The sight of the Hells had shaken Shadowheart. Somehow, the Githyanki dragon riders seemed to affect her more, however. More than once she considered slipping away, but she had little to no idea how she'd get back to the Material Plane on her own. Thus she tagged along with this crazy monk and the moody Githyanki. If Monkeys with quills would eventually write an epic, so too would Daedalus find his way to the bridge. Then they could find out how the ship warped into the Hells—and reverse it. That was her best hope of getting out.
Not that he made it easy. It seemed like every opportunity for a fight was sacred to him, one he would oblige with a war cry and violent intent. Veritable legions of Devils and Illithid servants met the blunt end of his fists or the sparks of his breath, and all perished in the contact. Something about his appearance stirred something in her—and echo of an echo—especially his tattoos. She felt like she should have known what they meant, like they were part of a language she had long since forgotten, and no matter how much she tried to pull the pieces into a solid remembrance she just…
This was the price of her faith, and she had to accept it. Such were the wishes of her mistress. All the same, she wished she knew who this man was. If she did, then she might have been able to get a better read on him, beyond his seemingly contradictory actions. He was understanding, and yet mocking. Calm, and yet, in this instance, one of the most violent beings she'd ever seen. She could go on. Under an hour and she was already thoroughly vexed by him.
Her prayers that night would be eventful.
She resolved that, once she escaped the ship and got her bearings, maybe found a cure for the parasite, she'd abscond in the night. It was best not to linger with company like his.
Soon, as the attacking dragons rattled the hull like a crib toy, the winding halls of the ship brought the party to the sounds of a greater battle, past one of those fleshy doors. They had entered a long and ascending passageway, the sole one without branches that they had wound down during their entire rampage. This door was larger, and it felt like whatever laid beyond its boundary was central to the ship. The bridge, most likely.
Daedalus eyed the door with furrowed brows, and crossed his arms.
"We still haven't found it," he muttered.
"Found—what exactly?" Shadowheart asked.
"My things. Don't worry about it." He looked back, down the corridor from whence they came. "We should turn back."
"Now?" Lae'zel scoffed. "We're here already. Why turn back?"
"I'm not losing my—" He stopped himself—thought about it. "They have to be somewhere."
Shadowheart broke in. "Whatever you're looking for, we can scan the ship for it when we're done here at the bridge, maybe if we manage to land."
"Maybe. Maybe not. It's not so simple. I might never find them." He paused, the weight of the admission weighing on him more than any Illithid psionic had that day. "More than that: We haven't cleared the ship yet."
Lae'zel shook her head, tired of the topic already. "If we turn back, not only will the Illithids die, but us as well when the ship crashes. Think for a second, istik."
Daedalus shook his head, too. "Speak for yourself. I've survived worse."
"Do you really want to crash—in the Hells?" Shadowheart asked, exasperated.
"Perhaps. It has a certain charm, and I imagine there's a cure here for us. Somewhere. What, something waiting for you on the Material Plane?" he asked, his mocking tint from before returning, ever so slightly, through the mist of his vexation.
Her eyes focused in on him, trying too hard to prevent any hints, and thus becoming a revelation in of themselves. She crossed her arms. "Why are you so set on killing all of these Illithids, anyway? What will that change?" she asked, perhaps to try and change the subject.
He decided to humor her. "A lot of things."
"Like?"
"They'll be dead, for one. We can't guarantee they'd all die in the event of a crash. For two…" he sneered. "Let's say I have my reasons to want them dead. And by my hands. We'll leave it at that."
"Well, I have reasons to not want tentacles sprouting from my face. If you try to hunt down every single one of these mind flayers, you might become one yourself not long after you're done—if you ever finish. Do you really think wasting so much time is wise?"
"Hm," he said, thinking. She expected him to make some fiery retort, maybe scream out—but he didn't. "You make a fair point." Those words astounded her. As he looked up at the door, he seemed to see it for the first time. "I suppose I've killed enough today. It was starting to get a bit…old, anyway. There's only so many ways you can gut a squid." He closed his eyes. "I got carried away. Very well, though I have one thing to ask, Shadowheart."
