Chapter Text
Well… this is just great. Truly excellent. Exactly what they all needed on this fine summers day.
He was relieved when Jaheira had sent the four of them out to scout the area, search for food and possible supplies. It was supposed to be a nice safe expedition. A summer walk in beautiful weather. Perhaps he would see a pretty bird he could find joy in.
Why would he ever think this would go smoothly? Gale of Waterdeep has never had such simple luck. Why would it start now?
Astarion has an arm over his shoulder, blood pouring from his rib cage as he desperately tries to run along side him.
“Keep running!” Karlach screams. Gale does not like it when even the barbarian is panicked.
Lae’zel says nothing. She runs alongside them, and glances over at the bleeding spawn being half dragged by the disheveled wizard. She curses under her breath, most likely an insult, and gracefully jumps to the other side of Astarion’s drooping body. She forcefully grabs his arm and wraps it around her shoulder. Gale and Lae’zel run with their near fallen comrade between them. Bless him, he’s still trying to run.
No healer. No potions.
And a small fucking army of Bane Cultists hollering a bloody victory as they chase after them.
It’s such a beautiful summer day.
Fuck.
——-
Temple and Orthala crouch behind a boulder, rushed whispers passing between them.
“They’re too great in number. There is no way”
“I know, I know”
“Is Lysander with them…? “
“Probably, the wretched sneak. Let me check”
Temple cautiously pulls herself up over the boulder. Her telescope sits on the other side, slightly tilted. She adjusts it and peers through, surveying the land. She sees the army, but what an odd choice they are making. They are yelling, running, weapons raised, the wretched Lysander leading them with haste.
“Odd… this is Odd. Why rush towards us when our land is nearly two kilometers away…?”
“What…? What do you mean?”
“They must be… no, this can’t be for our circle. They must be chasing something…”
“Could what they chase be used as a distraction? The shields aren’t ready yet. Our people aren’t ready yet.”
Temple moves the telescope north. Survey, survey, survey, there.
Oh no.
She tries to look closer. Four people dashing, one wounded, being half dragged by what appears to be an armored githyanki and a-
Oh no.
Temple doesn’t think, her body moves without her minds permission. No matter, her mind would have given it if she just gave it a moment. No moments now.
Orthala yells after her, confused and angry.
“Temple, what in the hells are you doing?!?!”
Temple disappears within the brush, presumably running down the hill towards the path.
Orthala stands tall. A half orc woman of respect and battle, she is not accustomed to her second in command breaking rank. This is…
“Gods damnit, Temple!”
And with this, she chases after her.
—-
“This is not going to end well” Astarion mumbles. Blood drips from his lips and he’s pretty sure his words are hidden within the panic and breaths of exertion. Are these truly his last words? Well this is sad. He was hoping they would be a clever insult, either towards his killer or the silly wizard man who is currently helping to drag him towards the smallest chance of survival.
Silly man. Hope is such a stupid concept.
He’s touched Gale is at least trying. Oh, is this Lae’zel on the other side of him? Well, at least he’ll die knowing people care enough to attempt to salvage him. That’s a hopeful thought he’s willing to hold on to.
They don’t need to know this.
—-
Karlach turns to assess how close they are and she lets out a yelp.
That is not good, Gale thinks.
She stops, loads her arrows, and begins to fire.
“There’s no point in running! They’re going to slaughter us, we may as well take a few of them with us!”
A fine thought indeed.
Gale keeps his friends arm around his shoulder, and turns. The army is closer than he’d like. Hells, they could be in the next town and they’d be closer than he’d like. But where they are now, he can almost see their rotted teeth.
He pulls the weave into his free hand and expels out a bolt of fire. It’s hits and kills one immediately. One down, a hundred and forty nine to go.
Down the path, he sees them jump over the corpse of their fallen with ease. No love lost, he supposes.
He needs his other hand which is currently covered in blood holding Astarion up under the arm pit. If he lets go, Astarion may fall. He’s not sure this is something he’s willing to risk. Gale doesn’t do “no love lost” very well.
Surprisingly, Lae’zel holds the same belief. She’s turned awkwardly, her shooting arm crossed around her, her body twisted mid run. She keeps Astarion’s arm over her shoulder, her arm wrapped around his back, and she fires her crossbow one handed.
148 to go. Excellent.
