Chapter Text
There’s children laughing somewhere. Through the streets of a city you find unrecognisable. They dart through corridors and alleyways, chasing one another and you are following close behind. You have the hunting prowess of a lion, but your tag touch is gentle. Loving, even. The children play. They’re your friends. At least, you think they are. It’s hard to tell. They don’t have faces. Only sounds. Not familiar ones. Not at all familiar to you. But you’re having fun. Your hands are grazed. You had fallen over during the chase, but they hadn’t quite bled yet. One of the children comes out of hiding to see you. They take your hand, and turn it over a few times. Then they call out. Names you can’t understand. Adults this time. They’re holding a basket of fruit. It almost drops when they see you. They kneel with you. Bandage your grazes. They give you water. They ruffle your hat and she leans down to whisper in your ear. You can’t hear her. You never will hear her. But she smiles. Or she flashes her teeth. She sends you on your way. The child nudges you and runs away. And you chase them, hands outstretched to tag.
And then you see red. It’s not the same alley. Maybe it’s not the same city. You are standing in darkness. But your hands are stained bloody. A dagger. Or a sword. It’s hard to see. It’s so dark. It’s so cold. Something is dead in front of you. Many things are dead. Animals you don’t know. People you don’t recognise.
You hear children laughing.
You wake.
Dalteli wakes with a gasp. Her body is cold, and wet. She should be used to the cold, or at least neutral to the sensation. She’s a white dragonborn for the gods sake. And yet she still shivers as water makes it way across her scales. It’s dark in here, the only light being a small blue glow from whatever she’d been trapped inside. The glow makes her somewhat able to see that she was neck deep in water, and slowly losing air. Whatever she was in, was sealed shut to keep most of the water out, but had enough of a leak for it to slowly seep in. Dalteli’s eyes dart around, and she tries to lift her hands only to find that they’re pinned to either side of her. She flexes, and her muscles tense against something rigid and bent towards her.
The dragonborn growls, eyes looking up. There’s no light there either. The water begins to reach her chin.
Inside this prison she can at least hear something nearby. The crashing of waves on shore. Something crackling like fire. A drum in the very, very far distance.
If only-
Dalteli starts tensing again.
She could-
Her teeth clench together, frost forming across her mouth.
Just fucking-
She groans, body straining so much it begins to shake.
Get the hells-
The dragonborn bellows, ice bursting from her mouth and immediately the water begins to freeze around her.
Out of here!
The ice constricts her body, causing burning pain across her scales. But it also starts expanding, pushing against the walls of the prison until something starts creaking. More and more until finally something cracks. Water starts rushing in, and Dalteli takes a gasp of air. She dives below the water, red eye glowing in the dark water. She can feel where the water is rushing, and with two firm hands she starts tugging and pulling and stretching. The metal bows, and then breaks completely, opening a path for escape. The dragon immediately flees. Her eyes dart around for answers, only to see that she was slowly descending to the depths. Frantically she starts swimming, but she’s not sure she even knows how. Hands flail however feels most comfortable and her body heads towards the surface of the water. There’s light there. Perhaps there’s salvation.
Dalteli breaks the surface with a loud and pained gasp for air. She scoops water awkwardly as she pseudo swims towards the shore. Her body hits the sand and she collapses against the small pebbles and signs of rubble. She turns over, laying on her back as her body attempts to catch it’s breath. Her eyelids flicker as the sun glares down on her, and she finally takes one final breath to fill her lungs before sitting up. Like a shaggy dog she shakes herself off, sending sand and salty water every which way. What Dalteli decides the best course of action is to get the fuck out of here. Scanning her surroundings she sees nothing but corpses. Several up ahead and even one laying not too far from the shore she’d found for safety.
