Hi everyone,
Musical recommendation for this chapter : Baldur's Gate 3 Main Theme, from VioDance.
I wish you all a good reading.
They found the goblin camp by following the sound of the drums. The refuge was an ancient temple to Selune, which had clearly seen better days. The creatures had built watchtowers where religious effigies once stood. Canvas instruments, traps and barrels – with content already well underway - occupied the space.
"Selune," Shadowheart spat. "As if we didn't have enough problems…"
"Remember the plan," Nymuë repeated softly. "We are true souls. We have an audience with their leader, Minthara. Everything will be fine."
"It depends on you," Lae'zel said.
They advanced towards the goblins guarding the main entrance. The worg lying at their feet bared its fangs, explicitly hungry:
"Move, Claw!" the sentry ordered. "Drow coming through."
Nymuë stared at him, in what she hoped was a firm, stern stance. These creatures bore the mark of the Absolute around their left eye.
"What's going on here?" she asked, referring to the din.
"Lads are celebrating a raid, madam! We captured a duke, we did! We wanted to bring him back to cook him on the spit, but Minthara said it would be better to send him elsewhere. So instead, let's bake one of those pesky thieves!"
"Thieves?" the dark elf pointed out.
While the drums had helped them locate the marker, it was however the smell that had confirmed their destination. A scent of ash that left a pungent taste in the throat. Given the goblin's culinary revelations, the associated image was much worse.
"Yes, a group tried to break into the temple," the creature growled. "We caught three of them, but the last one was in a bad state, so we thought we might as well eat him. The bosses are planning a raid, and something tells me we'll soon have more than just dwarves to eat..."
Nymuë glanced at her companions. The goblin was referring to Aradin's failed expedition! Now let's just hope they weren't currently sniffing out Halsin...
"And the other two?" she asked. "Have you dealt with them?"
"No, ma'am, Minthara wanted to question them. But the first one died this morning, our executioner being known for his... grip."
"And he'd already drunk a barrel of beer," a sentinel added.
"Minthara wasn't happy, that's for sure. She threw him to the spiders, and he bellowed for at least an hour. I thought he'd put me off enjoying the party. But he died in the end, so everything's fine."
"And the last one?" the young woman asked cautiously.
"He kept turning into a bear, we couldn't question him. Our executioner didn't speak the bear, ma'am, you understand."
"Only the spider," Astarion sneered.
"That's it. The last I heard, they were reluctant to leave him in prison, or throw him in the cesspit."
"The cesspit?" Shadowheart choked. "What must it be like, when you see the general state of this camp..."
The adventurers entered the temple, digesting the information. Halsin had survived the mercenaries' failed excursion. Only an archdruid would have the reflex to turn himself into a bear! They would have to hurry.
The festivities were in full swing in the central courtyard, as witnessed by the frantic race of a hen, followed by three goblins. The strange team crossed the bridge to meet the companions, and continued their hunt outside the camp. A sharp snap, followed by a frustrated howl, told them that the worg got its dinner.
Nymuë stepped forward. No sooner had she taken a step than a violent vice gripped her head and knocked her to her knees. Her parasite stirred as her mind was torn apart, rendering her unable to move. The air seemed to have solidified, weighing down on her shoulders and pinning her to the ground. The young woman thought she heard her comrades collapse too... But the space around her disappeared, replaced by an infinite void.
There, in the dark, a disembodied call came to her:
"Hear my voice. Obey my commands."
The instruction was irresistible. Through the waves lacerating her reason, Nymuë recognised the overwhelming authority that she had used on others. But this time, infinitly stronger... and turned against her.
A vision emerged from the nothingness, three figures rising. An armoured man elf, exuding authority and power; a handsome younger man with a quick, easy smile; and a pale young woman, with even paler eyes...
"These are my Chosens. They speak for me. Aid their search for the prism, and you will be worthy to stand beside them… In My Presence."
Shadowheart groaned while struggling to regain control of her body. Her fingers trembled against the opening of her rucksack, and when the fastener snapped, a blinding light dispelled the shadows.
The voice lost its power. The half-elf's strange artefact floated in the air. The young woman could feel the prodigious energy that emanated from it: relieving the pain, chasing the intrusion away.
"My power grows," the unknown whispered. "My forces gather. The reckoning draws near..."
The goblin camp reappeared before their very eyes, full of shouts, gesticulations, and smells. It was like waking up from a long dream, with startlingly vivid details. Nymuë could have believed she had imagined it all… if the terror in her companions' eyes wasn't an exact reflection of her own. Her gaze fell on the artifact, whose glow suddenly faded before falling back into Shadowheart's hands.
"Don't give me that look," the priestess objected. "I don't know what's just happened any more than you do. We should keep going."