Gale looks at the path ahead of them. How close were they to some form of salvation?
What’s this now? A tielfing woman, oddly green in hue, face adorned with Druidic tattoos, is running towards them. Salvation is running towards them and she is in full Druidic armor. She could also be their death. Moments will tell.
A half orc woman runs after her, arm outstretched, her face twisted in panic and rage. He’s traveled with Astarion and Karlach long enough to know the look of a leader who is chasing a very stupid decision made. He hopes to see Jaheira again, if only to witness that look once more.
The tiefling woman stops in front of them, palms out, eyes scanning them. Salvation smells of rainwater, moss, and sandalwood. It’s nice.
“What in the hells!!” Karlach yells out in surprise. “Where the fuck did you come from?!”
“No time,” the woman says, and she’s absolutely right. The army is close, yet for some reason, they’re slowing down.
A green light bursts from the woman’s hands. It envelops the four of them quickly. Healed.
Oh gods, actual salvation.
Astarion gasps so to finally fill his unpunctured lungs with air. Lae’zel unceremoniously drops her arm from his back and starts to run forward, almost colliding with the half orc woman in her path.
“Gods damnit! What were you thinking?!” The Half Orc screams at the tielfing.
She turns to the four them
“Run north. There’s a bridge that crosses a chasm. Our circle is just beyond the walls on the other side. Tell them Orthala sent you, they’ll let you in. GO!”
The tiefling woman does not move. She faces the army as they end their sprint and walk forward, led by an elven man with a demented smile and short red hair.
The man who gleefully stabbed Astarion. Bastard.
“Hello Orthala.” He gives a mocking bow and a flourish of his hand.
“Leave, Lysander, we won’t ask you again” Orthala responds, attempting to grab her enraged tiefling friend. The tiefling shakes her hand off and continues to stare down Lysander.
The gall of this woman, Gale thinks. The absolute brilliant gall. He sees her eyes are different colors, one a mortal blue, the other a demonic black. More tiefling than most tieflings. Interesting. Here he is, ignoring an army of Bane to gaze upon a pissed off green tiefling with weird eyes. He’s fine with this choice.
“Give Bane what he wants and we may let you survive in our servitude”Lysander he calls out. They are so close. Not close enough for a blade strike, maybe a five minutes stroll away. But they’re close. They may as well be staring into each others eyes with how dangerous the situation is.
Now that the army is closer, he sees more than rotting teeth.
Is this army… undead…?
“To serve Bane, what bliss. To be a part of something greater, to own the world in your hands-“
He’s doing a villain speech. Predictable.
What is NOT predictable is the changing of the clouds. Gale turns his gaze back to the Tiefling woman; she’s practically glowing green with magic. She’s enraged. She’s afraid. She’s determined.
She’s mostly just chaos.
He can’t let her do this alone, he’s the greatest arch mage in Waterdeep. He couldn’t live with the embarrassment if he sat by and watched. Curiosity is not a luxury he can afford, and yet…
What in the hells is she doing with the sky…?
Thunder is heard, then falling rain. Large droplets, too heavy, too angry to be considered an everyday storm. It’s somehow controlled within the vicinity of the army; the six of them stand in the sun, completely dry.
Fascinating. He’s read about this.
But it’s just rain. What is this tieflings plan…?
“Rain?!” Lysander laughs. The rain is loud, a water tempest sans the wind. He needs to yell louder for them to actually hear his mocking words.
“When did you get so lazy, Druid? Rain will not hinder our cause, RAIN WILL NOT KEEP MY LORD BANE FROM-“
Lightning.
Oh, Gale thinks, I believe I understand what’s she’s done. Clever.
Entangled electric bolts shoot from the sky, the water feeds its deathly blows, and bodies begin to fall. Lysander screams as he’s struck.
She’s electrocuted them. Many of them fall. But many still remain.
“RUN!”
No need to tell them again.
The six of them sprint, Orthala leading, the tiefling woman guarding them from behind. Gale can still smell her, even more so now that her running is making her sweat.
They see the bridge, the deep chasm, and the stone walls beyond. The idea of POSSIBLY surviving this gives them all the burst they need to speed up.
As they close in, Gale sees the archers perched on the top of the stone wall. This is good. This is very good.
Orthala leads them over the bridge. He feels hope. They’re on the bridge and nearing safety. This was close, they’ve been close before but this was-
Wait.
