Alex stood atop the wall, keeping watch with Gale and Lae’zel. They stood amongst the splintered remains of the wooden barricades and a few goblin corpses that had yet to be removed, but thankfully had not yet started to stink with decay. Below them, the defenders of the Grove moved into the clean-up phase of the battle. Karlach and Wyll helped dig graves, Shadowheart remained tending to the wounded, and Astarion had slunk off, presumably to feast on the blood of corpses that no longer needed it.

  After the battle concluded and the goblins retreated, a brief cheer arose from the defenders, one that rang hollow once they surveyed the battlefield and saw that nearly half of their number had fallen. They allowed themselves a short rest, then those who were relatively uninjured or recently healed began the gruesome task of digging graves and moving bodies.

  Not keen on either of those tasks, Alex had immediately volunteered to keep watch atop the wall, in case, you know, the goblins regrouped to attack again. Zevlor actually seemed to think that was a good idea, and Gale and Lae’zel joined him, also eager to escape manual labor. Below them, a group of tieflings dug a mass grave and unceremoniously dumped in the goblin bodies, a massive pile of decaying corpses that took up half of the clearing. The ogre corpses were too big to move; they simply built a bonfire on top of each one and allowed them to burn like funeral pyres, filling the air with acrid smoke and the odor of burning flesh.

  Inside the Grove, the druids busily prepared a section of their Sacred Pool, carefully digging graves amongst the statues and trees. The bodies of the deceased defenders were gathered nearby, covered with blankets and cloths for dignity and awaiting their final resting places. The tieflings and druids not occupied with undertaker duties picked up stray arrows, bolts, and other weapons and cleaned up the debris, trying to restore some sense of normalcy to the encampment.

  For a moment, a shadow blotted out the sun, and Alex looked up with surprise to see a massive bird circling overhead. An albatross? But we’re not near the coast. As if surveying the battlefield, it circled the Grove three times before swooping down and landing next to the Sacred Pool.

  In a flash of green magic, the albatross disappeared and was replaced by a tall giant of a man, who several of the druids immediately gathered around. Is that Halsin? Even from up here, he looks massive. But I’m glad he survived. With how different things have been from the game, I wasn’t sure if he would make it.

  After several hours, with the sun dipping low, a small group of druids and tieflings relieved them from watch duty. They headed for the kitchen area, stomachs rumbling loudly. Several tieflings and druids sat around eating and chatting, their former enmity gone and replaced by the kind of comradery that can only be forged in the heat of battle.

  Alex picked up a bowl of everything soup and was pleasantly surprised to see it had even more variety than before. It seemed that the druids offered some ingredients as a sign of peace. The soup now had carrots, mushrooms, and various herbs mixed in, lending it a delicious aroma. Alex, Gale, and Lae’zel sat down and dug in, the warm soup comforting their bellies.

  “May I join you?” asked a deep, yet kind, voice.

  Alex looked up from his bowl and saw the massive druid from earlier towering over them. Built like a football player and standing nearly six-and-a-half feet tall, he easily dwarfed them, but his intimidating frame was offset by a wide, calming smile. A pair of elf ears peeked out from his shoulder-length hair, and the multitude of scars on his face betrayed his age.

  “Of course,” said Alex, doing his best to not be intimidated. His arms are thicker than my head. He could probably crush my skull with his bare hands if he wanted to. I’m glad he’s on our side. “Are you the albatross from earlier?”

  “Just one of my many Wild Shape forms.” He sat down across from them, taking up nearly the whole side of the table. “I prefer to take the form of larger creatures, as you may guess. My name is Halsin. I am the archdruid of this Grove. Or rather, soon-to-be former archdruid.”

  “Nice to meet you. My name is Alex, and this is Gale and Lae’zel,” he said, introducing them between spoonfuls of soup. “What do you mean by ‘soon-to-be-former’ archdruid, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Well, that’s actually what I came to talk to you three about. I’ve already talked to your other traveling companions, and it seems that all of you, except you, Alex, have been implanted with illithid tadpoles.”

  “And I take it you already know about Alex’s ability to dispel magic and silence the tadpoles?” asked Gale.

  “Yes, and it is quite fascinating. In all my centuries, I’ve never encountered someone with such a power. But still, while it can quiet the tadpoles, it is not a permanent solution. And I’m sure you know by now that normal healing magic cannot affect them.”

  “And that is why I intend to head for the crèche that supposedly lies in the Mountain Pass,” interjected Lae’zel. “To have this ghaik worm removed once and for all with a zaith’isk.”

  “I have heard reports of githyanki based somewhere in the Mountain Pass,” admitted Halsin. “But for those who would rather not trust their well-being to a group of potentially hostile githyanki, I have some information that may be interesting.”

  Gale leaned forward eagerly and Alex’s ears perked up between slurps of soup. Lae’zel exhaled with disapproval at the slight.

  “When I was locked up in the Goblin Camp, I overheard the drow commander and the hobgoblin talking about why they’re here. It seems that they are members of a cult who worship a being called the ‘Absolute’. And whatever this Absolute being is, it somehow has the ability to control these tadpoles.”

