Chapter Text
Two months post Elder Brain…
In the days following the Elder Brain’s defeat, Baldur’s Gate fell still. After cult attacks, doppelganger murders, tyrannical power plays, and illithid invasions, the city was holding its breath. With their luck, the bloody tarrasque would show up and end their misery once and for all.
But, instead, there was silence. Blissful, confusing silence. And then, the city got to work. Duke Ravengard and Counsellor Florrick were at the forefront of the movement to rebuild and reshape the city. Their goal was mold it into something greater than it was. With the coronation of Archduke Wyll Ravengard and his subsequent marriage to the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, the Tiefling paladin Lelith, the focus was even stronger on making life better for all people in the city.
With Upper City destroyed, and so many homes outside of it with them, the squabbles of who belonged in the city proper didn’t seem to matter. Some citizens chose to start over anew with Halsin, taken by his ideas to restore Reithwin. Others stayed, keen on rebuilding the city. Refugees from the Outer City were offered a stipend to help with the reconstruction efforts. It was a way for the able-bodied to get a foot in the door for themselves and their families. It was a good thought, but Zevlor often found himself wondering what would happen after the city was rebuilt.
Perhaps he was being too cynical after everything, but he thought that cynicism well deserved, all things considered. He had fought all his life to prove his worth, and so much was undone simply for being born in his body. Elturel turned its back on its proud Tieflings. He watched as previously generous neighbors suddenly rejected and sneered devilkin at him. He saw firsthand how druids of Emerald Grove reacted to them, and they wouldn’t be the only ones. Though he had been fortunate enough to make it through the gates (thanks to the Flaming Fist in the pods with him), he knew that many of his people—did he even have the right to call them that anymore?—were stuck outside the walls. That refugees were not treated with kindness in general under Gortash’s rule. Aside from that, it wasn’t even the first time Baldur’s Gate was at the center of a dangerous plot. It was only a matter of time before the other shoe fell.
None of these concerns could be shared, of course. As the highest-ranking officer of the veterans, he was naturally placed in a leadership position of the Hellriders in the temple. It was imperative that he keep a positive face for not only the people in his command, but for the sake of all who came to seek help or aid the cause themselves. His concerns were kept private, and, as he started to see the positive effects of their combined efforts, he was starting to warm to the idea that a difference was truly being made.
He wasn’t meant to survive that final assault, but the gods spared him from death time and again. Perhaps this was not the path that he had foreseen for himself, but it was one that contented him for the time being. He could allow that to distract him from darker thoughts.
“Commander? Did you hear a word I just said?”
Zevlor snapped back to attention. These days, he was prone to quiet contemplation. He didn’t want to fathom how often his fellow Hellriders caught him staring off, deep in thought. It took him a moment to recall his surroundings, tucked away in the small, private office room the temple granted them—and staring at the wall again. He cleared his throat, turning toward the voice. “My apologies, Lieutenant Guerus.”
Guerus gave a wry grin. “The years are catching up to you, old man.” They had fought alongside each other for years—Guerus was by his side in the final assault two months ago. Had the joke been made in front of his other subordinates, perhaps it would have earned a sharp reprimand. Instead, Zevlor shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Guerus continued: “I’ll have Arkis write up a report. Things are progressing smoothly. There’s nothing requiring your immediate attention.”
Zevlor nodded in gratitude before his attention was drawn to the door. A polite knock before it was opened. Intari, one of their younger members and another who joined him in the assault, popped her head inside. “Beg pardon, Commander, Lieutenant,” she apologized, “but there’s a woman here to speak with you. Says she’s here on behalf of the Duchess?”
He stood up a little straighter. “Yes, of course. Let her know I will be right out, Private.”
“The sooner the better, sir,” Intari responded, sounding exasperated. “Casmir is making an absolute fool of himself.” The two men exchanged a glance and silently decided the best course of action was to follow immediately. Zevlor could hear the tone of conversation before he was close enough to make out the words and nearly groaned. It was worse when he got into earshot.
“…has this really great stew they serve. People come from all over just to eat it!”
“Oh? I haven’t had the pleasure.” The feminine voice was politely disinterested in the current conversation.
“If you’re free later, I can take you there,” Casmir persisted, not taking the hint.