The air behind him changes. The air between himself and the tiefling woman. Swirling blue. The weave.
Misty Step.
Bollocks.
Lysander appears from the blue fog, his eyes scanning for the hells woman who almost did him in. She’s standing right behind him, but he’s too unfocused and angry to think of turning around. Gale sees his eyes land on Orthala, the next best thing. He goes to attack but, of course, Gale is in the way. He is always in the way. He prepares the blast of fire in his hand. Gale quickly counterspells and the magic dissipates.
A moment of reprieve, then…
Lysander shoves him off the bridge into the very deep, very deadly chasm. Gale is falling and death waits for him at the bottom.
—-
We’re almost there, Temple thinks. Almost there. We can regroup, come up with a new plan, a better plan, we have more people now, we have HIM-
Absolutely not. She runs behind the wizard, his purple blue robes riding the wind they’re all creating with their speed. Wizards can’t wear armor. He’s so exposed. Stupid beautiful man. She hates him.
They stop on the bridge so the gate keepers can lower the stone door. These are precious moments they can’t afford. Lysander is a snake. This won’t be over until they’re beyond the wall. She looks behind her. Where the fuck is this betrayer…? He’s not given up, he’s not gone, he’s lurking somewhere
He’s right in front of her.
Well, that’s convenient.
His back is turned and he has not registered where she is. A simple spell of burning hands should do the trick. She would love to watch the evil dripped elf burn alive.
Lysander lunges forward
Pushing Gale off the bridge in the process.
No.
Not this.
They were so close.
So close.
Her body reacts again without the mind. No time for the mind.
She jumps off the bridge after him, her body beginning to shift into something wild and feathered.
She refuses to let his happen. Not when they’re so close.
—
Gale is falling. It’s such a deep chasm yet there’s no time to cast anything that could actually save his life.
He’s going to die. And he’s going to take everyone with him.
Curse the orb. Curse his ambitions.
At least he’ll take the cultist with him when he levels the land.
He hits the ground.
Wait.
This is not body shattering stone. This is… soft. Warm.
Feathered.
Mystra be damned. He’s atop a giant eagle.
His mind wants to ponder the curiosities of it all, this absurd life saving situation.
His body feels this is not the time for thinking. It knows exactly what to do. The eagle begins its ascent from the chasm and Gale’s body naturally adjusts. His legs know to straddle just above the wings so to not hinder flight. His hands know what feathers to grasps and his torso keeps his weight distributed.
How can his mind and body be in opposition of knowing? Does it matter? One of them knows exactly what to do.
Sandalwood and moss fill his senses and his mind eases itself from confusion to determination.
This is BRILLIANT.
—-
“GALE!”
“Oh, gods, no!”
“A comrade has fallen, we must retrieve him”
Voices all at once, a man thrown off a bridge, Lysander preparing his magic to strike her down, and all she can think about is Temple jumping off the bridge.
Into the chasm.
A chasm made deep enough to kill anything that stumbles into it.
Temple just jumped into its open mouth.
What in the hells is happening. Orthala may have lost control of her second in command.
The red tiefling steps forward and strikes her ax down into Lysander chest. She is practically burning with rage.
No, no. She is actually burning. She has witnessed the glory of a barbarian rage but this is…
Lysander wails, his offensive spells wanes. The red Teifling raises her ax to strike again, a killing strike, and Lysander misty steps himself out of their proximity. The ax swings through the air. The red tiefling curses.
“You coward! Come fight me like a man!!!!”
She’s right. This is a cowards exit.
It’s hard to miss the large feathered body swoop up from the chasm with a maniacally laughing wizard riding on its back.
“GALE?! WHAT IN THE HELLS”
“Good, we will not have to retrieve his body”
Orthala’s eye moves from the absurdity of the giant eagle and the wizard towards the approaching army. Lysander, in all his cowardice, has magically positioned himself in front of the army right before the bridge. He stands like a tragic leader with a gaping ax wound in his chest.
This man is no leader.
They are finally, after a year in battle, in a position to beat this. She could finally keep the land and her people safe. With these unusual four, they could win.
“ARCHERS! FIRE!”
A sea of arrows cascades across the sky. The three unknowns on the bridge, the pale elf, the heavily armored githyanki, and the red tiefling literally on fire, all prepare their bows and follow her command.