  “A cult using illithid tadpoles? Does that mean it is actually a front for mind flayers to gather victims?” posited Gale, somehow hitting close to the truth, much to Alex’s amazement.

  He really is sharp. I wish I could say something, but it would give away that I have some foreknowledge of what is coming. And that would generate questions that I cannot answer just yet.

  Halsin frowned. “I suppose it could be. The drow mentioned that they are based out of Moonrise Towers. It is a place that I am familiar with, unfortunately…” His voice trailed off and his frown deepened.

  “Bad memories?” prompted Alex, trying to recall everything he knew about Halsin’s backstory.

  “That is one way to put it,” he sighed, shoulders sagging under the weight of memories. “One hundred years ago, I fought in a battle near Moonrise against a man named Ketheric Thorm, who led an army of Sharrans that threatened the land. It was an arduous fight, but our side emerged victorious. But with his dying words, Ketheric uttered a prayer to Shar that cursed the land with shadow magic.

  “The land itself became twisted and corrupted, and all creatures within became possessed, violent monsters who lost all sense of self. We lost a lot of our druids to the curse, and I narrowly escaped death myself. Ever since, I’ve been trying to find a way to lift it. My responsibilities as archdruid have kept me here, but the rise of this cult and the tieflings’ need for protection gave me the perfect reasons to resign and return to those lands.”

  “Need for protection?” repeated Alex, heart beginning to race at the thought of facing the Shadow Curse. “So that means they are set on traveling through those Shadow-Cursed Lands?”

  “Unfortunately, unless they gained the ability to sprout wings, swim across a mighty river, or navigate the Underdark, that is the only path available to them. As long as they have enough light sources, they should be able to ward off the curse, but there are still the monsters that lurk in its depths. And now cultists, too. They will need all the warriors they can get if they are going to make it through.”

  “And you hope that by arousing our curiosity about the origin of these tadpoles, we will agree to accompany you and protect these tieflings?” deduced Lae’zel, a look of disdain on her face. “Chk. I will not be reduced to a mere caravan guard. My objective is the crèche.”

  “Have you asked the others?” questioned Alex. “What do they think about this?”

  Halsin gave an affirmative nod. “Karlach and Wyll both agreed to come along to protect the tieflings. Astarion and Shadowheart agreed for the sake of increasing their chances of making it to Baldur’s Gate in one piece, though Shadowheart did seem quite interested in the Curse. I suppose I can’t blame her, as she is a Sharran, as distasteful as that may be. Which leaves you three.”

  Alex thought quickly. Traveling with the tieflings would certainly be a big change from the game… but maybe a good change. There’s safety in numbers, especially if we run across any githyanki patrols in the Mountain Pass. If they’re willing to feed us, even better. And who knows? Maybe more of them will survive the journey through the Shadow-Cursed Lands. “I will go with you and tieflings,” he decided. “There’s safety in numbers, right? And anything we can do to learn more about the tadpoles would be useful.” Especially anything that will help us defeat the Absolute, when we eventually discover what it truly is.

  “I agree,” added Gale in support. “As unusual as mind flayer tadpoles are, these tadpoles seem even stranger. Anything we can learn about their origins would be good to know if we are to figure out how to remove them.”

  They all turned expectantly towards Lae’zel, who finished her soup and sat with her arms crossed, clearly displeased at this turn of events. “Since it seems that everyone is set on joining these tieflings, it seems I have no choice if I am to remain under your protection,” she directed at Alex. “As abhorrent as it may be, I will remain with you and travel with these tieflings, at least until we locate the crèche.” Her eyes narrowed. “But do not expect me to stay after we have found it. And do not try to stop me from rejoining my kin.”

  After dinner, Halsin departed back to the Sacred Pool and Alex, Gale, and Lae’zel headed to their lean-to. Halsin said that the tieflings planned to stay for a few more days to rest, recover, and pack for the journey ahead, and Alex was looking forward to being able to spend the time lazily relaxing. But first, he wanted to plant a seed in Gale’s mind. If anyone can figure out how to defeat the Absolute, it’s him. He just needs time to think about it. And hopefully find a solution that doesn’t involve blowing up his orb. “Gale, if the cult is a front for mind flayers, does this mean the Absolute is actually an elder brain?”

  “Hmmm. I suppose it could be,” replied Gale, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. “But from what I’ve read about mind flayers, they are normally not this creative. And I don’t think they would act so openly, for risk of drawing unwanted attention.”

  “I was taught that elder brains are paranoid beings,” added Lae’zel. “Ghaik colonies in the Material Plane would not reveal themselves unless they were supremely confident that their plans were ready.”

  Gale frowned. “Well, that’s certainly not a comforting thought. An elder brain is no easy foe. If that is what we are up against…”

  “Fear not, wizard,” assured Lae’zel. “My people have been fighting such foes for millennia. If there is indeed an elder brain at the center of this so-called cult, then I’m sure my kin are already aware of it.”

