Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Incoming strong heatwave! Drink water and don’t go outside if you don’t have to!” informed announcement notes hung all over city’s buildings and poster posts. Whoever analyzed the weather did so with absolute accuracy. The streets of Silverymoon, a city in the Northwest Faerun which was rarely a subject to extreme temperatures, in just span of few days, from being witnesses of hundreds different vivid personalities, became completely desolate and empty. Not a single soul – not even a mouse or a fly – decided to peek out of their homes, the risk was too high. Not even giant and imposing trees, which stood proudly on some of Silverymoon’s streets, could provide enough of comforting shade against the hellish heat. One could only dream about it ending; about a cold refreshing breeze coming from lands even further to the north. Those who lived in the older district of the city – the Northbank – could call themselves lucky. Not for having a better climate, since the heat was ruthless and wasn’t sparing anyone, of course. Fortunately for those who lived there, most of the houses were built with pearl-white or slightly yellow massive stones, and if there was a one thing thick stone walls did right, it was definitely protecting people living inside them from all types of danger – including an unusual heatwave.

For some, it was no different day than any other, despite the temperature outside. Silvaeren of various professions and occupations spent their days without seeing the azure sky painted with fluffy clouds; without even acknowledging some abnormalities outside. Bakers, smiths or carpenters had no time to step out of their workshops as orders kept piling up; librarians and bookkeepers were constantly busy with gathering and archiving new books that could be added to their never-ending collections, being content to see stacks of just delivered books instead of blinding sun rays. Students on the other hand, much preferred the company of their friends and few bottles of ale, instead of old, dusty grimoires. They all pitied the heatwave, all but one.

Encircled by stacks of ornate, colorful books, parchment scrolls hiding somewhere in between them, sat an elven teenage girl completely absorbed by a thick book she was reading at that moment. History of Nine Hells and their inhabitants was stamped and covered in gold foil on a pitch black cover – a lengthy treatise describing in details origin, structure, and all creatures whose home was a place that barely anyone wanted to enter. But nevertheless its unwelcoming, violent character, the young elf wasn’t deterred from studying the Hells thoroughly. Coming from moderately influential family of Silverymoon high elves, her idyllic childhood was filled with serene days many could only dream about. But being a future grand wizard, the pride of her family, had its downsides as well. Spending years learning how to use magic in different scenarios, learning the history of the Weave, and various skills simply needed in life, accustomed her over time with being alone – or so she thought. It didn’t bother her, books had everything that she would ever need. Stories of old times and distant planes were her way to escape from the sometimes mundane and lonely life of a wizard apprentice.

Turning to the next page, her eyes landed on a next chapter’s title: Cania – land of eternal living cold. Considering how hot it was that day, even deep inside of library’s walls, she wished for Cania to lend some of its cold to the citizens of Silverymoon – or library she was in at least. The next few pages covered all that one could want to know about the land ruled by Mephistopheles – the second most powerful archdevil of the Nine Hells and its best wizard as well. After long, and a bit “boring”, descriptions of Canian freezing and hostile landscape, the girl let a yawn escape her mouth and with slight hesitation if she even wanted to read more, she skipped over a description of 8^th Hells layer’s leader, wondering if it wouldn’t be better to get something to drink. She almost gave up on low-key reading what the author wanted to tell about the archdevil and how powerful his magic was, about his relations with the rest of the Lords of the Nine, tiredness was slowly crawling into her mind. Not expecting anything of use to appear on the yellowed pages, she decided to close the book, but as her finger lifted the next page, a piece of text caught her attention.

“Offspring. Mephistopheles is a sire of Raphael, a powerful and manipulative cambion, but there is little information on Raphael’s topic. He is quite a mystery to scholars. It is known that he offers his ‘help’ to people in need, people in their last days, whom he invites to his lair in Avernus, the first layer of the Nine Hells. No one really knows what happens to people who agree to his help, as they have never returned…” the elf, whose hair color reminded of dusty pink roses, murmured the text she was reading, quieting down at the last sentence as she realized what could happen to all those poor people.

