A/N: Some in-game events and gameplay mechanics in the Gauntlet are tweaked or left out entirely for better narrative flow and focus.
Descending into unknown depths beneath a desolate mausoleum, on a hunt for the source of the Shadow Curse and Ketheric Thorm's immortality, the last thing Solistre needs is a distraction.
But a distraction Shadowheart provides – faint murmurs as she reads the floor plaques they pass by, eyes roving over the dim-lit hallway feeding them into a grand entrance chamber, and a sharp gasp when a statue of Shar speaks upon their entrance.
"Shar's warriors must not be caught, must not be tricked. Only loss awaits the unworthy."
The voice of Shar herself or simply a spell, Solistre wonders; but her mulling is interrupted by Shadowheart, who whispers to herself, "I can't believe it."
Solistre watches as Shadowheart approaches the statue and the pedestal before it, upon which sits a spherical gem with dark energy roiling within its clear shell. Shadowheart stops an arm's length from the warding runes that encircle the statue, and steps back when they emit a dangerous resonance. Despite the obvious danger, she scans the chamber with awe-struck eyes, which injects a different tension into Solistre's body.
"From your reaction… I'm guessing you know what this place is, Shadowheart?" Gale asks, face lit by dim purple fires burning in obsidian thuribles around the chamber.
"This…is the Gauntlet of Shar," Shadowheart replies, a small smile curling the corners of her lips. "We've found the Dark Lady's crucible."
"What is this, some kind of temple?" Karlach asks, wandering down one side of the chamber, while Solistre mirrors her path on the other. Where Solistre rests one hand on a dagger's hilt at her belt, Karlach has drawn her battle-axe, resting it over one broad shoulder – an overt sign of tension Solistre shares.
"The Gauntlet of Shar is no ordinary temple." Shadowheart's voice rises through the heavy silence of the chamber – and her companions. "It is the highest test of the Dark Lady's faithful, to judge if they are worthy of becoming a Dark Justiciar. To be the Nightsinger's sword arm – there is scarcely a greater way to fully dedicate oneself to Lady Shar."
"It's all I ever wanted. I prayed it was my calling."
The memory rises, unbidden, and Solistre's mouth grows dry. Shadowheart's eyes meet hers through the half-lit darkness, but she turns away on the pretext of exploring an alcove nearby.
"Is that what you want? To be a Dark Justiciar?" Karlach asks, while Solistre steps into one walled-off alcove, noting the vents and oddly-raised plates on the floor, engrossing herself in the architecture in a futile effort to drown out the conversation.
"Yes, I have prayed for the privilege."
"But is this the time to pursue this…privilege?" Wyll's doubt is audible, but polite – as he always is, when stepping carefully around Shadowheart's faith. "We are searching for the source of the Shadow Curse. This may interfere with our mission."
"I will not let this opportunity pass. I will undertake the trials by myself, if necessary. The four of you are capable enough on your own, but…" A touch of amusement quells the fervour in Shadowheart's voice. "I suspect our paths won't diverge for a while yet."
"They may even lead us to the same destination!"
Solistre can hear the smile in Gale's amiable tone, while she pulls tentatively at a lever set into the floor. It does not budge.
"Yeah, let's not get too eager to split up yet," Karlach interjects. "Besides, this place doesn't feel…right. Or safe. What else do you know about this place, Shadowheart?"
"Only what I have heard. The Gauntlet has double meaning – it speaks of the ordeals to be overcome, and of the armour-clad fist of Lady Shar that would embrace the worthy. Survive the crushing gauntlet, and be embraced by the Nightsinger at its very core."
Boots thud softly against the floor, as Shadowheart starts to pace. "The old ways were lost over time – now some claim the rank simply by killing a single Selûnite. But before, they were a true elite. Many would attempt the trials, but few would succeed."
Bracing a foot against its base, Solistre tugs harder at the lever, but it does not yield.
"You mean, you could die?" Karlach says. "Don't know about you, but I prefer having you alive."
"I could succeed and survive, Karlach. Do you have so little faith in me?"
"In you, yeah. But…"
Throwing her entire weight against the lever, Solistre finally feels the metal rod giving under her two-handed grip, and nearly loses her balance when it slams forward.
The resulting creak echoes through the chamber, followed by sounds of weapons unsheathing and exclamations of surprise. She steps out of the alcove quickly, one dagger unsheathed, but detects no anomaly in the chamber…save for two burning thuribels, which have descended from the ceiling where they hang.
"Hells, Solistre!" Wyll lowers his rapier. "Was that you? It could've been a trap, for gods' sake!"
Solistre shrugs, nonchalant, if only to exasperate the Blade further. "It is not, but watch your step – there are traps set into the floor."
She looks around the chamber, only meeting Shadowheart's eyes in a fleeting glance. "Let's find a way forward. We won't reach the Nightsong chatting away in here."
"And there's the crack of the whip," Gale chuckles, as the group splits up to comb through the area, picking their way carefully while Solistre spots and disables hidden traps.
Together, they work through the test in this chamber – extinguishing magical fires in every thuribel, which reveals a hidden circle of wards around the statue of Shar. Shadowheart navigates through the wards easily, and retrieves the spherical umbral gem from its pedestal – which dissipates the magical ward on the stone doors behind Shar's statue, allowing them to delve deeper into the Gauntlet.
Beyond the entrance chamber, they find skeletal thralls, through which a disembodied voice expresses displeasure at their presence. But Solistre is unable to draw his identity or location from their jaws, before their bones are scattered across the floor by Shar's own undead Justiciars, who emerge from shadow portals and set upon them with blades swinging.
When the skirmish is over, they approach the edge of the walkway where they stand, and look over what seems to be the entire temple – or a majority of it, built into the walls of a giant chasm, surrounding an imperious, majestic statue of Shar. A traversal platform is affixed to the walkway, similar to the one that had brought them down from the mausoleum, though its control gem appears inert.
"Connected, perhaps," Gale wonders aloud. "To this altar?"
