Compared to the rest of the Underdark, the ruins of Grymforge were bursting with light. Lava flowed beneath metal platforms, and duergars shouted orders to a band of emaciated gnomes. Wherever they went, the adventurers attracted suspicious glances.

"At least we won't be short of enemies if things go wrong." Astarion quipped.

"I can't believe such vermin have taken over Lady Shar's house." Shadowheart grumbled. "This place must have once served the Dark Justiciars!"

"Halsin and you have already mentioned that title." Nymuë noted. "What does it stand for?"

"There is scarcely a greater way to fully dedicate yourself to Lady Shar, save perhaps if you become the head of her church. To rise as a Dark Justiciar is to act as her sword arm: her implement with wich she will cast down the unbelievers and win the final battle to restore her perfect, endless darkness… It's all I ever wanted. I prayed it was my calling. But 'Mother' forbid me from seeking to prove myself worthy of the rank. She said I was not ready."

Seeing the curious looks on her companions' faces, the priestess replied: "Not my mother-mother, I should add. The Mother Superior, head of Lady Shar's enclave in Baldur's Gate. I owe her everything, and I only wish to serve, yet she can prove… inscrutable. Sometimes, I wonder if she would ever deem me ready."

"All you have to do is keep fighting." Lae'zel declared. "Goddesses do not stop at such trivial considerations. Vlaakith will see that I am her most loyal warrior, not because one of her advisors has judged me worthy, but because my actions are irrefutable proof. The same goes for you."

"That explains why your mission is so important to you..." the dark elf guessed.

"Indeed. As well as restoring my memory, bringing back this artifact will prove the strength of my faith."

"It hasn't yet been said that this artifact belongs to you !" the gith warrior retorted.

"However, we have decided that the astral prism will remain with Shadowheart."

"Because it protects us from our parasites. That doesn't mean that once we're rid of it, my people have to give up what's theirs."

"I still find it strange that you should end up with the only object capable of protecting us." Astarion observed. "It seems very convenient."

"I agree." Nymuë added. "Before you start arguing, don't forget that the nocturnal visitor has their own motivations. We'll understand them better if we work together."

Her companions nodded, but not without one last look of defiance. While relations between the two women had improved in recent days, the main sticking point remained the strange githyanki artifact. They had discovered nothing about it, apart from the tenacity with which their enemies were trying to seize it.

Their steps led them to a vast space in the middle of the lava waterfalls. There, several gnomes were busy clearing away a mountain of rubble, under the merciless lashes of their masters.

"Faster!" roared the woman at the head of the pack. "Heat up some rocks. Let's see how the little pricks do when we strap fire to their legs."

She then spotted the visitors: "Move!" she ordered. "I don't have time for you."

"Really?" Astarion whispered. "That's a pity. Saves us a lot of digging, I suppose."

"Shall we report to the Absolute that you have neglected her followers?" Shadowheart implied.

The dwarf looked at them warily. Underneath her suspicion was a hint of fear: "True souls, eh? Useless rakkah of a lookout could've told me. Glad you're here to take responsibility. Tunnels collapsed, trapped true soul Nere. He's stuck in there with poisoned geysers. If we don't get him soon…"

"How did Nere get into this, exactly?" Nymuë asked.

"Place is older than bonedust. Previous tenants left a trap: dropped a shit-tonne of metal once we'd dug a way in. Get Nere out and you'll have the Absolute's blessing, no doubting that."

The dark elf carefully studied the debris the gnomes were working on. Digging would take forever, even with four extra pairs of hands, and time was running out. Magic? Neither she nor Shadowheart knew a levitation spell powerful enough... They had to be more radical. Fortunately, they had kept a few souvenirs of the battle of the Emerald Grove...

"Tell them to back off." she warned. "I've got some explosive powder."

The sergeant didn't need to be told twice. With a gesture, she motioned for to her men to join her at the back of the room, and the gnomes dropped their pickaxes. Shadowheart's hands went up in flames; when Nymuë threw the bag of powder into the rubble, she was ready:

"Ignis !" she chanted.

The detonation threw the adventurers to the ground. Shards of rock flew in all directions, and one of the projectiles hit a duergar who was too busy admonishing the gnomes. He was hurled several meters away before remaining silent forever.

