Author's Note: Originally this part of the story was going to plunge right into the main plot, but playing Pillars of Eternity and reading some amazing Baldur's Gate stories that make great use of places like Ulcaster's, Mutamin's Garden and Firewine Bridge has inspired me to try and work some dungeon-crawling in.

And thanks so much to everyone who has followed and/or reviewed this story! It really means a lot.

Part Four – The Adventurers

41 – Love and Venom

"Giant spiders. Why does it always have to be giant spiders?" – Xan

Eleint 4, 1368 D.R.

With a click that seemed to bounce and echo through a hundred-hundred caverns Ashura turned the lock and the floodgates opened. There was no river behind the uncurling steel; no bubbling white froth and dark, heavy water. Instead Ashura saw a brilliant shade of red topped with curdled black just before it struck her.

A tide of blood.

A sticky, thick, rolling wave of black and brown and pink and crimson that knocked her on her back and dragged her along the dirt, pooling and growing as fast as she could find her feet. It swarmed up around her, still warm with fading life, rising to her shoulders. Blood filled the tunnels. Blood filled the mines.

Over her head now.

She could see light shimmering through the churning red, but most of the world around her was darkness. The metallic taste filled her mouth, its crushing weight against and inside her lungs all at once, and she panicked and squirmed as the flood carried her. In her mind's eye she saw the river and the tunnels emptying out into a great ocean.

So much blood. Frothy pink and black, along with that rich, rich red she was intimately familiar with. The red that had splattered across her body in a hundred or more battles. Her lungs felt like they were going to explode, and in the red around her bubbles bobbed and climbed. From them images formed.

Faces.

Gods! It was those faces again. All the ones she had killed. Or seen die. Or let die. Gorion. The bounty hunter at the Friendly Arm. That captive woman in the tent at the spring fair. A bandit. Eddard Silvershield. A proud hobgoblin warrior. Ender Sai. Tranzig. Jaheira. Tazok.

And then there was a stern elven face. A friend; grim, tattooed and resolute. To the end.

Everything around Ashrua was darkening. She was sinking. Sliding down and down into the sticky ocean of blood as Kivan's image hung over her, a sad cast to his features.

Then the image shattered and a hand shot through the bubbles, firm and determined. Ashura reached out and clasped it, and with a great effort the hand tugged and pulled her up and out of the ocean of blood.

Briefly Ashura's face and eyes broke the surface and she took a desperate, raspy breath. There above her was a tanned elven face, marked with dots and lines along his brow and chin. And instead of a sad look he was giving her a reassuring smile.

A wave struck her and she bobbed back beneath the surface, and when she was pulled up again the hand that held her belonged to a new face. Round and always smiling, with deep blue eyes, tanned skin and framed by rust-red hair. With her ears still beneath the surface, Ashura could not hear as Imoan let out a cheer and pulled.

Then the world swam and it was Garrick's straining face pulling her out of the morass with both hands. A flicker of red and it was Coran. Next Xan's pained, grim and determined visage loomed over her, both hands pulling and pulling. And then it was Kivan again.

It didn't matter. It felt now like each and every one of her friends were there, straining and cheering, pulling Ashura inch by inch from the churning ocean of blood.

With a strained gasp she came awake and sat up, sweating and breathing hard. There was a presence beside her already, and a hurried glance revealed Garrick's mousy tangle of brown hair and his reassuring hands grasping her arms. They were in a tent, she realized, sitting beside each other and sharing a bedroll.

"It's okay," he was whispering in her ear.

"Sorry," Ashura said to the darkness. The words came out all croaking, and for some reason her chest was heavy.

"It's okay," he repeated. "One of your dreams."

She cringed. "One of?"

"Yeah. You have them a lot. Remember?"

"Yeah…" she whispered. He was hugging her tight now, and she eased her breath and pressed close. She shut her eyes tight as a few tears wicked through her lashes and against his shirt. There was a heavy feeling in her chest, but after a time she realized it was relief. There was soft breathing all around in the darkened tent; the sound of Imoen and the others sleeping. Her friends were close by: Imoen, Garrick, Coran, and even Xan.

Her friends were close by, and that's what counted.

At the banks of the river near the shadow of the petrified tree they sat in an uncomfortable silence. Above them orange and golden leaves shivered in the breeze, still warm with the last breaths of summer. From time to time Imoen would lift and toss a stone, easily skipping them across the surface of the water.