In fact, the body was familiar. Dalteli approaches it, eyes flickering down the length of its jerkin, and the busted lute that lay in the sand. Worthless trinkets really. Tav was her name, wasn’t it? Dalteli wonders. And then her eyes catch sight of the ever burning blade that they’d managed to take from the fiend on the ship. Dalteli reaches down, and scoops it up. It feels too heavy for her, but she takes it anyway. Then without paying respects she heads of the next corpse, intending to search it for money. Insides the dead man’s pockets is only gold and flecks of dried blood. When Daltelis pulls her hands out, she admires the way it sticks to her scales. She drinks in the pungent corpse. Ever since she woke on the ship, her mind has been cold and empty. But something stirs, with her hands so close to the dead. Truly, she knows nothing of why. But she finds a half smile fluttering across her face, baring the points of her teeth. But why? As soon as Dalteli asks herself the question, her mind is filled with flashes of a thousand different dead. There is something unknown and unspeakable, deep within her heart.
“Holy shit, Dalteli?”
The dragonborn doesn’t move. But she hears the shambling footsteps.
“Ah hah!” they exclaim, “Oghma preserve me, you’re alive!”
Before Dalteli can draw a dagger, the figure bounds behind them, tossing two surprisingly muscular arms onto their shoulders. The dragonborn snarls, but then she recognises the unnatural skin tone and wagging tail.
Tavara.
“I thought we were done for, but you’re here. And I'm here. Fuck. I really didn’t want to do this alone.”
The dragonborn turns, giving her a firm shove which almost knocks the bard off her feet. Her face is stern; and her eyes narrowed.
“Get off me,” she hisses.
Perhaps one of the dead in her visions was a purple bard.
“Shit. I’m sorry. I just-“ Tavara rubs her hand on the back of her neck and it comes away sweaty and salty, “i’m happy you’re not dead. We can figure this whole parasite problem out, right?”
The dragonborn looks her up and down. Strong, if she applied herself to anything other than music. Intelligent, if she focused less on opening her mouth. Formidable, if she were anyone else. Dalteli turns around to walk away.
“Wait wait wait-“ Tavara chases after her, grabbing her massive scaled elbow, “wait.”
The dragonborn turns with a huff, and frost comes out of her nose. Tavara grimaces.
“Really. I can help. I’ve never really been in battle before but I can work on it. And I am great with people. I’m a fantastic liar and I can get us access anywhere with just a few words.”
Tavara declines the urge to bring up her lute playing. Mostly because it’s broken, but also because Dalteli clearly had a thing against bards. Was it the hair? The piercings? The swagger? Don’t answer that.
“You can follow, but keep up or I'll leave you behind.”
The bard nods and makes a gesture with her fist that Dalteli does not recognise. But she feigns understanding and turns on her heels. Leading the charge, she can see another body in the distance. Black hair tied neatly into an elaborate plait. Silver half plate armour, that matched the decorative piece in her hair. A jagged scar running across one side of her face. A strange relic loosely sitting in her open palm-
“Shadowheart-“ Tavara exclaims in a hushed whisper, pushing past Dalteli and kneeling beside the half elf.
Tavara eyes her, admiring the purple and gold embellishments of her armour unknowingly, and then purposefully seeing if she was breathing. There’s a raise in her chest, and Tavara breathes a sigh of relief. With gentle hands, Tavara jostles her awake. The half elf lets out a quiet, displeased groan and then her eyes slowly flutter open. Her grip on the relic goes firm, and Dalteli’s face stiffens.
“You’re alive,” Shadowheatt says, voice in disbelief, “I’m alive.”
Tavara offers her a hand up, and Shadowheart eyes stiffly. She looks to debate it, and then she gets up on her own.
“How is this possible…?”
While her eyes turn to Tavara, she stuffs the relic away and into her pack.
“I honestly don’t know. I woke up on the shore. And my head-“ she shakes, “aches.”
Shadowheart tilts her head, noticing the white dragonborn standing behind her. Dalteli crosses her arms over her chest, and Shadowheart seems a little more standoffish for it.
“I remember the ship, I remember falling,” she says, “… then nothing.”
Tavara nods in understanding. She felt the same way. Well- not exactly. There was that light. Dalteli doesn’t know what the fuck those two are talking about. They all must have been hit with something heavy and those two were lucky enough to reach the surface instead of almost drowning.