"What?"
"Were you suggesting you needed me, before?" he asked, his eyes reopening, looking like a Lanceboard player that just revealed his winning sequence.
She didn't answer that. All he earned was a hateful look.
"Ah, whatever. Fine, we'll clear the bridge. Then…we'll figure it out as we go. Understood?" he asked, almost as if he was making it out to be his idea.
The other two either grunted or nodded in response. With that, he stepped forward and willed the door to part.
Inside was the real center of the battle. A mind flayer in ornate armor—different from the one that had infected Daedalus, but seemingly of similar stature—was fending off what appeared to be the captain of the invading devils, based on his own, larger build and the way he was screaming out commands. Intellect devourers were scampering about, ringing a defense about the Illithid with a unit of thralls, their lines being pushed further and further back as the cambions and imps slaughtered them one by one. The room had two distinct segments. The first was where the battle was taking place, with a short staircase leading down into a lower platform, long and wide, that led to another staircase, one which connected the bridge proper. In the back of the room there was some sort of…console, if it could be called that, with a large bundle of tentacles hanging above it, which Daedalus guessed was the way in which the Illithids controlled the ship, though the exact ways in which he might manipulate them escaped him. Devils were streaming in through two, gaping holes in the roof, and archers as well as spellcasters were set on the rim, keeping the dragons at bay—and from pouring fire into the gaps.
Daedalus charged in, jumping as he reached the top edge of the first staircase and landing with a flying kick to a cambion swordsman's face. The cambion's jaw was shorn off by the impact and it let out a shriek that pierced even the soundscape of battle. The devils noticed at once, and a squad homed in on Daedalus as their allies continued pushing back the Illithid forces. Daedalus became a walking cyclone of fists, feet, elbows and knees as he was swarmed by cambions, imps and fire. Lae'zel ran after him, her longsword held high and shrieking as she leapt into the fray. Meanwhile Shadowheart stayed on the outer boundary of the battle, thrusting a cautious path through the few skirmishers between her and the console.
The point of a spear grazed Daedalus's back. He pivoted and gripped the shaft, spinning and ripping it from its owner's hands as he flung it into the air, impaling a flying crossbowman. A swordsman cut at his torso but Daedalus dodged back, grabbed its wrist and broke it. Its sword fell from its hand and he grabbed it, spinning as he cut the Devil's throat and he ended with his sword locked guard to guard with another attacker. An entire group of Devils had surrounded him and were incoming. He kicked the swordsman's knee and focused his energies, rousing his fire and forcing it to explode outwards. A great bang. Sparks flew in all directions and everything for ten feet was consumed by flames as hot as creation. Devils watched as the flame grew and let it consume them, only for them to emerge as black husks when it receded. Everyone's ears popped and for a moment all that was audible was terrible ringing. Through the static trod Daedalus, using the sword he had taken to rip a direct path to the devil captain and the Illithid.
Lae'zel had cut into the devil lines as well and was dueling a few cambions. She kept them at range with her longsword as she picked them off one by one, parrying and absorbing blows with her armor to create openings. A thrust at her neck was thrown down and she stepped in as it skid across the armor atop her thigh, the point of her blade sinking into the devil's throat. It stumbled back as it bled out and one of its companions screamed in anger, pouncing at Lae'zel. She cut deep across its chest once, twice and then followed through to chuck a trident down with her guard, guiding her blade across the top until she pulled it across the wielder's collar. Something crashed against her back and she stumbled forward and turned to see a cambion with a mace. It swung and she just barely ducked. Left, right, down did it swing as it walked her down, her balance too fragile to throw anything in retort. But then she decided to plant her feet. The mace came down, but she positioned her sword and—
A ball of dark energy streaked through the air and bore into the Devil's skull. Lae'zel turned to see Shadowheart, who waved at her as she continued towards the console.
Lae'zel seethed. That was her kill she stole, a scar she could have worn proudly. But she would resolve that grudge later—two other devils had already broken off to lock blades with her.