In the midst of the chaos, a figure emerged. Nere was a drow whose skin was almost as pale as Nymuë's, a sign that he too hadn't always lived in the depths. His white hair was slicked back to reveal a face with high cheekbones and dark red eyes. He was dressed in an elegant robe, fastened with a brooch representing the symbol of the Absolute. Although wounded, he adressed his soldiers in a haughty tone:

"Finally!" he hissed.

A gnome slipped in his wake, immediately incurring his wrath: "Worthless slaves! Your incompetence has been my ruin."

Purple sparks flew from his palms, a sign of his fury. As if in response, a violent headache seized the adventurers.

"Nere. Does. Not. Fail." the cultist roared.

The gnome was propelled backwards, her arms flailing in the air, and her scream of terror muffled by the gurgle of lava. The drow then turned to the newcomers:

"And now, let us see the chosen ones that the Absolute has sent us..."

His gaze met Nymuë's, and he froze. His eyes went wide. Was he surprised to see one of his own kind? Yet, they had come across the corpse of a dark elf on the shores of Darklake…

"Sabrae?" he asked.

The musician looked around, but no one reacted. Her companions were perplexed. Refocusing on the leader, Nymuë saw that he was studying her from head to toe. His pupils noted every detail of her face, her clothes, lingering for a moment on the violin behind her. His observation felt like a sharp blade on her throat: there was hatred in it.

"You're mistaken." she replied softly. "My name is Nymuë."

"You're not Sabrae." Nere cut her off. "You are her despicable bastard."

The young woman's heart skipped a beat; the surrounding noises became indistinct hums. The drow's face expressed nothing but disgust.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded in a blank voice.

"Sabrae, pest be her name, never told you about your lineage? Curious. There was a time when she was proud to disgrace herself. Are you here to claim the Asenred's heritage, so-called true soul? If so, you're a century too late."

"You're going to tell me everything you know." Nymuë whispered. "Immediately."

Her parasite began to tremble. Shrieking with rage, it opened up to her. A flood of power coursed through her veins, and aimed at the other elf. Unfortunately, Nere also had an illithid worm. The young woman's consciousness collided with a wall of steel.

"Oh, so you really are a child of the Absolute." he said. "I suppose she won't mind me taking the rotten fruit off her branches. What a pity Sabrae isn't here. For a former consort, there's something satisfying about the murder of an illegitimate offspring."

Nymuë heard movement behind her: her companions had closed in, and the duergars were beginning to surround them. Only the gnomes remained at the back of the room, huddling together like a terrified herd.

"Soldiers!" Nere called. "These true souls have betrayed us. Let their spilt blood be the proof of your devotion!"

Three of the dwarves charged the group of adventurers, as they drew their weapons. Not Nymuë. She raised her hand: "Out of my way. Detono !"

A powerful wind blew the warriors into the river of lava. The dark elf felt the gaze of her comrades, but only Nere's jubilant smile mattered:

"Let's see how ferocious you can be against one of your allies. Imperium !"

A violet beam struck Lae'zel in the chest, and the warrior's eyes lost all expression. Grabbing her sword in a firm grip, she rushed... straight at Nymuë. The musician dodged the attack at the last second, then rolled to the side to avoid the next blow. Shadowheart and Astarion tried to seize the githyanki, but the duergar were now upon them. Nere stepped back.

"Lae'zel!" the dark elf cried, "It's me!"

Her compagnion's features remained blank as she clutched the hilt of her blade. The drow was too far away for Nymuë to break his concentration. Her only way out was ... to reach him through his puppet. Using their parasite, the young woman projected her energy into Lae'zel's mind: "Timere." she whispered.

The warrior 's eyes widened, reflecting her worst terrors. Nere took his head in both hands, prey to the same visions. Spasms shook his limbs as well as the lines of his face. In the blink of an eye, his spell of domination dissipated.

"Heretic." he snarled, "That was your last mistake..."

"Tsk'va !" Lae'zel roared. "I will have your head, Nere!"

The drow looked at the battlefield in front of him: the duergar sentries had been slain by Astarion's arrows, and the remaining soldiers were being assaulted by Shadowheart and the gnomes. The camp of the Absolute was losing its advantage.

"So be it." he exclaimed, "I will take care of you myself."

He waved his hands and three lifelike replicas of himself materialised. The four Nere advanced towards the companions.