He directs their attention to the circular altar behind them, in which are six pedestals – one of which already houses a spherical umbral gem. Shadowheart pulls out the gem she had collected earlier, and places it on another pedestal…but nothing happens.
"Brave the Gauntlet of your Lady Shar. Surmount her trials, and rise a Dark Justiciar," Shadowheart reads the inscription on the altar. "We'll need to collect four more gems, it seems. And – find Balthazar," she adds when Wyll starts to speak, and the Blade smiles at her answer.
Shadowheart looks to where Solistre waits beside Karlach, who bounces on her heels impatiently. "Shall we?"
"Let's go!" Karlach says brightly, patting Solistre on the back.
Solistre bites down a sigh and walks towards the open door she had spotted earlier, once again wondering how she had been elected captain and navigator.
They find Balthazar's makeshift laboratory under siege by Shar's undead Justiciars, and dispatch the attacking force to earn a meeting with the necromancer himself. A wasted effort, in Solistre's opinion, when Balthazar reveals little they do not already know. But she manages to wheedle him into offering some supplies, and an empty sleeping quarters to rest after fighting off his would-be executioners.
Seated on the floor between dusty, rickety beds, they divide rations among themselves and fill their stomachs, then close their eyes with weapons clasped loosely in hand. Solistre allows herself to slip into a short trance, muscles coiled even in repose. When she wakes, she finds her companions still dozing around her – with one exception.
Heart lurching with quiet panic, she rises to her knees, and looks towards the doors – now ajar, where they had been shut before.
"She went off by herself."
Gale's whisper turns her head back. He hasn't moved from his position, still leaning against a bed beside Wyll, though his eyes are alert. His smile doesn't quite manage to hide the tension beneath.
"To explore, she said. But no one should wander these halls alone, don't you think?"
His suggestion is clear, and unneeded. Solistre has already shifted onto her feet, intending to track Shadowheart down. She gestures at Wyll and Karlach – whose heads droop towards their chests – and Gale nods, a promise written in his smile to watch over them. That's all she needs, and leaves to begin her search.
It's not a hard task by any means. A simple question to one of Balthazar's walking skeletons, and it points her towards the hallway by which they had first arrived. Though they had cleared the way in, Solistre moves quietly out of caution and habit, as she retraces their footsteps.
It isn't long before she spots Shadowheart – on her knees behind the altar they had found earlier, hands clasped together, head bowed in supplication to the statue of Shar that dominates the centre of the temple.
Solistre comes to a stop by a pillar, a ghost in shadow, watching her companion with unease stirring in the pit of her stomach. It had been an easy thing to ignore on the sunlit surface – Shadowheart's dedication to darkness, to nothingness – when they are surrounded by the lush fullness of a world that makes them seem a mere speck of dust on the ground.
Then they entered these cursed lands, swathed in divine darkness that is foreign even to Solistre's shadow-born soul. A glimpse of a world on the verge of oblivion – and Shadowheart's faith had only burned hotter at the sight, fueled by her immunity to darkness that saps the life out of any other who dares venture without a light source.
"She loves me. She must do."
It had been easier to turn away, to leave Shadowheart a belief that lit her face with hope.
Hope. In the face of nothingness, for that nothingness. It makes Solistre's gut twist into something that borders on nausea.
She stares at Shadowheart's back, shoulders hunched forward, pious figure silhouetted against the image of Shar looming in the distance, over the temple. How small Shadowheart looks. How small Solistre feels. How insignificant they are, in the face of divine oblivion.
Unnamed tension threatens to crush her ribs together, and she forces herself to take one painful breath. Dispelling the last threads of pressure around her chest, Solistre slides her foot over the ground, producing a gritty scratch that startles Shadowheart out of her prayers. One hand grips her mace in the blink of an eye, and she rises to one knee – but pauses when she turns back, only to find Solistre walking slowly towards her.
An exasperated huff leaves Shadowheart's lips, and she lets go of her weapon, standing to meet Solistre by the altar. "You'll be the death of me one day."
"Beware what you wish for." The ghost of a smile touches Solistre's lips, mirroring Shadowheart's gentle counterpart. The sight makes her heart squeeze. "You shouldn't wander this place alone. Who knows what has gotten into these halls over the years."
Shadowheart scoffs, displeasure hardening her expression. "What, parasites like Balthazar? I can handle them. They have no place in the Dark Lady's house."
She screws her eyes shut, draws a deep breath, then lets her anger out with the next exhale. "No matter. I am here."
She takes a shorter breath, as if to speak more, but it ends in a reverent sigh as she sets her fingertips on the altar. "The Dark Lady's finest warriors arose from this place – and now I am here. I have been away from the cloister for too long, I think. Allowed myself to drift. But here, I am focused. I can feel Lady Shar's presence."
Shadowheart's eyes run over the altar's inscriptions again. "Normally it would not be for me to pursue becoming a Dark Justiciar without a superior's command, but this is different. My Lady wanted me to find this place, I know it."
Unease returns, and Solistre averts her gaze from Shadowheart, settling on the altar and its glowing inscriptions instead. "You have to pass some trials…and that is it?"
"You make it sound easy – but yes. Pass her trials, then make a sacrifice in her innermost sanctum – one revealed only when you've proven yourself. Very few made it that far." Shadowheart looks out from the walkway, gazing at the statue of her goddess. "I've dreamed of this place. This is my destiny – I must complete the trials."
"Are you sure?" The question slips out before Solistre can stop it. Shadowheart looks at her, and she steels herself under that questioning gaze. "Are you sure this is what you want?"
Shadowheart lets out a breath, incredulous. "You know me. I've told you about this."
"You did."
The silence that falls over them is heavy, and Shadowheart breaks it first. "If I prove myself to Lady Shar, she'll bless me with power – power we can use to take on the Absolute and rid ourselves of these parasites, once and for all. It will help us."
Sincerity twines with zeal, burning bright in Shadowheart's eyes – then dims in the face of Solistre's dispassionate facade. "You don't believe it?"