Xan just stared ahead, sullen and silent. A day prior the liberated slaves had marched off into the forest, led by the dwarf and carrying what supplies they could wrangle from the circle of savage druids, along with a large sum of gems and gold coins that Imoen had slipped them. She had stolen the treasure from the slaver's horde, and hopefully it was enough for the refugees to start new lives. The party was staying with the druid circle for a few more days while they (and especially Shar-Teel,) recovered from their wounds.

Eventually, when she could take no more silence, Imoen spoke up. "He reminded you of your partner, right?"

"Huh?"

"The Greycloak you lost in the mines. I think you said his name was Lathal? 'A skilled tracker and scout,' you told me once. Though you haven't talked about him much. Bet he was the strong, silent type too. Just like Kivan."

A wistful smile peaked at the edges of Xan's mouth. "Not really, no. Lathal was actually quite bright. Quick and sunny. More like Coran than Kivan, but far less of an obnoxious bore."

A long pause. "You two were lovers weren't you?" She had kind of guessed that a while back but…

"That we were." He nodded, and said it as if it were no secret.

Imoen cast her eyes down on the water. Dern it. I have the worst luck! I just knew it but…

Slender elven fingers entwined with hers and gave her hand a surprisingly firm squeeze. "So I suppose I saw quite a bit of myself in Kivan. We were both broken and grieving. But I think now he is at peace. Hopefully in the forests of Arvandor with his Deheriana." Another squeeze of his hand. "And I am happy to be here with…well, with the sunny optimist who has helped me through some of the most trying times of my life. There is nowhere else I would rather be."

"Same…same here," Imoen whispered, choking back tears. She rested her head against his shoulder and they sat in comfortable silence for a time.

"Imoen?" he asked after several long, quiet minutes.

"Yup?"

"We have solved the Iron Crisis, you know. Enough for my superiors satisfaction at least, once we report the conspiracy of this Iron Throne cartel to the authorities in Baldur's Gate. Iron is flowing from the Nashkel mine, the roads are safe from bandits and this plan to monopolize the markets that the slaver's apprentice told us of before…" A cough. "…the unfortunate incident is quashed. Evereska has its iron, and I am sure the Flaming Fist can take it from here."

"Yeah," she muttered, a little wary of the direction he was taking. So much for being the sunny optimist. "So you'll be heading back to Evereska?"

"I do not…strictly need to. I have a degree of autonomy, and I can inform my superiors of everything through the scrying mirror. After that, well…" A deep breath. "I should really prefer to continue traveling with you. If you and Ashura will-"

"Bah! Bah! Bah!" She gave him three playful punches on the shoulder with each word. "Ya had me going there! That was mean!" Xan gave her a puzzled look and she responded with a hug and a big wet kiss on the cheek. "Of course I want you to travel with us. 'Nowhere else I'd rather be,' like ya said." She smiled. "And anyway you'd be doomed without me."

Light rain had been blowing in off the nearby sea all day, cool and steady, forcing the travelers to huddle beneath their cloaks and making Ashura regret that she hadn't found a replacement for the one that had burned. Burned along with a good portion of her hair, which was now cut shorter; face-framing rather than hanging down to her back.

For a time she walked with hunched shoulders, hugging herself a bit as her shortened, damp hair clung to her face, but soon Coran slipped in beside her and stretched an arm out. Half of his long green cloak fell over her back and shoulders, then the elf's arm slid down between them.

"Thanks," Ashura muttered, adjusting the shared fabric and huddling beneath it. She glanced up and over at the elf's face, half-hidden by his hood, but he just nodded a little and actually managed to not give her a lecherous grin. A few steps along the muddy path and she looked back towards Garrick, wondering if she'd catch a hint of jealousy.

The bard wore one of his easy smiles, bent forward a bit as he carried the big barrel they were keeping the wyvern's heads in across his back. Their eyes met and his smile brightened.

Good. The companions walked along in the drizzle and comfortable silence.

Perhaps half an hour of travel went by like that before Shar-Teel spoke up. "So," she announced, sparing Xan a glance, "the geas has worn off hasn't it?"

Xan's lips tightened and he said nothing, fingers lingering near the hilt of his moonblade.

