Chapter Text

The Fall

*

It was approximately the 25th of Eliasis, when Nori barrelled down a riverside beach that meandered through a swathe of land she, until very recently, hadn’t even known existed.

“Shadowh...” she failed to shout, throat as coarse as sandpaper after a full day’s worth of screaming.

Hands pressed to her sides, she came to a halt, suppressing a coughing fit as she struggled to catch her breath. She was in flawless shape, naturally, just a little drained from all that hag-thrashing and lair-looting, and trying to keep up with those long-legged beanstalks. She could hear them back there, even the distinct thwack of steel on straw from where Lae’zel was dismembering yet another training dummy.

It wasn’t that Nori didn’t appreciate her thwacking skills, of course. But right now, she didn’t need anyone dismembered or beheaded; she needed someone patched up.

“Shadowheart?!” she called out again, this time a tad less croaky.

No response other than from a swarm of chubby finches rampaging in the woodworks.

She sighed and resumed her trot, cursing these painfully thin-soled shoes she so far hadn’t been able to replace because that trader at the Grove didn’t have anything her size. And the guy was a halfling himself, for heaven’s sake.

This was definitely the right direction. She could see the cleric’s footprints in the sand. Around them, there were smaller ones, clawed and padded and circling those others on their way toward a patch of bullrushes from where Nori now heard hectic panting, saw a white-furred snout breaching the reeds, tongue lolling with excitement before-

“Hnngh,” was all she got out between tight-clenched lips as her face was bestowed with copious amounts of slobber.

Yet another drawback of her stature: always being within perfect reach for all sorts of slavering maws. On the other hand, if the fluffy bits attached to one were the kind that needed ruffling, all she had to do was reach out, no kneeling required.

“Whosadroolylittlefleabag?” Nori cooed in a perfectly dignified manner, ruffling away with what strength she had left. “Where’s the nice lady who stuffs you with treats when no one’s looking, huh?”

Another slurp, covering every inch of skin from jawline to forehead.

“The other one!” she laughed and fondly shoved him away, earning herself a heartbreaking whine.

“Yeah, that’s not going to work on me, bud,” Nori chuckled, wiping her face with the hem of her sleeve.

What the whine couldn’t accomplish, big wet puppy eyes sure did.

“Whosthecutestlittle-”

A snort from nearby had her freeze.

“I’m here...” came a bleary voice from a reed-obstructed rocky outcrop. “Here and wide awake. I’d never fall asleep on watch. Who’d do something like that?”

Nori fought the urge to snicker, wondering if spouting senseless gibberish might prove a boon for crew morale overall, two-legged members included.

“What’s the matter? What situation?” Shadowheart mumbled, chainmail chinking as she slumped from her perch.

“Wyll got half his hand burnt off,” Nori explained as they walked. “Barely any skin left, and we’ve run out of potions.”

“How’d he do that?”

“Touched something hot.”

“Like what?”

“Like Karlach.”

Shadowheart raised a brow. “Did he now...?”

“Oh, stop it, you,” Nori huffed, grinning. “Was a perfectly innocent accident. There was a freshly orphaned kitchen, talk of blackberry tarts, then a friendly slap on a shoulder that should perhaps go unslapped for now...”

“Ah...” The cleric nodded, lips curling with glee.

“Hey, why’d you go this far for a nap, by the way?” Nori inquired with a nod back at the bullrush patch.

Shadowheart’s gaze dropped for a second. “No reason.”

Lae’zel’s furious whacking still echoed from the cliffs, clearly distinguishable from the jabbering and clattering of kitchenware. It sounded downright threatening. Intentionally threatening.

“Right,” Nori sighed, more in annoyance than defeat. It was moments like this that had her debate whether it wouldn’t have been wiser to, just this once, turn down the role of executive bigwig.

They passed the rest of the beach swiftly, despite Scratch's ceaseless attempts to bowl her over, tail wagging so furiously Nori was sure her shoulders would have bruises come morning.

The others had gathered around the kitchen tent; a marquee of humble but sufficient proportions she had insisted on setting up at the earliest convenience, as the thought of stashing their victuals together with boots and rusty weaponry struck her as nothing short of barbaric.

Wyll sat on one of the logs they had rolled around the firepit, hailing them with what looked more like a mitt than a hand under that makeshift heap of bandages. A safe distance away, Karlach heaved about a bunch of crates, not following any discernible logic or pattern, whilst now and then casting the warlock’s back a miserable, guilt-ridden glance. Lae’zel, as expected, didn’t hear them approach, too busy disembowelling that dummy of hers. The same went for Astarion, although in his case most assuredly not due to a lack of perception - the man had ears like a bat - but because Mr We-clearly-frequent-different-circles had better things to do than grace the plebs with his attention.

“... expected to put up with this nonsense...” Nori heard the tail end of his lamentations, this time aimed at Gale, whose purple robes she could just about spot in the tent’s open entrance. A rookie mistake, letting the elf bicker him into a corner. “... and no reward to speak of other than mouldy sweets and potions I wouldn’t touch if my life depended on it...”

“I don’t suppose you’d deem seeing a pregnant girl saved from a hag’s murderous clutches a reward in and of itself, would you?” Gale teased from inside. Judging by the sound, he had taken it upon himself to sort the spoils of today’s haul.

Astarion didn’t so much as pause to catch his breath. “... and don’t get me started on that abominable cane. I dread to imagine what the old crone used that for. Certainly not walking.”

“Here we go,” muttered Nori, earning herself a pitying smile from Shadowheart before the latter veered off to see to her patient.

“What... oh, you mean the staff?” Gale asked, and the clattering fell quiet for a moment. “I’ve cleaned that thrice, I’ll have you know. Besides, it’s positively brimming with Weave. Granted, the enchantment might be a little on the unsavoury-”

“Brimming, you say?” Astarion sneered. “And how long will it stay that way?”

“Back to nagging already?” Nori barged in.