Their aims are better. Her archers are passionate but lightly trained. These three shoot arrows with precision. The Pale Elf barely seems to aim. The chaos just bends around him lovingly, and every arrow he shoots lands directly through a skull. Impressive.
She hears an incantation from the sky. She looks up to the sound and sees the wizard, atop her second in command in the form of a giant eagle, fire down a glorious ball of fire.
It envelops the battle field like an angry sun; bodies fly, some backwards, some into the chasm.
But Lysander
He burns alive. He wails, he screams. This sorry excuse of a sorcerer tries to pull the fire off his body.
His corpse crumbles to the floor, nothing remaining but burnt skin and charred bones.
Delightful.
The gate keepers have lowered the stone door. They are safe now.
These four are to be celebrated.
—-
Gale has never felt more alive.
Not since before the orb. Even then, he doesn’t remember.
He can’t stop laughing. Rejoicing. He should have died at the bottom of a chasm, where his friends would have had to retrieve his broken body and transport it somewhere far away. What an inconvenience.
But here, he sits atop an eagle. He leveled an army, not a city. He’s alive.
He could cry. He might be crying. He isn’t sure.
His clothes now smell of rainwater, moss, and sandalwood. The eagle begins to decsend behind the wall. He allows himself just one moment of bringing himself closer to the feathers to inhale the scent. It’s devastatingly familiar and fills his senses, his heart, with something so close to love, it- this must be adrenaline. Does she notice? Does she even notice when he wraps his arms around her neck in an embrace? Hopefully not. His nose in buried in the feathers of her neck, he’s frantically sniffing like a dog in heat, and all without even asking. He really hopes she doesn’t notice this.
The eagle woman lands them both safely into a mob of celebration.
The half orc commander is yelling something, half angry, half elated. She’s so similar to Jahiera.
Gale jumps off the Eagle, hollering like a madman.
“That was BRILLIANT!! Did you see that?! Could you feel the glory of it all?! I should have DIED! ALL OF US!! We should be dead!”
He isn’t sure exactly who he’s expressing this to, but he’s facing his three comrades who are just as excited as he is. Karlachs flames have dissipated with her rage and she stands as an unenflamed woman, cheering loudly.
He turns to the eagle, who’s staring at him intently.
“You are a beautiful, marvelous creature. The tiefling woman, yes? Oh what instincts! What… brilliance! I know I’m repeating myself, here, but what other word better encapsulates your very essence, you BRILLIANT woman!”
The eagle says nothing, not that she can in this shape. She doesn’t chirp, she doesn’t move. She just watches him.
Gale looks into her eyes, heterochromic, one blue, one black. Both full of… something. Whatever emotion they are swimming in, they’re close to drowning.
He steps forward to look deeper. These eyes. He doesn’t know them. He’s never seen them. But he can read them. No, no. Reading requires the mind. It’s his heart that knows they’re drowning.
This is sadness.
His hand reaches forward on its own accord. “Sorry to intrude, but what exactly do you think you’re doing” his mind seems to be asking.
His palm gently lands on the eagles feathered cheek. He waits for a recoil from her but… she closes her eyes and leans into his hand. His thumb stokes the feathers lovingly.
He steps closer. Her eyes are closed; if she’s offended by his audacity, she makes no indication.
He hears the half orc woman’s voice. If he’s honest, he doesn’t care who she’s speaking to. This moment is… something? Nothing? Possibly everything?
“Sorry, but I believe it’s time we head in…”
The eagles eyes shoot open. What does she think of him standing so close? What about his hand on her cheek? Is this too much? Is he being too bold… again? He’s never been good at this, not with mortals anyway. Is this what she wants?
The eagle sharply pulls her head away from his hand .
And bites it.
“OW!”
Gale cradles his bloody hand to his chest.
“You BIT me!”
He looks to his party for support but, of course, they’re laughing at him.
Except for Lae’zel. She does not laugh. Ever.
“It is unwise to pet a Druid shapeshifter while in animal form,” She says dryly, “Would you stroke a warriors cheek without permission? This is the same.”
“Noted.” Gale responds, looking to his hand. It’s not as bad as it felt. She definitely held back.
Astarion and Karlach are practically falling over.
“Oh that was marvelous,” Astarion calls out, “Did you see the precision?!”