Shadowheart had taken a few steps closer in her short speech. Solistre takes a few steps back to re-establish some distance between them. She needs the space to breathe, to think, to impose order on the tumult of emotion risen to her chest, threatening to tear itself out in a storm.
Crossing her arms, Solistre looks to Shar in the distance, gold-edged spear held in one elegant stone hand. A beautiful, menacing threat. "I believe it," she says quietly.
"Then…?"
"I don't believe in her."
Shadowheart's expression twists – with confusion and more – then smooths over. "You don't have to. You are not one of her faithful."
"You misunderstand," Solistre says slowly, knowing well what she walks into. "I do not believe in…what she will do to you."
Shadowheart stares. Then her brows draw together, and Solistre's spine stiffens. "She will elevate me," she says, equally quiet, but the ring of an unspoken threat is deafening. "She will make me a Dark Justiciar – one of her most trusted, most powerful. She will bless me with–"
"She will use you," Solistre cuts in. "No matter who you are, no matter how tall you stand among her followers. You are nothing more than a pawn to be used, and discarded when she has–"
"Don't you dare–"
"I know how a god like her works," Solistre interrupts her dangerous hiss. "I have seen it before."
Shadowheart scoffs again – at Solistre this time, whose temper frays with alarming speed, slipping through even her own grasping fingers.
"Enough. I see where this is going, and I will warn you now – do not compare the Dark Lady to your Spider Queen. Your goddess acts in her own mad interests, plays with your people for her own entertainment. Lady Shar seeks to return the world to what it was before, to–"
"To what? Nothingness?" Solistre's restraint snaps. "What makes you think there is a place for you in that nothingness?"
"There is not!" Shadowheart fights back, matching her rising volume. "We will make the ultimate sacrifice to bring her vision to fruition! There is no greater honour!"
"Will you listen to yourself!" Solistre barks, tone edged razor-sharp. "You sound like a mindless zealot! A slave!"
"Do not insult me!"
"It is not an insult. It is the truth! You would discard all that you have, all that you know, for some cursed future you will never see!"
You would discard me.
The tadpole in Solistre's skull trembles, and she realises her mistake. A slip, into the connection that had formed in their mutual anger, their need to understand. But it is not the thought itself, not in its naked words – but its echo. Its heavy, tremulous echo that settles into Shadowheart's mind, cooling her anger with traitorous knowledge.
"I see. You seek to turn me from my faith. You want me to turn from my Lady, because…what?" A corner of Shadowheart's mouth lifts in a faintest smile of scorn. "It will steal my attention from you? How selfish. How incredibly, predictably selfish."
A blade, plunged deep and twisted in her chest.
"I want you to stop! I want you to think! You haven't been yourself since we entered this cursed land–"
"Or, perhaps, I am myself, more than I have ever been – and you do not like it. You do not like that my thoughts have strayed from you."
"Do you truly think it's about that?"
But it is. She said you are enough.
You believed her.
"Don't try to pretend. I've seen the way you look at me." Shadowheart's eyes have grown dark, hungry – a predator on a blood scent. "I'd thought you were worried for me, when I had been quiet, distant. But now I know – it is merely jealousy. That you cannot own me, that you cannot dictate my affections."
Hands wrapped around Shadowheart's on the blade, Solistre thrusts it hilt-deep into her chest.
A bitter, acidic laugh bursts from Solistre's lips. "You overestimate your worth to me, little Sharran." All-too-familiar venom coats her tongue, and she swallows it, relishing its burn down her throat. "But you have made your choice, and I will make mine."
She throws her hands up, walking backwards, disdain etched as a sneer on her lips. "Do whatever you please. I will have no part in it."
Spinning sharply on her heel, Solistre storms down the hallway leading back to the entrance, caution razed to ashes by the anger burning in her chest. She has nearly reached the entrance chamber when she hears something in the distance, far behind her – a familiar gasp, and a grunt of pain.
Shadowheart's wound has flared up again.
She lingers in the entrance chamber, pacing in circles and fuming impotently at Shar's statue, soothed only by the prospect of leaving the temple, right then.
But when her anger has faded, taking the impulse with it, Solistre finds herself back in Balthazar's sanctuary, where her companions are leaving their sleeping quarters, geared up and ready to explore. They seem surprised to see her, and Wyll reveals their assumption that she had already left – from what Shadowheart had told them.
Solistre doesn't bother to look in the cleric's direction. "The platform didn't work."
A lie. She had stood on the platform for the longest time, staring at its traversal gem, aglow and awaiting activation to bring her back to the mausoleum above. But she could not bring herself to touch it, to leave, to turn her back on this endeavour. And so, she has returned – against her own heated declaration, which makes her want to grind her teeth down into dust.
"Ah, come on. Why would you leave us now? We're a team!" Karlach smiles, though her eyes are watchful, with an edge to her usual brash joy. "And you will lead on, as always. Shall we?"
Karlach points at the doors that had remained shut since their arrival on Balthazar's territory. But Solistre crosses her arms and shrugs.
"I am not Shar's faithful. It is not my place to decide where to go."
Karlach's mouth twitches, and they look tentatively at Shadowheart – who makes no effort to mask her scowl. To her credit, Shadowheart does not hesitate; she, who has been content to follow Solistre's lead, marches off to the doors Karlach had indicated, gauntleted hands curled into fists by her sides.
After glancing between them both, Wyll jogs up to Shadowheart, leaving Solistre behind with Karlach, while Gale hurries after the pair.
"What happened?" Karlach dips her head down for a conspiratorial whisper.
Solistre doesn't answer, and follows Gale at a measured distance.
The first trial is one Shadowheart attempts alone, at her insistence.
"Lady Shar values those that can remain unseen and can still obtain what they want. Stealth is a virtue derived from her very essence."
Offering blood from the palm of her hand, she unlocks the gates to the trial, and stalks into one with all the caution of a sneak thief. A few minutes later, they hear her curse – not too far from the entrance where they wait – before she is teleported back to the start.