  At their lean-to, Alex split off to take a bath. With audible relief, he washed off the lingering dirt, sweat, and dried blood from the battle, finally feeling some sense of normalcy return. He had survived, barely, only because of luck. If I had been positioned elsewhere, I would probably be dead, either to a goblin arrow or to Minthara’s mace. Or if she had been a little quicker with her dagger, or I hadn’t landed on that ogre’s body…

  He shivered, only partially due to the cold water. He got dressed and headed for his bedroll, eager to finally get some sleep, but unsure if his brain would let him as it replayed all the close calls he had during the battle. At least I am one step closer to home. One step closer to Elena and Melanie. After an hour of tossing and turning, he finally fell asleep…

  …And yet again woke up in the field of stars. The night sky was tinted purple and heated uncomfortably warm, signaling Y’chak’s presence. Alex pulled himself up and grimaced as a burst of grating laughter pounded against his eardrums. The giant purple flame hovered next to Bolothamogg’s circular form, pulsing with mirth.

  “Amusing! Most amusing!” said Y’chak in its frantic, high-pitched voice. “To think that your game piece almost kicked the bucket in his first real fight. You should have chosen better, my friend.”

  “But was it not amusing? To see the struggle? To see the challenge that was overcome?” rumbled Bolothamogg. “I am having a most interesting time watching him.”

  “I’m glad you are both having a good time,” said Alex without a trace of mirth in his voice. “Now if you don’t mind, I would like to get back to sleep.”

  “He defies you?” cackled Y’chak. “Interesting, interesting, interesting! Not even my piece would dare openly talk back to me. But let’s see if your bravado will hold, once you fully comprehend the horrors you face!”

  The next morning, the Emerald Grove was in a somber mood. It was time for burials.

  Everyone stood solemnly around the Sacred Pool. Forty freshly dug graves dotted the clearing, interspersed among the trees, shrubs, and stone statues. A body laid beside each open grave, each wrapped tightly in a funeral shroud and adorned with a delicate wildflower.

  Some wept loudly, some stood still and silent, and others whispered prayers. The druids’ animals were quiet and no birdsong echoed through the trees, as if nature itself were mourning. Halsin recited the names of the fallen druids, some of whom Alex recognized from the game. Findal. Inwe. Maggran. Mino. “May Silvanus grant them eternal peace,” he finished, his hand clenched in a fist over his heart, head bowed.

  After a minute of silence, he continued. “And now, for our honored guests and newfound friends. Regrettably, our brief time together was not kind or easy,” spoke Halsin, standing with Zevlor on a small stone island in the center of the Sacred Pool. “But we of the Emerald Grove recognize the sacrifices your people made on our behalf, to help ensure that our home survived the toughest trial it has faced this century. And though we can never atone for how we have treated you, we hope that this small gesture, of burying your fallen in our most sacred place alongside of our own, will help us settle our differences and allow nature to repair and strengthen our bond.”

  Zevlor stepped forward and recited the names of the fallen tieflings, voice cracking with each. More names that Alex recognized, but here, he had not even taken the time to meet. Asharak. Guex. Kaldani. Toron.

  A magical breeze gently shook the leaves and branches of the surrounding trees as the bodies were lowered into each grave, accompanied by the wailing of loved ones and a low, mournful dirge played by a tiefling bard. Mounds of earth were shoveled into each grave, and then the druids placed a simple wooden grave marker on each.

  “In the coming days, we will place a simple plant on each grave. A shrub, a wildflower, a sapling. So that their bodies may become one with nature, yet forever be remembered among us,” finished Halsin solemnly.

  “And now, we have much preparation to do,” said Zevlor, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “To commemorate those we lost, we will celebrate and raise a tankard to them tonight. And perhaps in the afterlife, they will hear us, and they will know that their sacrifices were not in vain.”

  After the funeral, the tieflings and druids spent the better part of the day getting the Hollow ready for a proper celebration. The party pitched in to help, despite some grumbling from Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Astarion about being forced into manual labor. Wyll and Karlach helped rearrange tables and chairs and move massive kegs of beer; Shadowheart and Astarion took it upon themselves to ‘assist’ the druids with selecting wines and whiskeys from their cellar; and Gale, Alex, and Lae’zel helped out in the kitchen under direction from Bex and Danis.

  “Even for a victory celebration, this food seems excessive. No wonder these people are soft,” grumbled Lae’zel as she sliced cheese wedges, sausages, and cured ham for a charcuterie board, holding the knife like she was butchering an animal.

  “That does beg an interesting question,” said Gale as he grated some lemon zest and squeezed some juice. “What do githyanki normally eat? Given, you know, that there is no hunger in the Astral Plane.”

  “In the Material Plane, we find sustenance from whatever is around. In Crèche K’liir, we ate whatever we could harvest from nearby wildspace. Doom radishes, infinity vines, giant space hamsters, and the like. Nothing as extravagant as whatever… these things are,” she said uncertainly, gesturing at the trays and pans of baked goods that waited to go in the clay oven.

  “Most interesting. And what of you?” he asked, turning to Alex. “You seem at home in a kitchen. I take it these foods are familiar?”

  “They are. Which is comforting, in a way. Like I’m not too far from home,” answered Alex as he stirred a bowl of scone batter. “I enjoy cooking, but I’m used to a fully-equipped kitchen, among other conveniences. But I suppose the basic principles remain the same everywhere, right?”