"Stay back!" Lae'zel firmly said. "I will take care of it."

The gith rushed at the drow who was no match for the force of her blows. He concentrated on dodging: the first attack missed him, but the second mowed down one of his illusions in the stomach. An arrow in the eye shattered the second, and the third collapsed under the combined assaults of Shadowheart and the former slaves. Only one Nere remained, raising his blade to slash at the nearest gnome:

"You should have listened. Nere does not..."

Chains wrapped around his wrist and the caress of a dagger cut his cheek. Disarming him with a squeeze, Nymuë pounced on him: "Now!" she shouted, "Tell me what you know. Who is Sabrae?"

Without realising it, she once again drew on the power of her larva. The true soul laughed:

"Sabrae Asenred... A name that has not existed for a long time. If you don't know who she is, she's probably rotting six feet under... Praise the Absolute!"

The young woman increased the pressure on the man's brain, shaking it sharply: "She was my mother, wasn't it? Who was she? Why did she leave? Talk!"

"Ah ! You have her anger. Her violence. But from him... you got those abominable grey eyes. Oh, I was so happy when Lolth allowed me to put them to death!"

"What do you say?" she murmured.

"The Spider Queen didn't keep her promise: I was unable to destroy Sabrae. But before I left Menzoberranzan, I savoured the discredit of every member of the Asenred family."

The musician's fingers dug into her interlocutor's face. She could faintly hear her companions approaching; but the screams of her parasite were too loud. Nere's laughter was interspersed with coughing fits, blood trickling down his chin: "Show. Me." she ordered.

She invaded his consciousness, sweeping it away with the back of her hand. She went through each memory, reducing to dust those that didn't interest her, and seizing the next. Every scrap of childhood, successes and failures, allies and enemies alike... she annihilated them until she found the fragment she was looking for.

A woman, with an imperious bearing. She was a dark elf with long white hair, carefully combed into a myriad of plaits. Her dark dress, embroidered with a large 'A' surrounded by a spider's web, moulded her curves. She lifted her chin proudly:

"They say you were one of Sorcere's best students, male?" she asked. "You'll do. I intend to have an heiress before I become a Matron. Don't disappoint me."

"Nere does not fail." he replied.

Through the drow's eyes, Nymuë felt a shiver of euphoria: "At last!" he thought. At last, he was going to acquire the honours that were his due. By joining the Asenred family, he was placing himself under the protection of the Fourth House of Menzoberranzan: he was untouchable. He would show Sabrae that she had made a wise choice in taking him as her consort. He would slaughter her enemies; he would plant a seed in her that would in turn serve Lolth with fervour.

Another memory: the same dark elf, many years later, pregnant and running at full speed. He was chasing her, hatred in his heart. They were destined to rule the city together! Destroy the Three Sovereign Houses, take over the drow nobility, and form an empire where only Lolth would surpass them in majesty! But she had humiliated him, betrayed him, cheated on him with... a slave !

A rock narrowly missed him, and light blinded his eyes: the World Above. With difficulty, he saw Sabrae's silhouette stop, before turning towards him. She smiled: "This time, Nere, you do have failed."

"Nymuë?" someone shouted to her right. "Nymuë, stop!"

The vision disappeared, like a bubble bursting. The cliff where Sabrae had been standing gave way to the volcanic landscape of Grymforge, and the dark elf realised that her cheek was burning. She had been slapped. At her feet, Nere's corpse lay quivering. Blood flowed profusely from his nose, mouth, and eyes; the echo of his illithid tadpole had fallen silent.

The young woman felt her strength drain, and fell limp into Shadowheart's arms. The priestess looked at her with concern, even... fear. Her hand was raised, as if she didn't know whether to strike her again, but Nymuë couldn't take her eyes off the dead. She had killed Nere. Worse: she had disintegrated him.

Without thinking, without controlling herself... but certainly not without meaning to. She felt a shock almost as powerful as the act itself. She had wanted to hurt the drow, had savoured the taste of blood on her tongue. Today, for the first time, she had sided with those who took, rather than endured. She should have felt exhilarated, intoxicated...

Lae'zel's strong arms lifted her effortlessly over her shoulder, and the young woman met Astarion's gaze. His ruby eyes were unfathomable, devoid of all emotion. An echo of her own.