“Nagging?” Astarion scoffed, a hand at his chest. “Can a man not pose a few perfectly valid inquiries?”

Nori cocked a brow. “Such as?”

“Well, for one, why we couldn’t at least keep the wand if nothing else.”

“Ah, plenty of reasons for that.” Nori went to count with her fingers. “Firstly, because I say so.” She glared at him, then jauntily continued counting. “Second, because I’d wager the trek to the Gate is a long one from here, especially if you’ve a bun in the oven, and - who knows - might be a little more enjoyable in the company of your loving, if now slightly unsightly, husband. Whom, thirdly...” she continued, middle finger wiggling alongside pointer and thumb. “... wouldn’t have been much of an addition to this outfit, I don’t think. I mean... ugh. Imagine being greeted by that mug when you’re out to fetch breakfast. Or at night, when you've got to take a leak, because I don’t think undead need sleep. And the breath ...”

“Alright, alright,” Astarion said, shuddering. “Look, I’m just wondering why it’s necessary to take in every wretched stray we happen to cross paths with.”

“Wretched as in needing a hand or backstabbing by way of introduction?”

“Wait, what?” said an irritated Karlach in the background. She had joined just the day prior and not witnessed that dubious first run-in with their dagger-flinging, lock-dismantling, self-proclaimed magistrate.

“Oh, please,” Astarion said, a note of genuine hurt under all that complacency. “At least I know how to make myself useful, unlike that little ingrate.”

“You know, if you keep running that mouth of yours, I might have to issue a gag order on it. Maybe restrain the whole package.”

Astarion bent down. “Is that a promise?”

Nori burst into cackling. “Honey, even if you were my type and, don’t you dare take this personally; you’re anything but - I’m out of the game.”

She held up her left hand, wrought silver blinking in the sun.

That teasing spark in his eyes dulled, but didn’t quite extinguish. “You people are such a bore sometimes.”

“Us married folks?”

“Those, as well.”

Patting down his frilled collar, he straightened up and sauntered off. Nori watched him, shaking her head.

“He’s not entirely in the wrong.” Gale looked up from a crate he had halfway pried open, a rueful frown aimed at the staff where it leaned at the back end of the tent. “Once my condition acts up again, this may well end up rendered useless.”

“Then we’ll find you a new one.” Nori shot the gnarly thing a scrutinising glance. “Besides, it sure ain’t pretty. Makes you look like an old geezer.”

Gale chuckled. “Perfectly on par with how my legs feel these days”

Nori let out a chiding snort. “I’m the fossil ‘round here, young man. See, these stumps...” She peered down at her feet. “... have seen next to no exertion for nigh on a decade before being so rudely torn from the tranquillity of retirement.“

That was sufficiently close to the truth. Granted, chances were that at least one of the elves was considerably older than her, without their appearance betraying their age, which was nothing short of cheating, as far as Nori was concerned. And to dub her day-to-day as tranquil was arguably a stretch. But then, he didn’t have to know that. None of them did.

Gale laughed, raising a hand in defence. “Far be it from me to strike up an age-related discussion with the woman my life quite literally depends upon. On that note...”

There it was again. That ramble-heralding forefinger.

“... I’d like to, once more, emphasise how much your efforts are appreciated, especially the sparing of hard-earned, irreplaceable-”

“Gale,” Nori cut him short. “I need you to stop thinking in debts and favours owed. I’m sure we’ll all need help down the road. Speaking of...”

Taking a step backwards, Nori peered around the entrance to where their newest addition now squatted in her rocky little nook, a caved-in crevasse beneath a cliff overhang. To call what she had there a tent would’ve been a mild exaggeration; a whimsically thrown-together collection of sticks, topped with a dirt-flecked canopy. An improvised solution. Or perhaps a permanent one, given the regrettably flammable properties of canvas. Either way, it was a touch lacklustre. As was that lopsided grimace their fiery friend probably hoped to pass for a smile.

“Can I leave you with this mess...?” Nori squinted at Gale, then at the clutter of yet-to-be-attended foodstuffs.

He smiled and mouthed a silent ‘Go ahead,’ to which Nori nodded and hopped off.

Before heading over to the tiefling, however, she took a swift detour to the campfire where Wyll had just risen from his log, the cleric long gone with her duties fulfilled.

“Feel like tagging along?” she whispered, a sideways glance aimed at Karlach and her plastered-on smile.

“Do you really need to ask?” Wyll chuckled and reached down to pet Scratch, who had faithfully taken to guarding the wounded. “Such a well-mannered chap,” he added as the pup skedaddled.

Nori hummed, adjusting her drool-drenched sleeves.

Karlach frowned as she saw them approach. “You... all patched up?”

“Good as new,” Wyll produced a blister-free palm. “Better, even. Think I’ve fewer scars than before.”

Nori donned her most brilliant smile. “Care to help us fetch wood for the fire?”

Karlach peered up at her, half wary, half glum. “Because it won’t matter if that gets scorched early on?”

“Because Gale has his hands full as is, and I fear that if we don’t help the man out, it’ll be me who does the cooking. And believe me when I say, nobody wants that to happen.”

With feigned impatience, Nori gestured for Karlach to get up, smile widening as the tiefling did just that.

“You know, this reminds me of that imp my old gang used to run with. Now that was a well-mannered chap.” Nori shot Wyll a wink. “Eloquent like you wouldn’t believe.”

“You had an imp in your posse?” Wyll laughed sceptically.

“Oh, yes.” Nori nodded. “Of course, first thing the poor guy does is catch a cold, fresh out of the hells and all.” She pointed at Karlach, who now traipsed along seeming more curious than morose. “If you think you’re causing trouble, you’ve clearly never been exposed to explosive acid snot bombardment. Tore down half the inn with the sneezing and the flapping...”

Nori let her gaze drift as her lips kept moving, spinning a yarn she had unwound so often, doing so no longer required much thought.