  “Right. I’m used to cooking with more magical flare, and for a tressym with an incredibly refined palate, but I’m glad that I can help out in a pinch.”

  “Looks delicious, guys!” called Karlach as she and Wyll walked by, hefting a barrel of beer.

  “At least our weakened wizard is good for something,” said Astarion, striding by with Shadowheart, each carrying an armful of wine bottles.

  “And if our githyanki keeps this up, perhaps we’ll have to get her a maid outfit,” jabbed Shadowheart, drawing snickers from everyone in earshot and a muttered “k’chakhi” from Lae’zel.

  In the evening, the Hollow was loud and crowded with drunken revelers. Druids and tieflings stood next to each other, drinking and laughing as if they had not been at each other's throats just a couple days ago. Even the enmity between Kagha and Zevlor seemed to have faded; the two sat next to each other, politely chatting and sipping on glasses of wine. Alex spotted Danis and Bex, plus a few other couples, dancing drunkenly but happily, their swaying growing more pronounced with each sip of alcohol. The tiefling bard, Alfira, played a series of songs on her lute that grew more and more discordant as the evening progressed and the number of her drinks increased.

  I never liked parties.

  As usual, he had been content to sit by himself at the edge of the festivities, away from the main crowd but strategically positioned near the snack table. He took stock of the countless pastries, scones, tarts, and other desserts that they had prepared earlier, piling another round of snacks onto his plate and trying to blend into the background.

  On the short jaunt from his chair over to the table, everyone seemed happy to see him, to his surprise and embarrassment. Druids and tieflings alike stopped him to introduce themselves, shake his hand, or simply say hello. Several tieflings that Alex recognized, but never took the time to get to know, happily and drunkenly introduced themselves. Lakrissa. Cerys. Rikka. Okta. Zorru. Even Rolan seemed happy to see him, raising his glass as Alex walked by.

  It’s odd to be wanted, he thought as he loaded a final raspberry scone onto his plate. Back home, I used to wonder about who would even bother to attend my funeral. Here, it feels like I’ve made friends after only a few days. I suppose that’s what combat does to people. But it’s weird being a hero, instead of a nobody.

  He was abruptly pulled out of his musings by the approach of a boisterous Karlach. Her red face somehow seemed to glow even redder and he could very clearly smell the alcohol on her breath. “There you are! Come on, soldier, everyone’s waiting for ya!”

  Before he could protest, she grabbed his arm and dragged him through the crowd, and he barely had time to pick up his plate. Knowing the futility of trying to break away, he struggled to keep up and stay on his feet, his desserts bouncing and sliding precariously. Finally, next to a table bristling with kegs and wine bottles, they joined the rest of the party.

  “I must say, this wine is absolutely terrible,” slurred Shadowheart, taking a big gulp from her glass and apparently being unbothered by the taste.

  “I agree!” said Astarion vehemently, waving around a mostly-empty wine bottle. “They call this a ‘sparkling red’? Well, it’s neither! I’ve had better swill from the back alleys of the Lower City!”

  Alex sat down between Shadowheart, who was swaying a little dangerously, and Gale, who was busy lecturing a sleepy-looking Wyll on the intricacies of yeast selection in brewing. Lae’zel, meanwhile, had grabbed several of the desserts herself and was contently munching away between sips of beer. Karlach plopped down across from him and slid a full mug across the table. “You look like you’ve barely had anything to drink this evenin’!”

  “How many drinks have you had?” he asked, eying the unappealing, muddy-looking brown ale that filled the mug to the brim.

  “I stopped counting after a dozen!” she replied with a wide grin, then quaffed a fresh beer of her own.

  Alex’s eyes flicked back down to his beer. He took a small sip and grimaced, bitterness flooding his tastebuds. A little too heavy and hoppy for my taste… but fuck it. When are we going to have this opportunity again? He lifted his mug and took a big gulp, feeling like he was ten years younger and drawing whoops from Karlach and a slurred “Cheers” from Shadowheart. He alternated between bites of sour lemon tart and more gulps of beer.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  “What do ya think, soldier? Pretty good party, eh?” asked Karlach, setting down her now-empty mug.

  “I suppose. The beer’s alright. But it’s been years since I’ve had fun like this.” Probably not since college, he thought ruefully. Even Elena would tease me about being boring.

  “Really? You gotta get out and have more fun! Even in the Hells, we would party like mad!”

  “Dark Lady’s blessings, I can’t even remember the last time I got this drunk,” chimed in Shadowheart, swaying with each word. “But we deserve it, right?”

  “Of course we deserve it! They should be practically bowing down to us for saving their skins!” added an indignant Astarion, popping open another bottle of wine. “If this is the best wine they have to offer, maybe we should have sided with those goblins instead.”

  “Ah, my new favorite group of adventurers! Did you say ‘goblins’?” called a familiar, yet mildly annoying, voice from behind Alex.