“Little information? On an archdevil’s son? Impossible…” she said to herself in disbelief. “There must be something more about him. I must find something more about him.” Just like that, in a couple of seconds, she found her new purpose in life. She didn’t know why exactly Raphael – or rather lack of information about him – was such an interesting topic to her, but the fact that there was an archdevil’s son who played with choice-less people’s lives and souls… Most likely a lot of Faerunians had agreed make a deal with him and no one could even attempt to stop it because basically nothing was known about him. This wasn’t right in her opinion. Her moral compass couldn’t allow for such barbaric means of ‘treating’ people’s most life-threatening problems.

She knew there would be a time when she and Raphael would stand face to face; when she could avenge all the poor souls who didn’t have any other choice but to be deceived by the cambion. Being completely aware of how much time she would most likely have to prepare for that, to even find scraps of information about him, yet she didn’t worry – as an elf she had all the time she needed for preparations. And when you want to hunt a devil, you need to be absolutely sure it will end successfully for you, be ready for his every move. Because what’s worse than the devil you know? The devil you don’t.

Chapter Text

Aged wooden shelves and bookcases had been bending under the weight of all the books that Datura had read throughout her life and wizard education, and yet it was still not enough. Her passion for knowledge and literature was immeasurable, which was fairly easy to notice once someone would enter her home. Datura’s townhouse at one of Silverymoon’s calmer streets was always called jokingly ‘the library’ by her friends from the sheer amount of publications that she managed to buy and store. The actual library was right out there, not so far from her place, open almost every day, but to her, owning books was a hobby on its own. Not to mention the famous Everdusk Hall where elves kept thousands of tomes and scrolls ready to be borrowed and read, but Datura needed the freedom to write notes page by page. She would highlight every single fragment she thought was important, so not having to worry about reproachful gaze from a librarian or Hall’s priest was desired. And as per her studious nature, there was a lot of „extremely significant” quotes, so it was better to stay out of trouble. Thankfully, thanks to her family’s support and few smaller jobs on the side, she could afford to buy every single book she needed, and there... was a lot of them.

Old grimoires and yellowed parchments were everywhere in her house; not a single room could stay without at least one of them hidden somewhere in its corner. Majority of her collection consisted of history, magic, arts or philosophy – her life long interests – but there was one special shelf she had had dedicated to her research about the son of the Eight Hell’s ruler, Raphael. It took a while – long for humans but not as much for elves – to gather all the information she could find, but she felt it was almost the time to face him, to confront him, to kill him. Or so she thought. She was quite certain that after spending decades on learning how to use magic under patient but exigent teachers, on doing her own studies and exercises, she was ready. Being one of the best students at Lady’s College, most prominent wizardry school in the city of magic, had built Datura’s confidence enough to think she could defeat him. It wouldn’t be the first time she manipulated the Weave according to her will to protect those who needed it the most. But Raphael was not a mere rouge tiefling or a fiend whose blood and legacy had barely anything to do with Hells anymore. No. He was the son of Mephistopheles, the lord of Cania. He was preying on people in miserable situations from his sweet little mansion in Avernus, where he also had been making plans to conquer the Hells and then possibly even rest of the planes. He was the one who apparently had some shady businesses to do in Baldur’s Gate, as she learnt this scrap of information in the process.

“Who knows what this devil has in mind?” was the elven girl’s rhetorical question she asked a few times during her studies on Raphael and his motives, his plans and goals. One thing she knew for sure was that she had to stop him no matter what. She couldn’t let Raphael hurt even more people who simply did not see any other choice for their lives. And if the rumors about him scheming against citizens of the Gate would turn out to be true… It was against her elven moral compass to be conscious about his endeavors and to not do anything about it. She believed it was possible to save the others from becoming his future victims, to avenge the poor souls of the past. Driven by all the hate and rage she felt towards him, by her trust in her own abilities and knowledge, she was more than ready to stand in a fight against the devil. There was only one thing she needed before starting her crusade: a scroll or a tome on how to exactly invoke him or get to his lair. Seems like a trivial thing, one of the first ones that you should learn about while studying this particular type of devil, but it wasn’t an easy task to find anything about it. Standard rituals wouldn’t work as amount of magic needed to perform them would be way too low to even get closer to him by a few centimeters. All the books which explained in great details invocations for more powerful fiends still lacked crucial information which Datura had been looking for. Every single grimoire that could help her was seen by her as useless after further reading. It was time to find new source of texts to satiate her hunger for knowledge and revenge.