Astarion had his back turned towards them, deep in conversation with Lae’zel. Perhaps complementing her swordsmanship, perhaps trying out some new, brazenly flirtatious lure. Judging by her vexed glower, the gith wasn’t inclined to bite.

Across from their tents, where the dirt path led to those of wizard and warlock, stood her very own little abode; wine-red and scraggy, held together by patches made of every imaginable cloth and colour. Not necessarily a sight for sore eyes, but comfy, and situated where the late evening racket was bound to ring loudest, just the way she liked it.

On the far side of the pit, Scratch had apparently launched a covert assault on the provisions - a failed one, as Gale’s booming laughter and the furry, tail-wagging rear Shadowheart dragged out of the entrance would imply.

Another day in the sun. All of them safe and sound, despite world-ending cults and brain-devouring parasites.

One of their last, should she disappoint.

With a humourless smile, Nori turned back to the others. She’d need a stiff drink later tonight. Perhaps more than one, should the day not get better. 

*

On the outermost edge of what Faerûnians knew as Realmspace, a woman named Ley struggled not to fall asleep where she stood.

She had lost track of how much time had passed. How long she’d gone without food, and without sleep, out here at the bow of the ship - watching, waiting, listening even though she knew there was nothing to be listened to. How often it had lunged at her, its teeth so close that she thought it was over. How many rifts there had been, how many hair’s-breadth escapes. How many hours she spent screaming.

She was past the point of panic. By now, it was cold, calculable dread. As calculable as the fact that it was out there somewhere. Watching and waiting, same as she was, but with the placidness of a snake stalking a wounded sparrow, knowing it could do little more than dodge and hop off, flutter a few steps at best. And the sparrow knew it, too.

What prevented her knees from giving in was plain old muscle memory. Her body did what it always did, and the one job she had left - other than not collapse from exhaustion- was to keep her eyes peeled and her head on a swivel, ready to launch the next jump the second she spotted movement.

And yet she kept drifting off.

Not to matters that were in any way relevant. Nothing to do with survival, but trifles. Memories. Spectres of the past, the sort she had locked away, rattling at the bars of their cages. Her name was among them. The one given to her at birth by her mother, and then the ones she had earned for herself - a lengthy list that had surely been extended in her absence, and not by fond ones, she wagered.

Ley shuddered, trying to clear her head with a few rapid blinks.

Above and around, the night was as unmoved as ever; millions of stars winking her way, painting the cosmos with the most wondrous patterns. She saw spiralling swirls adorning vast nebulae, and isolated clusters donning proud purplish hues valiantly holding their ground in the dark.

Back in her place, it had taken less than a month to catalogue the celestial panorama and the formations it contained, so discovering new ones always came with a thrill. Her favourite pastime, when there was nothing to do. She never knew what she’d find: fantastical creatures with limbs in odd places, towering trees sprouting impossible blooms. At times, she was greeted by faces. Those were the ones she liked most. They meant having company.

She could make one out up there, if she squinted a little. Sharp eyes, scraggy brows. The prominent line of a freckle-dashed nose.

He had almost dropped his bottle, that one night when she told him she thought about leaving, once what required doing had been dealt with, and some amount of order was restored.

The air had been thick in that damp, stuffy cavern, even more so between the bones of that antediluvian colossus, between which they had huddled down like carrion beetles in search of a meal. The others had been fast asleep, tuckered out from a day’s worth of tiresome work, the construction in the background nearly complete. The two of them had made this their ritual; sneak off into the ruins, share a bottle and talk, about everything and nothing, until their heads were empty enough to catch some shut-eye themselves.

“Don’t be daft, where would you go?” he had asked, flabbergasted.

“To the stars,” Ley said. “We’ll have to go either way. If things down there don’t work out, or we outgrow that place, too.”

Her brother stared at her, then at the decrepit ribs of what had once been one of their forefathers’ ships. “And there, you’d do what?”

Ley shrugged and sipped at her ale. “Scout things out, I suppose. Find the edge of the world and see what’s beyond.”

The world had no edge. It all spanned on forever. The cold and the silence, the star-dusted void. The void that, in one spot, was darker than it had been a moment ago.

One, Ley thought, hands hurling forth that instant, a trembling gesture parting the shroud between worlds.

“You’ll come back, right?” her mother had asked, more offended than fraught, and far from understanding.

Ley had planted a kiss on her forehead. “Of course I will, silly.”

A lie, but one that would soon be forgotten. A selfish thing to do, but she couldn’t bear to see tears.

“Well, then...” her mother said quietly, a steep line appearing between white, knotting brows. “You just make sure you don’t forget about me over there. Down there. Or... where was it you’re going again?”

“Wherever my feet take me,” Ley laughed, guilt choking her like a noose. “I’ll write when I can.”

Such a dumb thing to say. She had regretted it ever since, knowing there was a chance her mother had written herself a note about that last part, waiting for letters that would never arrive. Ley had tried to make up for it. One broken promise weighed up with one solemnly kept. Not a day had gone by without her remembering.

Two.

There, ahead, a bright spot in the night. A handful of bodies in its orbits, the shape of one outlined against the sun’s radiant crown. Ley smiled bitterly. It was close, big enough, and she was too tired to keep running.

Three.

Behind her, the sphere sprang to life. It had dulled, considerably so, her stashed-away reserves dangerously close to depletion.

No matter. It didn’t have to last for much longer.

Four .

From the corner of her eye, Ley saw scales, then the gleam of serpentine eyes opening, and her heart sank like a stone as she gauged distance, momentum, and her weary mind grasped that she wouldn’t reach five. That this was it. That, at long last, she had found the end of things.

It was then that the torrent of memories finally broke its chains.

Her hands pressed against a round stained glass window, the world on the outside a dulled mosaic. Behind, patient murmurs, attempting to assuage. Down there, a wrathful choir rising from the bottom of the street, its manifold echoes thrown back from the walls.

