luckily for Teaberry the flames were swiftly extinguished.

The quick thinking had saved his life, but that would be little consolation to the now blinded mage as he heard the familiar sound of a portal opening.

“Who the hells?” Olly breathed as a pair of wizards stepped out to grab the halfling. He knocked another arrow and took aim at the new combatants when Sal grabbed his wrist.

“Cowled wizards, Olly,” Sal explained. “They're here to arrest him. Poor bugger isn't licensed.”

Indeed the pair of wizards gagged the sobbing halfling and whisked him away into another portal.

The pair turned their attention to Bellar, who had removed a blackjack from his belt. He raised the club over his head and brought it down on the retching man with a sickening crack. He crumpled to the ground and Sal was quite certain he was dead.

“Lucky those wizards left before he did that.” Olly shook his head.

“Nah, cowled wizards don’t give a shit about murder, just magic.”

Bellar looked up at them and waved, face plastered with a grin.

+++++

Though he could not see his assailant, Rugan was certain one of the attackers was following him. He thought he could hear the crash of footsteps on the rooftops behind him, and his suspicion was confirmed when another quarrel whizzed past his head. 

‘Shit shot, thank the Black Hand.’ He thought as skidded round the corner. The ice was thicker here, and one misstep could mean a broken bone or worse. But Rugan was a Luskan lad, and even if he hadn’t been gifted with a love of the sea he knew his way around an icy cobblestone.

The path here was more cramped but dotted with several overhangs and balconies which provided him with cover from his assailant. He raced beneath them before skidding into a particularly deep doorway, pressing himself tight against the wooden door.

He heard the approaching footsteps round the same corner and pause. There was a thump and a creak as the hunter jumped from one balcony to another. They were realising they had lost their rooftop advantage.

There was silence for a few agonising minutes, then he heard the sound of weight hitting the ground. The footsteps were approaching again, but on ground level now. Rugan quietly slipped his dagger from its sheath. No sense in trying to swing a sword in this narrow snicket.

They sounded so close now, though they were trying to be quiet. He held his breath, blood thundering in his ears.

Rugan saw the briefest glimpse of the crossbow pass the edge of the doorway and struck. He brought down the pommel of his dagger onto the weapon.

The girl let out a cry of surprise, the crossbow dropping from her hands as she stumbled back on the ice.

She drew her own dagger as Rugan stepped out from his hiding place.

He smirked when he saw her. “Girls always seem to like it when I play hard to get. This is the first time one’s chased me down though.”

She stared at him hard and he could tell she was debating her next move. A dagger’s short reach made it very personal. His arms were longer than hers and he was likely stronger than her too. A knife fight wouldn't go in her favour.

Her eyes darted for her crossbow but he kicked it away just as she lunged to retrieve it. Rugan pulled back to kick again but she was already rolling back to her feet and away from him.

“Don't fancy your odds, lass.”

He supposed she didn't fancy them either because she took off running back the way they'd come.

“Shite.” He hurried after her. It was stupid giving chase but he couldn't risk her going after one of the others. That could turn the tide against them.

Down each winding street and alley he managed to catch sight of her trailing ponytail just as she turned a corner. Ice was more familiar to him, but she was younger, faster.

As he came around the last bend he found himself at a dead end. A glass bottle came crashing down on his hand from another hidden nook and he dropped his dagger. He spun to face her and she leapt forward. Between her momentum and the ice he didn't stand a chance. He landed roughly on his tailbone. Rugan was certain he would feel that for a tenday at least.

The woman came forward and pressed her blade against his throat. “What does Moonrise want with Moonglow towers?” She stuttered. “I mean, Moonglow want with Moonrise?”

Rugan who had never even heard of Moonrise towers could only shrug. “Family reunion?” Moonrise certainly sounded like a halfling sort of town. Moonglow of Moonrise—that checked out.

“Don’t toy with me, you Zhent bastard!”

“If you insist.” There was a strange sound like the soft thud of metal on leather.