“That’s quite enough, soldier.” Zevlor stepped into view. To his relief, Casmir was keeping a comfortable distance from their guest—a Tiefling herself—though, perhaps, closer than what would be appropriate given the circumstances. The young soldier looked suitably chastened to be scolded by his commander. “Take your leave.” As the young Tiefling left, he instead turned his attention to the woman. “My apologies, miss. I hope you weren’t waiting long?”
She gave a lazy smile in response. “Long enough to glean that you all could use a break,” she replied smoothly. Out of habit, he took quick inventory of her appearance. Another from Asmodeus’s bloodline, with red skin and gold eyes. She had black horns that curled along the natural curve of her skull and upward at the ends. Blue purple hair was worn wavy, loose, and long. She wasn’t wearing the armor of the Flaming Fist or the City Watch, nor anything resembling the city’s higher echelon. Instead, she wore a black and tan bodice over a black blouse, a thin brown belt looping high on her waist, accenting her curvy figure. On her lower half were a brown skirt, ruched in the front and longer in the back, and a pair of black lace up boots. Over all of that was a navy cloak, with the hood currently down. She wasn’t much shorter than him, all told. She tipped her head to the side. “I get the impression you don’t get out much.”
Guerus chuckled from behind him but didn’t add any commentary. Zevlor shook his head. “My apologies for Private Casmir’s behavior, miss. It will not happen again.”
“Oh, I wasn’t offended.” There was a dismissive wave of her hand. “You must be the Commander then?” She held out her hand. “I’m Mavari. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Well met, Mavari. Zevlor,” he supplied, taking her hand. He noted with approval the nice, firm handshake. “I am told the Duchess sent you?”
She nodded. “That she did. The Duchess is old friends with one of my teammates. We’ve been in the city since—well, everything—and she got in touch. Turns out that helping your husband run a city doesn’t leave much time for adventuring, or as much time around the city as one would like.”
“No, I don’t imagine it does.” Though he wasn’t entirely sure where this was going.
Mavari placed her hands on her hips. “There are certain things that can’t be asked of the City Watch or the Fist. She mentioned all the people she had met while battling the Absolute. She wants someone to keep an eye out for all of you. So, she’s asked us to provide help where we can that she and the Archduke can’t.”
Zevlor considered this. “So, she has contracted an adventuring party—you are adventurers, yes?—to take on the jobs any of us would previously ask of her?”
“I might have described it with a little more importance, but you’ve got the idea.” She shrugged. “The point is for you know who to contact to get the job done right.”
“Ms. Mavari, Lieutenant Guerus.” Guerus stepped forward into the conversation. “Do you have proof of this contract? How can we be certain you are who you say you are?”
Her eyes shifted toward him. “Lieutenant Guerus,” she demurred, “I would never presume to come to Elturel’s Hellriders without proof.” She reached into her pack and produced a scroll, handing it to him. “Take your time.”
Guerus unrolled the scroll to read. Zevlor kept his eyes on the woman as he did so. Mavari returned his gaze levelly. There was a hint of fire behind it, though, one that he recognized well—she was ready to fight for herself should the need arise. She didn’t falter under his stern gaze. “Commander.” Guerus handed him the scroll. Zevlor only broke eye contact once it was in hand to read.
It certainly looked authentic. The scroll was notarized from the office of the Archduke, bearing nine signatures: Lelith’s, the notary’s, Mavari’s, and six others. The document referenced their adventuring party and the duties expected of them, as well as the Duchess’s blessing as written in her own hand. He didn’t question its validity. He rolled the scroll and flicked his gaze back to hers, still unwavering. “Very well. I am convinced. Lieutenant?”
“It looks legitimate,” Guerus confirmed. “One question, though. You named your group Cataclysm?”
That comment broke Mavari’s stare. She made a face. “Don’t ask.”
Guerus held up a hand. “Not asking.”
“If you’re agreeable to it,” she continued, looking back to Zevlor as she tucked the contract away, “I’ll stop by at once a tenday to check in. If there’s anything you need us to do, you can let me know then.”
He considered this. The Hellriders were certainly very capable at handling what needed to be done, but, he had to admit, there was a certain appeal to having someone to call for the tasks that weren’t appropriate for their attention. “Very well,” he agreed after a moment. “But I would like to test this for a few weeks before I commit.”