Nere's moon lantern proved to be useless, destroyed in the landslide. Inside, there was nothing but shimmering grey dust... A chemical compound, perhaps. Nothing that could help them face the shadow curse.

"We have no choice." Lae'zel decreed. "We'll have to do without this asset."

"If there are cultists in the area, we might be lucky enough to find another option." Shadowheart suggested. "It was all for nothing, in the end."

The companions fell silent, watching Nymuë as she stood back. Lost in thought, she simply followed her comrades without expressing an opinion. The adventurers felt uncomfortable: perhaps, they had got a little too used to the musician playing the role of mediator in their little team...

The few surviving duergar had seized the ships to leave Grymforge quickly. No boss, no payment after all. The gnomes - now free - were taking over the ruins and seemed reluctant to mingle with their saviours.

It was decided to rest before returning to the surface; who knows what would await them, once up there... They would need all their strength, as well as their leader. Shadowheart spotted an alcove among the rubble, an old ceremonial room.

"This must be where the Dark Justiciars used to perform their sacraments."

The chamber contained several granite benches, stacked in front of a large altar. Set high above the docks and the lava waterfalls, it gave them relative privacy for the night. They pitched their tents, but their spirits weren't buoyant. At dinnertime, Nymuë stayed by her bunk.

"You should eat something." Shadowheart advised. "Tomorrow will be a hard day."

"No need to look glum." Lae'zel added. "You killed a cultist, so what? That's one less enemy for us. I'm sorry you chose to use your parasite as an intermediary, but a dead adversary is something to be celebrated, not mourned."

"I'm just not hungry." the dark elf replied. "Thank you for your concern."

"Where's Astarion? Tell me he hasn't gone hunting for gnomes. Those poor ones have had a lifetime of horrors."

"I saw him heading inside the temple." Nymuë pointed.

"On his own? The lure of gain will be his undoing. He's going to stick his long, manicured fingers into a trap, and I warn you, he'll have to get out alone."

The musician sighed as the half-elf and the githyanki - for once in agreement- continued to swear. After a few seconds, she stood up: "I'll go get him." she said.

"What a good idea, let's go our separate ways!" Shadowheart scoffed. "Then, we 'll just have to save you..."

"You don't understand." Lae'zel corrected her. "Those two are crotch mates. I hope to sleep tonight."

"And there's an echo in this temple." The priestress smiled.

"My 'crotch' and I don't need your remarks!" Nymuë snapped.

She abandoned the giggles of her companions to dive into the galleries. The conflict between the partisans of Shar and those of Selune had left its mark; the place had been gleefully ransacked. Many of the rooms hid bones amongst ancient armour, but there were no secret passage to Moonrise Towers. With a certain irony, fate was taking them out of the Underdark, to join an even worse curse. It made you wonder whether their quest would ever cease to multiply the ordeals.

The young woman heard a growl in a neighbouring chamber, and moved towards its source. What she discovered left her stunned: with his back to her, Astarion was following the pattern of his scars with his fingertips: "A line with a fork and one... two... three dots?"

He grumbled at the failure of his attempt:

"Bloody infernal!" he spat. "How is anyone meant to read this garbage?"

"With a lot of patience." Nymuë suggested. "And many years of study."

The rogue turned round abruptly, furious at having been caught red-handed.

"What are you doing?" he grunted.

"Tourism." the dark elf almost replied. "The lava blocks are lovely at this time of year." However, she was not in the best mood for sarcasm.

Instead, she answered: "Shadowheart and Lae'zel were worried you weren't hunting the right game."

"I can hold out for a few more days." the vampire retorted. "And even though our dear comrades are kind, I have my standards when it comes to food."

"They were worried about the gnomes, not your culinary preferences."

"I see." he said coldly.

Nymuë stared at him for a moment, noting his furrowed eyebrows and stern gaze. Once again, his lack of expression disconcerted her; did he see her as a danger, because of what had happened with Nere? Did he think that, in time, she would attack her companions?

"I didn't mean to disturb you." she whispered. "I'll leave you alone."

"Wait!" the rogue interrupted. "I'm sorry... You caught me by surprise, that's all. I've been tracing the scars on my back with my fingers, trying to read them by touch, but I can't. They may as well be written in Rashemi."