The woman squinted in confusion, as she felt a warm sensation starting at the corner of her mouth and pooling down her chin. She touched her fingers to it, and her eyes widened when they came away red. She stumbled back from him, only with the space now made between them did she see the bolt sticking out from between her ribs.

“Now a hit like that? It’d be a slow bleed. Could be someone would even find you in time.” Rugan stepped toward her, easily twisting her wrist and forcing the woman to drop her blade as he continued. “That’s why I feel it’s usually best to let the poison do most of the work.”

The woman stumbled back, bracing herself against the wall with one hand, the other grasping at the bolt futilely. She was doubling over, gasping.

Bellar came into view then, dragging a dazed cleric by the scruff of his robes.

“Harpers.” He stated matter of factly, and tossed Rugan a small silver pin with his free hand. It was a harp resting on a crescent moon. “Think we've mopped them all up.”

Rugan looked from the pin to the girl. “Now why don't you tell us what this is about, and we'll let your friend fix you up. Always a shame to kill a pretty girl.”

She hissed and sucked in a breath. She tried to speak, but all that came out was a wet sucking sound. Based upon the dark scowl she wore Rugan doubted she would've been forthcoming in any case. 

He sighed, hands on hips. “What about you then, priest? Want to save your little friend?”

When the elf did not immediately respond, Bellar clapped him against the ear to break him from his daze. He gave a cry of surprise and looked from one Zhent to the other.

“Tell us why you attacked us, and I'll let you heal the girl.”

“You're Zhents.” It sounded halfway like a question. The idiot only had half of his sense knocked back into him. Rugan looked to Bellar who clapped the elf again. Another startled yelp which Rugan would laugh about later over a pint.

“Lot of trouble to kill a few Zhents, and people say we're the rotten ones. Haven't even committed a crime.” At least not on this job.

The woman gave another wheezing gasp and Rugan looked from her to her companion. “You'd better hurry up, seems she doesn't have that much longer.”

“T-the delivery for Moonglow. She's smuggling things out of Moonrise towers. Weapons go in and something else comes out. Something worse, something secret.”

“And you expected us to know?” Rugan was utterly astonished.

“Your delivery was supposed to come from there. You're supposed to know, you're the leader.” It was as if the elf was pleading, begging for it to be true.

“You put a lot more faith in caravan guards than the Zhentarim does, lad. We've no idea what we're transporting. You would've been better off just breaking into the warehouse to take a peek yourself.”

The elf looked defeated and Rugan couldn't blame him. How many of the elf’s party were dead or wounded for this misstep? Another sigh and a shake of the head.

“Where’s our buyer, then?”

“Dead.” The priest flinched when he said it, as if expecting a reprisal.

“Dead?” Rugan raised his eyebrows., These Harpers were more cutthroat than he thought.

“He was like that when we got there!” The priest protested. “We only found his journal about where to expect a message and the price to be paid.”

“And you didn’t think that was suspicious?” A wry smile twisted his lips.

“Cassyn thought it was our good fortune.”

Rugan let out a laugh that was half relief and half amusement. Ambushed by Harpers, and they weren’t even particularly smart Harpers. Green and over eager.

“Cut him loose.” 

Bellar shoved the priest towards his companion with a smirk. The Zhent had gotten in his share of violence in today and would be in a good mood for a while.

“Now don't say we haven't been reasonable.” Rugan turned to leave, Bellar in tow, as the elf scrambled to lay his hands on his gasping friend.

“Oh, and if you're thinking of shooting us in the back—” A deadly lilt entered Rugan's voice as he glanced back at the pair over his shoulder. “Don't forget our friends are still about.”

The pair of Zhents walked off without any further incident, and rejoined with Olly and Sal at the pre-appointed meeting spot at the docks.

“Handy thing, that,” Sal said as he removed Izzy's ring of climbing from his finger and handed it back to Rugan. 

“Indeed.” He placed it on his own hand without looking. “Lead on to the warehouse then, lads. Let's go see what all the fuss is about.”