“If there is one place that can help me with this, it definitely is Sorcerous Sundries,” decided Datura few days before packing her traveling essentials and hitting up the road. The mentioned shop in Baldur’s Gate, famous among all spellcasters of Faerun, was known as one of the best places to get high quality supplies, recipes for potions, ordering spells, and to get rare, reliable publications, with some even being limited to few copies. No sorcerer or wizard could miss it! Such a top priority location for all of those who use magic and come visit the Baldur’s Gate, but Datura had well defined goal she wanted to achieve there, and no time for touristic leisure. Not before getting few last pieces needed to push forward her plan at least.

The road to Baldur’s Gate was long, even extremely long considering how far it was from Silverymoon. Days had passed on Datura’s journey to the other side of the Sword Coast and there were still few tendays left before reaching walls of the city. The eagerness and all-time-high spirit of the initiate phase of the travel slowly had transformed into boredom. Sometimes even most curious of the world girl can get tired of looking at it! At the beginning it was exciting to discover new fascinating trees of so many colors and shapes, to pick up alien-looking flowers, or taste various local food instead of relying on carriage’s supplies. Every encountered tavern, grove, or camp site felt fresh and novel. Seeing just-met people’s smiles and surprise on their faces, after telling them where she was going, was something Datura was looking forward to at every stop she made. There was something heartwarming in it, it felt like a parent worried about you yet still staying supportive of your journey. She appreciated all the advices people had given her even if some were far from being useful to her.

Under a dark sky adorned with thousands of small stars like specks of silver glitter, sitting on a velvet cushion in the back of her car, had Datura daydreaming about all that she had seen and all the people she had met. In her mind images of previously admired timber framed houses ornate with colorful paints and age, of laughs and chatter, had started to unfold unleashing her nostalgic nature. Moved by creations of hers, not having to worry about reins, which were controlled by her mage hand, elven girl grabbed a pencil and notebook that been laying next to her and decided to capture those scenes. Black graphite was used to sketch and refine what appeared before her eyes, creating line by line picture of friendly and bubbly halfling lady decorating a freshly baked pie before giving a slice to Datura.

“Such a kind“ —she yawned— “soul…” the pencil she held had slipped away from her hand as her eyes closed and the girl peacefully fell asleep, lulled by the moments that were now her cherished memories.

But after some time of driving, it all had started to look the same, taste the same, and feel the same. The road was long, thus getting bored out of one’s mind was unavoidable, and yet it was barely half of the road. Town after town, patterns started to repeat – whether they were noticed in how houses had their windows placed, in paths and patterns of clouds and stars in their respective skies, or even in order of trees and bushes in forests. The foremost trees will always be birches surrounded with low-laying bushes, behind them poplars, and finally oaks, the girl recalled as she dully stared at the path in front of her leading through dense forest. Everything seemed so identical to each other in Datura’s eyes it was almost painful to look at. Calmness of the road did not help; not being put into trouble was a good thing, of course, but there was a thought in her mind that she could use some entertainment and maybe get attacked by a goblin or two…