With a glare Shar-Teel drew a few inches of her own sword's steel from its sheath. "Just fucking tell me so I don't have to test it!" She demanded of the elf. "I'd hate to ruin those pretty purple robes of yours."

"The geas has worn off, yes," Xan stated.

"And the man who dueled me is long dead besides."

"I could duel you," Ashura offered with a slight smirk. Shar-Teel was constantly bragging, and she had wanted to test those boasts for some time.

But Shar-Teel shook her head. "I don't duel women. It's a firm rule of mine. Anyway, that's not what I'm getting at."

"Then what?" Ashura asked.

"Just seems like a fine time to renegotiate my contract. Noticed you looted quite a bit of gold, gems and magical knick-knacks from the mines. Am I getting a full share of it?"

Ashura chuckled and shrugged. "Of course. Hells, we followed a trail of your dead through the clanhold. Not like you didn't earn a share."

"Good. Then as long as we're following a strong woman leader and I get my share of the booty." She did a quick headcount. "Say…an eighth? Then I'll stick. I want some of those potions too."

"Well, sure."

"Maybe the strength potion?" Imoen suggested. "Cause I'm totally keeping this exploding one!"

Shar-Teel shrugged. "That works. Oh, and," she shot Xan a glare. "No more charm spells on me. Got it?"

"Charming you is the farthest thing from my mind Shar-Teel," Xan drawled. "Trust me."

"Ha!"

Their warband had shrunk quite a bit since the mines, with Yeslick and the refugees marching ahead and Faldorn returning to the druids. They were down to eight now, still more than the 'ideal' six adventurers that Ribald described in his Guide to Dungeoneering. Ashura had never quite understood the logic of that. Didn't having more soldiers naturally give you an edge?

The rain had lifted by the time the sun had slipped beneath the trees, and they searched out a good campsite under wisps of pink cloud smeared across the pale blue. "We could at least spar," Ashura suggested with a sideways look at Shar-Teel, sometime later as they worked at raising a tent. "Unless you have some weird rule against that."

The older woman snorted. "Of course not. Used to spar most mornings with my captain." A chuckle. "When she wasn't hungover."

"Your captain?"

"A mercenary captain. Yesna." She didn't elaborate, instead glaring at the tent-spike that she was tapping into the earth with a stone. Ashura pulled at her own side of the fabric and worked at nailing down a spike, a little curious but deciding not to pry.

"But sure," Shar-Teel muttered after a time. "We can spar in the morning. If you'd really like to test my mettle. Guess that's the sort of thing fearless leaders like to do huh?"

"Something like that." Ashura gave her a slight grin, followed by a shrug. "Always sparred with all the watchers…uh." Shar-Teel was giving her a blank look. "The guards. In the fortress where I grew up. Just seems like you can't have too much practice."

Shar-Teel actually pursed her lips in thought briefly. "True really. 'Better and easier to learn from bruises than opened guts.' Yesna said that once. Of course play-fighting just isn't a tenth as satisfying as the real thing. I mean: standing on even ground and giving some sod a tap so a referee can say: 'A point for Shar-Teel?' Bah! No fun at all."

She shook her head in disgust, then went on. "Now, forcing some arrogant pig to overreach and then slipping the dueling-dagger right into the bastard's eye! That's a real fight!" She looked off. "Seeing the look in his good eye go through the shock, horror and pain, fool-mouth hanging open when he was sneering just a moment before. Now there's the stuff!" There was a faraway look in Shar-Teel's eyes and a fierce grin on her face. Ashura found that her own eyes had widened a bit too, and she forced them to narrow.

"One of the reasons I prefer to fight men. That puffed up arrogance the fighting ones always have. There's just nothing like watching it deflate, preferably while I'm making other parts of them deflate and bleed profusely. Ha!" She noticed the silence and looked over at Ashura. "What? You've killed plenty of men right?" The grin grew larger and her teeth showed. "Or are you going to give me one of those snooty 'I take no pleasure in killing' speeches?"

She's fucking with me, Ashura decided. She forced her face to remain stony and shrugged. "Used to empty slop buckets as one of my morning chores back home. It's about like that now. So no pleasure, no."