"Sentinels spotted me," is all she explains. She sets her mace and shield on the floor, and enters the trial once more.
After the second failure, Shadowheart removes her steel-capped boots, and enters again.
After the third, she strips off her chainmail armour, and ventures in clad only in leathers.
After the fourth, Solistre growls so audibly in her impatience, that it attracts a glare from Shadowheart, who plunges back into the trial with furious resolve.
After the fifth, Shadowheart is taken aback when Solistre flies to her feet, fingers arching as she recites an incantation. Before Shadowheart can protest, Solistre casts an invisibility spell on the cleric.
"Stop wasting our time," Solistre snaps, withdrawing to the wall she had sat by. She takes vindictive pleasure in the possibility that Shadowheart had seethed at her, unseen, before heading back into the trial.
Minutes crawl by, until the sconces on the walls come alight with magical flame. Shadowheart appears among them again – with an umbral gem cradled in her hands. But she shows no pleasure at her success, only silent brooding in her darkened eyes as she hands the gem to Wyll, and starts putting on her armour.
The second trial is a battle against perfect doppelgangers of themselves.
After Shadowheart's blood offering, they enter the trial together, finding themselves in a small, enclosed arena. They move carefully in a loose formation, tension palpable as they survey their suspiciously empty environs.
"Down!" Solistre hisses, and the rest lower into a crouch without question, though Gale curses under his breath when his knees creak audibly.
Through flickering light cast by a lone brazier in the centre of the arena, Solistre spots a single horn peeking out from a pillar by a flight of stairs, and a familiar – if translucent – shade of silver-white hair on the upper platform.
Without warning, Solistre melts into the shadows, flying towards her own doppelganger. She materialises behind it, daggers raised for a killing blow – only for her copy to reach around and grab her by the leathers, throwing her perfectly onto the floor.
The arena explodes in a cacophony; her companions have charged in on her heels, and spells erupt on all sides amid the ringing clash of blades.
Solistre's counterpart thrusts down the bow held between its hands, in a bid to crush her throat with solid magic-wood, but the attempt is foiled by the dagger stabbed deep under its jaw. It is unnerving – to watch her own face spasm in the throes of death and disintegrate into thin air, but Solistre has no time to process it.
She rolls across the floor, hearing a mace smash into the tiles where she had lain. Rising to her feet, she readies her daggers and engages not-Shadowheart in a duel – soon finding herself forced into an endless defensive. This copy had apparently inherited all of Shadowheart's knowledge – including the times they had sparred together. It predicts most of Solistre's moves, casts light with spells to prevent her from slipping into the shadows, while moving through the darkness itself.
She narrowly dodges a mace blow to her side, but catches not-Shadowheart's shield charge head-on. She is knocked back, landing painfully on the brazier, too close to bright flames that hurt her eyes by sheer proximity. Solistre rolls off the brazier to avoid another mace swing, but catches the backswing right in her gut. She staggers back in pain, gasping for breath, and the doppelganger closes in for a finishing blow to her head – a mistake.
In a weakness it shares with Shadowheart, its mace swings in an arc just a hair too wide in its excitement. Solistre lunges through the opening, and delivers a stinging hilt blow to a pressure point in its elbow. The mirror-mace falls to the ground, while Solistre stabs her dagger into the side of not-Shadowheart's neck, and rips its throat wide open. Spectral blood gushes through Solistre, as the doppelganger collapses to the ground and starts to disintegrate.
While she gathers herself, hunched over and feeling the scream of bruises inflicted by mace and shield, she catches the eyes of the real Shadowheart, who stands over the dissolving body of Wyll. Karlach whoops in victory to the side when she destroys her own counterpart with Gale and Wyll, completing the trial. But Shadowheart remains quiet, eyes locked with Solistre's.
She grows aware of how tightly she grips her daggers, how her blood had sung during the brutal killing blow. Did she have an audience in her moment of victory?
Solistre's throat squeezes unpleasantly, and she shifts her eyes away in a picture of nonchalance, purging wayward emotion from her chest.
It does not matter. Nothing here matters.
The third trial is straightforward, with a golden map etched on the floor before the ritual basin.
This, Shadowheart tackles alone as well, after spilling more of her own blood in the basin. Her companions watch as she picks her way carefully across ghostly tiles that stretch over an inky black abyss. Each step brings her farther, and farther from them, until she disappears from sight.
Just a few minutes later, the sconces come alight, and they are teleported to the trial's antechamber. Shadowheart stands before them, with yet another umbral gem in her hands.
"I've passed Lady Shar's trials. Just one more gem to find."
She smiles, and in her joy, her gaze meets Solistre's; out of habit, perhaps, to check on the other. But the gleam in Shadowheart's eyes dims quickly, and she looks away.
Beside the last trial is a library – its walls lined with full shelves, stone tables and seats set in between, and a dais in the back, gated off from the rest of the chamber. Scattered across its silent confines is a full squad of undead Justiciar guardians, who fall on the battered party the instant they cross the threshold.
Karlach charges into the thick of battle with an earth-shaking roar, while Gale and Wyll pick off as many as they can with spells from a distance. Shadowheart casts a quick spell that revitalises their aching muscles, and Solistre darts between the shadows, piercing through the Justiciars' flank.
Tired, outnumbered, and without the aid of Balthazar's minions, the battle turns messy – fast. The Justiciars' blades stab and tear into their flesh, Wyll's beloved rapier breaks into two, and Karlach is hard-pressed to keep their foes from overwhelming her friends. Solistre limps from a stab wound in her thigh, and barely throws herself out of range when Gale hollers a warning, launching a fireball at the Justiciars Karlach had corralled together. Shadowheart calls down a fiery spell of her own to bolster the attack, and the combined flare forces Solistre to slam her watering eyes shut.
Distracted by ocular pain, she remains curled up on the floor, face hidden in her hand, until a touch on her shoulder causes her to flinch.