  His body tensed and he sat up with a start. Raphael called us that, too, but that is definitely not his voice. Don’t tell me that it’s-

  “Volothamp Geddarm, at your service!” said a man who sauntered up to their table. “But my friends, and I sincerely hope that I can call you friends, call me Volo.”

  Alex almost spat out his drink when he saw him. Somehow, Volo looks even more comical here than in the game. The man wore a blue and red bardic outfit, complete with a frilly collar, foppish hat, and a wavy beard and mustache that looked more suited to a cartoon character than an actual person.

  “Do you mind if I take a seat?” he asked, then inserted himself between Karlach and Astarion before anyone could say otherwise, Karlach kindly shifting to give him some room. He gestured at Alex’s plate of desserts.“May I?” Alex slid the plate into the middle of the table and Volo picked up a raspberry scone. Before he could pull it back, Lae’zel reached across and snatched a lemon tart, offering a muttered thanks around a mouthful of pastry.

  “Volo, was it?” said Karlach between more sips of beer. “Whatcha doing here? I don’t remember seeing you around before.”

  “Why, I just happened to be in the area, compiling research on my new book about goblins, when I heard the sounds of this party,” he answered around a mouthful of scone, crumbs lodging themselves in his beard and mustache. “And the gate was wide open, so I walked right in!”

  Gale paused his lecture to turn and look at their guest with surprise. “Volo! It’s so nice to see you! It’s been ages!”

  “It’s certainly nice to see you, too, my fine friend!” said Volo, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Hmm, what’s your name again?”

  “Gale Dekarios. Don’t you remember me?” asked Gale, looking wounded. “Former chosen of Mystra? Friend of Elminster? We met at one of Elminster’s get-togethers at the Yawning Portal.”

  “Hmm… nope! Does not ring a bell, I’m afraid. Now, about those goblins!”

  Gale groaned and turned back to lecturing Wyll, who seemed to have fallen asleep with his eyes open, staring blankly ahead. But Gale did not appear to notice or mind, delving into the technical differences between ales and lagers. Karlach humored Volo’s questioning about the makeup of the goblin army and the details of the battle. Volo conjured a notebook and quill out of thin air and diligently took notes, all while reaching across the table and grabbing more snacks from Alex’s plate. Mercifully, Volo did not ask anything of him, so he allowed himself to relax and mirror Lae’zel, munching happily on his desserts and occasionally sipping on his beer. Shadowheart, meanwhile, went down for the count, slumping forward with her head resting on the table.

  “...And Alex beat the shit out of that drow commander!” finished Karlach, slamming down her mug and sloshing some beer onto the table.

  “Really?” said Volo, scribbling frantically and turning to him. “Do tell! What was it like? How did a scrawny lad like you beat her? It was a her, I presume? You know, drow matriarchy and all that.”

  Alex took a massive gulp and finished his mug. Karlach immediately slid over another full one and he took another gulp, trying to collect his thoughts. “Yes, it was a her. And she was terrifying. I honestly thought she was going to kill me.”

  “So how did you survive, my untrained, novice-fighter-looking friend?” asked Volo, his quill scratching away. “For the good of the realm, for the knowledge of future generations, please tell me!”

  “Er… well, there isn’t much to tell,” he deflected, not wanting to tell the whole story to Volo and accidentally disclose his antimagic to his entire readership. “I barely held her off, and eventually we fell off the wall. I landed on the cushiony corpse of an ogre, and she was gone. I suppose she healed herself and escaped.”

  “Most interesting!” Volo exclaimed.. “A horde of goblins, led by an evil drow! A group of helpless refugees and desperate druids, fighting for their lives! And a group of adventurers caught in the middle! This story is at least worthy of a paragraph or two in my latest book!”

  Mercifully, he stopped his questioning and left to bother someone else. Thank god he left. I was worried he would eventually ask about my antimagic, and then it would end up in one of his books and I would never hear the end of it.

  Shadowheart snored next to him, Astarion sipped on a bottle, Lae’zel snatched away more desserts from his plate, Gale kept lecturing, and Wyll stared blankly ahead. Alex resumed munching on a lemon tart, then raised his mug and joined Karlach in chugging. I never would have thought that I would actually make friends here, especially in only a few days. But all things considered, these are good friends to have.

  The next morning, the party ate breakfast together in the kitchen, sitting amongst the remains of last night’s party. Karlach and Wyll groaned simultaneously, nursing hangovers. Lae’zel ate a leftover raspberry scone while everyone else ate the familiar gray mush, albeit flavored with honey and various berries.

  A familiar sounding “Woof!” made their two hungover companions groan louder. Turning to its source, Alex and the others saw Scratch running up to their table, tail wagging happily, followed by the Owlbear Cub, and finally Halsin. Scratch immediately ran up to Shadowheart and sat expectantly.

  “I take it you know these two?” asked Halsin with a smile. “They wandered in through the hole in the gate, and Scratch asked for the ‘pretty half-elf lady with black hair'.”

  Shadowheart blushed. “Oh, well, I’m flattered.” She reached down and gave Scratch a pet, and then the Owlbear Cub. They both smiled happily, or at least as much as a dog and young owlbear could. “Is it alright if they stay with us?”