Posturing, but there was some honesty in the answer too. Killing had never given her any particular joy beyond a relief, in these past few months spent fighting for her life. No particular guilt either. And if they were going to be posturing then it was best not to mention the absolute, breathless, bowel-clenching terror that accompanied most battles.

"Bah," was all Shar-Teel said for a moment. "You should take more pride in your craft."

Soon their pair of round oilskin tents was standing and a small fire was crackling and sending a faint trail of smoke up towards the darkened sky. There was nothing to roast over the flames tonight; it was simply a place to gather as they enjoyed a little dried meat and nuts, passing around a jar of spiced and soured cabbage someone had snagged from the clanhold kitchen, along with the last of the wine and flatbread. A place to warm their hands as well, and maybe seek some entertainment.

"So don't you know some sagas?" Imoen prodded Eldoth. "Always heard those were a big deal in Ruathym. 'The epic tradition of the skalds' and all that."

Eldoth grinned at the flames and let out a smug little grunt. "Not my preferred way to entertain, I must admit. Always so…blustery."

"Think I know a saga or two," Garrick spoke up with a friendly smile. "They had us practice a few in Berdusk."

"Well aren't you eager," Eldoth said in a sarcastic tone. "By all means, entertain us."

Garrick had reached for his harp, then a tentative look grew on his face. "Well, can't say I know more than the overview of a few Rus sagas. I mean, who can memorize all those names?"

"My thoughts on the subject as well," Eldoth said with a chuckle. "One of the many reasons you find me here in the south, performing the simple and elegant ballads I've picked up along the road. Lute and song is far preferable to lyre and verse, I say. And the local maids prefer a good ballad over an epic history lesson about 'Skiore, son of Skad' or whatever it was."

"Well?" Imoen asked. "Then why don't we hear one of those huh?"

Eldoth took his time chewing the morsel of bread he had been eating before he responded. "Perhaps I've no pressing need to make you swoon? And besides, I'd hate to get crumbs on my lute."

"Aww. Garrick never turns down a request."

"That does not surprise me," Eldoth said, a mischievous glint in his hooded eyes. "The little fellow seems quite eager to please." With that he took another bite of bread.

Garrick silently frowned at his harp as they sat in a brief and awkward silence until Ashura tapped him on the shoulder. "Know any of Helgid and the Seven Dragons?" It was one of a half dozen sagas from Ruathym that she had read as a child, and probably the most famous.

Garrick's eyes brightened a bit. "Oh yeah. That's considered a classic." He plucked a few cords from his harp after a moment's thought, and recalled the opening few verses of the epic poem, reciting them over some musical flourishes. From there he made things up as he went along, Imoen and Coran encouraging him as the story unfolded. He put together an interesting tale, though Ashura was sad that he seemed to forget the part about Lady Alfra being a shapeshifted dragon in disguise. Not her favorite part (that would of course be the scene with the dragon Sijek and the anchor chain,) but it was a nice little plot twist.

For his part Eldoth stifled a few dramatic and very deliberate yawns throughout the performance.

"Can't wait to get out of this damn forest," Ashura muttered, wary eyes on the strands and gobs of spider's web that stretched from one golden bough to the next. They had been trudging for some time across the mossy forest floor, following Coran's best guess at a path, and the webbing had only grown thicker and thicker.

Soon those branches were rustling as well, and Ashura's eyes shot up when there was a scraping sound above. Then chittering.

Silently the companions turned, weapons drawn as they formed an outward-facing circle. "Of course there would be more spiders," Xan stated glumly, standing in a protected spot in the center of the circle beside Viconia. A moment later the forest grew silent.

Then, in an explosion of movement, the spiders came pouring out, racing down tree trunks and along the forest floor. They came in a multitude of colors, shapes and sizes, some small as a hand and others large as a pony; red, black, grey and green.

Bowstrings hummed and then the swarm was upon them. Ashura found herself dancing and dodging away from long legs that bristled with spines as they lashed forward, the air hissing with each stroke and lunge. A sword spider, some calm part of her recalled, the name remembered from an old bestiary. Sadly she didn't recall any weaknesses mentioned.

It was something like a duel, right down to the moment that she managed to stomp down on one foreleg, pin the other back with her righthand sword and stab the lefthand blade between eight blinking eyes. The sword spider skittered back and rolled over, every limb twitching.