He studied her, secretly watching for her reaction. He looked like Elyon when she 'innocently' enquired if she was going to finish her slice of pie. He was clearly asking for her assistance, but was too proud to express that need out loud. "I bet he'll refuse my help, just to perfect his decorum a little...", Nymuë thought.

"Let me look at it." she offered.

Relief crossed his face, quickly tempered:

"I... This isn't your problem, you know?"

"I know. Now shut up and turn around."

"Fine."

Too quickly for his bad grace to be credible, he swivelled round. For the second time, the young woman could contemplate the symbols crossing his shoulders. Her knowledge of infernal was sketchy - at best - and unfortunately she barely understood its meaning.

"What are you doing?" Astarion asked irritably.

She rolled her eyes: "I'm going to draw them. Don't move."

He complied, and Nymuë concentrated on his scars. The runes were numerous, but simple in their execution; she soon arrived at a fairly accurate pattern.

"What in the Hells..."Astarion examined the layout with dismay: "What did he do to me?"

The dark elf also felt a deep sense of unease. Infernal could sometimes be used for transactions involving illegal products; more often than not, they were code names or brief notes. Writing an entire text in this language never augured well.

"Should we tell the others?" she demanded. "Maybe they'll know something…"

"No!" countered the rogue energetically. "No... Let's keep this between ourselves. At least, until we know what it means."

For a brief second, Nymuë saw her companion's features tense up in anguish.

"Two centuries carrying this, and I can finally see it."

"Did you ever see Cazador write in Infernal before?"

"No. I could have missed it, of course, but I doubt it. Cazador was only figuratively hellish; there was any devils hanging about the crypt. Whatever he's left carved in my flesh, it's a mystery to me..."

He hesitated, as if the next words weren't natural to him: "Thank you, by the way. This is... Well, it's something."

"Don't mention it." Nymuë smiled.

"Given the subject matter, I probably won't. No, the truth is I'm rather curious about your situation?"

The young woman tensed. He couldn't accept a favour without gleaning information in return, could he?

"There is nothing to say." she retorted. "I let my anger dominate me, and it won't happen again."

"Oh, but on the contrary, I hope you'll let it express itself more. It gives you a certain charm."

"It doesn't. I wouldn't go so far as to say I regret what happened to Nere but... I hate the idea that I couldn't control my actions. I didn't recognise myself."

"Was it worth it?"

Nymuë crossed her arms. She thought back to the visions glimpsed in the true soul's mind: her mother's face, her flight to the surface...

"I don't know." she admitted. "My own story seems less abstract now. But despite these revelations, nothing changes. My future remains as uncertain as ever."

She gestured towards the infernal sketch: " You know what I mean."

"Well, I suppose you and I will have to be patient." the rogue concluded. If getting results means killing more cultists, I really don't see what the problem is."

"You must have been the worst lawyer back then, you know?" Nymuë laughed.

"Darling, you offend me. I may not remember it, but I was undoubtedly a genius among my peers."

"You don't remember your life before your transformation?"

"It's not as if there was much of interest."

He pulled on his shirt with a sudden gesture, full of anger. In it, the young woman perceived the depth of his bitterness. She tried for a moment to imagine what Astarion might have looked like before all this. Cazador, the Nautiloïd, the Absolute. An ambitious man, sure of his place in the world and to whom everything was offered.

Without really paying attention, she spoke her thoughts aloud: "I'm glad to know Astarion the vampire. I don't think I could have been friends with the magistrate.

The high elf's shoulders stiffened as he finished dressing. He stared at her quizzically, searching her face for a trace of mockery. Nymuë herself was troubled by her sudden confession.

"Friends." he repeated softly. "Is that what we are?"

"I don't know. I've never had one before."

She decided to leave him to the solitude from which she had torn him. As she left the room, Astarion called out to her: "As for me, I think I'd rather have met Nymuë of Baldur's Gate than Nymuë Asenred."

She did not turn around.

END NOTES :

I think I loved integrating Nere into Nymuë's past. I also really enjoyed writing the little scene between Nymuë and Astarion. At this point, both characters are treating the night they shared as a one-off, so their closeness is pretty blurred. I like taking the time to develop their relationship slowly.

Next week, we enter the Shadow curse. Thanks for reading and see you soon!