"Hey, hey. Easy there." Karlach kneels beside her, gentle hands pulling her upright. "Your eyes alright?"
"They're bleeding," Solistre grumbles, lowering her own hands and squinting at Karlach with difficulty.
"Just tears, you big baby." Karlach chuckles, brushing armoured knuckles over her cheeks. She touches the bleeding wound on Solistre's thigh. "Can you walk?"
A growl, and Solistre pushes herself to her knees, biting down a groan when pain lances down her leg. "I'm fine."
"Your bones could be showing and you'd still say you're fine." Karlach takes her arm, and helps her to her feet.
Solistre doesn't bother arguing when Karlach turns her towards the seating tiers by the sides, where their companions await healing by their cleric. Shadowheart has few minor spells left, which she directs towards the most debilitating wounds – among which are Solistre's thigh, and the stab wounds in Karlach's sides. For the rest, they settle for poultices and bandages, until their cleric is able to heal them again.
With the library secured, they disperse to rest and clean themselves up. Solistre finds a nook between two shelves laden with books, and settles herself into blessed, if temporary, solitude. She sheds her drow leathers and thick outer garment, releasing a satisfied sigh when cool air touches her bare arms. Seated in a sleeveless black top, she starts cleaning blood and dirt from her leathers, finding meditative solace in her task, when the thud of boots and a soft cough distracts her.
She looks up to find Karlach standing over her – also stripped down to her comfortable inner clothes, and holding two bottles of red potions in one hand. Solistre takes the bottles quizzically when Karlach thrusts them at her.
"I'm not that hurt…?" Solistre asks, only for her heart to sink when Karlach nods at the dais – the gates to which have been unlocked by Shadowheart in her lone investigation of the library.
Solistre frowns, and tries to hand the potions back to Karlach, who only dances out of reach.
"If I find one potion still on you later," Karlach whispers. "I'll break your legs."
With a buoyant twirl as if she hadn't just issued a threat, Karlach hops off the topmost tier where Solistre sits, torn between hurling the potions at the tiefling's muscular back, or gulping down both potions out of spite.
Involuntarily, her eyes drift back to the dais, where Shadowheart sits at a round stone table, poring over a thick tome. Ignoring the beat her treasonous heart had skipped, Solistre steels herself and rises to her feet, approaching the dais if only to shake Karlach off her back.
Shadowheart makes no reaction at her silent approach, and only looks up when Solistre sets one red potion on the table with an audible clink. She had intended to leave right then, but pauses when she notices the patch of red beneath black bangs.
Before she can stop herself, Solistre reaches out, gently brushing aside Shadowheart's hair, eliciting a wince when they are pulled from the wound where they had been stuck.
"You're hurt." Her flat-toned observation is softer than intended, and her hand nearly trembles when green eyes lock with hers. For a moment, they remain bound with intimate tenderness, and Solistre wonders if it is fantasy that she detects a glint of longing in that quiet gaze.
Then Shadowheart's eyes darken, firm and melancholy, as she breaks the connection and tilts her head out of Solistre's reach.
"I'll handle it," Shadowheart replies dismissively, looking back at the tome's open pages.
Solistre withdraws her hand, fingers curled into a half-fist, and leaves without another word. She settles back in her corner between the shelves, but her heart is no longer in the weapons and armour that lay on the floor around her.
She stares at her companions across the library, lying in their own little nooks to grab some much-needed rest. Such a familiar sight. Too familiar. Soon enough, their quest will end – one way or another. When – or if – they remove the parasites from their skulls, they will go their separate ways and return to their own lives, never to see one another again. As Solistre has wanted, since the beginning; to be free of this burdensome, necessary companionship. To be left alone.
So why does the thought sting?
She can feel the ghost of a snake-headed whip's handle biting into her chest, where her matron mother had jabbed at her heart.
You have a disease, here. You would do well to cut it out, before it kills you.
She has let them get too close. Let her get too close. A mistake.
Perhaps it will be her end.
Shadowheart continues to work while the party rests, poring through tome after tome in some quest she refuses to reveal – save for the fact that there is something she has to find in this library. Something important, related to the riddle inscribed into the golden face of the dais' lone pedestal.
[What can silence the Nightsong?]
She sounds deeply troubled, even frantic, that the answer has apparently eluded her for the few hours her companions had spent resting. Only when Wyll suggests that they head out on a search for the last umbral gem, if only to clear her head, does Shadowheart agree to leave the library. The way she moves is slower, heavier, even if still steady – Solistre can't help but keep an eye on her from the party's flank, as they leave the library behind.
Heading into the eastern portion of the temple, they find part of the structure in ruins, compared to the west wing where Balthazar has roosted. Large parts of the floors and staircases have fallen away, and there is a distinct musk to the air, different from the decaying stench of undead. At the sight of a displacer beast, they draw their weapons as one, and follow after the beast cautiously when it runs off at their approach. They track it down to what looks like a looted armoury…and an ambush.
An orthon awaits them with a wicked-looking crossbow, the displacer beast by his side, and a small army of merregons that have come out of hiding to surround them on all sides. The only thing that keeps his finger from the trigger is the 'smell' of Raphael on them – an opening to a conversation that Wyll is quick to take advantage of.
The Blade charms from Yurgir his story – an orthon trapped in this Sharran temple by a contract with Raphael. At Wyll's request, he sings his contract, the last line of which states: "Leave none to hear it, then be set free."
Solistre cocks her head in thought, as Wyll attempts to convince Yurgir to lower his crossbow.
"There is no need for violence," Wyll says, warm and soothing. "Perhaps there is something you have missed in here. Let us search this place for you."
"I spent a century roaming these halls – I spilled every last drop of Dark Justiciar blood that there was to spill. And you think you can do better?"
Wyll starts to speak, but Solistre cuts in. "No, we can't."
He shoots her an urgent, questioning glare. But she tugs on his tadpole, and he relaxes. By a fraction.