“I tried,” Ley whispered, as her view filled with grey, with cragged lips that drew back. She could see its tongue rise, a wandering dune made of shale.

Her fingers rolling up parchment, thick and expensive, filled from top to bottom with elegant script.

“You know this is a trap,” her brother had bristled. “There’s no way this man would part with even a fraction of his power. What’s the catch? What’s it he wants?“

“He offers to take the two of you in,” Ley soberly explained. “Get you away from where people can find you.”

The world was made of teeth, an abyss yawning between.

Ley felt tears wet her face. She wasn’t sure when they got there. How there could be any left.

Her palms had been clean when she came to her senses, drowsily staggering through a dust-clouded street. The rubble she saw through her fingers was powdered with a fresh layer of ash. There was no blood to be seen on her skin, on her clothing. Neither her own, nor that of others.

But their silhouettes had been there. Dozens of them, all along the walls. A battalion of frozen shades, tripping and floundering, trying to bring those who owned them from her reach. To no avail. Because, like fuel to fire, those close to her burned.

With a wail, Ley jolted forward, years of despair funnelled into one last burst of flames. It cut through the night like a lance forged from lightning, piercing the shield - because what did it matter - and not derailing the beast in the least. But it earned her a spurt of blood, an annoyed flaring of nostrils, right as that sky-filling maw came crashing down.

The impact ripped her off her feet.

Ley screamed, hands clutching the larboard railing before the pull of the vacuum could drag her away.

Gone was the all-numbing silence. Now it was pandemonium; the void howling from beyond, set on claiming its due, the planks underneath screaking in agony as the ship careened sideways, and underneath all that commotion - the beast’s lingering growl, beheld perhaps for the first time in its life.

Then, a deafening crush, the sound of metal aching, creaking, breaking in two, a disgruntled grumble as that long, scaled body slinked out of her sight.

She didn’t have to look to know the main cabin was gone, cracked like eggshells between its teeth.

But the sphere was intact. She felt it back there, trying to hold things together. She felt its heat. Felt the source of it unfurl in her limbs, in her veins.

Not yet, she ordered.

The suction subsided. Her feet slithered, found purchase.

Ley could feel it struggle, the sphere and its source; the Thing denied a name. It was torn, its focus split between binding air, mending gravity, and prowling at the edge of her mind, ready to spring into action.

She chuckled, straightening clumsily. They both knew her fate would be sealed, were it to take over out here.

With a flurry of gestures, Ley tore open a new portal, shaky fingers fumbling, steering left and right, searching for what she had seen earlier.

“What am I doing?” the High Tinker asked, the grin beaming her way as euphoric as hers. “Taking a first step, of course. What are you doing, you lady - standing around, laughing your socks off?”

Ley hadn’t just laughed - she had cackled; at the old man with his jauntily swinging arms, stalking about as if walking on coals when it was grass he had under his feet - miles and miles of it, the first they had ever seen grow out in the open. Even the ruins were green, cluttering vast, verdant hills that stretched all the way to the horizon. An ancient world, waiting to be discovered anew.

“Ah, just...” She wiped a tear from her eye. “Just watching a genius at work. Respectfully.”

“Respectfully.” He nodded, weathered skin wrinkling with joy.

“And where will it lead to, that first step?” asked another apprentice, observing the scene with a smile.

“To all the right things,” the High Tinker said, not knowing he’d be ash on the wind just a few hours later.

There, that distant glint. Deliverance. If not for her, then for those who might follow.

Ley burst into sobbing.

Her hand formed a fist. A tug hauled indigo skies to the surface.

It had been dark when she leaned over the railing to gaze upon her slumbering home one last time, the faces of those stubborn enough to pursue her shrinking to a row of pale dots in the distance.

She had been cold when they arrived, too late to prevent her from taking off. Cold as ice, so they’d leave. But those pale dots remained, dwarfed by cliffs, then by spires that soon spanned no more than the size of her hand.

Then she saw the lights.

Burial lanterns, meant to guide the deceased - too many to count, like an ocean of fireflies, rising alongside her to the stars.

She was a dead thing playing pretend, long ago buried in her coffin of steel.

An odd shape drifted by. A cut-off mandible, formless splotches of liquid twirling in its wake, like ink left behind by a scared deep-sea creature.

This one was anything but scared. This one was seething with unadulterated rage. She could see it burn in its eyes as she peered over her shoulder, where it wound closer at breakneck speed, determined to put an end to her existence.

“You’re coming with me,” Ley said and turned toward that void-framed patch of blue, hands balled into fists - tethering her, come hell or high water.

Another bite shook what remained of the ship. Her legs finally gave in, knees hitting the floorboards - hands trembling, yes, but not letting go.

A final pull, the muscles in her arms screaming bloody murder.

She gasped for air as the stratosphere hit her - like a slap to the face, gravity squeezing her lungs and her skull. Then her feet lost contact with the floor, and her ship, her trusted companion, began trundling away.

Ahead, there was white, and her screams came out muffled as it swallowed her whole, as dense fog drenched her clothing, the merciless cold seeping into her bones.

Ley covered her face, shuddering, blinking, trying to regain some sense of orientation, but all she saw were swathes of white and pieces of the ship’s hull, diving in and out of the mist, and spinning around their axis the same way she did.

With a loud and painful pop, the pressure on her ears released. Now she heard everything. Harsh winds howling in her ear, her own helpless sobs that turned to a shriek when she fell out of the cloud, and saw the ground closing in at a maddening pace.

As she whirled about, entirely at the mercy of merciless elements, she caught movement above, of something that stirred within that white, swirling mess. 

The last thing Ley saw through a plume of damp lids was its cragged, cloud-framed maw, opening once again to claim her. The last thing she heard, its thunderous roar, before, at last, her eardrums burst.

Ley smiled when her consciousness finally failed, embracing oblivion like a dearly missed friend.

*

Gale had taken to a seat near the fire, taking stock of today’s haul whilst counting his blessings, scarce as the latter were as of late.