“Did you see the gith? Or know where she went? If she’s alive?” Tav inquired.
Shadowheart makes a face. Perhaps amused by Tavara’s naivety. Her eyebrows furrow, indicating anger or prejudice. Tavara wasn’t sure what a gith could possibly do to warrant such hostility. But she truly wasn’t familiar with their culture at all.
“You might want to reconsider calling her a friend - Looks like she ran off without us.”
“Shouldn’t we look for her? She could be injured or-“
Dalteli pushes forward, stopping Tav from saying any more.
“Where are we?”
Shadowheart turns sour, arms folding over her chest.
“I don’t know. I don’t recognise this place either. But anything an improvement on where we just came from,” she says and then, “no thanks to you. You were going to leave me to die.”
Dalteli rolls her eyes, “but you did not die.”
Shadowheart furrows her brows.
“Just-“ Tav interrupted, “what should we do now?”
Shadowheart unfolds her arms, turning her attention to the bard and electing to ignore the idiot dragonborn.
“First things first - we need supplies, shelter and most of all, a healer. We might have escaped, but we still have these little monsters in our heads.”
Tav’s face softens.
“We? You want to stay together.”
Shadowheart makes a point not to look at Dalteli.
“We need each other, and we all know what’s at stake. I can’t think of better company.”
She glances at the dragonborn.
“Well, I can think of an improvement.”
Tavara finds the hostility amusing, but only for a moment. If the two were to bicker this whole time, they may never find a healer.
“I know she’s infuriating, but we should all stick together. Common goals and we each bring something different to the table. If we can all agree to work together, even just for now, we should get moving.”
Shadowheart nods and then steps closer to Tavara, speaking softer.
“One thing, just before we go. I wanted to thank you again, for freeing me. It would’ve been all too easy for you to-“ another glance at Dalteli then back, “run right past my pod, but you didn’t. I’ll remember that.”
Tavara makes a gesture, almost like a hand over her heart.
“It’s the least I could do.”
Dalteli rolls her eyes, and pushes past the two of them.
“Alright, Dalteli’s is to lead the way then.”
The dragonborn surveys the shore, eyes glancing up and down and left and right. Mostly in search of stray chests or pouches she could find supplies in. What they needed was food, and money. Eventually they’d be able to find a water source, they just needed to find some manner of civilisation and follow it along. Amongst the rubble and sand piles, Dalteli finds various barrels and a pouch or two filled with a few golden coins. And then further along the sand she sees corpses. Fisherman, or mongers like the one at the shore she had found. These ones are bloodier, with red pooling underneath them. They weren’t quite fresh, perhaps a day or two old.
“Does your friend desecrate corpses often?”
Tavara lets out a nervous laugh.
“We really only just met so I can’t attest to their hobbies-“
“What’s the fucking story with the relic you’re hoarding?” Dalteli says firmly, digging into a corpse's pocket and finding an old bottle of what she assumes is shitty wine.
Tavara makes a face at her, as if begging her to shut the fuck up. Shadowheart stiffens.
“There’s no story. None that you’re entitled to hear anyway. Just forget you ever saw it.”
Dalteli huffs, and searches for another corpse instead. The further along they get, the more corpses they find and then intellect devourers seem to be the next best thing. Tavara frowns.
“Do you think that’s Us?” she remarks, standing over one of the creatures which was without signs of life.
Shadowheart looks down at it too. She seems to be taking the question seriously, and readies herself to answer.
“No. I believe this one is differen-“
Before she can finish, Dalteli comes forward, towering over the creature and then brings her foot down. The brain flattens, spewing out dark blood and then Dalteli hits it again and again. Shadowheart’s face turns awfully sour and she crosses her arms. Tavara shoves Dalteli away, and the dragonborn immediately goes tense. Body stiff and muscles taut. Eyes burning with hatred, and a frustration no one else thought necessary.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Dalteli snarls, “it’s one of those fucking things. Not a pet, kid.”