"The voice is gone," Lae'zel interjected. "Muted by this... this gith relic. Why does a half-elf carry it?"
Nymuë stared at Shadowheart, catching her breath. Her comrade held the object to her chest with fierce determination, just like when she'd found it after the Nautiloïd crash. There had to be more to this piece than just a relic.
"I don't know what it is... Not exactly." she said. "All I know is it's important that I get it back to Baldur's Gate. At any cost."
"Does it have anything to do with your faith?" the dark elf asked.
"Indeed. I live in a cloister of Shar's followers, hidden in the city. A group of us was sent to retrieve the artifact... Now, I'm the only one left. I can't afford to fail. And... I can't tell you anything more."
"Everyone has their little secrets," Asarion sneered.
"I literally can't say anything," the priestress replied, glancing furiously. "This mission demanded the utmost discretion, so much so that part of our memory has been erased as not to betray Shar's trust."
"Can we really call it trust," Nymuë thought, "if the prerequisite is amnesia?"
She did not elaborate on her thoughts. Shadowheart's eyes, far from being filled with ardent devotion as they had been the day before, seemed almost desperate. Her memory was fragmented, the remains of a mirror in which she could no longer reflect herself. This quest was her only hope of picking up the pieces:
"If I manage to find my contact in the city, my memories will be restored. In the meantime, I can only guard the artifact with my life. I don't know anything about its particularities... Or why this 'Absolute' wants to find it."
"Now we understand why these cultists were looking after us," Astarion said.
Nymuë shuddered: this mission was proving to be much more dangerous than expected.
"You stole this artifact from my people!" Lae'zel yelled.
"Yes," Shadowheart spat. "And I saw how your 'people' massacred mine in the process. I won't fail them."
"You will answer for your crime against githyankis!"
"Enough!" the dark elf cried. "Do you realise where we are, and what challenges we face? If we want to survive, we cannot afford to tear each other apart!"
"Not to mention that without this artifact, the conversation with the local deity wouldn't have gone our way... " the rogue added.
"Very well. But I promise you, Shadowheart, that any crimes against my kin will be answered for, in time."
"With pleasure," she provoked.
At the center of this conflict, the prism sat silently, almost harmless. But for how long?
The goblins had transformed the central courtyard of the temple into a vast festival hall. An obstacle course had been built on the left, the aim being to get a gallinaceous bird across the finishing line (hence, they assumed, the chase with a hen).
The rest of the square was furnished with tables and chairs, piled up in front of a stage that was for the moment empty. A gigantic cauldron was filled with a liquor so strong that just walking past it brought tears to their eyes. Two goblins were chatting away, the first assuring the second that the pigeon corpse he was holding was a real chicken, and he'd be a fool not to bet on it. Three others stood at a distance, singing a bawdy song with incomprehensible lyrics.
"Sweet chaos," Astarion sighed. "Breathe it in."
"Tchk. If we have to fight, these goblins are in too bad a shape to make it interesting."
"I'm not so sure," Nymuë retorted. "They're certainly drunk, but still very numerous..."
"Or," Shadowheart suggested, "we take benefit of this to eliminate most of the threats... subtly."
Inconspicuously, she showed them a vial in her ruckpack. During their ill-fated meeting with Nettie, the priestess had taken advantage of the confusion to steal the poison of which the apprentice was so proud. Since then, she had studied it carefully:
"Deadly and painless," she explained to them, "but long in the making."
"So, if by chance the contents of this vial fell into this cauldron..." the rogue began.
"... The bulk of the goblin army would be eliminated in a few hours", the dark elf finished. "Time for us to retrieve Halsin and flee. It's brilliant, Shadowheart!"
"I sometimes am," her interlocutor replied proudly.
But how to administer the poison? The trips to the cauldron were more than frequent, and the goblins may have been inebriated, but they weren't blind. Nymuë glanced at Astarion, who waggled his finger disapprovingly:
"Oh no, darling. I'm certainly not going to throw myself into the lion's den. This body has made too many poets weep to end up in a cesspit."
"Proof that anyone can be published," she retorted. "You're the most discreet of us. Suppose we organise a distraction... Do you think you're quick enough?"
The vampire reflected, a grimace showing with bad grace the common sense of this plan:
"I suppose... If these dirty little beasts are suddenly obsessed with something else... It wouldn't take me long to pour the toxin into the cauldron."
"Do you have an idea in mind?" Shadowheart asked, looking at Nymuë.
Oh, an idea, the young woman had one, yes. It turned her stomach and made her hands tremble. She touched the violin Alfira had recently given her, caressing the blue feather on the handle. During the last few nights at the camp, she had examined it from every angle, even going so far as to tune it... But the instrument had not yet made any sound. Her eyes darted to the platform. Was she really ready to pick up the bow again, to feel under her fingers the song of the strings stuck in the bridge? Or was she still that frightened teenager, throwing her instrument into Revan's arms to take it away ?