Shadowheart was ducking in and out of the battle, disappearing for a moment before lobbing a black ball or speaking enchantments. One Devil tried to swoop in on her but she spoke an incantation, and it veered right and stabbed its lance through the chest of an archer. A sorcerer turned its sights on her, weaving a fireball. She waved her hands and its chanting went silent. The fire faded and it looked confused until twin, dark masses dug into its chest and then its forehead. She skipped over its corpse and disappeared as she stepped into a shadow. Soon she reemerged next to the console. A stray cambion tried to dive down and strike her with its mace, but a wave of her hands and an incantation froze it in place, and it fell to the ground. She snatched the mace from its hands, smashed in its head, and went about observing the main console, trying to figure out how it worked.
Just then Daedalus had penetrated the inner circle of the battle. Intellect devourers and a few human thralls tried to oppose him but they were all slain with ease as he ran in towards the central battle. The Illithid was levitating just out of range of the cambion captain, pushing away with mind blasts and psionic singularities but failing to subdue the fiend. One of its tentacles had been severed by a drag of the cambion's greatsword and another two were cut badly, but it still fought on. The cambion itself was breathing heavily, its eyes almost glazed over from resisting the mind flayer's suggestions for so long.
The two were many feet in the air but that didn't stop Daedalus. He ran and jumped towards the Illithid with his sword held high. It turned and the cambion's greatsword cut across its torso, but a wave of psionics crashed out. The devil's mind broke and it collapsed to the floor. The wave hit Daedalus as well, and for a moment he felt everything turn upside down—go black—
But a flutter of his eyes and a flex of his fire woke him up. Even as his vision shook he swung his sword and cut through the mind flayer's forearm. He began to fall but used his free hand to latch onto its ankle. His weight began to drag it down, until it focused and focused and rose with great effort. It pointed both hands at Daedalus and a force pulled him down to the ground, but his iron grip held tight to the Illithid's ankle. Then he began to cut. First along the calf of its opposite leg, then up the thigh and into its femoral artery. Silver blood spewed from the wound and the mind flayer spasmed. A final wave of energy blasted out in all directions and Daedalus finally let go—but only because he didn't need to hold on. The mind flayer fell, slowly at first and then faster and faster until it landed on its head, its slimy cranium smashing on the hard floor.
Daedalus landed with a huff and found the cambion captain rising to its feet, It called out for its men for aid—but not before Daedalus was upon it. Only a last second deflect saved him from death only for a flurry to follow. Another cambion tried to tackle Daedalus away but he was stabbed to the neck and tossed aside like trash. His death march resumed. Left, right, right—thrust. He twisted his sword in a circle and stepped in, cutting the captain's wrist. With a kick he disarmed the devil, and his free hand grasped its neck. He stared into its eyes as he channeled his spirit into his hand—and burnt through its windpipe. It choked and scratched at his arms but he didn't let go, even as its skin boiled between his fingers. With a last gasp the light left the captain's eyes, and he went limp.
At that moment Shadowheart grabbed two opposite sided tentacles and strung them together. Nothing happened, and she pulled them this way and that, disconnecting and reconnecting them until she strung them by chance. Everything…shifted and it felt like existence was twisted and wrang out as the ship left the Hells and appeared over a great expanse of ocean. The Elemental Plane of Water?
"Shit!"
Another set of tentacles. She strung, and her guts tightened as the ocean was replaced by a narrow and icy mountain pass. Another and another and another. Each a new environ, but all far from the Material Plane, and Baldur's Gate. Each new dimensional hop left the dragons behind, but a few seconds too long and they soon returned, harrying the ship across dimensional boundaries almost without effort. The Abyss, the FeyWilds, the Shadowfell…no matter where the ship teleported to, those dragon riders weren't far behind. Magical gates would tear through the sky and out they would come. She groaned each time they appeared. Their spouts of flame were spreading now, and almost all of the ship's exterior was on fire.
Finally she found it. With a last stringing the ship blinked out of the shadows and appeared above a sandy beach. A blue, cloudless horizon enwrapped them and trees dotted the horizon. In the distance, mountains. The Material Plane, and not too far from Baldur's gate. She thought she spotted the River Chionthar, which snaked to the East of the city.