Kid? Tavara’s face turns confused. And concerned. Kid? She was full fucking grown. At least 5’7, and even had a little crease near her mouth. Smile lines, maybe.
“It’s already dead. Save your strength for something trying to kill you.”
Dalteli ignores her, and finds another dagger amongst the rubble and debris. It’s rusted and shitty, but built for throwing at least. Dalteli wonders if she was familiar with that sort of thing, but she doesn’t remember. Once she’s finished looting corpses, she heads for the edge of the beach which goes from sandy dune to old stone steps. Dalteli enthralls herself with the steps, and the large doorway they seem to be leading to.
“Shadowheart?” Tav says, hoping to break the heavy silence that was hanging in the trio.
“Mhm?”
“What do you think of everything that’s happened to us so far?”
“We haven’t gone all that far yet- what are you referring to exactly?”
“Well, I mean you must have some thought about our little stowaways?”
“Must I? Thinking about it won’t help. We know what to do, so let’s just do it. Find a way to rid ourselves of these things. We’ve no solid leads right now though- we’d best get hunting.”
Tav nods. She was right. Like very right. But Tavara really wasn’t the best at keeping things on track, nor serious. So she’s really out of her depth here. She opens her mouth to speak, and then Dalteli tries forcing the door open with all the grace of a lumbering crocodile. It jostles loudly, the sound of a strong lock keeping it shut. Both Shadowheart and Tavara share a knowing look as Dalteli’s attempt at opening it turns into a firm fist banging against the door.
“You won’t get that open easily. Maybe there’s another entrance,” Shadowheart says.
And Tavara chirps up for support.
“Or we can try to pick the lock?”
Dalteli stops punching only to turn around and punch air at Tavara.
“Do you see anything useful here?” she spits.
Tavara flinches, but then turns her eyes to the ground. There were some stray rocks and bushes. Could be somewhere someone would hide a key. Maybe there was something small and narrow, like a pin.
“I don’t know. I can look around.”
Tavara gestures for Shadowheart, and with only a bit of attitude she unfolds her arms and begins to look across the ground. Occasionally they’ll flip up a rock, and Tavara will squirm to get away from a spider crawling on her hand. To which Shadowheart will put a hand up, ceasing Tavara’s panic, and then slowly take the creature into her hands before putting it somewhere safe. Tavara didn’t hate spiders! She loved animals! It was just the… the instinctual fear. Maybe it was the many legs, or the abundance of shiny black eyes. Eugh. Tavara’s skin crawled just thinking about it.
“I’d never hurt it,” Tavara says.
Shadowheart lifts her head, confused at first. And then recollection. Understanding, even. It was still something silly in her eyes at least.
“You need not explain-“
But Tavara feels the need. It claws at her chest and guilt pangs in her gut. It eats away at her sense of self until word vomit begins spilling to make up for it.
“I like bugs. No, I love them. When I was a girl I had a whole jar of cicada’s I kept safe when they lost their homes. Spiders are just-“
Shadowheart seems to understand, “terrifying?”
Tavara makes a gesture, her voice growing softer. Embarrassed even.
“Yes.”
The half-elf makes a face.
“I thought drow worshipped spiders. Your lady’s patron creature. Such disrespect.”
Tavara turns defensive, though she doesn’t intend for it.
“What? I’m not a drow!”
“You are not?”
“I have horns!” she cries.
Shadowheart leans closer, hand reaching to ruffle the fringe of her hair. And just as Tavara insisted, hidden beneath her white curls are two small horns. Well, they’re more like raised bumps in her head, not really curved or protruded enough to be horns. Tavara had almost forgotten what they were talking about as Shadowheart’s hand grazes the raised skin around them. They linger there for a moment, delicate fingertips assessing the coarseness of the so-called horns and the skin they were rising from. And Tavara notices that the cleric's hands are soft. She was a fighter, no? But they were smooth even still. Tavara had watched her turn friends into dead ash, and yet her palms still remained soft enough to be the hands of a healer.