"But your contract has a line – 'leave none to hear it'. Perhaps that condition remains unfulfilled. Who else has been here to hear the song?"
Yurgir stares at her, distrustful. His gaze follows her hand when she gestures at the merregons around them. His flame-lit eyes narrow, and regard her a moment longer.
"Kill yourselves – back to the hells with you."
They wait as the merregons fall upon their own halberds, and dissipate from existence.
"Hm…I can still hear the contract. It still stands."
Solistre points at the displacer beast that rests nearby, and reluctance dims the orthon's eyes. He looks at the noble creature, sorrowful, and lifts his weapon in a quick motion.
"Goodbye, my beauty."
The displacer beast falls with a thick bolt lodged in its skull.
"I still hear it!"
Solistre stares placidly back at his perturbed, murderous glare. "You hear the song, do you not?"
Yurgir's eyes flash dangerously, and he lifts his crossbow, aiming directly at her head.
"A dirty trick!"
Solistre remains unmoved, the sight of the bolt's tip cooling her blood to an icy chill. But Wyll does not share her calm, and sets himself between Solistre and the crossbow.
To her surprise, he says, "Think about it, Yurgir! Devils like Raphael do not relinquish control over their thralls easily. Would he let you leave a contract without paying a price so dear?"
Yurgir's mouth twists. "You would know, devil."
But his eyes lower from Wyll's. Minutes pass in his silent contemplation, before Yurgir lets out a low growl.
"If you're wrong about this, I'll claw my way out of Avernus and eat you alive – contract be damned."
He draws a thick blade from its sheath on his back, rests its tip against his chest. Clawed fingers flex around the hilt, then sink the blade deep into his heart. He falls to the ground with a short gurgle and thunderous thud that they feel through their boots.
In the silence that follows, Gale lets out a low whistle. "Note to self: never speak to the two of you alone."
Wyll releases a slow breath, dotted with relieved laughter. "Honestly, I didn't think that would work."
He turns to Solistre and holds out a hand, which she grasps, a cocky smile growing on her lips.
Their shared moment is broken by Shadowheart, who kneels at the spot where Yurgir had fallen.
"The last one," she says, almost breathless, rising to her feet with the spherical gem held reverently in her hands.
The last gem. The trials are complete. What is next…
Solistre's smile falls, and her grip on Wyll tightens. He doesn't let go.
When they return to the library, Shadowheart attempts to throw herself back into her scholarly pursuit – but is stopped by her companions. Under their questioning, she finally relents, and reveals that a holy weapon needs to be found, with which a sacrifice will be made in Shar's inner sanctum. This weapon, she suspects, lies beyond the riddle to which she has found no satisfactory answer.
Karlach puts her foot down, insisting that Shadowheart take time to rest, as they had earlier. In exchange, they will search the library for the riddle's answer.
That seems to satisfy Shadowheart, and she curls up in a corner of the library, falling asleep while her companions comb through the shelves in her stead.
Religious script never held much interest for Solistre. But where Lolth's teachings had bored her close to tears, Shar's dogma traps her in a perverse fixation, flipping through page after page filled with credo that tugs at her grief-heavy heart – though not as much as it turns her stomach.
[We each must struggle in our own way to turn from the temptations of light and life. Remember that all those false comforts will betray you in the end.]
[Loss teaches us the truth. In its void are we our purest expressions of ourselves. There is nothing nobler than to forget, and to surrender oneself to the darkness.]
[Love is arson – a destructive flame, offering fleeting light and comfort to the one who feeds it, while insulting Lady Shar's cold, infinite darkness.]
Does Shadowheart truly believe this? She must. It's the only reason Solistre can think of, why Shadowheart has pulled so far away where she had been happy to be close, how the shadows of this temple have slid into the fissure between them and pried it open with such ease.
Not that Solistre has tried to prevent it, no. Instead, she had…
Damn it.
She slams the tome shut, and flings it off the table. The resulting thud and flutter turns Gale's head in her direction, and he scowls.
"Solistre!" Gale calls from his spot, stern as a schoolmaster. "Respect the books!"
"Shut up, Gale," she snaps, pulling another tome towards herself, while Gale lets out an exasperated huff and marches over, taking the discarded tome into his hands.
"Honestly!" Gale scoffs as he walks off, and Solistre has to refrain from throwing this tome at the back of his head.
She settles for a drow curse uttered under her breath, and returns to her unwilling work. This tome and the next do not hold any text related to the Nightsong, but the third stops her short.
[What can silence the Nightsong? Only the Nightsinger herself – Shar. Mistress of the Night. Lady of Loss.]
How…unsubtle. But an answer is an answer. She closes the tome, and hesitates. With the tome in hand, they will likely find the weapon, and nothing will be left to stand in their way towards the inner sanctum. Towards the end.
Her jaw clenches, and she picks up the tome before she can change her mind.
"Gale."
He looks at her curiously, watching as she points at the tome, then at the dais. Understanding dawns on his face, then turns to panic when she draws the tome back to her chest. "Wait! Do not thr–"
He shoots out from his seat with incredible speed as Solistre lobs the tome in an arc, and Gale catches it neatly with both arms, clutching it to his chest in relief. After a short scowl, he looks down at the book in thought, then points to her, and Shadowheart's sleeping figure.
Solistre shakes her head, and his expression turns conflicted. He glances at Shadowheart, nods his agreement, and returns to his own tome and scroll-laden table.
Lacing her fingers together, Solistre leans against the table with a sigh, eyes drifting back to the sleeping cleric. When was the last time they had sat down together, away from the troubles of the world, and just talked? When had they last felt each other's touch? It feels like an eternity ago.
She stares at those black tresses, bound into a long braid, remembering the way they had flowed through her fingers as they sat by a cliff overlooking the Underdark's cavernous expanse.
"I've been dwelling on what I told you before – about wanting to become a Dark Justiciar. But perhaps I should be content with my lot – I'm already blessed to have you at my side, after all."
Her heart clenches.