There was only one way to find out.
"Be ready," she ordered her comrades.
With a leap, she found herself on the improvised stage. A few goblins stood at attention, pointing at their comrades for a potential reprimand. Instead, Nymuë grabbed the violin behind her back and pressed her face against the chin strap. Her heart was racing and her bow shivering. The few, slightly intrigued spectators began to crowd around in search of the best seats.
She closed her eyes, and her index finger struck the strings in a simple chord, which she gradually accelerated. The hustle and bustle of the party ceased to exist around her; her mind was in the movements of her wand, in the plucking of her digits along the handle. As before, she felt herself slipping. Her legs waltzed, her body tensed to the rhythm of the entrechats. The sound holes of her violin released her notes: that was where she began, and where she ended.
She vaguely thought she heard some drums accompanying her. But it wasn't until the whispers began to rise that she returned to the world around her.
"The boss," several voices murmured, "The boss Dror Ragzlin."
Her first reflex at the end of her play was to step back: in front of the stage weren't three, but fifty goblins, all huddled together with their heads raised towards her. One of them held his tankard leaning over him, the contents flowing happily past his wide-open mouth. At the rear of the regiment, there was more nervous movement; a huge red-skinned hobgoblin split the ranks.
Nymuë squinted; a subtle quiver at the back of her head linked her to the warrior for a second. It wasn't like with the other adepts, whose thoughts she could control with a simple impulse. The echo in her mind recognised a power twin to her own. This man, this goblin leader, had a parasite too.
His consciousness opened up to her surreptitiously, like a landscape of which she had a fleeting vision.
"She felt the smell of ale in his mouth, and the taste of bile in his soul. The image changed, and she saw him bowing to the armoured elf she had seen earlier with the Absolute. The stranger mentioned a quest for a formidable weapon, and the rewards promised to whoever found it. The hobgoblin's eyes sparkled like diamonds."
"Another drow true soul," Dror Ragzlin snarled, sardonic. "As if there weren't enough already..."
The dark elf watched the crowd in search of her companions. The area around the cauldron was deserted, and the goblins were already starting to help themselves.
"I have to admit though, it's not every day that you get to see such a spectacle." the chief continued,"You've managed to convince me to join these idiots. Let's drink to your hymn in the Absolute!"
Without a word, he grabbed the freshly filled cup from one of his men, despite the latter's disappointed exclamation. Another was brought to Nymuë, who took it hesitantly. As she bent down, she caught sight of her comrades. At the rear of the goblin troop, they were watching her with concern. Catching her eyes, Astarion pointed to her glass and shook his head.
The young woman glanced worriedly at her goblet; at what point would refusing to drink be considered as an affront by the hobgoblin and his men? Concentrating, the dark elf tried to summon her magic. It answered her warmly, like a friend who had left her long ago and who, once again, resurfaced. Not as dazzling as it once was; not as malleable as her instrument. However... Nymuë smiled at Dror Ragzlin before raising her cup to her lips. In a single gesture, the hobgoblin and his men drank the contents.
The young woman accompanied them to the last drop.
At least, that's what they saw. Eyes narrowed, lips carefully parted from her goblet, the dark elf concentrated on maintaining the illusion. This school of magic had never been her favorite, but she had to admit that this trick had served her well on a few occasions. Especially when it came to fleeing, or leading her pursuers down a blind alley. Nevertheless, she had never performed it in front of such a large audience. She could feel the sweat running down her forehead, as the goblins took their last sips.
She dispelled her cantrip, proudly holding up her empty glass. The creatures let out cries of joy, to which Nymuë responded with grace. Her audience rushed to help themselves a second dose... or a twentieth.
When the young woman rejoined her companions, they greeted her with appreciative looks:
"Who would have thought you had it in you?" Astarion teased.
"You weren't joking when you said you were an artist!" Shadowheart exclaimed. "Bravo, it was very clever! The goblins were completly oblivious."
"Pretty tolerable," Lae'zel said.
Nymuë smiled, before turning to Dror Ragzlin. He was watching their small group, a second tankard in his hand. He raised it towards them, and the adventurers nodded in greeting.
"One less."
END NOTES
That's it, I'm starting to introduce a bit of music into this story!
The poisoning trick is quite possible in the goblin camp in game. During my playthrough, I really distracted the crowds with Nymuë, while Astarion went to deposit poison in their reserves... Dror Ragzlin, on the other hand, can't be eliminated at this stage.
Next chapter, perhaps a certain Minthara?
Thank you for reading, and see you soon.