“Hardly,” she says, her hand falling and Tavara wishes she didn’t seek her touch again.
Tavara, still believing the cleric was convinced she was an under-elf, holds up her tail with one hand. She flicks it side to side to make sure she can see it and there is no argument of its existence. The cleric’s eyes don’t seem to catch them yet, still seemingly mesmerised with the stumpy horns. Or perhaps the white curls.
“I have a tail. I don’t think Drow have those.”
Shadowheart stops looking at her forehead to catch a look of her tail. It flicks twice, perhaps insecure that there were a pair of eyes on it now. Shadowheart doesn’t reach for it this time, instead clasping her hands together. She brushes the statement away.
“That means nothing. Perhaps a shadar-kai?”
Tav looks affronted. Servant of the Raven Queen? A gloom weaver? A shadow dancer? A soul monger? How gauche. She was wearing gold and blue. Oghma preserve me!
“My eyes are white!”
Shadowheart looks at those too. Had she not noticed her eyes yet? Tavara's heart aches. She already knew Shadowheart’s were a cold, but deep green.
“So they are. What are you then? Half-duergar? Shadow touched abomination?” her eyes seem to twinkle with curiosity.
Tavara lets out a scoff before she realises it’s coming out of her.
“A tiefling!” she exclaims, gesturing to herself like it was obvious.
Shadowheart tilts her head.
“A shame. I would have loved to learn about the shadows that called you their own,” she takes a breath and raises an eyebrow, “Tiefling? Really? You don’t have a manner of fiend about you at all. You don’t even smell like the hells.”
Tavara subconsciously clenches her arms down. Did she smell bad? She begins to fret, and the worry stretches across her face like a net of insecurity. She looks at Shadowheart, and the cleric has this… amused look in her face. There’s a half smile itching to escape, and she looks as though she’s holding it back.
“Are you-“
Shadowheart’s smile finally shows itself.
“You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”
Shadowheart’s face widens but it still remains soft. Like her hands, Tavara wonders.
“Well, no,” she says, and then more amused the second time, “not at first.”
Tavara, who’s heart was beating so fast she debated putting it into the races, finally managed to wipe the genuine concern off her face. Her cheeks get a little warmer and she lets out a sheepish little chuckle. The cleric has jokes? Well, they’re at Tavara’s expense but surely that was something that could be overlooked.
“You-“
Before Tavara can finish, Dalteli roars in frustration having punched the door in the wrong way. Her knuckle lets out a most unpleasant popping noise, before she puts an insane amount of pressure on it with her other hand.
“Will you two fuck off? I can’t get this door open with your incessant chatter!”
Tavara makes a face, and it draws the slightest smile from the cleric before they each come up from the ground. They don’t stray far, Tavara thinking Dalteli might do something strange if she were left alone. But they go well enough away that they can’t hear Dalteli’s draconic swearing. A language Tavara was familiar with, but had not fully learned yet. It was definitely an interesting one. Have you ever heard their songs? An acquired taste to be sure.
“Were you born in the hells?” Shadowheart says, breaking the silence.
Tavara turns to look at her, but still walking.
“No, actually. I think I was born in Neverwinter. Jewel of the North. I’ve at least lived there all my life. Never actually seen the hells. But I've read many stories, and heard a very many of songs. I was raised in the hall of knowledge, you see. I was left on its doorsteps and the temple staff raised me as their own.”
Shadowheart’s eyes soften. She doesn’t seem to react to the majesty of Neverwinter, which Tavara found odd. It was beautiful. Decadent. A true treasure to the sword coast.
“It wasn’t all bad. I was a curious child living in the greatest library of all Faerûn. It was home to many refugees seeking safety from the Chasm when I was quite young, so I didn’t grow up alone at all. Only a few years ago did it manage to return to its former glory. When all the refugees found their own homes in Neverwinter, I had the whole temple to myself.”
There’s a twitch of Shadowheart’s eye. She offers the bard a solemn smile, yet no words of comfort. She just listens.