+++++

The quartet had discussed the attempted ambush on the trip over, supplying each other with the details of each encounter and fitting in the missing pieces.

“Seems like those Harpers knew more about our delivery than we do,” Bellar complained as he pulled open the doors to the warehouse. There were a half dozen wooden crates stacked haphazardly in the centre of the room. Rugan suppressed the urge to comment on the lads’ lack of organisation.

“What I want to know is—” He grunted as climbed to the top of the stack. “—What's in these fucking crates. Hand me a crowbar, Bellar.”

“We're not supposed to look in there!” Olly hissed.

“Here.” Bellar handed the crowbar up to Rugan.

“My thanks.”

“Is no one listening to me?” Olly looked like he might burst a vessel.

"No, Rugan's right," Sal interjected. "This whole job's smelled worse than Brem from the very start. We need to know, Olly."

Rugan wedged the bar under the lip of the crate and with a groan, pried it open. The crate was packed tight with straw, but as Rugan pulled it back he could find nothing at all. Finally at the bottom he found a pair of bricks.

Rugan lifted them from the crate for the others to see. He was met with looks of confusion.

“Open the rest, lads. Sal keep an eye on the door.” He tossed the bricks aside and set to opening the next crate. 

More bricks. Cussing from Bellar and Olly. They had found boulders and slag in their respective crates.

“What the hells is all this?” Olly asked.

“Junk,” supplied Bellar, he was also confused but starting to put it together.

“It's all just to weigh it down, make us and anyone else think it was a legitimate delivery.” Rugan ran his hand over his hair as he considered the implications of their findings.

“But if it's not a legitimate delivery, then what is it?”

“Bugger,” breathed Sal as he was coming to the same conclusion Rugan had already come to.

“It's bait, lad. Or more accurately, we were bait.”

“But on whose behalf?” Asked Bellar.

“Moonglow. They were asking about her and she signed off on this delivery. Either we’d kill them and remove an obstacle for her, or they’d kill us and find nothing but junk. She's probably got another team running her actual delivery.”

“It's not a very nice feeling being bait.” Olly muttered.

“Exactly why they didn't tell us.” Bellar laughed, more intrigued than angry.

“Do you think Zarys knew?” Sal pointed this question at Rugan.

“Hard to say, she doesn't like losing people but she’d like getting eliminated by Roah for insubordination even less.”

“Roah fucking Moonglow. You have to admit it was a good plan,” Bellar chuckled and shook his head.

Sal made a face. “Please try to sound less impressed with the woman who set us up.”

Rugan climbed down from the stack and wiped his hands on his pants as he mulled over the events of the past day. The Harpers had known he was in charge, it was him they had questioned, and they hadn’t struck until he had rejoined the group. Had Roah leaked that to them? Or had they been watching their crew since before Crimmor?

“Damn near died dragging this delivery from Nashkel and it’s all junk.” Rugan found himself laughing at the absurdity of it. He was increasingly feeling like it was time to retire.

He noted Olly watching him with a troubled expression and waved off his concerns. “It’s fine. We came out in one piece, didn’t we? Still, I’ll feel better the sooner we’re out of this damned city. Let’s get back and pack. We’re shipping out on the first boat to the Gate.”

‘And I’ll have to have a chat with Zarys about this when we return,’ he thought bitterly.

[alpydk]

Red on You - (Part 9) "Wake me up"

GalexRugan ZhentWeave Shenanigans

Ok, next chapter is the last one. Sorry this one took a little longer to get out but apparently new meds mean for a really messy writing process.

Ao3 Link

Leonidas tapped the doorframe of the library, watching as books were flung from the window, the two lovers, Gale and Rugan, laughing, forgetting the impending peril upon the academy’s doorstep. “Guys, we have a bit of a problem.”

Gale was the first to turn, placing a leather-bound tome on the desk beside him carefully. “Of course, Leonidas. Apologies. We should be with the rest of you and seeking a way out of this predicament.”