  “This is a druid grove,” said Halsin. “Of course they can stay, as long as your companions don’t mind.”

  “And of course they don’t mind,” she answered, before anyone could object. Lae’zel and Astarion both rolled their eyes, but Gale seemed delighted. Not much of an animal person, Alex simply shrugged.

  “Well, I suppose that’s that, then,” resumed Halsin. “When you’re done with breakfast, come meet me down in our inner sanctum. I’ve got a few things that I wanted to give you as thanks for fighting on our behalf.”

  After breakfast, the group descended the stone steps down from the Sacred Pool to the druids’ cave. Unlike the last time they were here, the druids offered them smiles and friendly waves, not at all bothered by their presence. Halsin and Kagha stood next to the large stone table, piled high with supplies.

  “I want to say sorry,” began Kagha, “for how we mistreated you when you first arrived here. It goes against the teachings of Silvanus for us to turn away those in need.” She sighed. “It seems I still have a lot to learn.”

  “That is true, but with this, we can at least try to step onto the path of forgiveness,” continued Halsin, gesturing at the piled items on the table. “It isn’t much, but since you are accompanying the tieflings and I to the Shadow-Cursed Lands, the least we can do is make sure you are prepared.”

  The party sifted through the supplies. There were new clothes, boots, backpacks, blankets, and bedrolls for everyone, plus several spares. And perhaps most importantly, large bundles that Alex recognized as tents. Everything had a distinctly druidic, green and brown aesthetic, but he didn’t mind. No offense to the tieflings, but it’s good to finally have clothes and camp supplies that are not worn hand-me-downs.

  “And we would also like you to have this,” said Kagha, offering a brown satchel to Gale, who examined it closely. The bag was brown like the earth, adorned with green stitching that formed the head of an antlered buck, the symbol of Silvanus, and a series of ancient druidic runes.

  “A bag of holding?” recognized Gale. He slung it over his shoulder and opened the flap. Alex peered inside and saw, instead of the inside of a bag, a seemingly infinite expanse of mixed blue, purple, and green hues, dotted with pinpricks of stars.

  “Is that… the Astral Plane?” he asked, awed by the sight. I know how bags of holding work mechanically, but to actually see one in person…

  Lae’zel peered in next to him. “By Vlaakith’s might, it is! What is this magic?”

  “Well, it’s not exactly the Astral Plane,” explained Gale. “But rather, a pocket dimension drifting in the Astral Plane. Almost like our own little private, secure bubble. But whatever you do, don’t puncture the bag, or you’ll pop our little bubble and everything we’ve stored inside will be strewn about the Astral. And no offense,” he directed at Alex, “but it’s probably for the best that I hold onto it. If you reach inside, your antimagic may inadvertently destroy it.”

  “What are those things floating around in there?” asked Alex, seeing several large floating shapes amidst the space-like background.

  “A few more gifts, of course,” said Halsin. “To make the coming journey a little more bearable.”

  Almost cartoonishly, Gale reached into the bag of holding, his arms disappearing up to his shoulders as he rummaged around. First, he withdrew a large wooden crate. Alex barely held back laughter as it emerged from the bag like something out of a Looney Tunes episode, the crate magically contracting to fit through the bag’s opening, then expanding back to its full size.

  He and Lae’zel helped lower it to the ground, followed by several wooden chests and a few more crates. The party dug through the items, finding all the adventuring and camping supplies they could ask for: torches, lanterns, ropes, shovels, hatchets, bundles of firewood, pots and pans, plates and bowls, knives and spoons, and more.

  “Thank you,” Alex said to both Kagha and Halsin, overwhelmed with gratitude. “Really, this helps a lot. It is more than I ever expected.”

  “I am just ashamed that we did not share it sooner,” replied Kagha, eyes downcast. “I don’t think I will ever forget this. For all of us, it was a much-needed lesson in Silvanus’s teachings.”

  “And this is just the start of our amends,” said Halsin. “There are still a few days until we depart. With the blessings of Silvanus, we are working hard to replenish our food stockpiles. Before we take to the road, we’ll give you enough food to last until Baldur’s Gate.”

  After re-packing everything into the bag of holding, the party returned to their lean-to and dropped off their new supplies. As usual, Dammon pounded away at his forge, but seemed just a little more relaxed than before the battle, some of the tension gone from his shoulders.

  “Ah, Karlach!” he called, waving them over. “Mind if I take a look at your engine?”

  “Sure, I suppose,” she replied, joining Dammon next to his anvil. “Little thing’s been acting up lately. It doesn’t like being here, outside the Hells.” She lifted her shirt, exposing her glowing chest. Dammon flushed briefly with embarrassment, then leaned in to get a closer look.

  Like opening a satchel, Karlach lifted a glowing flap of red skin, exposing her infernal engine. It looked like an iron sphere burning white hot, bristling with gears and tubes that whirred, clacked, and shook. Alex and the others peered closer with morbid curiosity, the heat burning away the moisture from his face.

  Karlach grimaced as her engine released a loud pop. “The more the merrier. Like what you see?”