Xan had been chanting something behind her, but as his spell reached a crescendo it turned into a pained cry. Whirling around, Ashura saw that the elf had crumpled to the ground, a man-sized spider with a thorax and abdomen covered in tropical green and yellow looming over him. She lunged, swords first, but before she could reach the creature it crawled backwards, a shimmer growing behind it as it held Xan's prone form between its forelegs.

In a blink of blue-white light both elf and spider vanished. There was a corresponding flash perhaps a hundred paces away, near some sort of round structure shrouded in white webbing.

There had been something terribly sharp in his shoulder, but now all was numb. Even the banging of Xan's head against the grassy earth as he was dragged along barely registered. He knew that his fingers were clinched around the hilt of his moonblade, but try as he might he could not make the weapon budge; every muscle was locked into place. His body was stiff as a board as he was dragged and smacked against the ground again and again, carried along by the massive thing that loomed above him.

He wanted to strike it, but his limbs rebelled. Wanted to shout out a spell, but his tongue was thick as leather; heavy as lead. Sliding along on his back, he slipped beneath some sort of overhang, and the world darkened considerably. The spider threw him forward haphazardly, and sent him rolling across a strange, hardened white surface.

When he grew still Xan found himself lying on his side, still paralyzed to such an extent that he could barely even shift his eyes. So paralyzed that it was a struggle simply to breathe. There was thick white webbing everywhere and great blurry shapes hanging between the billowing threads. Webbing everywhere, save a patch of ugly bare earth where a strange human sat.

Human was his first thought at least; an obese, nude woman with a mop of tangled black hair and mottled, filthy skin. Looking into her eyes changed that impression though. There were no irises or pupils, only a diseased shade of yellow that shimmered with a light all its own. The eyes of some sort of fey monster, perhaps a hag. The fact that her mouth opened far wider than any human's had a right to only added to that impression.

"You bring meat then?!" she bellowed towards the spider. "Good my children! Good! To the lauder with it!"

So this is what my doom looks like.

"Xan!" Imoen screamed, eyes following where the spider and her friend had appeared just before they slipped into some sort of strange domed structure. Without a backwards glance she took off running straight for it.

Stomping heavily on one of the smaller spiders, Ashura followed. She soon overtook the slightly shorter girl, and side by side they plunged past and over strands of web, sprinting towards the strange brown dome. It's made of woven silk, she realized as she drew near. A massive cocoon.

Ominous, but there was no choice. Together she and Imoen plunged through a ragged opening. I am not losing another friend today.

They pulled up short the moment they were through, blinking and trying to adjust to the dim light and at the same time desperately searching for any sign of Xan or the green spider. No purple robe to be seen at first, but a strange sight greeted them beneath the great dome.

Strands of thick webbing that seemed to be calcified covered the walls and dipped down towards the floor of the chamber, and on the hard-packed dirt where it all sloped to there was a massive blob of vaguely human flesh. It seemed to be female, with mottled pinkish skin and empty, glowing eyes. Some sort of hag, Ashura guessed.

A crazed look came over the woman as she spied the intruders, and she raised wobbly arms towards the ceiling. "More meat!" she cackled, froth flying from her mouth as her eyes flashed. "More meat for my children!" Everywhere there was tittering, and Ashura's eyes widened as they shifted upwards.

Dozens of giant spiders danced across the ceiling, countless legs clicking and clattering as they raced down the walls or descended on silken cords. "Uh…" Ashura muttered, clutching her swords. This suddenly felt like a really bad idea.

She glanced over at Imoen, who looked strangely unperturbed. The girl had dropped her bow and reached for her belt, slipping a small red jar out from a pouch. A quick, violent shake, and then Imoen's arm went back, twisting a little. Another twist and she hurled the jar towards the hag with all her strength.

Recognizing the potion from Davaeorn's treasury, Ashura took an instinctive step back. The massive hag simply continued to gesture with her arms, calling the swarm of spiders down and howling the word 'Meat!' right up until the jar finished its arc and struck her directly in the forehead.

There was an understated pop and a burst of pink accompanied by bright flashes of fire that had Ashura turning and covering her head. A deafening roar followed and a hot wave buffeted her and Imoen. Something limp struck Ashura in the shoulder, and as she turned her head she saw that the object was covered in chitin and leaking black gunk; a severed spider's limb.