“It’s not just that…” There was a brief pause as the words were found to explain how Lissa had been a cause for the situation they now found themselves in. He chose to remain positive instead. “We may be able to save the city.”

Rugan was listening in to the brief conversation, the odd books being continually thrown. He watched as one caught the rotted shoulder of a man before toppling backwards into two others. “And why’d we want to do that? May as well just get out and set up elsewhere.”

“Maybe because it’s the right thing to do?”

He felt all eyes on him, judging him for his gut instinct to run as he always had. It had been the initial plan after all: get in, get out, play it safe. “Doesn’t matter how right or wrong it is if we die trying, though, does it?”

“Rugan…” Gale’s voice was soft, the tone used when he wanted the dishes washing or a cup of tea brewed without getting up. It always resulted in Rugan’s defences lowering.

His name spoke was met with the same defeated resignation as always. “Ah, come on. Fine… What have we got to do?”

---

Lissa tapped her foot impatiently in the main stairwell, watching the door repeatedly be slammed by the horde from the other side. She’d been thankful for Leonidas’ quick decision to play the hero rather than the inquisition she’d expected to come with Darnys’ revelation. What they hadn’t realised was this was more than just a simple trade of magic items; this was rites and heritage. It would only be a matter of time before the undead were through and the amulet back where it was meant to be.

Darnys had accrued more weapons, daggers at her side, a crossbow in hand that she loaded up in preparation. Her eyes had not left Lissa since they’d figured out she was the contact and Darnys was trying to figure out to what the reason had been for wanting such an item in the first place. “Least you could do is set up another glyph.”

“Not exactly had much in the way of sleep.” The reply was cold and sharp, the mask removed for the audience of one.

“Then at least arm yourself with that pretty dagger at your waist. Never know when you might need it.”

Lissa scowled, the threat not going unnoticed, a moment of consideration passing through her mind of slitting the throat of the pretty little Zhent, claiming it was all in self-defence. The thought was broken up at the sound of voices coming from the upper hallway.

The remainder of the party came down the stairs, Leonidas at the forefront explaining the plan that had been agreed on. “We figure that if you, Gale, could set up a shield of sorts for us, Andora has some spells to take down the initial waves combined with ranged support from the Zhents-”

“Ex-Zhent,” came the quick correction from Rugan, not willing to associate with the one who a year previously had dragged him off to be killed.

“Ex-Zhent… And Astarion can get in and swipe the necklace. With any luck, that will take them all down in one go.”

Gale listened, piecing together everything, seeing the strategy in his mind as if preparing for a game of lanceboard. “I’m none too keen on positioning a good friend in such a risky predicament. Is there no possibility of coming at this from a different angle?”

“He’s assured me he will be fine, providing we can keep the attention on us, so the odd fireball from the top of the stairs would be perfect.”

Rugan had accepted his role in the plan, sitting himself at the top of the stairs, glaring down at Darnys, who approached, crossbow in hand. “Hm. And what about you, mate?” he asked, glancing up at Leonidas. “Bringing up the rear?”

“Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing.”

---

“We could just run away, you know?” Astarion ran his fingers up the cotton sleeve of Andora’s shirt, watching the way she lowered her head as the blush rose on her cheeks.

They’d taken themselves to a small classroom, away from the preparations of battle, a buried hope that maybe everything would be solved by the time they came back, and they wouldn’t have to worry about the danger facing them.

“And let innocent people die? I couldn’t do that,” she replied, feeling his touch brush her arm. Despite all that had happened, who and what he was, he brought her calm, and even with the creeping fear in her mind, she longed mostly to stay in that moment with him.  

“You couldn’t, or Ilmater wouldn’t let you?”

“Does it matter which?”

“To me it does.”

His answer was honest, choice and freewill, something he had battled with for too much of his life and death to let go of so easily, especially to another fickle god that would ignore his pleas. He wanted her to choose him, to leave the city with him, to taste sunlight even in the darkest corners of the world. He lowered his head, hoping that removing the sight of him would make her think of his words and actions rather than the creature he was.