But teleporting the ship was not the same as steering it. A pit formed in her stomach as the dragons reappeared, bellowing and snapping their jaws as they flew in hot pursuit. Behind her, Daedalus and Lae'zel were cleaning up the final remnants of the Illithids and Devils, and it seemed as though both sides were routing. The devils were flying or teleporting away while intellect devourers and brainwashed Illithid thralls ran for shelter or whatever dark hole would fit them. The skirmishers atop the twin holes in the bridge's ceiling were left abandoned by their comrades and soon began abandoning the fight as well. Two of the dragons spotted this gap and sped atop the ship, latching their claws into its outer shell as they released a dual stream of fire through the holes. The flames fanned out in a ring and Lae'zel would have been caught if Daedalus didn't run through the fire and shove her away.
The other two dragons were strafing the underside and whatever kept the ship floating soon…failed. The bow dipped and dipped until its foundations creaked and the wind streamed uncontrolled about the hull.
"Shit, shit, shit…!"
Shadowheart looked about but saw nothing besides sliding corpses and Illithid tools. Daedalus and Lae'zel were running up towards the bow but the ship was dipping more and more until they lost their footing and began sliding like the dead. Shadowheart herself fell and struck the glass of the ship's observation deck. It cracked, and she tried to stand up—until one of the dragons flew by. Its tail whipped the glass and it breathed a burst of fire onto the ship's forward platform. The glass shattered and she was pulled into the open air.
Daedalus and Lae'zel were both holding onto side pillars as the ship careened to the ground. Gritting his teeth, Daedalus leaned over and yelled.
"We have to jump!"
"You really are a k'chakhi if you think I'll—"
The ship dipped further and weapons and small debris went flying down the front. A cambion corpse was flung down and struck Lae'zel square in the back, sending her rolling through the air and out of the ship. Daedalus wasn't going to be caught unprepared.
He jumped.
Wind screamed all across his body. The sash about his hip flapped and whistled and threatened to come off—his piercings tore into the flesh of his ear and he had to hold them to prevent losing any more skin. The Illithid ship whirred past and its colossal creaking sounded like a city prepared to die. He was pulled up and up, and then gravity tore him down until he was shooting to the ground. No kicks or sounds of distress left him. Instead, he aimed singularly downward—head first.
The ground was fast approaching. Ten thousand feet became five in what felt like a moment and he was only speeding up. The wind was dragging him in every which direction. One second he was to be above the beach, the next he was being tugged towards the river. Another and he was above a cluster of trees. Down, down, down he went and, despite the circumstances, he found himself laughing. It'd been awhile since he'd been so high on adrenaline. His legs stretched out and he twirled through the air like a streamer. As he was nearing the end he began to stoke his flame, until his entire body was blazing like a destined meteor. Just before he landed, a great boom shook the earth—he was blown upwards, his bones reverberating with the force as he flipped, turned, and landed on his stomach.
Safe and sound. Not a very graceful maneuver, but he imagined only a god could have stuck that landing.
Everything ached, but he was safe, cushioned on the beach. A dip in the water would have been nice, but he preferred to keep his clothes dry anyway. He stood up—brushed himself off. Felt the sun on his skin, saw that perfect hue of blue.
And to think, hours prior, he had been cursing his beloved. With outstretched arms and a wide smile, he greeted the afternoon sun. He cried out in joy, howling like a man possessed. Today wasn't actually all that bad. Maybe he lost his utanakan, and his other effects, but in return he got a nice romp through an Illithid flying ship, dozens of enemies bested, a little skydive, some new friends…
Well, his new friends were probably dead. Not many could survive that fall, and he didn't imagine either had a potion of feather falling handy.
Oh well. They weren't really friends. More…allies of convenience. Someone like him didn't have friends—he'd yet to meet a companion truly worthy of him. Still, Shadowheart was quite cute. He'd miss the opportunity to tease her over that little artifact of hers. Whatever was it, anyway?
