The threshold between the Underdark and the Shadow-Cursed Lands stands as an eerie boundary, a permeable veil separating two realms laden with darkness and foreboding whispers. As the party of eight approaches this ominous juncture, an unspoken tension thickens the air, and an involuntary shiver runs down each spine.
Against this backdrop of discernible unease, a revelation unfolds like a storm gathering momentum. Mystra has laid down a harrowing ultimatum for Gale. A ticking time bomb, the power of the Netherese orb, lies nestled within his chest. The task is nothing short of catastrophic – Gale must sacrifice himself by detonating the orb to annihilate the ominous "Heart of the Absolute".
The weight of Mystra's request echoes through the desolate landscape, casting a deeper shadow over the already somber journey. Delphie, the compassionate wood elf, grapples with the magnitude of this revelation. In a state of denial, she rejects the notion that the only solution lies in such a sacrificial act. Despite the growing desperation and the haunting reality of their situation, Delphie clings to hope, tirelessly attempting to persuade Gale that there must be another path, another way to thwart the encroaching darkness.
Gale, however, is burdened not only by the literal explosive within him but also by the weight of destiny. His resolve wavers between duty and the flickering flame of optimism.
In the uncomfortable silence that hangs over the Shadow-Cursed Lands, the biting chill penetrates to the bone, a stark contrast to the warmth of Grymforge. The coldness evokes haunting memories for Delphie, memories reminiscent of the frigid, unwelcome atmosphere within the Temple of Bhaal. An involuntary shiver courses through her, and seeking comfort, she instinctively edges closer to Astarion, the vampire spawn whose presence, despite its own inherent darkness, offers an odd sense of comfort.
Known for her unwavering bravery, Delphie seldom allows fear to carve its mark upon her features. As they inch closer to Baldur's Gate, Delphie's unease becomes more apparent. The once unflinching wood elf now startles at the slightest noise, her senses heightened to the point of hypersensitivity. Even the softest rustle of branches or distant howl of the wind sends her heart racing, a stark departure from her usual calm demeanor.
Night after night, the party observes a change in Delphie's sleeping patterns. Once a creature of the moonlit woods, she now finds herself restless, caught in the clutches of sleeplessness. The exhaustion etched on her face betrays the toll this journey has taken on her, and her eyes bear the weight of unspoken fears that even her brave heart struggles to contain. The other members of the party share concerned glances, noticing the subtle shifts in Delphie's behavior.
Astarion senses the weight of her unspoken fears. In a tender display of solidarity, he gently entwines his fingers with hers, offering a reassuring squeeze that conveys more comfort than words ever could. The connection between them, a bond forged through the trials of their journey, becomes a lifeline in the growing darkness that surrounds them.
Delphie, appreciating the silent support, draws strength from Astarion's touch. She takes a deep breath, inhaling the frigid air of the Shadow-Cursed Lands as her exhale becomes a visible mist in the cold. With a torch in hand, she steps over the threshold, determination etched across her features. The flickering flame casts dancing shadows on the ground, illuminating the path ahead and dispelling some of the darkness that had settled in her heart.
The torchlight reveals the weariness in her eyes, yet there is a newfound resolve in her steps. Astarion's presence, like a steady anchor in the turbulent sea of uncertainty, emboldens her. Beside Delphie, the pale elf takes command of his metallic hilt, speaking words that resonate with arcane energy. In response, the blade springs to life, bathing the immediate vicinity in a warm, golden glow that stands defiantly against the frigid cold of the Shadow-Cursed Lands.
The ethereal light emanating from Astarion's sword casts elongated shadows on the ground. The party follows, each member navigating the boundary between the Underdark and the Shadow-Cursed Lands with a shared determination.
As the party delves deeper into the eerie atmosphere, the oppressive darkness thickens, enveloping them in an icy embrace that seems to leach the warmth from their very souls. The cold becomes an insidious force, creeping into their bones and sapping their strength. In the rear of the party, the other members gravitate towards Delphie, seeking solace in the light of her torch, warding off the encroaching shadows.