More legs and other bits of spider followed, flying from the blast-spot or raining down from the ceiling, along with ichor, blood, blackened bits of bone and slimy gobs of what Ashura guessed were the hag's innards. A cloud of smoke was slowly rising from the center of the chamber now, hanging over a great blackened smear and wisps of burnt webbing.

As soon as it was clear enough to see, Imoen picked up her bow and plunged forward, heedless of what she was stepping on or through. At the far end of the chamber they caught sight of the green-and-yellow spider they had been chasing, and as it turned from Xan's prone body the creature caught an arrow in the head from Imoen, followed swiftly by a fierce downward stab of Ashura's swords.

Ashura kicked the convulsing thing off her blades before turning to her friend, who had knelt down beside the unconscious elf. His ankles and legs were wrapped up in soft white silk, likely the beginnings of what would have been a cocoon. Veins were bulging, blue and prominent on his swollen face, and his skin was cherry-red, eyelids swollen shut.

"Oh gods!" Imoen screeched. "I don't think he's breathing!"

She had stretched the elf out on the floor now, eyes full of tears as she looked around frantically. There was a healing potion in her hand, but how could he drink it if he couldn't even breathe? And neither of them had any sort of antidote. A sob running through her, Imoen dropped the potion and put her fists together, desperately pressing them against Xan's still chest.

Scrunching her shoulders, Imoen pumped with her fists, shuddering with each motion. "Come on Xan! Breathe! Breathe!" It was a resuscitation technique the monks had taught them long ago, but as Ashura knelt down beside her friend and fumbled through her own collection of potions she shook her head.

Paralytic poison was what had seized up the elf's throat and stolen his breath. They needed curing magic and they needed it fast. "Viconia!" Ashura shouted, looking back through the smoky chamber. No sign of their companions yet. The pair of them had hurried well ahead of the rest. She shouted again anyway. "Viconia!"

Imoen was beside herself now, sobbing and shuddering, heedless of the snot running from her nose. "Please Xan! Please!"

Looking over at them Ashura cringed. There was a growing purple cast to the elf's face now. Another dead friend, left along the road. So many now. And once again she was standing by, helplessly watching. Her fists were balled tightly, fury building in her tightening chest.

"No. No. Please no." Imoen pressed her face against Xan's unmoving chest.

Blue-white light flared in the darkened chamber. The ghostfire-flames leapt between Ashura's clinched fingers, giving vent to her frustration, and without thinking she grabbed Imeon's shoulder with her other hand and roughly shoved her off of Xan. With a growl Ashura brought her glowing hand down upon the elf's chest and opened her fist, setting the fire free.

Necromancy. The power of a death god. A strange weapon to use under these circumstances, but it was all she had. And if it really was divine power, then maybe…

"Gahhhh!" Xan's whole body arched, head tilted back, and he let out a long croaking gasp. A great stream of faintly glowing vapor flew from his lips and nostrils as he did, rising in a cloud that hovered briefly above him. Growing slack, the elf sank back down, gulping in ragged, desperate breaths.

Briefly Ashura thought she saw something in the shifting cloud of venom. A grinning skull. Tears. Then it dissipated, expanding and vanishing before her. The glow faded as well, and they were left in the darkness.

Ashura let out a relieved sigh and placed a hand upon Xan's brow. He rose and fell again and again, breaths gradually growing more and more even. Beside her Imoen squeezed the elf's shoulder, still shuddering as more tears followed worn trails down her filth-caked face. At least now they were tears of relief.

After a time the Greycloak managed to let out a groan, flat on his back in his stained robes. They were torn and bloody at his shoulder where the spider had bitten him, and bits of sticky webbing cling to his clothes.

"My wounds are…are…grave," Xan breathed weakly. "I…"

"Pish!" Imoen managed, voice quaking as she uncorked the healing potion. "No they're not, silly." She guided the glass vial to his lips. "Yer gonna be just fine."

Author's Note: A sappy chapter revolving around the power of friendship? This story sure takes some odd turns.

Someone once told me that making Xan gay or bisexual was kind of too obvious, and Kyn (sort of,) beat me to this bit of characterization about him and his partner already. But darn it, I had this in mind ever since a million chapters ago when I first came up with the idea of Xan having a lost male Greycloak partner and being really depressed about it.