Mavari broke into a charming smile. “Of course, Commander,” she responded silkily. “I respect your discernment.”
“I do have one favor to ask, though,” he noted. She tipped her head slightly. “We have Elturian refugees still in Rivington. If it isn’t too much trouble, would you check on them and report back to me? I’d rather you not say I’m the one asking, but…”
“It’s no trouble, Commander. The Duchess asked me to check on them, as well. I’ll be headed that way tomorrow.”
A tension he didn’t realize he was holding in his shoulders dissipated. He closed his eyes for but a moment to control his reaction. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” She smiled again. “Do you require anything else of me at this moment?”
“We do not.” Zevlor returned the smile. “Thank you for introducing yourself, Ms. Mavari.”
“Oh, the pleasure was all mine, Commander, Lieutenant. Should you need anything of us in the meantime, you can put a word in at the Blushing Mermaid.”
“The Blushing Mermaid?” Guerus questioned. “Isn’t that place seedy?”
“It’s under new management,” Mavari responded smoothly, if not a bit automatically to Zevlor’s ears. She gave a low curtsy. “By your leave.”
“Be in good health,” Zevlor responded politely, returning the curtsy with a bow of his own. He watched as she moved to the door, eyebrow quirking as she turned around.
“You know, we’ve got some good stew of our own at the Mermaid,” she called. “Stop by and try it out sometime.” Grinning, she left. It was at that moment he realized that her tail had been moving in a lazy, steady S-shape from base to tip.
Only once he was confident that she was out of earshot did Guerus give a low whistle. “Maybe we need to cut Casmir a little slack,” he admitted.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Guerus.”
Guerus glanced behind Zevlor. “You wanna try running that by me again?”
Only then did Zevlor realize his tail was mimicking that same S-shaped movement. He scowled. “Not one more word, Lieutenant.” He could hear Guerus snickering as he swiftly left the room.
“Hells,” Dammon hissed, throwing his hammer in frustration. He barely flinched as it found purchase against the stone and walked rapidly across his forge away from it. He crouched low, running his hands over his hair to intertwine at the base of his skull, and tried to calm his rapid breathing.
Nothing was working. Nothing was right. He had no idea how anything he had made the past two months sold, because nothing was up to his standards. And what did it matter, anyway? The one person who needed him, relied on him, was dead. And what did he tell her? That her only option was to go back to Avernus, the place she refused to return to, that he didn’t think he’d be able to find the answer in time before her engine gave out?
Gods damn it, why didn’t she listen? At least she’d be alive. Now, it was too late, and he was left with nothing but regrets and questions. His fingernails dug into his skin in frustration. He wanted to go up to the Duchess herself and scream at her for not trying harder to convince Karlach to live. It was fine and good for the Hero to go off and have her happily ever after, but she couldn’t do the same for her friend?
Dammon growled and punched the stone floor. It took him a solid ten seconds before the pain shot up his arm. “Fuck.” Blood was dripping from the skin that broke when it hit hard surface. Money was tight. He couldn’t afford to go to a healer—
“Ummm, hi?”
“What?” he snapped without thinking. Immediately, he froze. Showing his emotion so openly was unlike him—especially not anger. He swallowed and stood up, trying to mask the pain he felt. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be rude.”
Dammon felt like he might have to apologize for being rude again, because he had never seen someone like the person in front of him, and he was aware that he was staring. She was short with light blue skin, a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her hair was long and wavy, with the sides tied back in a braided style. Her hair resembled the color of the ocean, starting off light at her scalp and getting darker at the ends. The oddest thing was that it was moving on its own like gentle waves. Webbed fins were where her ears should have been. She wore a dark blue dress with a brown corset and skirt combination over top, with matching brown boots and black leggings. Large blue eyes were looking at him with concern. “So I’m pretty sure you just busted up your hand,” she noted bluntly. “I’d be rude, too.”
He quickly hid his bloodied hand behind his back. “No, no, I’m fine.” He waved off her concern with the other. “What can I help you with?”
“Yeah, no.” The young woman crossed the forge, holding out her hand. “Give it.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted, clearly not fine but wanting to be left to his misery as soon as possible.