“Rich,” Karlach howls out between bits of laughter. “Oh, Gale, that was RICH. I love this bird, let’s keep her!”
The Druidic Eagle chirps in response, whether with indignation or amusement, no one is sure.
Karlachs face slowly begins to change. Her smile fades, the laughter dissipates. Gale makes the same realization in real time.
Their party. Jaheira, Halsin, Shadowheart, Wyll. The child, the animals.
They are camped in the middle of a battleground without even knowing.
Karlach bursts into a run towards Orthala, hands outstretched and begging.
“Our party! The rest of them! We were just scouts looking for supplies, we have people camped out there!”
Astarion lands on the realization last, his eyes betray guilt for this.
“Oh gods…” he whispers.
“They’ll be slaughtered” Lae’zel cries out. “We must rescue them!”
Karlach looks to Orthala, she responds with stillness. Horrified.
“Oh… no… that was only part of Bane’s army. He recycles his dead, they always come back. Your party is… in very grave danger.”
Karlach wildly gestures towards the Druid in the shape of an eagle.
“You have Druids! They can shape into giant birds! We would have FLIGHT! Fly over the armies, get in, get them, get out!”
Orthala begins her answer when she’s interrupted by a halfling woman’s hand on her arm.
“They helped save my family. Our land. You. We owe them.”
The halfling woman looks up at Karlach who towers over her.
“You have my wings” she says.
And with that, the halfling woman shapes. Druidic magic has no logic; this halflings eagle is a bit bigger than the tiefling woman’s shape.
Three others from the circle step forward, with small phrases of support.
“My wings as well”
“For our saviors, we will fly”
“Yes, I suppose I could”
Within moments, four giant eagles take up the space. Karlach lets out a victorious yell and goes to jump on the back on the tiefling woman’s eagle… only to see Gale firmly seated there already.
“Wait,” she says… “why.. does it have to be YOU?!”
“I mean, they need context, we can’t just send four giant eagles to retrieve them, they’ll think they’re being attacked”
Karlach stares at him for a moment. Is he… is he avoiding her eyes…?
“Well, yeah.” She says, “I just figured since it was my idea, I could go…”
“I mean..” Gale adjusts his body for more comfort, “I’m already here… so…”
Karlach looks to the eagle, who just a moment ago, bit the man who is about to ride on her back.
“What do you think…?” She asks her.
The eagle also avoids her eyes.
“Unbelievable” She says.
Gale salutes her.
“Well, I guess we’re off, then!”
“Yeah, you enjoy that.”
“Oh, I intend to”.
Flight is initiated.
Karlach crosses her arms, pouting.
“I’ve always wanted to ride an eagle. Stupid Gale. This isn’t fair.”
Astarion steps forward and places a hand on her shoulder.
“If it makes you feel any better, my friend,” he says silkily, watching the eagles disappear into the horizon, “I think he’d rather ride the woman than the eagle”
Karlach snorts back a laugh.
“This is also my assumption.” Lae’zel speaks from behind them, “And I am most perceptive”.
—-
They should be back by now. What have these fools gotten themselves into…?
The camp is anxious. Even the animals feel it; Scratch hasn’t moved from Jaheira’s side for the past hour. He places his paw on her thigh when she sits, follows her when she paces, and licks her hand when she sits back down.
Even the Owlbear cub Wyll has affectionately named Puffball, is in tune with it.
It.
Anxiety.
Worry.
Jaheira stands to pace again, Scratch jumping up to follow.
Her leadership skills seem to have dwindled. Yes, this group is challenged in their individual and collective traumas; what adventuring party isn’t…? Over half of them have parasites in their heads, three wayward gods have slaughtered a considerable amount of the population, and Baldur’s Gate is ruled by a tyrant.
How is this any worse than what she’s already experienced? Why is this so difficult?
The guilt is eating her alive.
What if she sent four of her people into danger? For what? Food? Some bloodied arrows they can reforge into decent weapons?
She could have gone herself, alone.
“Jaheira…?”
She stops pacing to turn to Wyll, who looks at her with great concern painted on his scarred face.
“Do you want me to go look for them?”
“No. Stay here. If they are not back by sundown, I’ll go.”
“This isn’t your fault, you know.”
“It absolutely is. I should have gone myself.”
“Jaheira-“
“I should have weighed the risks better. My old mind is slipping.”