“I learned much in those halls. Music, most notably. It’s where I became a bard. I’ve already met many that travelled the world, using the temple as a stopping point.”
“And you found faith in Oghma there? Your purpose?”
Tavara makes a face.
“Not quite. I should have, one would imagine. He’s the patron of bards. And I do believe in him. But I didn’t feel him. Like he was not for me,” she says, and then slowly she covers her face with one hand, “Gods, I must sound like a complete heretic to a bloody cleric, right now.”
Shadowheart doesn’t berate her, much to her surprise. Instead, she lets out an amused exhale.
“Mm. Yes. You’re going to be smited for your disloyalty.”
If her voice was a little stiffer, Tav is sure she might have had a heart attack. Instead, she knows it’s a teasing joke. Tavara looks up, and admires the cleric next to her. Their arms are separated by about a metre of distance, but Tavara takes one step closer to narrow it. Shadowheart doesn’t close it, but she also doesn’t take a step back. And that was progress.
“You think yourself quite witty, don’t you?”
The cleric’s smile falters but only so she can say the next line with gusto.
“Wits and blades, always sharp.”
Tavara wonders where she learnt such a phrase, but the cleric's attention is rapt. Not by the bard, unfortunately. But by the large rune carved in what looks like a minor cliffside. It’s dark, and almost unintelligible. But as soon as she approaches, the runes begin to glow with magic. It’s almost familiar.
“Who would carve these here?” Shadowheart remarks.
Tavara follows, stepping closer and reaching out for the glow.
“It’s… netherese magic. Ancient sigil circles. Even older than you.”
“Just because I am part elf does not make me ancien-“
Tavara’s hand touches, and for a moment, it’s like she can see a birds eye view of the shoreline they stood on. Her eyes glaze for a moment, and then her consciousness is thrust immediately back into her body. Almost violently, but her face explodes with a feeling almost like adrenaline surging through her body. If she were any more sensitive, she might throw up. But she knew this sensation before.
“Oghma’s bloody papercuts! It’s a teleportation circle!” then she calms, “well, almost. The magic is latent, but I'm sure if we find more of these we’ll be able to recall their positioning.”
“As in teleport back to them?”
Tavara nods. Shadowheart’s face seems mildly interested at first, but her attention turns back to where they had come from, but now slightly to the right instead. Tavara’s eyes follow, and she sees the wreckage of the ship just up a shallow hill. There’s familiar chittering, and scuffling of feet on a fleshy floor. Just over the peak she can spot an inflated brain crawling about, and so can the cleric.
“More of those wretched things,” Shadowheart hisses.
Tavara takes a step forward.
“Perhaps they’re friendly. Like Us.”
Shadowheart doesn’t agree, but she doesn’t argue the point either. Tavara takes that as reason to just walk right up to them. As soon as the two enter the outer edge of the wreckage they scramble away, but they don’t seem to have noticed them yet. It isn’t until the furthest one, currently acting as a lookout on an upper platform turns their way. At least Tavara thinks so. It was kind of hard to tell where they’re looking, given that they have no eyes. But they don’t have that moment of friendship. Her parasite doesn’t wriggle, or seize in recognition. The creature just screeches and suddenly the other two turn hostile as well.
“Ah shit.”
Shadowheart readies her mace almost instantly, and once again, Tavara admires the way magic seems to dance around her hands. The creatures rush forward, though unable to reach the two members before they each strike.
“Incende!”
A bright light explodes from Shadowheart’s hand, bathing one of the intellect devourers in flame-like radiance. It barely lets out a screech, and seems to brush it off. Before it can rush the cleric, Tavara points a finger at it and raises her voice. It sounds impossibly loud. Magically amplified. Dark purple light seems to swirl around her as she yells.
“Pus-supping maggot!