“I shouldn’t cast anything that would annihilate them too fast. That would be no fun!” said Datura hyping herself up for an imagined battle, barely paying attention to the gravel road she was on. Suddenly, as if inspired by her own imagination, she realized she hadn’t made plans for the most anticipated, as well as the hardest, battle of her life. “May Lady Mystra and Lord Corellon have mercy upon me, for how absentminded I can be. I will really need to think about this. I have time after all…” girl muttered as a sliver of fear and confusion had entered her thoughts before she finished her sentence. But what if, even after all this preparation, I lose? doubts crawled into her mind, What if all those books were wrong? Pupils of her silver eyes enlarged for a brief moment of realizing the dire situation she could be in. But Datura didn’t want to give in to those emotions, especially not during dark gray day from total overcast lingering in the sky. It wasn’t the right time to let anxiety win over and, with high dose of possibility, lose control of herself. She knew she had to stray strong; nervousness had to be chased away. I will win this battle, no. matter. what. thought Datura grasping reins tighter as if it would ground her in the confidence she had felt not so long time ago, not letting the negative emotions triumph yet still thinking

Had the clouds heard what elven girl was pondering on, by answering her with light rain? Were the droplets a mean to clear her mind and a reminder of the present world? Perhaps only gods could know that, but those few specks of cold water on her cheeks brought her back to the reality of the carriage and road ahead. All things were on their respective places, she had to make sure and check it. As the dark veil loomed over the horizon, a certain, familiar cityscape began to emerge in the distance. Datura’s lips involuntarily curved into a slight smile at the sight of stone towers imposing over the city of Waterdeep. It wasn’t her end destination, but at that point she would gladly make a longer stop at one of Waterdhavian inns and check out what there was to see.

“Raphael had been waiting all these years so I guess he can wait few days more,” the girl chuckled already thinking of a semi-cozy inn’s bed and bit of a shopping spree in the City of Splendor. “Let him enjoy his last tendays of freedom, as he doesn’t have a lot of them left.” A mischievous smirk appeared on her face and a warm feeling of determination filled her chest and soul; her spirit was lifted up again of which she so dreamt about for past few days. With rejuvenated mindset beaming from her, she entered the city’s walls with a smile on her face and a curious gaze, looking at newly planted trees by the sidewalks and how pretty they has already looked. ‘It’s always a good sign when cities take care of their greenery. It means they are considerate of every living being,’ as Datura’s mother always told her when she was still a young elf, which she remembered and said under her breath just at that moment.

By roaming around the city, the girl tried to find an inn with a free room, but it was easier said than done. “We are deeply sorry, but we cannot accommodate you for now,” said every innkeeper she had encountered, before her eyes spotted a sign across the street with ‘LAST FREE ROOMS. BOOK NOW’ written with a white chalk on it. Not wasting any second longer, her carriage was parked and her room secured for next three days. In that time, Datura had several opportunities to purchase more supplies needed for the road ahead, as well as some less needed but no less important trinkets from antique and magic shops situated all around Waterdeep: every piece of tarnished yet gilded jewelry, sparkly potion bottles or ethereal looking crystals – they just couldn’t be left without a new owner. Two nights spent in quite comfy bed had passed quicker than elven girl could imagined. As the Sun approached its zenith on the third day, it was time to leave the inn and begin final part of the road to highly anticipated Baldur’s Gate.

The pause at the City of Splendor did wonders for Datura’s mind restoring her previously diminished will to travel for yet another two tendays. Sure, it was still a long time to get to the Gate, but after vibe-altering mental rest from hearing clicks and clacks of wooden carriage wheels, it was only two tendays. The dreams and wishes of being attacked by a pack goblins had stopped, just like the indifference towards her surroundings. The elf became herself again, looking out for interesting flora and fauna specimens, sketching what she saw in her free time. Leather-covered sketchbook had been filling up with monochromatic daily-life scenes, studies of various, sometimes almost alien-looking plants, and other minor doodles. One of Datura’s dreams was to paint a grand-scale painting in a triptych manner capturing her journey to defeat Raphael and free the tormented souls – showcasing all the kind people who helped her even in the most mundane subjects on her journey was one part out of three. What would come next, or rather how would it look like, was for the fate to decide. The only thing she knew was that she would achieve her goal and how its details would look like wasn’t as much important. Even a simple fire bolt could kill him and it still would be the most honourable fire bolt of her life. How she dreamt of that moment…