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure the Duchess would be mad at me if she knew I left you alone with a broken hand, so give it here already.”
The Duchess? Dammon was so thrown off by the casual name drop that he barely registered her grabbing his arm. It wasn’t until he felt the warm relief of healing magic that he noticed the woman was softly singing as she cast the spell. It still felt a bit sore, and the wounds were only just closed, but at least the bones felt intact again. He flexed his fingers a few times. “…thanks.”
“Not a problem,” she chirped in return. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, Dammon. I’m Lyric!”
He was going to question how she knew his name, but, if she sought him out, of course she did. Dammon sighed. “Well met, I suppose. Why are you here?”
“I’m supposed to check in on you on the Duchess’s behalf.” She leaned over slightly and squinted up at him. “Do you often yell and punch the ground?”
“No,” he snapped. In a better mind state later, he would be embarrassed for his attitude, but for now he turned away from her. She was starting to get on his nerves. “Tell the Duchess I don’t need or want any help.”
Lyric tipped her head to one side and followed. “That’s interesting, she had nice things to say about you. She said you helped her friend Karlach—”
“Don’t,” he hissed, “talk to me about Karlach.” He didn’t want to hear it. Whatever the Duchess had to say about him, or about Karlach, she clearly didn’t care enough about either of them to actually give the barbarian a fighting chance when it counted. He clenched his fists. “I need you to leave.”
She blinked then shrugged. “Okay, fine. But I’ll be back next week. I hope whatever is making you so mad stops being dumb.” She turned on her heel and started to leave.
“Wait.” Dammon winced. This was so unlike him. She stopped and turned back. “What kind of help?”
Lyric burst into a big smile. “Oh, anything you need! We’re adventurers who have fought foes from Ten Towns to the Dalelands, heroes to all the realms—”
“Can you do me a favor?” he cut off.
Undeterred, she curtsied. “Of course. How can the great Cataclysm assist?”
“Can you bring me any infernal metal you find?” He reached into his pouch and produced a sample. “Anything like this.”
Lyric took the iron and studied it. “Oh, sure! We find a lot of stuff on our travels,” she added, handing it back. “We’ll definitely bring you anything we find like this.” She grinned. “In the meantime, if you need us for any reason, or if you just need a good drink”—she gave him a knowing look—“you can find us at the Blushing Mermaid!”
“The Blushing Mermaid?” he repeated. “Didn’t someone get killed over stealing an ash tray there?”
“It’s under new management!” she sang cheerfully. “Byeeeeeeee!” With a flourish, she was off. It was only as she was leaving that Dammon’s brain supplied him with the word genasi.
…huh. And he asked her about infernal iron? Dammon gazed down at the scrap in his hand with a frown. Why? What good did infernal iron do him now that his entire reason for researching it was gone? He closed his fist around the piece and shut his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. Maybe one day this wouldn’t hurt so much.
“It took the children longer to settle tonight than usual, didn’t it?” The monk Aurelia gave Halsin a smile. She, along with her adopted son, had been among the many volunteers to help rebuild Reithwin. Though her assistance was invaluable, her friendship was a welcome surprise. They had been pleased to find so many commonalities between them, both being wood elves of the same age. Despite that, they had differing enough perspectives that it helped to challenge his way of thinking, and she was not afraid to (gently) correct him as needed.
Halsin chuckled. “They asked for another story,” he explained as he sat down on the roof. “I couldn’t tell them no.”
She handed him a steaming mug of tea. “You could,” she reminded him, amused, “but you didn’t want to.”
“You’re correct.” He lifted the mug toward her in silent cheers before taking a swallow. Notes of lavender and chamomile hit his tongue, along with the sweetness of honey. He hummed in gratitude as he looked out over the land. It was healing beautifully after the Shadow Curse’s end. Thaniel and Oliver were diligent, and so were the people making this their home. The masonry that remained was well intact and didn’t require too much structural work, fortunately. They needed to clear the dead and debris, but they were making great progress on turning Moonrise Towers into apartments. Reithwin proper would be next, giving the businesses that already started to pop up a place to form roots. At the pace they were working, it would take perhaps a year for it to be a fully-fledged community, by his estimation.
“I’m glad you have them,” the monk smiled. She tugged on a cardigan, then held her own mug between her hands. “We’re all lucky to have you.”