The creature lets out a piddling screech, as it’s wracked with dark, enchanting magic but it still proceeds towards them. But when it attempts to strike Shadowheart, it completely misses the mark. Tavara smiles. But then the two other brains surround her instead. One leaps, slicing her on the arm and she lets out a genuinely annoyed gasp. The second slices right across her gut, but she manages to step back and out of the way. Shadowheart turns to face the creatures just barely after they attack, and her face is filled with a kind of fury.
“Morē!” she screams, her voice echoing as if it was the mouthpiece of someone else.
Her hands and eyes glow with deep green magic and then she pushes her hand against the brain. It slowly decomposes, letting out a screech, and then it ceases to live, its body giving out and almost turning to ash. Fuck. That was so cool. Tavara turns to the final creature, the one that sliced her arm and she jabs her rapier forward, sticking it right into the swollen brain. The creature reels back, and shrieks loudly but it does not yet fall. It leans back, aiming to deliver another cutting slice across Tav’s chest, when Dalteli appears. She lets out a horrific bellow, almost in a sound she’d never heard before. Perhaps one only possible to make in a dragonborn’s snout.
“Glacies!” it finishes, sending a ray of frost at the creature.
The intellect devourer begins to slow its movements. Its eldritch wail grows quieter until it freezes completely solid. Dalteli makes sure to kick it like a ball afterwards.
“You were supposed to be looking for lock picks,” the dragonborn snarls, beginning to search the swollen brains for things she could loot.
Shadowheart almost rolls her eyes and while Tavara could argue the point, she was also actively bleeding out. With a wince, she clutches at her arm. Immediately, she hears a clatter of armour and a loud thud. She looks down and Shadowheart had dropped her mace to free up both of her hands. She reaches out, putting a soft palm against Tavara’s bicep while the other hovers over the wound.
“Te curo,” she whispers, but her words are filled with divine conviction.
Slowly the slice begins to close. Not fully. There was still a pink, fleshy ghost of a wound. A reminder of the attack. (And that they were barely level two.) Tavara offers a smile, putting a hand on top of Shadowheart’s in genuine appreciation.
“Thank you,” she says.
The cleric simply nods, and slowly slides her hand out. Tavara immediately retracts it, quite pointedly too. Like awkwardly. She pulls it away like it’s on fire and all she can do is look away from the cleric. Luckily for the both of them, Dalteli has a habit of breaking any silences, whether heavy or awkward. She’s made a move of leaping onto some higher platforms. Opening up chests with all the grace of a boar in an apothecary. She manages to find something. It’s large and bulbuous and covered in spikes. Tavara thinks that must surely mean something dangerous, but Dalteli feels that if it’s dangerous, it must be useful. So into her pack it goes. The silence gives Shadowheart enough time to think of a phrase that isn’t mentioning Tavara’s lingering touch.
“Despite what she may say,” she eyes the blundering dragonborn, “you fight well.”
Tavara smiles despite trying not to.
“Perhaps our survival isn’t such a distant prospect.”
Tavara wonders if she’s joking, and she must expect that, because her face immediately softens. She was teasing.
“Oi!” the dragonborn calls.
The two look up, seeing the dragonborn attempting to climb the top of the wreckage.
“There’s another pod near the tree line! I think I see someone!”
Tav and Shadowheart share a knowing look. Of course the bard makes way towards Dalteli, and raises her voice to a proper level.
“Alive?”
“Why the fuck would I point out a dead one?”
“I don’t know! You keep looting them!”
The dragonborn kicks some rubble her way. She loses her balance, and almost falls completely down the platform and onto the ground. Instead, her claws grip the walls and she uses that to break her fall. Sliding down instead of crashing. She huffs at the two of them, and then continues walking away from the wreckage. Tav gestures for Shadowheart, and the cleric walks behind Dalteli. The bard does the same, but occasionally she’ll turn around to see if they’re being followed. On the way out of the wreckage, Dalteli robs two more corpses, finding some more gold, a potion, and a ring. She wears it, much to Tavara’s chagrin. After that, they reach the open air.