As she could see the entry gates in her view slowly rising over the horizon, she could also feel the sweet taste of his defeat getting closer. Baldur’s Gate is right here and the only next step is Raphael’s lair! she yelled in her mind in excitement, clapping her both hands together in a joyous gesture. Wide smile and warm energy radiating from her were her constant attributes on the last kilometers of the road. Not having to worry about a place to sleep, as Datura booked few nights in one of the countless inns prior to starting her trip, her objectives were crystal clear. She could feel how her body heated up with every second of thinking about becoming the savior of Raphael's past, present, and future victims. She often thought that serving the people, slaying the devil in name of the good was something Lord Corellon would definitely approve and it filled her with pride. It was time to act and she couldn’t be more eager to do it.

The everwarm sun was setting below the cityscape painting a dazzling picture of ruby red and honey-like golden waves on the sky; it became a grand stained glass tinting with its rich colors every corner under the firmament. Datura’s eyes were glowing as she stared at the natural masterpiece mesmerized, captured by its charm and allowing herself for a moment of softness. How nice would it be to have someone special to share this moment with, she wondered in her mind daydreaming of a gentle embrace making her feel loved and secure. As much as she didn’t need a lot in her life at that time – except the obvious, she did feel the lack of love she always had heard and read about in novels and tales. How much she wanted to love and be loved in ways only poets wrote about – of fluttering hearts beating faster at the sight of loved person, of ascending into heaves in one’s partner embrace. Full of passion and mutual understanding romantic relationship was something she wanted to experience but didn’t have a chance, which she deeply dislike, but knew it would come sooner or later. Her Prince Charming was somewhere out there, waiting for her patiently among blossoming orange trees of so sweet scent and vibrantly yellow jonquils. The vision of basking in the sun, feeling its warm on her pale skin, while admiring the beauty of her most beloved flower, to share that precious moment with a soulmate – it was elf’s everlasting dream, which for now had to be put aside.

Datura’s body twitched as she snapped back to the reality, to the very stone balcony of her room she was standing at. Her time was running out before Sorcerous Sundries would close for the day and a shift on the sky to delicate lavender mist had reminded her that she should go. There was no point in waiting till the next day – she wanted to be assured of having what she came there for – and so, the girl rushed through the darken streets trying to find her way using nothing but her vague knowledge of city’s topography and urban lanterns, which barely illuminated the sidewalk and surrounding buildings. The night may had started creeping in, veiling the city in darkness, but citizens of Baldur’s Gate never went to sleep entirely. Early evening hours were a mere invitation for underground criminal groups to start working on the surface, while regular citizens were busy with drowning their sorrows with ale and cheap wine. Local taverns and bar could never complain on lack of patrons to ‘take care’ of; neither that night was different, which registered, informed Datura to be more alert on her way. No one liked to be harassed by a barely conscious yet aggressive men, so it was better to stay away from those and march forward. Sorcerous Sundries was just ahead of her, a dome made of stained indigo glass glimmered in the faint moonlight proudly marking its location.

“It’s here!” girl’s eyes sparkled with excitation upon seeing one of the most remarkable buildings of the Gate; her curious gaze jumping from golden ornaments of the facade to dark marble of the columns, to absolute masterpiece of colorful stained glass arranged in geometric patterns – there was a lot of details to admire. But the view caused immense tightness in her belly as well, as the anticipation and stress of getting the last piece to the puzzle was rising. “They better have what I came here for”, Datura muttered entering the place which smelled like old yellowed paper with a hint of smoke and woody notes somewhere in the background. Candles burnt to fight against the darkness in every corner, creating warm, welcoming atmosphere for all spell-casters to study and experiment with their magic. The shop was the perfect ground to test new spells with spectral projections as training dummies or to brew just learnt alchemic recipes at one of the desks with glass aperture ready to be used. But elf’s point of interest was situated at the very back of the shop, being hidden by first two vendors and giant metal but filigrane staircase. It almost looked as if it was kept like a little secret, obscured from everyone by countless tables serving as displays for mostly unnamed potions and elixirs. Nonetheless, once the girl got closer, never-ending stacks of books thrown all-over the place along with a silhouette of a girl with dreads coloured like dark chocolate gave Datura an assurance she found the right person – Tolna, a merchant trading rare and mysterious books – around whom lingered quiet yet sensitive aura.

