Chapter Text
The sky was ablaze as nautiloid ships fell in clusters, coasting towards the earth like meteors. Mortal screams echoed throughout the neighbouring landscape, their cries becoming a symphony of despair.
Minthara never thought the end of the world would be so magnificent. More ships groaned as they pushed past the orange-coloured clouds, her lips pulling into a tight smirk. She stood on a dock overlooking the River Chionthar, shielding her eyes from the sun as she tracked the nautiloids’ descent. The cursed sunlight blinded her still, despite all her time living on the surface. Minthara shut her eyes, attempting to rub away the brightness and the stinging that came with it. She wouldn’t dare miss even one ship crashing. She basked in the Mind Flayer’s demise, each wreckage signifying the bittersweet obliteration of the Absolute.
Silence suddenly enveloped her, as if all the sounds in the vicinity had been sucked up into an abyss. Her temples throbbed, a sharp ringing radiating through her skull. Her eyelids remained heavy, no matter how hard she tried to open them. The atmosphere shifted instantly, her chest tightening. Her breaths came in short and erratic bursts, as if she was about to run out of air at any second.
She eventually managed to peel her eyes open, squinting through her fingers. As the world came back into focus, Minthara’s mouth dropped.
The nautiloids weren’t moving as fast as they should have. In fact, as Minthara stared up at the sky, she soon realised they were frozen, floating oddly above her.
Peculiar.
“Soldier…” A whisper came from behind, shattering the stillness. The cadence was familiar, tickling her memory.
Minthara spun around, coming face-to-face with Karlach. Her Karlach . The most remarkable, ruthless, and passionate mortal being she had ever known - ever dared to love so fervently.
Karlach smiled softly, locking Minthara’s gaze. She was stunning, her fiery eyes piercing through every layer of Minthara’s armour, stripping away all senses of composure as it reached the depths of her very soul.
What was she…
Karlach reached towards Minthara, cupping her face delicately in calloused hands. The touch radiated warmth into Minthara’s skin and she allowed herself to melt into her palms.
“You a…” Minthara began, wanting nothing more than to proclaim her undying devotion to Karlach a thousand times over but she was cut short, words dissolving from her lips.
Karlach winced, her entire form bursting into a rush of flames. She howled in agony, her chest glowing brighter, angrier, pulsating rapidly, the fire around her matching its intensity.
The engine…
The air twisted and warped, burning along with Karlach. Minthara clutched her, trying to sooth her, calm her. Save her. Within seconds Karlach’s body dissolved into ash, leaving this plane in nothing more than a whimper. Her remains, her entire existence, floated away with the first hint of a breeze. She was gone, like she had never existed to begin with. Minthara screamed, a haunting guttural cry that would have reached the very pits of the Hells. She followed the ashes, sprinting towards the River Chionthar. She jumped, attempting to grab what was left of Karlach, but the smallest speck evaded her.
She found herself falling. Deeper and deeper. Falling and shrieking, clutching at nothing. There was only darkness and displair, an intense pressure crushing her body from every possible direction. She was alone. Again . Deeper and deeper, longer and longer she fell… and fell…
Minthara woke up screaming, twisting out of her bed roll. She drew a dagger from her pants out of instinct, slashing at the air in front of her. Sweat rolled down her back, her hair matted against her forehead. Her cheeks were warm and wet. From the perspiration or from her tears? She could no longer tell.
She was met with the gentle rays of a sunrise as it filtered in between thick trees. A dense layer of mist clung to the damp ground around Minthara, swirling with her movements. The remains of last night’s campfire sat beside her, the embers glowing faintly, losing the rest of its light the more she stared at it.
Minthara let out a weary sigh, her heartbeat settling back into a regular rhythm. She sheathed her dagger and focused her attention on her palms. Thick scars covered nearly every surface of her hands, her skin pruned and discoloured where severe burns had been.
She ran her fingers over the old wounds, lightly massaging them as her mind swam through memories of Karlach. These scars still ached, prickling sensations running up her wrist and to her elbows. The dull pain gave her ease, a lasting reminder of Karlach and the fleeting moments they had shared together.
Minthara had suffered a slew of injuries throughout her years in the Underdark as she played the game of Houses, navigating the complexities of Drow culture and escaping one assassination attempt after another. She had even gathered a few notable scars from her life on the surface, raiding in the name of the Absolute and in turn, fighting against them to free herself of its influence. Nothing compared however, to the injuries she had encountered cradling Karlach as flames devoured her body, comforting her until the final moments.
Minthara had tried to fight away the rest of the companions as they rushed to her aid, to heal her burned limbs, but she collapsed, succumbing to the crippling weight of her grief. She would’ve kept every single burn in testament to Karlach’s sacrifice, but they quickly vanished in a sea of healing spells, save for the wounds on her hands.