  “This is what Zariel put in you?” said Wyll in a quiet voice. “Gods, I’m sorry…”

  “It’s not your fault. It’s that fucker Gortash. When we get to Baldur’s Gate, I’m going to snap his slimy little neck!” she growled, releasing a wave of heat that made everyone take a step back.

  Dammon bent forward again, listening closely to her engine’s clanking. “Thanks to our time in Avernus, I have some experience working with these things.” He stepped back and thought for a moment, staring at the whirring and grinding gears. “I have an idea. It will only be a temporary fix, and it will be a little rough, but I think I can calm down your engine. Enough to stop the popping and grinding, at least.”

  Karlach looked like she wanted to hug him, but restrained herself. “Thanks. That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time.”

  Dammon smiled broadly. “Just give me some time. I promise I’ll have something ready before we depart.”

  Alex browsed through the bookshelves in Halsin’s study. The soon-to-be former archdruid said that they could borrow anything they wanted, so he looked for any books that could shed some light on the world that he found himself in. If I’m going to survive here, I need to know more about this place.

  He picked up Volo’s Guide to Monsters and Traveler’s Guide to the Sword Coast. From Halsin’s desk, he grabbed a map of the Sword Coast and western Faer?n, trying to recall all the locations that he could from his knowledge of Baldur’s Gate and Dungeons & Dragons. It’s been years since I last played D&D, but there are a few places that I recognize from the guidebooks and manuals.

  In the northern portion of the map: Icewind Dale. Luskan. Neverwinter. Silverymoon. Menzoberranzan. From Neverwinter, he traced a finger down the coastline, towards the middle of the map: Waterdeep. Baldur’s Gate. Amn. And from Baldur’s Gate, he traced a finger east along the River Chionthar, to Elturel. He checked the map’s scale.

  About three hundred miles between Baldur’s Gate and Elturel. And we are somewhere between them. Assuming that we can cover ten-to-twenty miles per day, and we get a day of rest every five days… it could take us a month to get there. Not including the additional time it will take to traverse the rough terrain of the Mountain Pass and the Shadow-Cursed Lands.

  If we can even get through the Shadow-Cursed Lands at all. In the game, it was impossible to get through without first defeating Ketheric Thorm. But that was because of a game design decision. Here, can we just sneak past and continue onto Baldur’s Gate?

  And what about Elminster? We are supposed to run into him in the Mountain Pass. He’s an extremely powerful wizard, right? If I can talk with him, maybe he can send me home or at least point me in the right direction. I just need to hold out until then.

  Before he turned to leave, he spotted a book that he had missed, tucked away in the shadowed corner of a bookshelf. The Great Realms in the Stars. The cover was adorned with an elegant illustration of a… spaceship? Or a spelljammer? Intrigued, Alex flipped it open.

  A dissertation on cosmology and the existence of other realms, read the title page. He turned to the table of contents. A theory of crystal spheres. Origins and the role of the gods. Methods of travel between crystal spheres. Known crystal spheres and their approximate positioning…

  I don’t know much about how space travel works here, but this seems like a good start.

  He folded up the map and stacked the books, hustling out the door. On the way out, he nearly ran into Halsin, just as the druid was about to enter his study. Alex skidded to a stop, turning red with embarrassment. “Sorry. You’re a lot quieter than I expected.”

  “Do not worry, my friend. You are not the only one to say that,” said Halsin with an understanding smile. “I take it you found some interesting books? Is there anything else you need?”

  “Well… yes. This is a little embarrassing, but it’s been a while since I’ve gone camping,” Alex admitted, swallowing his pride in the name of survival. “Can you show me how to set up one of those tents?”

  “Of course,” answered Halsin, his smile broadening. “I may not be the most fit to be an archdruid, but I will always help where I can.”

  Alex arrived back at their shelter feeling a little more confident. At least I won’t make a complete fool out of myself when we have to set up camp. He placed the books and map in his new traveler’s chest, alongside several sets of clothes and a spare pair of boots. Each party member had claimed one of the chests gifted by the druids for their own personal storage, slowly filling them with various gifts from the grateful druids and tieflings.

  He looked around and saw his companions relaxing and enjoying their brief respite. Most of them, anyway. Shadowheart, Astarion, and Karlach sat at a table playing with a deck of cards while Gale and Lae’zel perched nearby, engrossed in a game of lanceboard.

  Wyll was nowhere to be seen, but in the distance, Alex heard low shouts and the thwacking of wooden swords echoing through the tunnels. The training ground. That’s probably where he is.

  After a moment’s contemplation, Alex started putting on his armor, his breastplate and gambeson now supplemented by metal vambraces and greaves gifted by the druids. He grabbed his spear and dagger and started walking towards the sounds of wooden sword strikes.

  Arriving at the training ground, he found Wyll instructing a few younger tieflings as they swung wooden swords against training dummies. Wyll waved at him as he approached. “Enjoying your rest and relaxation?” he asked, eyes flicking down to Alex’s armor. “Or are you looking to stay busy?”

  “I would like nothing more than to sit around and do nothing,” confessed Alex. “But I know that the road ahead may be dangerous. I would like to train more with you, if you don’t mind. So I won’t be completely useless in a fight.”