Cut it out, before it kills you.
When Shadowheart wakes to find Gale waiting with the tome, she breaks into the brightest smile she has ever worn within the temple.
Solistre trails behind the group as they follow Shadowheart to the pedestal, where she lays the tome on its golden face. A pulse resonates from the pedestal, and the wall behind it vanishes, revealing a secret room that houses a statue of Shar.
At the foot of this statue rests a spear, and Shadowheart approaches carefully, wrapping reverent fingers around the weapon's hilt. With a flash, the spear disappears from her hold, and a similar glow lights the incurable wound in Shadowheart's hand.
"It's…gone?" Karlach asks, bewildered.
"No." Shadowheart touches the wound, a smile on her lips. "My Lady has bequeathed it to me. With it, I will make the sacrifice."
The hollow in Solistre's chest yawns wider.
With umbral gems in hand, they activate the inert traversal platform in the middle of the temple, and descend into its very depths.
They are delivered to a chamber far beneath the upper levels, dominated by a pool aglow with soft blue light, watched over by the ever-present figure of Shar.
Shadowheart steps forward, and lowers herself to her knees before her goddess' likeness, bowing her head in prayer. They wait for her patiently, and are soon rewarded when she rises to her feet, satisfied.
"I'm ready. Let's go."
As she takes the first step down into the pool, boots submerged in water, Solistre remembers she cannot swim. She sees the stiff set of Shadowheart's shoulders, the slightest hesitation before she takes the plunge, sinking into the water. Karlach, Wyll, and Gale enter the pool alongside her, wading in with much more ease.
Solistre steps closer to the pool, eyes growing wide at the darkness that rises from the water's depths, and coils around her companions' lower bodies.
Shadowheart gasps audibly, barely keeping afloat with her feet kicking instinctively in the water. She flings a hand back towards Solistre, eyes shining with primal panic.
Solistre throws herself into the pool after Shadowheart, gripping tight onto the arm stretched towards her. She digs her heels into the submerged steps, stopping Shadowheart's descent for one precious second, before a combined jerk on Shadowheart and Solistre's legs sends them hurtling helplessly through the water's depths.
Darkness is dispelled by the sudden impact of her body against solid ground. A breath bursts through Solistre's mouth, and she curls up from the fleeting ache, before strong hands grab onto her shoulders.
She lets Karlach haul her up, while Wyll pulls Shadowheart and Gale to their feet.
"You alright, killer?"
Solistre nods distractedly, looking over at Shadowheart, who pats herself down with a clouded expression on her face. She closes her eyes briefly, then reopens them – calm, determined.
"We're in the inner sanctum – Shadowfell. Finally." Shadowheart looks around, taking in their otherworldly environs. "Let's go."
Shadowheart leads them down a series of floating, broken platforms, uttering prayers to her goddess as they pass ghostly figures of Dark Justiciars guarding the path. When they reach the heart of Shadowfell, they find Balthazar already there…speaking to a captive aasimar. The Nightsong. The source of Ketheric Thorm's immortality.
A person.
His intent to remove the Nightsong from Shadowfell is shot down by Shadowheart – who draws her weapon, prompting her companions to do the same. Balthazar accepts her challenge with a wry grin, and the battle begins with a horde of undead summoned by a wave of the necromancer's hand.
They burst into action – Karlach felling skeletal fiends with mighty swings of her axe, Shadowheart turning undead with divine favour, Gale and Wyll clearing the field with well-aimed spells, while Solistre keeps Balthazar distracted with a neverending flurry of dagger strikes.
Balthazar holds his own well, blowing back his drow accoster with spells and guarding his ground with more minions summoned from bits of bone tucked away in his coat. But the undead horde is whittled down between expert weapon strikes and spell blasts, and when Solistre finally kicks Balthazar from his perch on an elevated platform, down to face her companions' judgement, there are no undead left to summon to his aid.
He spits a bloodied curse of disdain, before Shadowheart brings her mace down, crushing his skull into a gory, bone-flecked mess.
The last obstacle is gone. There is nothing left to stand between Shar's faithful, and…
"So, Balthazar has drawn his final rancid breath." The scarred aasimar speaks – self-assured, anchored with magnetic gravitas. "A pity it was not my hand that brought it about. Instead, it was you."
Shadowheart stands firm under the accusing gesture, and it does not stop the Nightsong's monologue.
"You, who have come to seek the praise of your wicked goddess. You, who have come to drive a dagger through my heart."
"Not a dagger," Shadowheart breaks in, wounded hand closing into a fist. "A spear. My Lady Shar's spear."
"Hold on a minute," Karlach says tentatively, moving up to Shadowheart's left, while Wyll slowly approaches the right. "Let's think about this first."
"There is nothing to think about!" Shadowheart bites at her. "Her fate is mine to seal. I will handle this."
"The fate you seal is your own. To be a Dark Justiciar is to turn your heart from everything but loss. You will know no love, no joy – only servitude." Nightsong scoffs, waving a hand. "Until, of course, your mistress inevitably discards you. And there is much she does not tell you – a terrible blood price that may extend beyond my own death."
"Shadowheart," Wyll breaks in during Shadowheart's brief silence, slipping himself between the Sharran and the Nightsong, with Karlach by his side. "Please. I know this is important to you. But we have much to learn here, and that calls for some time to think this–"
"I am here to fulfil my Lady's mission, and I will see to it!"
"But–, being a Dark Justiciar? Is that what you really want? Is that really you?" Karlach joins in, her sincerity a beacon in this dark prison. "You are one of the nicest, warmest friends I've ever had. And this?" She gestures back at the Nightsong. "This doesn't sound like you–"
"Enough, Karlach." Shadowheart cuts her off, a steely, dangerous note in her voice. "This is not the time. Move aside."
"Sol." Karlach calls to her, and Solistre presses her lips together. "Sol, come on. Don't you have something to say?"