It didn't really matter: He was the Black Lotus. What the fuck would he want with something like that? Gods and their stories mattered little to him—he was busy enough trying to craft a legend of his own. Today, he had lost many things. His blades of two decades. His poetry book from that month. If everything went wrong, he might have even lost his future—but it didn't matter. He'd gained another story. The Black Lotus, ripping through an Illithid fortress like it was a fine steak—however many squids and devils, dead by his hand. The fists would quake in fear—the bards would pay to play this song. The final barrier to his freedom was the parasite, but it couldn't have been that hard to remove—could it? Throw money at the problem—it'll fix itself! He just needed to get to Baldur's Gate.
With a grand, earth shattering crack, the ship crashed in the not-so-distant wilderness, just up the hill. The force leaned trees and tore roots, sent sand flying, and was nearly enough to ground the Lotus—but not quite. Echoes of the ship's destruction bounced off the landscape for many miles, and for a split second it felt as though the sound would become just another permanent feature of the environment. Luckily it faded. Good. It was beginning to hurt his head.
With that rude reminder of his vacation's cause, Daedalus's thoughts returned from the ecstasy of a battle won, his typical nonchalance after any victory, and sank into the true comfort of cold reality.
He'd been bested.
Tearing apart nobodies proved nothing. Bards were fools and their listeners even more so—he'd always known that. What really mattered was the here and now, the in-the-flesh. The rush of his blood, and the nagging feeling that he was missing something. His instincts were sharp. Two decades and some change in the monastery, seven years traveling Jalara and another six within Baldur's Gate had taught him to listen to his intuition: It was often more valuable than a great soothsayer's prophecy.
The Absolute had bested him. There, he admitted it again. The simple thought made his blood run cold and his heart cloak in flame. Not once had he tasted defeat since his exile, and yet they took him down without a fight. He didn't even remember how it happened—only that he lost consciousness and woke up aboard that…thing. They'd invited him, the Black Lotus himself, right into the heart of their domain, the madmen.
And they'd won.
He'd heard whispers of some cult taking the Sword Coast by storm, how everyone and their second cousin was joining up, and he thought: 'why not see what this is about?' A new god? Well, best a god and you become one yourself—far as the people were concerned, at least. He'd embarrassed enough 'master' warriors and 'archmages' in his lifetime to know reputations rarely brushed reality. But if the Absolute really was as powerful as they said? Well, then it'd be a challenge.
Perhaps they were right. Did that excite him?
He hoped so. Either way, the Absolute had to be dealt with. Not just because they bested him, but a cult connected to mind flayers probably wouldn't be good for business if it continued spreading—or sentient life in general. He might not have cared if the beggar down the street was of his own mind, but a world dominated by a hive probably wouldn't be one he'd find exciting. Or survivable. First, though? He had to deal with this tadpole, and that meant finding where he was.
He didn't truly know where. At least, not exactly. He thought he was beside the River Chionthar but that wasn't a sure bet, and, even then, getting to Baldur's Gate before his parasite took control would be…difficult, despite his earlier overconfidence. There was probably a mountain pass between him and there. And, well—the Shadow-Cursed Lands. He'd been to both places before, but he doubted his ability to navigate them in a timely manner. Not to mention how long it might have taken him to find a healer once he actually made it to the Gate.
A local healer would be preferable. That Githyanki creche that Lae'zel was talking about probably wasn't an option now that she was…well. Gone. He didn't imagine Githyanki were great hosts to foreigners, and he doubted his ability to find one. And, well, for all he knew Shadowheart would have been capable of healing him. A shame she had to die.
Dwelling on those things was foolish, though. There were plenty of options in his immediate area. First off, the crash site. More survivors…Illithids to interrogate…maybe even his blades, if he could find them.
Then it was settled. His first step was slinking through the shipwreck. Then, find a local settlement. If he remembered correctly, there were a few monastic orders in the area, as well as a couple of the druidic variety. He was sure both would be more than capable of curing him.
With a crack of his knuckles, he set off. Time was of the essence, and he couldn't rest until he was divested of this parasite.
The Absolute would regret challenging the Black Lotus. An extreme cult worshiping eldritch horrors was nothing to him.
He would show them just how extreme he was.