These potatoes, for example; the first batch of mostly mould-free ones he’d been able to get his hands on. A rare find, the kind he’d have paid a fortune for, had there been a proper market in the vicinity, and the fortune in question not been reduced to a few piffling coppers.

Thankfully, these little spuds had come free of charge - not counting the blood and sweat it had taken to bring down their previous owner, a scrap so dicey he had, at one point, thought that might’ve been it; their quest brought to a swift, inglorious end, all those riddles left unsolved, the Sword Coast a crater, and Ethel blown to smithereens either way.

To his relief, none of that had occurred. The fight had been won, the day saved, the damsel in distress freed, if arguably still in somewhat questionable company, and so he now sat here at his improvised table, an upside-down crate for a seat, happily pottering away whilst keeping an eye out for four-legged sausage thieves. 

His gaze caught on the stone-encased coal pit, soon to be reignited. Yet another of those blessings: no longer having to sleep around the fireplace, as they had done that first night. A habit they would’ve likely stuck with, had they not been surprised by rain on the second. Gale didn’t mind, and neither did his unfortunately draft-sensitive knees. He was more than glad to retreat to his tent in the evening, indulging in semi-secluded comfort with a book, a spotless conscience, and maybe a glass of something good. Not as good as what he had in his cellar back home, but who was he to look a purloined horse in the mouth?

A deafening crack jolted him from his reverie.

It took him a moment to locate where it came from, as it was, more or less straight away, followed by the clattering of branches to his right, where Nori, freshly returned from their foray, had just dropped her armful of kindling.

She stood there motionless, mouth agape, flanked by Karlach and Wyll, all three gawking up at the sky.

“Good gods,” the warlock muttered. “Again?”

Gale craned his neck, and his heart skipped a beat.

It was a ship, no bigger than the nail of his thumb from a distance, yet close enough to discern that it had nothing to do with mind flayers, given the absence of tentacles or other ill-boding appendages.

A huge portion of it was missing, chunks of what Gale assumed must’ve once been the rear forming a spiralling trail that descended along with it, a hole torn into the cloud whence it all came pouring out.

In there, he glimpsed star-sprinkled darkness and, for a fleeting moment, he wondered if this was how it had been for those on the ground, seconds before the nautiloid came down.

“How’s it that slow?” whispered Nori beside him.

Right. The velocity made no sense whatsoever. Whereas, just the other day, they had screeched from the heavens, this here caravel sank at a leisurely pace, as though gravity wasn’t in play at such heights. Which it most definitely was, as Gale could personally attest to.

“Is it just me, or is that thing glowing?” asked Astarion.

Gale turned to see the others gathered around them; Lae’zel frowning fiercely, Scratch letting out a whine from where he peered out behind Shadowheart, tail tucked between his legs.

What the elf’s keen eye had spotted was indeed peculiar - a bright light, beaming from the core of the ship. Like a stolen star, plucked from the sky by airborne buccaneers, their heist perhaps found out, hence this helter-skelter getaway.

Again, there was a whine, this time much more insistent.

“It’s a’ight, atta boy...” Nori crooned in that soothing timbre, followed by the rustling sound of calloused fingers on fur.

“The fuck is that thing?!” Karlach blurted out, voice warped by panic.

Gale heard the tail end of a growl, a primordial rumble that rolled in like a tidal wave, and, drawing near from within the fog, he saw a winding, eel-like shape. To his right, Lae’zel spat out a curse, and behind them both, warlock and bard groaned in unison.

The cloud’s bottom dented, then billowed and burst, shreds of white spindrift surging a colossal jawline. It opened as it surfaced, and a pair of pale eyes did the same, slit pupils honed in on the ship. The light aboard was now sputtering, dulling, as though aware of its impending doom, expecting to be doused like a lit wick between wet fingers.

And, just for a second, it looked as though it might.

When that beast, that ophidian nightmare, unleashed a roar that had the atmosphere tremble and Gale’s guts twist with fear. When that towering maw loomed up there, wide open, tongue collecting detritus as it rose to reach its source. Right then came a flare, a spiralling groundward thrust. Then they heard the sound of teeth meeting teeth, tailed by a displeased grumble.

About that time, Gale realised that their campsite was situated right where this cosmic horror would come down, should it commit and slip from where it was anchored. That they’d be buried under it, as would the surrounding forest. Around him, the others grew pale as the very same dawned on them. One by one, they broke into hectic chatter and more or less headless bustling about.

Gale barely listened. He was rendered inert, mesmerised by that light where it beelined toward the ground, the forces throttling its propulsion now clearly in decline.

The beast didn’t commit.

That long, pliant body wasn’t readjusting for another strike; it was attempting to withdraw, to flee, because now something else stirred there in the depths - flashes of light, accompanied by a hum that droned and swelled at a foreboding cadence, following that at which the sphere dimmed and brightened.

It was the wyrm’s thrashing that revealed its predicament; the rift’s edge, convulsing, cutting into its neck, scaled lumps of flesh raining from the tumultuous swirl. With a yank, it pulled free, back into the darkness it hailed from, and not a moment too soon as, below, the light stuttered, and the breach above quaked. There was one last flare, a trembling act of resilience, and then the rift snapped shut tight, swathes of white fleeing the clamorous slam.

Gone dark, the ship now came down at a dizzying pace.

“Brace yourselves!” Nori barked, right as the first treetops caught fire.

Gale didn’t recall much of what followed.

Aside from the impact, of course. That less-than-pleasant feeling of the ground being shaken out like a sheet, the lot of them on it sent to flounder about.

And the stench. That had apparently taken up permanent residence in his nostrils. Scorched ground, burnt foliage, now mixed with the pungent miasma of sun-baked, sweltering swamp, as this was where they had followed the trail of smoke in the sky.