“Welcome. How can I help you?” a surprisingly stern whisper caught the elf off-guard.

“I am looking for a book or older grimoire that can help me with…” a faint tint of odd, almost unnatural awkwardness emerged from a deep unconscious corner of her mind. What will she think of me? she asked herself while swallowing built up saliva. “With evoking cambions. Ones being on the highest positions of their hierarchy. A book containing rituals or ceremonies to get in contact with-” her speech even if hastened, still remained quiet keeping to the set decorum of the place and yet, it was cut.

“Get to the point.”

Something had shifted in the air.

“I need to get to Raphael. As quickly as possible.”

Silver eyes beamed with sparkles of restored confidence that had driven the girl up to this point; inner parts of her eyebrows curved downwards and cheeks tinted red from the surge of determination. Only few spoken words were separating her from learning the last piece of the giant puzzle. The fight leading to her victory, to the revenge for all the souls, everything felt so close – as strong were those sensations as devastating was the information the bookkeeper told her.

“What do you mean… there is no such thing?” her whisper’s tone matched the disbelief taking control of her mind. All the years spent on the research seemed suddenly so futile and useless. Was it time to give up? To count all the years spent on trying to learn about him and how to defeat him as wasted? Was it all so pointless? Memories of dried out eyes from reading and looking at all the ornate sigils flashed before Datura’s eyes. She could see herself memorizing spells and gestures given in centuries old grimoires; brewing questionable potions just to see if they could be useful against him. Her heart and mind raced through the storm of multiple thoughts happening at the same time; they all mixed into an incoherent babble. She couldn’t understand how the work of her life was about to be ended. Trying to grasp that idea felt like having to defeat a god but knowing how to cast a mere ray of frost; it seemed so impossible.

Seconds spent on standing in front of the counter felt like years, as if time around her slowed down extremely. It’s too surreal to be true, she thought shaking her head to the sides trying to snap back to the reality, but to her discontent the bookkeeper, who told her terrible news was still standing there with her arms crossed and a tinge of annoyance on her face.

“Are you done panicking? It’s not the end of the world, you ca-”

“Maybe it’s not the end of the world for you, but for many it is. I need to find him and I won’t leave this place until I get any hint,” Datura’s voice was burning with seriousness to the point.

“I was about to say that.” The bookkeeper rolled her eyes fixing her chocolate-coloured locks. “You can ask Helsik, the diabolist at Devil’s Fee, for help. She surely knows her ways into the Hells and Raphael’s lair too. And now, if you excuse me, leave.” It was clear as day that she did not want to tolerate elf’s presence disturbing Tolna’s precious time spent among dusty books and scrolls.

“A diabolist? Why I haven’t thought about it earlier? Sometimes I might be more stupid than I think I am. Such an easy choice which haven’t crossed my mind at all. At all!” She muttered to herself, on the way to giant ornate door leading to the street, in disbelief in her own mental abilities. Outside the shop, over the streets, ruled the darkness of the night. No light was seen but the one from lamps. Moon was hidden behind an overcast of dense, thick clouds, with no perspective to show its silver face to the public. With how late it was, there was no point in going to pay Helsik a visit – it was a thing to do the next day – and coming back to the inn for a good night of sleep became a priority for Datura. She just wanted to take a rest from everything – the trip, the overwhelming shock from earlier, the mountain of emotions she had felt at that one moment – her feet themselves lead her on the way to the inn.