The once-confident strides of the group slow, and weariness settles upon them like a heavy cloak. The dying trees stand as silent witnesses to the desolation surrounding them, their skeletal branches reaching out like accusing fingers. The landscape is punctuated by strange, otherworldly blue sacs that emit an ethereal glow, casting an eerie light upon the path ahead.
As they begin to cross a bridge formed by a tree, they run into a group known as the Harpers. Both groups are wary of the other and prepare to attack when one of the members of the Harpers gets sucked into the darkness and returns as an animated corpse of shadows. They are forced to work together to fight off both the deceased Harper and the group of Shadows that follow him.
The battlefield pulses with a mix of radiant and arcane energies as Shadowheart unleashes bolts of radiant power from her hands, and Halsin bathes the surroundings in celestial moonbeams. The clash between light and shadow becomes a mesmerizing dance, each spell illuminating the area in a radiant display that both bolsters their allies and pierces the darkness.
Delphie, her frustration mounting, focuses her magical prowess on the elusive Shadows. Her spells, imbued with nature's energy, lash out, but the Shadows seem to dance and evade, dissipating before the magical onslaught can fully take effect. The relentless pursuit of the elusive darkness tests Delphie's patience, her determination etched on her face as she strives to pierce the veils that cloak their new enemies.
Astarion, with his new radiant blade in hand, darts toward the dead Harper, a cold determination in his eyes. He commands Pax to join the fray, the snake launching a swift attack against the corpse. Astarion himself swings his radiant blade with practiced precision, aiming to sever the lingering ties of the Harper to whatever dark forces have animated him.
The echoes of the battle fade away, leaving the companions standing amidst the remnants of defeated Shadows. As the Shadows dissipate, they leave behind enigmatic orbs, each emanating an eerie glow that catches Delphie's attention.
Intrigued, she approaches one of the orbs, her fingers delicately reaching out to touch the surface. Lassandra, the lead Harper, steps forward to provide insight into the mysterious remnants. "Those are Shadow Vestiges," Lassandra declares, her voice carrying a weight of both knowledge and sorrow. "If you touch it, you'll witness a glimpse into the life each Shadow lived before they were transformed by the shadow curse."
Delphie, compelled by a mixture of fascination and empathy, allows her fingers to connect with the surface of the Shadow Vestige. In an instant, the scene unfolds before her eyes—a vision of a young child, innocently playing in the woods, climbing through the trees with boundless joy. The echoes of laughter and the rustle of leaves fill her senses.
The poignant familiarity of the scene strikes a chord within Delphie's heart as it reminds her of her own experience of the woods as a child. A tear escapes from the corner of her eye, tracing a silent path down her cheek.
"Some of these Shadows were just children," she whispers, her voice tinged with a mixture of sorrow and realization. The revelation casts a somber shadow over the group, a shared understanding of the tragic fate that befell those whose lives were irrevocably altered by the malevolent shadow curse.
Shadowheart, sensing the weight of emotion within Delphie, walks over and places a comforting hand on her back. The touch is a silent gesture of support, a shared acknowledgment of the heavy burden carried by those who confront the shadows.
As the party gathers amidst the battlefield, the Harpers approach with newfound respect in their eyes. The tension that once hung in the air dissipates, replaced by a mutual understanding. The Harpers recognize that they do not pose a threat. Instead, they extend an invitation.
"Follow us," Lassandra says, her tone both inviting and reassuring. "We'll lead you to a sanctuary, a place protected from the shadow curse."
The party crosses a bridge leading towards an inn concealed within a mystical blue dome radiating protective energy. The air is charged with anticipation as they approach this potential sanctuary, the haven the Harpers had spoken of.
As they reach the end of the bridge, one of the Harpers calls out to Jaheira, a druid like Halsin. At the mere mention of her name, Karlach becomes a beacon of joy. Her eyes light up with admiration, and she squeals with excitement. To Karlach, Jaheira is more than just your average druid; she's a hero, a figure she has longed to meet.