Brows furrowed, Gale glanced back to the hillock at the foot of the stairs, where half a dozen dead redcaps rotted in the sinister twilight, and the bodies of Mayrina’s brothers were nowhere to be seen. Hauled off by some vile creature that now had the bog to themselves, he assumed.

It was unsettling, seeing it all like this. Still. Defeated. Their path of destruction carved through by another.

The closer they came to Ethel’s hut, the more he grasped the scale of the devastation. Smouldering willows, their crowns toppled or splintered in half, scorched branches scattered as far as the eye could see. The teahouse itself was mostly unharmed, the front door flapping widely, giving way to the silent, meticulously plundered interior. Yet another haunted ruin, now that its host no longer drew breath.

It took but a moment for them to find what they needed: a narrow, overgrown path leading into the underbrush and up the steepening hills.

Gale walked in relative silence, blindly following those in front of him as he contemplated the ship’s trajectory and its strangely familiar shape. And that ominous light. A focus, perhaps. One of considerable strength, to orchestrate a manoeuvre on such a scale, steering such weight, and with it all being in shambles.

“Hey, you...” Karlach’s voice came from the side.

They hadn’t yet had a chance to talk, Gale realised as he looked up at her. The last day had been a messy blur of events, leaving few opportunities for idle talk and catching up. Or, in her case, first getting to know each other.

“Think someone’s still alive in there?” she asked.

Gale chuckled. “I was pondering the very-”

“Oh, there’s no way anyone could survive such a wholesale disaster,” Astarion cut him short, a dramatic flourish underlining his words. “I’m not sure why we bother. A waste of time, if you ask me.”

To his left, Nori cleared her throat. “May I remind you that, save Scratch and good ol’ Withers, every single one of us has done precisely that?” She made a gesture encompassing the group. “Fall from the sky and survive, I mean.”

“Listen to the lady,” Karlach added, visibly bothered by the elf’s demeanour.

Astarion huffed. “Does it make a difference? Time is ticking, and I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen enough outer space nonsense to last me a lifetime.”

“Just head back, if you’re so appalled by the idea of salvaging alien thingamajigs,” Nori said, unwaveringly patient.

“Potentially priceless thingamajigs,” Wyll chimed in, which, to everyone’s surprise, actually gave the elf pause.

Seconds later, he was back to bickering, and Gale returned his attention to Karlach.

“So, regarding your inquiry...” He leaned in, careful not to repeat Wyll’s mistake from earlier. “We’ve no way to be certain, of course, not until we surveyed the crash site, but I wouldn’t rule it out entirely. Who knows? Maybe the forces that saved most of you from the fall saw fit to extend their favour.”

Karlach grinned from ear to ear. “Which would be pretty awesome, right? I mean, there’s another ship, for fuck’s sake. Like, what are the chances?”

“Infinitesimal, to be sure,” Gale replied, smiling at her enthusiasm. “Two such vessels, crashing into the Sword Coast within less than a tenday, one chased by dragons and blood-thirsting hellspawn, the other by, well...”

He paused. The conversation ahead had fallen quiet, several pairs of pricked ears waiting for him to continue.

“My guess is as good as yours,” Gale conceded, clearing his throat. “A wyrm, of sorts. If there’s literature on this very particular type, I’ve yet to get my hands on it.”

“Looked like one of those deep-sea eels that wash up at the shore sometimes,” Nori voiced her take, shuddering at the image. “All squishy and horrendous. And with way too many teeth.“

“And thankfully not quite that size,” Wyll concurred. “But yes, I remember seeing one of those getting pulled from the harbour. Ugly bugger. Like it crawled straight from some Stygian abyss.”

“A crossbreed between Void Scavver and Phase Dragon, perhaps.”

Gale’s head flung around so fast he nearly pulled a muscle.

Lae’zel’s gaze was as stoic as usual, as though she genuinely assumed the terms to be common knowledge.

“Are you implying that your kin have no records of these creatures?” He queried, disbelieving. “Surely such a far-travelled people have catalogued everything that creeps and flies along the strands of outer space?”

“Are you questioning my expertise, wizard?” The gith cocked her head. “I suppose you think yourself the only learned one among us.”

“Oh, heavens forbid, I would never,” Gale spluttered, partly aware that the sun now shone much brighter through the decimated canopy. “I was merely hinting at the unlikely possibility...”

“My kin have explored the farthest frontiers of the Astral Sea, and continue to do so as we speak,” Lae’zel carried on, voice scolding. “Every discovery chronicled and immortalised in the grand library of Tu’narath, as by our queen’s decree. And yet, even to us, the majority of Wildspace remains uncharted territory.”

When those in front halted abruptly, Gale turned to face forward, fumbling hard so as not to run over Nori, only to bump into Shadowheart instead. She barely acknowledged his apology, gawping at the view before them. 

Gale couldn’t help but do so in kind.

It was an astonishing sight: the valley, picturesquely framed by rolling hills and chalk-white cliffs, ancient conifers towering along the edges.

Amidst it all - the smoking wreck, the earth around it raw and bare, gaping wide open like a freshly torn wound. It lay on its side, what remained of the rear splintered and hanging on by a thread. A broken carcass, the gleaming heart Gale saw through its ribs still dimly flickering, still holding on, its rhythmic pulse decelerating. A beached whale in the last throes of death, vanquished by the laws of motion it had so bravely thwarted.

Lae’zel stepped up to his side. “So, no. I’ve not heard tell of encounters with such a monstrosity. Nor have I laid eyes on records depicting this type of vessel.”

“Huh...” said Nori. “Wonder if there’s a reason for that.”

“Maybe no one survived those encounters,” Wyll suggested.

“Or maybe she’s not as well-read as she claims,” teased Shadowheart in a very much audible whisper.

Lae’zel strode them by with a scoff.

“Was that really necessary?” Nori chided the cleric, for once truly annoyed.

They fanned out as they made their way into the vale, clambering over heaps of rubble that formed confused patterns on the ground, shielding their eyes against sooty fumes and idly whirling fiery sparks.