The wreckage leads out to another small shore, with a broken dock hanging out in the water. She can see barnacles still sticking on some parts, and it looked damp. It must have been jostled when the ship landed. Or crashed, we should say. Near the docks is an abandoned carriage, with crates and chests stuffed inside and some splayed out in the sand next to it. Dalteli’s eyes brim with fantasy of what could be inside them. She reaches for one, and it clunks when she tries. Locked. Defeated again by a single mechanism, Dalteli raises her fists and starts punching the box. It relents on the third barrage, and falls apart leaving planks of wood splayed out on the ground. But there’s also a leather helmet, and some gold. Tavara has taken the liberty of checking one of the other chests, and finds what she believes to be a lock pick kit. She makes a face at Shadowheart, who returns a knowing look.
Do not show Dalteli that.
Tav insists on it anyway, and holds it out over the dragonborn’s shoulder while she starts shoving gold in her pockets. The dragonborn stops when she catches a glance, side eyes the bard, and then snatches the kit from her hands. She says absolutely nothing about it. To be expected. Tav looks across the way, and Shadowheart seems to approve of the moment.
While Dalteli continues scouring through some chests, Tavara eyes the tree line that she’d mention not too long ago. She could only see a glimpse or two of the pod. It was sitting completely upright, but she couldn’t see if it had its door sealed or not. But Dalteli mentioned she saw somebody. From here, Tavara saw nothing. Distracted, it gives Shadowheart a moment to approach the water. With deft hands she collects a strange looking sea shell, and some alchemical ingredients. Tab wasn’t good with that whole part of magic. Mixing stuff together. Extracting essence. Burning for salts. Eugh. Talk about a boring hobby. But she supposes it’s okay if Shadowheart does it.
When Dalteli finishes her exploration, she doesn’t even tell anyone. She simply puts on the ugly leather helmet and waltzes away. Tavara only notices because her large dragonborn feet are so loud in the starchy sand. It makes a squeaky sound. Very annoying.
“We’re moving on,” Tavara says, not sounding too happy.
The words are enough to get Shadowheart up onto her feet. She takes her cuttings of what Tav thinks is seaweed (it isn’t) and puts them into her pack. Feeling semi-useless, Tavara looks around for any plant worth taking. While Dalteli is trudging towards the pod, Tav gets a hold of some yellow looking flowers and yanks them with a firm hand. They don’t come easily, and she nearly slips and falls. When they do come, they coat her hand in a nice coating of sap and Tavara makes a face at the sensation. She takes a few quickers steps to catch up to Shadowheart.
“Are these something you can use?”
Shadowheart slowly turns and immediately raises an eyebrow.
“Yellow oleander?”
Tav looks at them, “is that what this is?”
“Yes. You should drop them. And wash your hands.”
Tav looks at her, confused and she even scratches the side of her head, “why?”
“They can cause irritation to sensitive skin.”
Tav disregards that with a playful scoff, “Me? Sensitive? Please. Have you seen these callouses? Nothing gets past these bad boys.”
Shadowheart raises an eyebrow, clearly unamused. But Tav does drop the flowers, well, she more like throws them, and they slowly fall down and into the salty water a ways away. Now she just needed to wash her hands.
“Hey! I need some help!”
Dalteli had only broken the treeline to see the pod when the voice chirps up. It’s not frantic, but it is loud. Maybe stressed? Worried? It’s hard to tell. Tab swears she’s heard that kind of voice before. Baldurian, maybe? She heard it in the way Shadowheart pronounced Oghma. Perhaps this stranger had a funny little accent too. Immediately though, the trio leave the pod behind. Tavara makes note that its door seems to have been blown clean off. Either a very strong wind, or a shitty hinge, she surmises. At the edge of the tree is where she spots the voice. Dalteli eyes the stranger, looking them up and down. She has a firm grip on a dagger, and her eye seem to glow with magic.
This stranger seemed panicked now. It was staring at the long grass, pretty much begging for someone to help them. Tavara takes note of their appearance: mostly that she was jealous of their intricately coloured padded armour.
He has pale skin.
Pointed ears.
And stark white hair.