Her warm palm cupped the back of his neck, delicate fingertips curling around the strands of white hair that hung above them. “Then it’s my choice, just as it’s my choice to be here with you right now.”

“And afterwards, what then?” Astarion answered, glancing up at her and seeing the softness in her eyes. He knew no matter what happened, he would lose her in some way: to the gods, to a soon or distant death, to someone else she was destined for. It mattered not, and yet hope clung pathetically to his words.

“You could always join me at the temple. Ilmater would accept you.”

He scoffed at her words, the thought of him standing in a sun-drenched temple, giving more and more of himself to the people that begged on the steps. “I’ve sacrificed enough in my life, darling. I swore to myself I wouldn’t allow it to happen anymore.”

“Life is nothing but sacrifices, even for the things we love.”

“And do you love me?”

Andora’s lips met his softly, the world vanishing around them with the touch. She would not answer his question, would not let him know of the reason her heart pounded so readily, would not tell him of all she would sacrifice if it meant a life of happiness for him.

---

Rugan had scouted the supplies found, and armed himself with bottles of Alchemist’s Fire, a distant memory clawing at him, which he chose to ignore. Gale and Leonidas had left with Lissa to check the other exits of the academy and Rugan had stayed with Darnys, watching as she sharpened her blade, her eyes jumping between him and the steel in her hand.

 “Guessing Friol scarpered first chance she got,” he muttered, the silence getting to him.

Darnys focused on the dagger, refusing to let him annoy her. “She has a plan. She’s not you after all.”

“Her plan has always been to save her own hide.”

Darnys knew this was true, the warehouse a year ago being the prime example. Friol had been hit with a spell and then made a run for it, watching as the warehouse went up in flames and then blaming everyone else for their poor abilities under stress. “Yeah, and she’s doing that by getting this artefact back. I don’t think you realise how much trouble you and your boyfriend caused with your display last year.”

“Hehe, good times,” grinned Rugan, not at the thought of the danger they’d been in or his near-death experience, but simply at the chaos caused to his former employers.

“You’re pathetic.”

Rugan stood, stretching his back out with a groan and wandering down a darkened corridor. “No, lass. What’s pathetic is you running after someone like Friol, thinking you’re all big because you smuggle some goods and kill some folk, when really, you’re just some faceless lackey. Expendable and meaningless.”

Darnys hurried after him, refusing to be insulted and not have the ability to get in the last word. “Coming from you, that’s rich.”

“Might not mean anything to the Zhents, but…” His thoughts drifted to Gale, of their first night together, of scars lovingly kissed and destructive pasts forgotten. He looked up at the paintings as they walked the halls, curious how long it would take for Gale’s own to be hung amongst them.

She followed Rugan, her irritation rising with how sickeningly positive he was being. Disgust or the jealousy she wished to ignore; she didn’t know. “Oh, you mean something to the Zhents alright. You might think you’re all safe here in Waterdeep, but they’ll get to you one day.” She watched as he stopped moving, his eyes trained on a painting in the shadows of the hallway. “Are you evening listening to me?”

His eyes narrowed, the lilac stare of the male drow elf on the wall taunting him with the darkness behind the look. The flow of the white hair looked familiar, the amulet around the neck a deep black, captivating onyx. “Does this painting remind you of anyone?”

“Seriously, that’s what you’re…” Darnys’ eyes caught the image, the instant realisation of why she had been so wary of Lissa lighting up in her mind, and her annoyance forgotten. “Shit.”

“We need to tell Gale.”

---

Andora and Astarion made their way back to the main stairwell some time later, their fingers entwined and minds elsewhere. They sat preparing together, whispering and watching as Lissa and Gale spoke together, seeing how Leonidas trained in the corner, moving sharply in his armour.

“And you’ll protect me?” Lissa uttered with a pleasant smile.