However, the atmosphere shifts abruptly as Jaheira, with an unwavering and serious expression, turns to face the approaching party. Without uttering a word, she raises her hand, drawing upon the primal forces of nature. With a sweeping motion, she conjures vines that emerge from the ground, snaking and coiling around the group's feet. The vines tighten their grip, ensnaring them and rendering them immobile.
"What the hell?!" Delphie's eyes widen with disbelief as she struggles against the magical restraints. "Let us go."
Jaheira, her eyebrow raised and her gaze piercing, remains silent for a moment before speaking with a measured tone, "Nervous? I've an inkling you've reason to be."
Jaheira, with a cold resolve, produces a small jar containing a tadpole, mirroring the insidious parasites that have taken residence in the minds of the party. The creature squirms within the confines of the glass.
"This is why we're here, you see," Jaheira declares, her gaze piercing as she addresses the captive party. Delphie's eyes fixate on the tadpole, a mixture of curiosity and dread flickering within her gaze. The small parasite, banging against the glass, seems to sense her presence, heightening the eerie atmosphere.
"It is a curious creature that hides all manner of secrets. But if there's one thing that we know—" Jaheira purposefully brings the jar closer to Delphie, the tadpole now desperately trying to reach the wood elf. A shiver runs down Delphie's spine as the gravity of the situation becomes clear.
"—it's that it knows its own kind." With a calculated motion, Jaheira puts the jar away, her words hanging in the air like an ominous proclamation. "You should have never come here, True Soul."
The tension escalates as Jaheira and the rest of the Harpers prepare to attack. The ominous atmosphere tightens its grip, leaving the party with a sense of impending doom.
"Wait!" A familiar voice pierces through the tension, drawing the attention of everyone present.
Two tieflings, a lavender-skinned one clad in a simple jerkin and a red tiefling child with an eyepatch, rush towards the scene. It's Alfira and Mol.
"What are you doing? They're the ones that saved us!" Mol shouts urgently, desperation evident in her voice.
"Please let them go, Jaheira!" Alfira pleads, her words carrying a sense of urgency and a plea for reason.
"They're the ones who protected the Emerald Grove?" Jaheira asks, disbelief evident in her voice.
"Yup," Mol responds proudly, standing firm in her assertion. "Didn't leave a goblin standing. Not so bad to hang around with either." A smirk graces Mol's face as she looks up at Jaheira. "Saved one of my friends from a druid with a snake. Knows when to be discreet, too." Delphie, in response, gives a bashful smile. "I'd pretty much trust them with my life."
"True Souls with minds of her own...how is that possible?" Jaheira muses, her disbelief evident in her words. With a flick of her wrist, she releases the spell that ensnared the party.
"Because of this," Delphie reveals the artefact, a metallic icosahedron figure pulsing with energy. The radiant glow emanating from the artefact causes the tadpole in the jar to squirm in response, its movements intensified by the mysterious power at play.
"What in the hells is that thing?" Jaheira questions, still in shock at the unexpected turn of events.
Delphie, compelled by the urgency of the situation, shares with Jaheira the crucial information about the artefact. She explains how it acts as a temporary shield, protecting them from transforming into mind flayers and aiding in resisting the insidious influence of the voice of the Absolute.
After a moment of contemplation, Jaheira, her skepticism easing, responds with a touch of sarcasm, "Congratulations. You've earned yourself the benefit of the doubt."
With Jaheira's acknowledgment, a subtle shift occurs in the atmosphere. The tension that once gripped the scene begins to dissipate. "Hear me, Harpers! All clear, at ease!" Jaheira commands, and the Harpers, who had been poised for action, stand down. The weapons are lowered, and the air becomes less charged with the threat of conflict.
"I'll not pretend to understand what that artefact is, but I'm old and wise enough to recognize a sliver of hope when it crawls out of the dark," Jaheira declares, her pragmatic wisdom cutting through the lingering uncertainty. She cocks her head, seeking a better perspective on the situation. "Tell me, why have you come here?"