“I didn’t anticipate wanting to lead anyone again,” he admitted, “but this seems…different from the Grove.” A topic they had breached before, though not in great detail. He considered his next words carefully. “I suppose, if I had chosen leadership prior, I would have felt differently. But, this…” He smiled proudly as he gestured. “This feels like I’m making a difference.”
“Helping people find their community while rebuilding something the darkness took from us,” she summarized. “It’s a wonderful cause, Halsin.” She took a moment to swallow some tea. “Though, I admit, it feels like something is missing.”
“Oh?” Halsin glanced over at her. “Should we add to the plans? A temple for you, perhaps?”
“Not with the plans,” Aurelia corrected, smiling at him. “And a temple is quite unnecessary for my practices, though I appreciate the offer.” Her face turned solemn. “I meant with you.”
He blinked. “Me?” He chortled. “I have a purpose. I have the children to look after. The Shadow Curse is gone. What else could I need?”
“I can’t answer that for you,” she spoke quietly. “You seem a little…restless, that’s all.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Of course, he couldn’t look at her when he said it, instead glancing off to the side. He was met with silence. Normally, that wouldn’t have phased him—companiable silence was common—but something lingered in the air. He sighed. She was doing it on purpose, patiently giving him the space that he needed to open up, and it was working. Again. “Might I ask you something, Aurelia?”
“You may.”
“Your…solitude. Do you enjoy it?”
Her lips quirked. “I suppose that depends on how you define solitude. However…” She glanced over at him. “If I am assuming your intention correctly: Yes. I’m quite happy. I treasure my friendships and family, but I am more than fulfilled without a lover.”
There was more there she wasn’t adding. Halsin waited then relented when he realized she wasn’t going to. “I respect your decision, but I don’t fully understand it.”
“As is your right.” She lightly nudged him with her elbow. “I’m aware you’ve made some friends.”
He rubbed his chin. “Yes, well…” Friends was a way to put it. He had certainly had his dalliances since the Shadow Curse was lifted and hadn’t regretted any of them. But the intense attraction he had felt for Lelith a few months ago had made him reconsider a few things. No, he no longer carried that flame; he took her answer seriously. It didn’t escape him, however, that he couldn’t remember the last time he felt that overwhelming urge to connect with someone. “I enjoy the freedom to be with whomever I wish, but I find myself wanting a more…dependable situation, as it were.”
She hummed in acknowledgment. “At our age, I think that is natural. Certain parts of you that you’ve had for hundreds of years suddenly don’t feel like you anymore.” He gave her a curious look. She didn’t acknowledge it. “In my observation, the casual relationships come easily to you, but you are looking for something more…substantial. Having a partner or partners who see you past your most obvious features and who will stay with you. But,” she added gently, “you also fear this.”
The druid paused. “Astute observation.” How did she do that? “Why do you say that?”
“You speak as though you expect the answer to be no when it comes to advocating for yourself.” Aurelia looked at him fully now, gaze intense. “You feel like you haven’t earned the right to ask for something selfishly. Perhaps it hasn’t gone well in the past, and you took that as a sign. But, Halsin, you deserve to be loved as anyone else does.” It was his turn to be silent, but Aurelia only waited a short pause before she continued: “I didn’t know you before volunteering to come to Reithwin, but you’ve grown quite a bit in such a short time. You’ve become more self-assured, and the children bring out a much more relaxed side of you. You are worthy of being more than someone’s fling.”
“I was not aware we would be getting so heavy,” Halsin admitted slowly.
“My apologies,” Aurelia sighed. “I’ve been rather prone to contemplation lately.” She gave him a small smile. “I hope I didn’t overstep.”
Out of habit, he was about to quickly reassure her, but he took a moment with his feelings. “Perhaps this was not the best time,” he conceded, “but I believe I needed to hear the words nevertheless.” He took a moment before swallowing down a mouthful of tea. “But I think I need some time to myself to reflect.”
“Of course. I’ll leave the rest of the tea with you?” At his nod, she stood then paused. “Oh, and Halsin? Don’t try to force anything. The right people have a way of finding us exactly when we need them.”