Her dreams had known no quietude since that day. Night terrors plagued her subconscious, the same scene playing on a never-ending loop. She woke up just the same, doused in sweat and wanting nothing more than to feel Karlach’s warm embrace once again.
The nightmares would never cease, nor in truth, did she want them to. Vengeance coursed through Minthara’s veins, fuelling her heart's desire. She would smite whatever obstacle appeared on her road to revenge, be it friend or foe. She would not allow herself to rest until she hunted down that vile Archdevil Zariel. The pathetic fallen angel who was responsible for Karlach’s affliction and doomed fate. Minthara would rip out her infernal heart and squish it with her boots, like the worthless insect she was. For months she calculated numerous ways to exact her retribution, what she would do to make Zariel cower. Would she rip out her wings? Crush her talons? Or perhaps flay her skin? All she knew was that Zariel would suffer up until her last moment.
Minthara rose to her knees, reaching for her backpack. She pulled out a new set of clothes, laying them in front of her in preparation for the day's travel.
She was so close now, her stomach fluttering in anticipation as she began to recognise the roads she travelled previously. One more night and she would be back in Wyrm's Crossing. She had unfinished business there, someone she needed to speak with if she was ever going to make it to Avernus unscathed.
If she was ever going to avenge her beloved.
Wyrm's Crossing was barely identifiable as Minthara moved through the streets. It had been months since the Elder Brain’s assault on Baldur’s Gate but it looked like the attack occurred only yesterday. Chaos still lined the roads; buildings remained unrepaired, rubble littered every corner, creating bottlenecks in the flow of mortals crossing in and out of the Lower City. The paths themselves were stuffed with refugees, most holding their hands out begging for gold and the others huddled in the corners, sleeping or crying; the lot of them merely trying to survive another day. It was noisier and dirtier than Minthara remembered. She covered her nose, attempting to shield herself from the rancid smells that drifted up from the pavements. It was an assault on her senses as she pushed through the throng, edging closer to Sharess’ Caress.
Holes were scattered throughout the foundations of the brothel, red velvet curtains covering openings where more intimate matters were attended to. The front doors had been destroyed too, leaving the foyer exposed to the passersby. Minthara slipped through with a crowd of patrons, managing to slither past Mamzell Amira’s all seeing gaze at her perch behind the counter. She was worse than a scrying eye. The last time Minthara stepped through those doors, Amira attempted to recruit her to the house of pleasure almost immediately.
“There’s a high demand for Drow,” Amira had said with a seductive wink, “you would be a nice addition…”
Karlach found that quite amusing, teasing Minthara later that evening in the privacy of their tent.
“I’ll poison them all,” Minthara whispered.
“No you won’t,” Karlach responded, nuzzling against Minthara’s chest.
“Oh, and you’re so sure, Karlach? What makes you think I haven’t done so already?” Minthara spoke, through a grin.
Minthara walked up the carpeted steps, shaking away the memory before it served as another distraction. But she could not escape them, the interior of Sharess’ Caress was riddled with echoes of the past. No matter where Minthara looked she saw Karlach at every corner, her voice rattling around her brain. Karlach's idiotic sense of humour, childish at best, somehow always made Minthara laugh. She would risk anything to make Minthara smile, from making bets on the types of fetishes the brothel's clientele had, to nearly drinking Hoots' Hooch dry with that incredible tolerance to alcohol; these memories might’ve been trivial to most mortals, but to Minthara they were precious.
Before Minthara knew it, she was on the upper level, standing in front of an all too familiar room. The Devil’s Den.
She clenched her jaw as she stared at the intricate designs on the door, debating whether or not to knock or kick it down.
Minthara inhaled deeply and begrudgingly tapped her knuckles on the entranceway.
“You may enter.” A deep voice rumbled from the inside, “But be expeditious, I have another engagement in sho–”
Minthara did not wait for what the voice had to say, the evil that hid behind these lavish facades did not deserve her respect. She slammed the door open, barging inside.
“Devil.” She interjected, standing on the threshold with her hands on her hips.
There was a long pause as Minthara watched the Devil named Raphael rise from his rosewood desk at the far end of his suite, turning to face her. His mortal form was deceivingly handsome, silk brown hair resting above his shoulders. Those dark eyes of his were the worst of all, they could lure almost anyone into one of his infernal traps if they stared long enough. He wore an expensive looking doublet, embellished with decorative slits, befitting his higher status amongst the mortals.
A flicker of surprise crossed Raphael's eyebrows as he stared at her, tilting his head curiously. A contract floated by his side but he waved his wrist, causing it to vanish in a burst of sparks.
“Nightwarden Minthara.” Raphael began, his inflection rising. “An unexpected surprise... To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Before Minthara could respond, an unseen force pulled her inside and the door shut behind her.