Taverns of the city were busy as usual, full of people’s chatter, ale mugs clunking, and stench of all the alcohol. One could spot a rat or two every few streets, scavenging for food or munching on just gotten scraps of someone’s dinner. It was either them or criminals scheming their next plot to do the most unthinkable and amazing – by their standards – lawbreaking ever; at least it’s what they liked to think. A natural order of nightlife in Baldur’s Gate. Same that night – nothing out of ordinary happened on elvish girl’s path. She just had to say vigilant to not get caught by some of those outlaws and keep her wat to lightened up parts of the streets. The inn is almost here, she repeated in her mind.

The night could be calm, but earth beneath her feet definitely wasn’t – Datura could sense low frequency vibrations spreading around, it feeling almost like a prologue to an earthquake. It was way to subtle for humans to spot, but judging by elves’ and few other races’ faces painted with uncertainty, she knew they could feel it too. It was weird, nothing before would even hint at a possibility of such event, but what if? The rumble could get stronger every moment and if it would happen, the whole city could be in danger. Something had to be done, but what? She had no idea or maybe just one. Notifying the Iron Fists was the first thing she thought about after a while and it sounded like a good plan. Their closest outpost was located only few streets away, which is where she would go if an explosion wouldn’t appear and cover the whole sky, illuminating the city with bright purple-ish white light causing every citizen to wake up and put them in a state of disorientation. No one really knew what was happening yet surely it wasn’t anything good, that was for certain.

Following, what seemed an explosion, came an appearance of an alien ship – a Mind Flayers’ Nautiloid – shaped like a large spiral shell with squid tentacles attached to it, made with parts that uncannily looked like a human brain and muscles. Its silhouette imposed over the city inducing fear in every living thing – seeing Astral Plane inhabitants in Faerun never meant a good thing. They always brought destruction and chaos wherever they went, Baldur’s Gate was no exception and its denizens knew that minutes were separating them from potential catastrophe. Even before the ship did anything, the streets were full of people running around, trying to warn others by shouting incoherent phrases causing the mass hysteria to escalate. A middle-aged tiefling man, who looked like he could be experienced in dangerous situations judging by the scars on his arms and face, was one of the few tried to keep his cool – aiding others with stern voice, advising them to hide in their basements and wait. There was not much else to do, not much else would help against the absolute predators.

Their ship’s tentacles had started spreading over the city, twisting and twirling around the buildings. One could witness how thick walls of ages-lasting buildings were chipping brick by brick with every hectic movement of those giant slimy appendages. They were on a hunt, creeping between houses, workshops, and other dwellings – no one, who was marked as a prey, could escape them no matter how hard would they try. Mind Flayers of this ship had a plan, a new strategy to take control over the planes, or so they thought. They were just a small piece of a much larger masterpiece, but it didn’t set them back from executing orders from their masters. They were searching for victims, who could become the perfect thralls, shiny new subjects for their Elder Brain. The cruel fate was set for hundreds of innocent people – infection leading to ceremorphosis, becoming a mind flayer. Elongated, muscle-like pods on the ship, which acted as containers for freshly caught targets, were steadily filling up. All of those unfortunate who got gotten and put into one of those cages only after a while did realize their lives, how they knew and lead them, were about to get ended. After moments of sheer fear, so well accented by their screams and failed attempts of getting out, came the awareness of their dire, helpless situation. The only solution was to accept it and give up, waiting gods know how long for the inevitable end.

In a faintly lighted room made of dark blue flesh, tens of capsules stood around a vaguely circular orange vessel filed with fluid ensuring that illithid tadpoles could stay healthy until being injected into all those new brains all around them. Among captured people – humans, tieflings, dwarves, and more – there was one elf of rosy hair and silver like moon eyes, who dreamt of becoming a liberator of unlucky souls caught by a devil, and yet she became a victim herself of presumably even worse fate.

Chapter Text

Hi! I know it's been a while, but I had a bit of a revolution in my life. I started to write second chapter for this, so hopefully I will be able to publish it soon-ish. :D