Shadowheart turns around to face her, the gentle green of her eyes swallowed by shadows. Solistre's throat is tight, aching from pleas and affection and resentment left unsaid, and she doesn't know how to let it out without destroying herself.
She takes a minute breath, hands clenching briefly, and prays for strength from no god that watches over her.
"Do you want this?" Solistre asks quietly.
"I think that is–" Shadowheart starts strong, but stutters to an unexpected stop, with a passing glance back at the Nightsong. "Yes. I think so. My whole life's been leading to this. There is no turning back now."
"You know that's not true. You have a choice. You always have a choice. You can choose your own way – not what your goddess demands of you."
Her eyes turn hard. "This is my mistress' will – my life's purpose! I cannot choose–"
"You are not your goddess' puppet! You are your own. You have your own will, your own life. Only you can choose what to make of it. Don't give it up just because your goddess demands it–"
"'Just because'?" Shadowheart repeats – incredulous, insulted. "Lady Shar took me in when no one else would! She protects me, loves me–"
"Lies! All lies – and you've swallowed them whole!" Solistre barely hears Karlach hissing her name through the pounding in her ears. "She demands your obedience, your very thoughts. She takes your memories, hurts you on whim. And you still believe that she loves you?"
"Enough!" Shadowheart shouts, taking a step towards her, a deadly glint in her eyes. "I have heard enough. If I have to step over your corpse to fulfil what Lady Shar asks of me, so be it!"
The tight cord in Solistre's chest snaps – setting her blood aflame with a song of retribution. Her lips peel back in a snarl.
Cut it out.
"Then do it!" Solistre barks. "Kill the Nightsong!"
"Sol! Shut up!" Karlach yells, as Shadowheart turns back to the Nightsong.
"Well, well, well. What's that I sense? A spear intended for my heart." The aasimar taunts, a humourless smile on her lips. "Empowered by your goddess, aye – empowered to kill the child of a god. Do you know what I am, little assassin? For I know you – a lost child, frightened by wolves in the dark."
Shadowheart freezes. "What did you say…?"
"Much has been promised to you, hasn't it? But what has been taken from you? What do you know of your own heart – your own life?" The Nightsong glances in Solistre's direction, then at Shadowheart. "I sense more in you than you know."
Solistre reads hesitation in the slump of her shoulders, but when Shadowheart looks back at her, green eyes turn to steel once more – causing Solistre's heart to drop.
"That is enough!" Shadowheart cries, raising her hand high. The incurable wound comes to life in a purple gleam, and the spear coalesces, allowing Shadowheart to grasp its sturdy shaft. "I have heard enough! The Nightsong is mine! All of you – stand aside, or I will end you myself!"
Karlach hefts her axe, and Wyll lifts his scavenged longsword reluctantly. "Shadowheart, please don't do this. I'm begging you."
Shadowheart remains silent, but gives her answer in the spear she holds in both hands, lowering herself into an attacking stance.
"Only with sacrifice is mastery gained."
All eyes shift to Solistre, while Shadowheart's head tilts slightly towards her.
"Emptiness is a holy state – one to be pursued and admired. To void oneself of all feeling, all attachment, is to approach the purity of Lady Shar's embrace."
"Solistre, what are you doing?" Gale finally breaks his silence, moving closer to her.
She doesn't know. She doesn't know what else to do.
"If I have to step over your corpse to fulfil what Lady Shar asks of me, so be it!"
"Love is the cruellest of lies used by Lady Shar's foes. It is a disease–"
Cut it out.
"Stop." A shaky whisper falls from Shadowheart's lips.
"–it is arson. A destructive flame, offering fleeting light and comfort to the one who feeds it–"
"Stop!"
"Remember that all these false comforts will betray you in the end. Only the sacred nothingness will endure."
"Don't!" Shadowheart has turned to her now, conflicting emotions warring across her face.
"There is nothing nobler than to forget, to surrender oneself to the darkness. For that little grief that gets us there, the Dark Lady rewards us with night's eternal embrace–"
"Don't do this to me!"
"Is this not what your Lady demands?" Solistre asks, tone merciless and razor-sharp. "Are you not her faithful servant? Does your heart not belong to her alone?"
Pain enters Shadowheart's gaze – a blade stroke across Solistre's heart. "Stop it!"
"Do it! Obey your mistress' will!"
"Sol, shut the fuck up!" Karlach roars, but it's too late – Shadowheart lets loose a cry of frustration, whirling around with her spear held high. "Shadowheart, stop!"
Shadowheart rears back, and lets the spear fly. Karlach swings her axe in a wide arc to deflect the weapon – but she only meets thin air.
Because the spear had not flown towards the Nightsong. Shadowheart had twisted her body at the last second, and flung the wretched weapon to the side – where it clatters across the rocks and falls off the edge, into the endless abyss below.
Solistre stares after the spear, sharing in her companions' silence, feeling Gale grasp onto her shoulder in mute relief.
Shadowheart looks stricken – face pale, eyes wide with growing terror. She raises her hands, staring at the incurable wound, as if waiting for pain to arrive.
But it does not.
"Shadowheart." Karlach sighs, running over to close her arms around Shadowheart – who remains stiff in her embrace, and doesn't seem to even register the gesture.
"What…did I just do," Shadowheart whispers tightly, as Karlach's arms fall away. "Lady Shar will disown me… What will happen to me?"
"Not what will happen." The Nightsong's steady voice cuts through the chill air, breaking Shadowheart's pall, turning green eyes towards her. "What will you do. Your past is not yet lost. Your future is not yet fixed."
She lowers herself to one knee, looking upon Shadowheart with firm certainty and unmistakable compassion. "Lay a hand on me in friendship, not-quite-Sharran, and I will fight the battle that has been waiting for me this last century. Then – oh then, we will have much to discuss."
Karlach and Wyll stand aside, parting the way for Shadowheart to take slow, leaden steps towards the aasimar. She raises a hand, sets it on one strong shoulder.
And the Nightsong is no more.
A/N: Next chapter will be 100% gayer… I promise. Thanks for reading!