Gale gazed into her eyes, the purple reminding him of the Weave. She’d spoken for some time about how glad she was that he was there with her, that he had saved her from an almost certain death, and as they came back to the main stairwell she had spoken further of the upcoming battle and how she would need him. He felt flattered by her words, but the pull that had lingered before had now softened to almost nothing; thoughts of Rugan keeping him grounded.

She curled her white hair as she continued to speak, the dancing lights making it appear as if she were glowing. “I know your friend wasn’t too keen on me, but maybe he will come to like me with time. We could all have dinner together. Just me and you…and him.”

“My dear, that sounds like a truly marvellous idea, but as we are both aware, it will need to be postponed until we are in a more suitable location,” Gale answered, noting how she had subtly tagged on the last of her sentence with no real commitment.

“Get away from her, Gale.”

Rugan aimed the crossbow in her direction, his steps quick as came from the corridor and forced himself between the pair. Darnys circled around closely, a dagger at the ready for what might happen. The others were quick to join them: Leonidas keeping his grip firm on the hilt of his sword, Andora peering over Astarion’s shoulder.

Gale looked between them all, confused at what was happening. An awkward love triangle was no reason for the behaviour he was seeing. “Rugan? What in the world are you-”

“She’s the one who’s caused all this; the reason those things are trying to get in here.”

Darnys was quick to jump in with the explanation, her memory faltering at the inscription that had lain beneath the painting. “Horriblemoth or something. His painting is up in the hallway. Her ancestor or something! He had the amulet on!”

“Horrodissomoth?”

“Yes!”

Lissa shuffled back, trying to come up with an explanation, trying to keep up the image of innocence as contempt shone through without remorse. “No, you must be mistaken-”

“Shut it,” Rugan interrupted, the crossbow pointed directly at her head. “Knew there was something wrong with you the moment I got here.”

“You’re just looking for an excuse to get me from Gale. Tell them, please. You know I wouldn’t do anything wrong.”

Gale thought about all that had happened: the kaeth, her random late night at the school despite all others returning home for the holidays, the sending spell sent in such fear. Something was not adding up. He looked amongst the group, tracking where each had come from and the circumstances that had brought them together. “The paladins… There were four of them.”

“Yes, and?” Lissa knew what he was getting at; the fact being that of the four, only one now remained and of the three deceased, only two had been accounted for.

“And I only recall three in the recent hours. Percival, what became of him?”

“Gale, what are you talking about?” Leonidas questioned. He had known of Lucius and Darius’ deaths on his return to the academy, but had assumed that Percival had been securing the grounds or locating more supplies. He hadn’t known them particularly well enough to feel he should enquire about their whereabouts.

“The two became infected, as you know.” Gale ran his hand through his hair, a solemn look in his eyes at the memory of what he had needed to do. “But the third. I have not seen of him since you all arrived here at the academy.” Turning to the half-drow, he continued, the pieces falling into place. “Lissa?”

“What makes you think I’d know?” she replied dismissively.

“Because you were the last with them!” Darnys shouted, wishing to bring an end to the discussion. A part of her hoped that by taking out Lissa, the undead would cease their constant pounding at the door and she’d be able to hear herself think, but as it continued, she knew she had been terribly wrong.

Lissa smirked, knowing everything was out in the open. She unsheathed her dagger, a malice in her lilac eyes. “Poor little Percival shouldn’t have been so nosey.” With a quick flick of her wrist and a whisper under her breath, she vanished from the spot, reappearing in front of the main door.

The group remained at the top of the stairs, looking down at her, each recognising what she was about to do as her hand was held to the wood in front of her.

“No! You can’t!” yelled Andora desperately as the glyphs gave a quick glow from the door before fading out entirely, leaving the door to shake violently.

The weight of the undead rumbled at the wood, the cracks appearing as it was pushed open enough for them to begin to emerge.

“And here was me, hoping this would all go so easily,” grinned Lissa as the arms began to reach for her through the opening. “Darnys, tell your employers I’ll be coming for them first. If you live that long, that is.”