"I just want to get rid of this parasite in my head," Delphie responds with an exasperated sigh. "Moonrise Towers is our only lead."
"Then our interests align. We must all cure ourselves - of the entire cult of the Absolute," Jaheira asserts, aligning their goals with a shared purpose. In a gesture of goodwill, she offers them food and shelter, urging them to meet with her in the morning to discuss their plans further.
Delphie, grateful for the unexpected turn of events, gives Alfira a huge hug and flashes another appreciative smile at Mol. United once again, the group enters the Last Light Inn under the protective glow of the radiant blue dome.
As the night settles in and most of their companions retire, Astarion and Delphie find a quiet moment by the fire. Delphie, seated next to Astarion, plays a soothing melody on her flute, the music weaving through the air like a gentle breeze. She rests her head against Astarion's shoulder, creating a comfortable and serene atmosphere.
Pax slithers from his wrist to join Vesper, and the two snakes dance around Delphie as she plays, creating a harmonious display of serpentine grace. When the final notes linger in the air, Delphie takes a content breath, savoring the tranquility of the moment.
However, Astarion's demeanor shifts, his expression taking on a serious tone. Delphie, attuned to his subtle cues, notices the change and senses an underlying tension. Concerned, she turns to him and asks, "What's wrong?" The flickering firelight casts a warm glow on their faces, highlighting the earnestness in Astarion's eyes.
The pale elf's voice carries a weight of concern as he opens up about the runes that Cazador carved into his back. The lingering presence of those infernal symbols has become a troubling thought in Astarion's mind since Delphie first brought them to attention.
"I've been thinking about the runes Cazador carved in my back," he confesses, his tone revealing the gravity of the issue. "I don't know much about Infernal, but I know anything written in devilscript is going to be bad news." Astarion's gaze shifts to meet Delphie's, the worry etched across his face. "I'm afraid that through those runes - somehow - Cazador might still be able to dominate me."
"Do you want me to take another look? I don't know much Infernal, but I might be able to piece some things together," Delphie offers with sincerity, her concern for Astarion evident in her words.
Astarion, in response, gives her a playful smirk, injecting a moment of humor into the serious conversation. "Anything to get my shirt off, I see," he teases. Delphie playfully rolls her eyes, their brief exchange providing a lighthearted moment amidst the weight of the situation.
The vampire spawn's face takes on a serious expression again after their playful exchange. "But no, I don't think another viewing will serve any purpose. I need someone with a little more expertise," he states with determination. "Our devilish friend - Raphael. If anyone's going to know about Infernal text, he will."
Delphie, concerned about the potential cost of seeking Raphael's assistance, puts a hand on Astarion's arm. "Astarion, he's a devil. He'll want something in return. Are you sure you can pay his price?"
Astarion, however, remains resolute. "Well, we won't know unless we ask, now, will we?" He takes a deep breath. "Unfortunately, he comes and goes on his own schedule, so we'll just have to look out for any sulfurous odors or the sound of questionable poetry." A huff of amusement escapes Delphie as she nods in response. "Meanwhile, I think I'll spend some time studying the art of Infernal negotiations," he adds.
A moment of comfortable silence follows Astarion's words. Eventually, Delphie breaks the silence with a thoughtful question, her curiosity evident. "Why ask Raphael about your scars, love? What's your plan?"
"It's not a plan - more a feeling. Just an itch in the back of my mind, but I know I'm missing something." His words carry a sense of urgency, a desire to uncover the purpose behind the scars inflicted by Cazador. "Whatever Cazador did to me, it was more than his usual sadism: it had purpose. Once I know what that purpose is, maybe a plan will present itself. But for now, I just need to scratch this itch."
Delphie, understanding the weight of Astarion's quest for answers, looks into his eyes with a mixture of remorse and concern. "If that's what you truly want, I'm here for you." She reaches out, holding his face in her hands as she often does during heartfelt conversations. After a soft smile, she pulls away, offering him a comforting hug. Astarion, still adjusting to the unfamiliar gesture, eventually relaxes and reciprocates the embrace.