He smiled at her and bid her good night. Only when he couldn’t hear her footfalls anymore did he sigh, letting himself deflate. Nettie had been the last person close enough to him to read him so thoroughly, and it was just as disarming with her as it had been with Aurelia. He wasn’t entirely sure how to process it all, but perhaps he didn’t need to quite yet.
The right people have a way of finding us exactly when we need them. And they had, hadn’t they? Lelith and the others had led to where he was now. If it happened once, it would again. Besides, all he had was time. He only wished that thought comforted him as much as it was supposed to.
“What in the hells is that?” muttered Guerus. He leaned back from his spot in the soup line and narrowed his eyes. “Who’s letting birds in the temple?”
“Hold on a sec, Lieutenant.” Intari knelt beside the crow. “It’s…carrying an envelope.” She carefully plucked said envelope from its beak. The crow gave a single caw of acknowledgment before flying out the door. The young Hellrider stood before walking toward Zevlor. “Commander, it’s addressed to you.”
Odd. Zevlor held out his hand to take it. “Will you keep an eye out for few moments, Lieutenant?” he asked. Guerus made a shooing motion with his hand. With a nod, Zevlor walked back to the makeshift office.
It took him a moment to register what it was—not until he started to read the elegant script. This was a report:
Commander,
I hope this letter finds you well. As promised: an update on the Elturian refugees in Rivington.
Most of my conversation was with a woman named Cerys. She was very willing to work with me and is adamant about staying in Rivington until all the refugees have a more permanent residence. Seems stretched very thin. She pulled me aside to ask after you. I feigned ignorance but told her I’d ask around.
There’s a sweet couple named Bex and Danis. They were excited to share their plans about starting their own café. They seemed slightly discouraged at first but were more hopeful after we spoke a while.
A young man named Zorru, who was one of the refugees who took stipends from the city to help rebuild. Seems downtrodden and angry. Not sure what your plans are, but I’d avoid him if I were you.
Four boys named Ide, Mattis, Mirkon, and Umi. There’s a girl named Silfy there who is making money peddling the Gazette in Lower City, but I haven’t met her yet. The boys were friendly enough with me but proving quite the handful for Cerys. I don’t get the impression she’s getting much help or that they’re going to make things easier. They asked about a Mol and said the Duchess would know who she was.
Throughout the conversation, there were six other names that were brought up as those who made it past the gate: Alfira, Lakrissa, Dammon, Rolan, Cal, and Lia. I can confirm that these six are in Lower City. Rolan, Cal, and Lia have made their residence in Ramazith’s Tower. I’m set to check in on them today. Dammon has a forge in near the Elfsong Tavern, where Lakrissa and Alfira usually are. I’m not the one assigned to check in on them but can tell you if my teammate has anything noteworthy.
There may be others, but I’d have to look. Will continue to keep you informed. With respect to individuals’ privacy, of course.
- Mavari
He read the letter twice more, digesting it, before Zevlor put it down. He had been aware of Rolan and the tower, as well as Dammon with his forge, but the rest was new to him. So that was…sixteen of his people out of how many who had set out from Elturel under his command? Gods. There might have been more survivors, but his gut told him there weren’t. He lowered his face into his hands and sighed. The familiar doubts started creeping in again—if only he had been able to resist the Absolute’s pull, if only they had been stronger, if only, if only, if only.
They were fractured. He could read between the lines well enough to tell that the children were going to end up falling through the cracks if no one stepped in. Cerys was very capable, but she was still gaining confidence as a leader. She was placed in the line of succession as a formality but was never meant to take over in his stead. His fear at the time was that she would struggle rallying the Tieflings to her cause, and it sounded like that fear was well-founded…let alone trying to do so while keeping the children out of trouble. And none of the other adults thought it was necessary to help? Zevlor found himself utterly disappointed, but he noted with some dismay that he wasn’t surprised. It was an old song and dance he was all too familiar with. Those poor children.
As for Zorru…well…the warning said enough, didn’t it? At least one Tiefling was still upset with him, which meant more likely were. Was it worth even trying at this point? No, all he could do was move forward. He could try to atone through his good deeds, if such a thing were even possible.
He steadied his hands before tucking the letter away. Dark thoughts were seeping into his mind, but he could not allow them to settle there. His fellow Hellriders needed him.