“Jaheira-“
“What were you all thinking putting me in charge, is it just age? Halsin is older. He should have taken this responsibility-“
“NO JAHEIRA! LOOK!”
Jaheira stops pacing and looks to Wyll. His eyes are wide with either fear or wonder, possibly both. His arm is raised, his finger pointed to the horizon. She turns her focus to see what he is so shocked by.
Birds? No. Eagles. Four of them. They are big. Very very big. Four giant fucking eagles are headed right towards their camp.
She hears the child, Yenna, shout out in glee.
“Look! Birds!!!”
Jaheira prepares her sword and yells out to camp.
“Prepare yourselves!!! We are under attack! POSITIONS!!”
Panic and confusion spread throughout the camp until all of them are prepped, ready to fight. The eagles get closer and closer, she hears Shadowheart prepare a spell in her hand, Yenna, suddenly afraid, begins to cry, the dog barks, the owlbear screeches, the eagles get closer and she can hear their wings flapping, their talons spread wide, ready to rip the entire party to pieces.
Wyll draws his blade in a smooth arc, stepping forward, placing himself instinctively between the sky and the others. Halsin is heard whispering a prayer to the Oak Father and his Druidic magic is prepped for battle.
Scratch barks protectively, circling in front of Yenna, who clutches her cat tightly to her chest. The animal hisses, fur standing on end, eyes wide and furious at the sky itself.
The first eagle descends, gracefully, both controlled and terrifying.
The second circles wide, its cry splitting the air like a war horn.
The third dips lower, head reared and eyes focused.
And the fourth…
The fourth is not graceful.
“Oh no,” Shadowheart mutters.
It wobbles midair, overcorrects, and comes in at a sharp, alarming angle.
“JAHEIRA! MOVE!”
It hits the ground in a burst of feathers, dirt, and offended screeching, skidding several feet before coming to an abrupt, chaotic halt.
Perched atop the least dignified of the four eagles is Gale.
A windblown, bright eyed Gale, radiating equal parts delight and urgency.
“Gale?” Wyll lowers his sword an inch. “What in the hells…?”
“Yes! Hello! Wonderful to see all of you alive!” Gale beams, “Now, ordinarily, I would insist we take a moment to appreciate the sheer majesty of this situation. Because, I am, and I cannot stress this enough, currently astride a magnificent eagle—”
The eagle beneath him let out a sharp, indignant cry.
“Yes, yes, you’re right, thank you.” Gale pats its feathers hurriedly, then leans forward again.
“But we are, regrettably, camped in the middle of a battlefield.”
Jaheira’s eyes narrows. “Explain.”
“No time!” Gale called. “Armies, entirely too many weapons, none of which are ours! We must leave. Immediately. Preferably via our new enormous flying friends who have graciously agreed to save our behinds!”
As if to punctuate his point, one of the other eagles gives a piercing cry, and lowers its body as invitation to climb aboard.
Yenna’s grip tightens on her cat. “I don’t like this,” she whispers.
“You’re not meant to,” Shadowheart replies quietly, already scanning the sky again. “Gale doesn’t panic without reason.”
“I am not panicking,” Gale protested. “I am urgently enthusiastic.”
“Gale,” Jaheira snaps.
“Yes. Right. Leaving. Now would be ideal!”
There is a moment of silent shock before Wyll makes a choice first. He climbs atop the eagle that made itself available.
“Legs in front of the wings, everyone!” Gale instructs joyfully.
“You are way too happy about this, Gale…” Shadowheart mumbles as she helps Yenna onto the third eagle, her cat clutched in her arms.
“How can I NOT be?!”
Shadowheart joins Yenna as Jaheira claims the fourth, pulling Scratch up with her.
“Halsin, join Wyll on his. There aren’t enough.”
“There is no need” Halsin responds.
He turns, already moving toward Puffball, who has flattened himself against the ground, feathers puffed out, emitting a series of distressed, questioning chirps.
Halsin kneels.
A murmur of magic threads through the air as he speaks, the spell of Animal Speak settling over him like a second breath.
“Easy, little one,” he says gently, “We are in danger, but you will be safe with us”
The cub blinks up at him, still quivering.
“We must leave. Trust me.”
Puffball pulls himself up slowly.
“Okay. I go with you…?”
Halsin smiles.