Before long, Gale found himself dogging Lae’zel’s footsteps. He knew she was as uninterested as he was in scouring for valuables and more keen to learn about the how and the why. And so he followed, gradually closing in on the ship’s pulsing heart, where he assumed most answers to lie.

“Are these... planters?” he muttered. Ahead, the gith slowed to a halt.

They were scattered all over, right about where they stood; shards of massive earthen pots, most shattered into grain-sized fragments or molten to glossy lumps. Others were recognisable, what remained of their contents burnt to dirt-crusted residue.

With the dull end of his staff, Gale carefully rummaged through the pieces. From the right, lavishly adorned boots approached, ochre toes encased by steel.

“They would raise crops along their voyage?” Lae’zel inquired, voice tinged by a hint of disdain. “A... curious notion.”

Gale chuckled. “I don’t suppose horticulture is a well-known practice amongst gith.”

“It is,” she said, and Gale looked up to see her stub nose wrinkling. “What we don’t hunt, the g’lathk grow. But their produce is rarely in demand.”

He blinked at her. “How so?“

“Our great cities lie in the Astral Plane,” Lae’zel explained. “It is there we spent most of our days, upon reaching adulthood.”

Gale donned a confused grin, still not quite sure what this implied.

The gith’s lips twitched - he hoped with amusement. “Where time does not pass, one does not need nourishment.”

“Oh! So...” Gale let his gaze drift over broken crocks and vases, to what might’ve once been furniture. Remnants of a compact household, shattered beyond recognition. “So... this was meant to be self-sufficient. Well, provided these did indeed contain crops. Could’ve been anything else for that matter.”

“Either way,” Lae’zel inclined her head. “They are unlikely to have grown in the Astral.”

“Meaning this ship mainly or exclusively travelled this plane.” Shuddering, Gale shook his head. “What a dismally dreary prospect. To set sail into the pitch-black void, so drab even the gods stay clear.”

“Yeah, who’d do that?” said Nori out of nowhere.

The bard had her hands on her hips, squinting inquisitively from one to the other.

“Yes,” the elf snarled as he ambled in, too. “Who indeed. Voluntarily forgo sunshine, the pleasures of civilised life. Commit to seeing the same old faces each and every gods damned day...”

“No, I mean it,” Nori said nonchalantly, gesturing them along with a crooked halfling finger. “ Who would do that? What kind of crew are we talking?”

It was the gap in the ship’s hull that they were closing in on, through thickening air that had Gale’s lungs ache in protest, flanked by vast heaps of debris, the tattered remnants of what had to have been the main sail dangling from the toppled mast in loosely fluttering stripes. And there, through the crack, he saw the sphere, emitting that same subtle, crackling hum he recalled from earlier, right before the rift snapped shut.

“Pirates...” Karlach whispered reverently as they passed a massive anchor, the links of the chain each as long as her forearm now messily curled up in the dirt.

“Possible.” Gale hummed, head dipping sideways. “Though corsairs are not commonly known to bother with onboard gardening.”

Lae’zel clicked her tongue. “This is not a raiding vessel.”

As they walked, she pulled her sword, dragging the edge over a chunk of debris; gnarly and grained, like fossilised bark. Under the blade’s touch, however, it produced the telltale screech of metal.

“Remarkably robust,” she said. “More than wood should be.”

Eyes narrowing, she repeated the motion, causing Gale to flinch at the toe-curling sound. Lae’zel, unmoved, flipped the clumsy piece with her boot, the profile showing a multitude of different-coloured layers.

“Several materials, welded atop each other,” Gale deduced. “Not built in one go, but enhanced step by step.”

Lae’zel nodded. “An improvised solution. Lacking in efficiency, of course, compared to ours.”

“Of course,” Astarion jeered. The mockery went unacknowledged, which Gale thought was probably better for the elf.

“You’re the closest thing we have to an expert,” Nori declared in that seasoned-veteran tone of hers, side-eying the gith intensely. “What do you make of this mess?”

“I’d say this is a work of necessity,” Lae’zel concluded. “Not built for a singular mission, but a consequence of enduring many.”

Nori’s stern gaze flicked to Gale.

“I would agree,” he said as they proceeded deeper into the fog, where, further ahead, he could make out Wyll and Shadowheart, both moving about busily. “The way I see it, this was built with autonomy in mind. I wager they didn’t plan to land for a while. If at all.“

From this close, the scale of it was imposing, to say the least. A disembowelled giant, not quite deceased, guts gleaming from within, all of it shrouded in swathes of dust, the way inside barred by splintered planks and rods that loomed threateningly in the murk, as if to keep them from entering.

“The question remains,” Nori said as they came up to where the others were halfway done clearing a path through the debris. “Who boards a thing like this, improving it on the fly, not planning to raid, now knowing if their feet will ever meet solid ground again?”

“ M’lar ,” Lae’zel proposed solemnly. “Artificers, in your tongue. Unexperienced, in this case, but cunning enough to find a way to make do.”

“A mage as well,” Gale mused, running a hand through his beard. “More than one, possibly.“

Nori contemplated this, pausing for a moment.

“Peachy,” she then said, and, with that, commenced to strut toward the breach that gaped there in the twilight like a jagged, sideways grin.

It was no more than a tingle of unease Gale felt upon crossing the threshold. That sinking feeling of having forgotten something important. A portentous dream, lost upon awaking. The keys nowhere to be found halfway down the street.

Inside, the sensation grew to bristling intensity, more so with every step they advanced. As though some unseen entity were sizing them up, lurking just outside their view.

“More than one,” he repeated mindlessly.

To his side stood Astarion, for once sizing him up without disdain. “Pardon?”

“Have you...” Gale mumbled, turning as he looked around. “Have you seen any bodies, by chance?”

“Not one,” said the elf, now scanning their surroundings himself.

