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Foxglove appeared through the warp sigil with a whirling purple flash. The warp sigils were few and far between during the restoration of Baldur’s Gate, and there were none in her neck of the woods in the Underdark. Luckily, she had convinced Gale to pull a few strings to get one working close to her home.
She stepped forward, catching herself before she tripped over her own boots. Passersby nonchalantly walked around her without a second glance as they continued their business. Classic Baldurian citizens, how she missed The Gate.
She knew the city like the back of her hand, so she wasted no time working her way to the gate that separated city life from the untamed wilderness that lay before it. Security was tightened to the best of its abilities while repairs were being done within the city. Luckily for Foxglove, being a fabled Hero of Baldur’s Gate came with more perks than she expected.
She passed through the gate with no issues, and opened her little notepad with the directions the half-elf had given through a sending spell.
A half hour of walking and there it was- a humble cottage with plenty of newly patched in parts, and a flourishing garden. A large table with plenty of seats surrounding it- and familiar faces filling those seats.
“Ah there you are!” A sly but elegant voice called out to the green elf nearing the home. Shadowheart with a soft look in her eye walked towards Foxglove and gave her a hug. This was a completely different girl than the one Foxglove met in the Nautiloid.
Foxglove goes down the line of chairs, greeting all of her old friends from the “tadpole days” as they all called it. Everyone was beyond excited to see the green elf surface from her hole of the Underdark.
“What? No Astarion?” Wyll’s eyes widened in confusion when it was his turn to hug Foxglove.
“Ahh… No… The spawn still need to be looked after.” Foxglove sighs.
“Well that’s too bad, I was looking forward to his tormenting presence.” Gale rests his head on his fist.
“There’s always next time I suppose,” Foxglove shrugs before sitting down in a vacant chair next to Wyll.
Time feels like it does the impossible over the next few hours- it feels like it has been standing still and yet flies by all too fast at the same time. Conversation flows as freely as the tea Shadowheart pours for everyone, the floral scent blooming from Foxglove’s cup beckons her to raise the dainty teacup to her mouth once more.
Stories of Wyll and Karlach’s adventures in the Hells, Gale’s grievances with his students, and Shadowheart’s quaint anecdotes of humble cottage life with her parents float through the lazy afternoon. Discussion of Baldur’s Gate and the repairs and spell shortages naturally surface, but is quickly shifted to the topic of Gale having to help create more spell scrolls and is a big assignment through the mage academies currently.
Through Gale’s arcane droning on the intricacies of spell scrolls, Foxglove leans back in her chair and stretches her arms out to the sun. A mourning dove coos off in the distance. The sound of woodland creatures scattering in the trees around the cottage piques Foxglove’s interest so she cranes her neck to try to spot anything.
“...Right Foxglove?”
The sage elf’s eyes widen and she grounds herself back to the table. The group laughs as Foxglove sheepishly smiles, making it painfully obvious she was tuning them out.
“Ah, but I digress. The city’s progress has been nothing short of stunning, given the time and resources since the Netherbrain.” Gale taps the wooden table as he thinks.
“The Baldurians have things to do, you know. The faster we rebuild the city the faster we can get back to our usual lives. I’m sure you share similar ambitions.” Wyll chuckles.
Gale lifts his hand to run it through his hair as he amuses the comment. “Ah yes, working hard is one of my specialties.”
Foxglove takes a sip of her tea.
Gods, if only we could work through centuries of pain and torture out of the spawn, I could get to the surface faster.
Am I becoming selfish?
She shakes the thought from her mind. Of course she isn’t selfish, she had given up her life on the surface to help Astarion and the others rehome the spawn.
The breeze carries the tiniest bits of petals Foxglove’s way, oh how she wishes the nature of the Underdark would greet her in a similar fashion.