“I am going to change my form. It may be scary, but you will be safe. I’m going to take you in my talons, and I promise, I will be very gentle”
And he changes.
Halsin, now feathered and more mighty than he was before, gently extends a talon. He doesn’t grab, but he offers.
After a moment’s hesitation, Puffball shuffles into Halsins waiting grasp.
The talon closes gently with Puffball lovingly held as precious cargo.
They are now ready.
Jaheira exhales sharply. “We are all here. Let’s go!”
The eagles ascend. Jaheira swears she hears the sound of a war horns carried in the wind.
— —
“Karlach, calm down.”
“No, I’m still pissed.”
Orthala brings them to the center of the small town, people are bustling about, stowing away bows and arrows, children are peering out of windows possibly calculating the odds of being let back outside to meet the newcomers.
“Temple’s magic can seem a bit clumsy, but she has it under control. Your friends will be safe,” Orthala tells them.
She studies them properly now. They are an odd bunch, but who here isn’t? This Druidic circle has always welcomed strays. The lost. The dangerous. Those with pasts that are better left buried. She is no exception.
“I cannot thank you enough,” she says, “we do everything we can to train our people for battle but we have very few practiced warriors. This war has been…”
She pauses for a moment, guilt spread across her face.
“We have lost many good people.”
She composes herself and extends a hand in a warm greeting. She then slowly pulls it back and looks up to the sky.
“They return. Unharmed, I hope”
Astarion, Karlach, and Lae’zel follow her gaze and see five eagles beginning their decent into the town square.
“Five?! I sent four!”
“Oh, that must be Halsin,” Karlach says, grinning, “You’ll like him. A bit of a hippy old dad, but he’s a good egg.”
“We have plenty of chickens for eggs here”
Karlach blinks, “No, I mean… you know what, never mind.”
“CLEAR THE CENTER!”
The shout cuts through the square. People scatter quickly giving a wide birth for a landing.
The first carries Jahiera, landing gracefully, allowing her to dismount safely. She turns to the eagle and bows in gratitude. The eagle dissolves into a rush of leaves and muddy foam revealing the small halfling woman who bows in return.
“Ah,” Jaheira says with a smile, “I thought so”.
The second, third, and fourth eagle follow is quick succession, allowing their riders to ground themselves before dissolving their animal shape back into humanoid form. Most of them bow to the people they carried but one simply walks away as if he didn’t extract a group of people from certain death.
“Alright, um, thank you!” Wyll calls after him, “I am forever indebted to-“
The man disappears into the crowd.
The final eagle descends with Gale pearched atop looking significantly less composed than he would like.
The eagle wavers a bit, losing balance.
His voice is heard offering encouragement.
“Easy, my friend, you’ve got this, you’re magnificent, you’re pure magic, the weave itself flows through-“
The eagles wild shape ends in an explosion right above the ground. Gale is launched across the square with no dignity in the trajectory. He vanishes into a shrub underneath a nearby window where a small half-orc child watches with widening eyes.
The tiefling woman is sprawled out in the dirt, cursing to herself. Orthala goes to help her up, attempting and failing to conceal her amused smile.
“You did well, perhaps a launching wizard could be developed into a viable combat strategy.”
“Hush”
Temple brushes herself off, glancing towards the brush where Gale seems to be negotiating his escape from an unexpectedly complex arrangement of branches.
“Alright, almost, ah- damn sticks”
He emerges at last, twigs caught in his hair. He stands to look triumphantly towards his party.
“I am unharmed!”
“That’s what you get for taking the good seat!!” Karlach howls, laughing. “Gods, I haven’t laughed like this in months.” She wipes a joyful tear from her eye and tuns to Temple, who is staring at Gale trepidatiously. “I really have to hand it to you. You’ve made this whole bloody journey so much better”
Orthala looks to the newly landed group. The way they stand, the way they move, how their attention never fully leaves their surroundings. They are seasoned warriors.
This small circle may have some hope yet.
She steps forward.
“If I could request your audience for a moment…”
Hope. Hope. Hope. They could survive this…
“I am Orthala, Defense Commander of the Earthen Circle. You are most welcome.”
Jaheira and Halsin go still at her words. What is it that has them so stricken…?
“The…”
“Oh, Oak Father…”
Orthala smiles warmly. “Yes, I imagine you feel it more keenly than most.” She turns to the rest of the party.