All around them, there was rubble - an ocean of scrap and detritus that filled the bowels of the ship, with the hulking sphere throning above it. Gale hadn’t realised how large it was from a distance. But there it was, spanning twice his height in diameter, embedded in that malformed socket, the connecting machinery either molten or torn off.

And still, it remained active.

Whatever spellwork it contained was dissipating, but with what was left, it clung to life - gleaming like a dying star, with dark veins painted all across and flames spurting out randomly.

“There’s no one here!” Astarion blurted out. “How is there not a single corpse?!”

The sphere flared up.

Wyll sheathed his rapier, cautious not to make a sound. “Is this a trap?” he said to Nori. “Some twisted ambush?”

“Easy now,” Nori soothed, her voice all unconcerned placidity, but Gale heard the wary undertone, saw the instinctive reach for the lute.

Another fiery burst of light, throwing their shadows manifold onto the cluttered ground, the walls, where they danced in hypnotic patterns.

“Of course it’s a trap,” Astarion pulled his daggers with a chink, slowly backing away. “And we’ve walked right into it, the bumbling idiots we are.”

“Maybe it’s a ghost ship,” Shadowheart mused, her tone half-tease, half anxious. “Ferrying just wrath and wraiths.”

Another burst. Demanding attention.

“A mage, you said?” Nori asked, eyes narrowed as she peered at Gale.

“Well, I would certainly think so,” he laughed, a sound that rang all sorts of wrong. “Unless this thing flies by itself, which-”

“It doesn’t,” Karlach whispered.

Next to her, Shadowheart gasped, gaze rising to where the tiefling’s lingered, and so they turned to follow it.

Up there, in rafters that had once been floor or wall, knelt a slender, shade-veiled figure amidst jutting bronze pipes.

“Hello there,” Nori said, her voice honeyed, trouble-free.

For a moment that stretched on, they all stood there motionless, watching, waiting, eyes scouring the ash-flecked dusk.

No reaction. Not even from the simmering sphere.

Something didn’t look right about the way they sat there. Not quite sitting, not quite upright, head dangling, as were the limbs. A few loose strands of mussed-up hair stirred in the draft, and that eerie feel crept closer, into Gale’s bones, into the marrow, until he couldn’t take more of it - of being watched whilst dallying blindly, so he, with a whispered arcane word and a deft flick of his fingers, conjured a Mage Light to his palm.

The response came right away.

Another flare of fiery light, so bright it had them cover their eyes, and the hum swelled to a rumble; a seething, vengeful, broiling sound, like a storm front gathering.

“Oh, wonderful,” Astarion jeered. “You made it angry.”

“Come on, that was bound to happen,” countered Nori.

Gale, for once, had nothing to add. He watched, enthralled, as that twinkling mote took flight and more flashes followed, their frequency increasing. There was a fierceness to them now, a desperate resilience, as though his conjured illumination threatened to unveil secrets on its way, up towards the mess of splinters that was the caved-in main deck. Through them, Gale saw dimmed, sky-blue slivers, dulled by wafts of ashen grey.

And below: a blood-specked chin, blank eyes halfway veiled by the shade of a hood.

A woman. Dead.

Not kneeling, as he had first assumed. She hung, quite literally impaled by the debris; a metal rod, a crude, thick thing protruding from her lifeless chest.

A chest that, with each burst of light, glowed ever-so-faintly from within.

“Is this thing rigged?” Karlach bawled. “She gonna blow?”

“No,” said Gale. “I don’t think...”

Another set of rapid bursts. A pulse, a plea, a passed-on heartbeat.

“... I think we’re witnessing a revivification.”

“Bit of an unconventional one,” Shadowheart nodded, eyes trained on the stranger’s ribcage, where it gleamed below the rags. “But yes, you’re right. She’s coming back.”

Above their heads; a rattling sigh. Gale saw lids quivering, a hand twitching reflexively. Behind, the sphere kept flaring on.

“Poor thing’s gonna be in a helluva lot of pain,” Karlach stated, fingers raking her sternum.

“Gosh darn it, you‘re right, of course,” Nori muttered, posture tensing as if to set up for a sprint.

Up there, the woman, one by one, unclasped her eyes, gaze roaming the scenery. Unsteady and delirious, it skimmed over Karlach’s skin, Wyll’s horns, then lingered on Astarion’s daggers for a visibly confused moment.

Then a dirt-smeared hand pawed at the air, grazing the rod by accident, and her body shook in pain.

It took her a moment to comprehend. Wide-eyed, she blinked down at it - the rod, her hand, the blood on it. Then at their faces, all those assembled at her feet, the horns, the daggers, and bleariness gave way to fear.

“Shit,” said Wyll.

“जे छथि?”, the stranger whimpered.

Then she beheld the Mage Light, twinkling there above the sphere that had dulled almost entirely, and she pressed out a shuddering croak.

Gale snuffed it out, rushed by a sudden pang of guilt.

If anything, that made it worse. Now her gaze fell onto him - as he stood there, just as helpless and harbouring no ill intent but lacking the means to let her know.

With a wail, she clasped the metal, grime-smeared fingers sliding off, boots scrabbling aimlessly.

“No, no, no...” Nori jolted into motion, the tiefling on her heels, several scree avalanches coming loose under their feet.

Now there was only mindless panic. Gale saw crimson dappling the ground, dripping from tight-clutched hands, saw the stranger’s face contort as she heaved herself along.

Then, a crack, a blistering sizzle, the sphere‘s socket crumbling, breaking. Its contents glimmered threateningly, a last flare building at the core.

Ahead, Gale made out Nori’s voice. Attempting to soothe, he wagered.

Within the woman’s pain-filled eyes, he saw white-hot flames ignite. Before he could sound a word of warning, she plunged onto the splintered heaps. A hand pressed to the oozing wound, she staggered backwards, away from Nori’s stretched-out hand, lips parting to a fearful scream.

What she unleashed was not a scream, but a dazzling burst of light, and for a while, there was no seeing anything.