“The Earthen Circle is the last bit of land touched only by the Oak Father. No other gods are welcome here.”
Gale and Shadowheart both listen intently and hesitantly.
“Do not worry,” she says to them, “if you are Chosens, your magic is still your own. But your gods cannot be reached through prayer and they cannot reach you in turn. Ao cannot even touch you. The Oak Father predates even him.”
She looks out to the land, a peaceful smile spreading across her face. The plants grow in fertile soil, animals flourish, even the sky seems more blue.
“I am not a Druid, but even I can feel it. This land is sacred. And we will do everything we can to protect it and those that call it home.”
The party takes a moment to take everything in. Not even an hour ago, they were unknowingly camped in an active battleground.
Now they stand in protected Druidic lands, sacred, untouched by any god. Gale feels almost relieved. Maybe a year ago, before Mystra abandoned him, he may have ran into an active army so to not stray too far from her.
But today…
Her silence here is no different from the silence of the past year. She doesn’t want to speak to him. Now that she can’t speak to him it gives him some semblance of power back.
She can’t reach him.
She can’t see him.
His eyes dare to cast towards the tiefling Druid. Her head is tilt downwards but her eyes stay on him. Watching. Measuring.
When she notices him looking, she immediately looks elsewhere, as if trying to convey she was staring at something else the whole time.
Now that he can look at her without running from an army or his party members scrutinizing his every move… he can actually drink her in.
He must admit, she is not someone he would normally feel this fluttery about. She’s beautiful , yes, striking even. But he had a reputation for seducing high elves and nobility. Mystra allowed him mortal lovers on occasion, with strict rules and regulations, and he always had to prove he could capture only the most impossible of hearts.
But this woman here… she confounds him. His thoughts tangle. His body, far less subtle, responds with embarrassing enthusiasm.
Is he sweating? Yes, he is indeed sweating.
If only he could kiss the Druidic tattoos on her face, run his fingers across her skin, lap hungrily at the sweat on her neck. Gods, what thoughts. His mind is producing such delicious thoughts of her yet seems so confused as to why.
He gathers every ounce of stability and opens his mouth to speak.
“Can I ask for your name?”
The woman looks at him, taken aback.
“You rescued me, my party members, and endured my rather undignified dismount.”
The joke did not land the way he wanted it to.
“I mean to say.. thank you… and… can I know your name”
She swallows and presses her lips together. Ah, those lips. Is she teasing him? He hopes she is. He loves a good tease.
After a moment, she finally relents.
“Temple”
Gale doesn’t decide to smile, he just does. There is no room for performance here. Everything about the space between them is authenticity.
“Temple…” He says like he’s tasting her name. “ I thank you…”
He takes a step forward and accidentally inhales a bit of her scent. A catastrophic mistake.
“I would gladly gather the stars and lay them at your altar as offering”
Did everyone just get quiet? Did the whole world just get quiet?
Everyone heard that, didn’t they…?
Temples eyes are wide in shock, probably at his audacity.
Orthala opens her mouth to speak but loses articulation to confusion.
Then he hears the dreaded voice of his party members.
“Oh.. Gale… No…”
Godsdamnit, Astarion.
“You do not lack confidence, I’ll give you that,” Halsins thick laughter cuts right through him.
“That was CLEVER, Gale!! Get it? Because temples have altars!!”
At least Karlach approves.
Temple keeps her eyes wide. Gale tries to read her face but his mind is too embarrassed of his mouth to be literate. Her eyes slowly move from him to Orthala.
“If… um… you bring them to the campground, I can gather their food”
“Right… right.. yes, of course”
Orthala composes herself. She seems almost childlike is her glee. Something tells Gale she will be teasing Temple about this later. Excellent, another reason for her to hate him.
Before he can apologize, explain that his mouth gets carried away, then immediately realize the double entendre which is absolutely unintentional, Temple whisks off just a bit too fast.
“Please,” Orthala gestures towards herself, “Follow me”.
Gale hears the party still laughing at him as they follow Orthala through the square. He keeps his gaze forward, pretending not to hear them.
I’m pretty sure I can survive this with my dignity intact, He thinks.
Lae’zel walks beside him quietly.
“Wizard,” She says, “You are either deliberate or careless with your words. At present, I cannot determine which.”
Dignity, meet consequence.