  “Of course,” said Wyll with a friendly smile. “I’m not the best teacher, but I’ll do what I can. How about we start by building on your basic spear forms?”

  Wyll showed Alex a few new forms and stances, expanding on the basic thrusting he had previously taught. Alex copied each form, recognizing some of them from medieval manuscripts and tapestries, with a multitude of patient corrections from Wyll. After several repetitions of each, he finally got the hang of them. He hoped.

  “Ready to put it into practice?” asked Wyll, handing him a quarterstaff.

  “Won’t know unless I try,” answered Alex, trying to sound more confident than he felt. He carefully laid his spear on the ground and hefted the quarterstaff, facing off against Wyll, who held a quarterstaff of his own.

  They cycled through the paired forms, Wyll moving with exaggerated slowness at first, to allow Alex to recognize the timing and get used to flowing between each movement, and then gradually picked up the pace. Their quarterstaffs thwacked together, simulating a battle between two spearmen.

  Wyll switched to a wooden training sword, and they continued with more forms. After Alex got the hang of them, they moved into full sparring. Wyll was able to dodge many of Alex’s strikes, but he also wasn’t able to close the distance between them for strikes of his own.

  I suppose that’s why they call it the ‘king of weapons’, thought Alex, sipping from a bottle of water and wiping away his sweat during a short break. With only a little bit of practice, I was able to hold off Wyll, without a shield this time. I’m sure the results wouldn’t be the same in a real fight, but at least I won't die immediately. As long as I can hold off an opponent until Lae’zel or Karlach show up.

  “Not bad,” said Wyll, sipping from his own bottle. “You’re doing pretty well for someone who only first held a spear a few days ago.”

  Alex put down the bottle, flexing his sore arms. “Thanks. Would you mind sparring with me more often? I still have a long way to go.”

  “Of course. We can go again tomorrow, if you’ve had enough for today.”

  While they rested, Alex watched a group of young tieflings swing wooden swords at training dummies with wide, uncontrolled strokes. Swords are supposed to be a lot harder to learn than spears. Their shorter reach makes them less suited to defensive fighting and puts you at an initial disadvantage against anyone with a longer weapon. And that also means they are more dependent on the wielder’s agility and leverage, with less room for error.

  But their shorter reach also makes them more effective at close range and better suited for cramped, enclosed areas. And easier to carry around, too.

  “Can you teach me how to use a sword?” he asked. If tiefling children can be taught the basics, then surely I can, right?

  “A sword?” called Astarion’s voice from behind them. “Be careful, or you might hurt yourself.”

  Alex and Wyll turned and saw Astarion, Shadowheart, and Karlach approaching the training ground. “I guess you finished your card game?”

  “Just making sure that you didn't wander off and fall down a hole,” said Shadowheart. “Or worse.”

  Wyll gave a friendly wave. “You don’t have to worry about that. He’s a better fighter than you might think.” He picked up a wooden sword and held it out. “And I would be happy to teach you. How much do you know?”

  “Only a little bit,” admitted Alex. “I know the history and theory behind sword fighting, but-”

  “But you never put it into practice,” finished Wyll. “That’s fine, we all start somewhere. How about we start with some basic sparring so I can see what you know?”

  “Sure, I guess.” He trudged after Wyll, wooden sword in hand, mentally reviewing everything he knew about sword fighting. I suppose this is what I get for focusing on grand strategy. I was never that interested in the training and tactics of individual soldiers.

  “You got this, Alex!” cheered Karlach from the sidelines.

  “Try not to kill him!” called Astarion.

  “Or get yourself killed!” added Shadowheart.

  Wyll stood a few places away, wooden sword held loosely in one hand, grinning encouragingly.

  He isn’t even adopting a fighting stance, thought Alex, his pride wounded. He doesn't expect much from me. If I want to win, I can use that to my advantage, just like when I fought Minthara.

  He glanced down at his wooden sword. It was made of rough, splintered wood, worn from countless impacts. About three-and-a-half feet long. As long as a sabre… or a katana, he thought, his inner Japanophile delighted. The last and only time I ever ‘dueled’ anyone was in high school gym class, in the brief fencing unit. And the only time I ever swung a real sword was during that cheesy tourism experience in Japan a few years ago.

  I’ve watched plenty of fencing and kendo, but while those are derived from the real thing, they are still just sports. But those are the only things I have to go off of, so what the heck.

  He settled into a basic kendo stance, doing his best to replicate what he had seen many times, but never done himself. Right foot forward, left foot back. Sword loosely held in front with both hands, pointed at your opponent’s throat.

  “Oh, how scary!” called Astarion. “Look out, Blade of Frontiers! Your opponent actually seems to know what he is doing!”

  “He’s nothing without his patron’s power! Take him!” piled on Shadowheart.

  “Kick his ass! He’s just a noble, prettyboy, wannabe hero!” shouted Karlach. Realizing what she said, she hurriedly added an “Oops, sorry Wyll!”

  Alex and Wyll stared each down, both stewing with embarrassment. He’s just wearing his usual padded cloth armor. Enough to provide some protection from superficial slashes, but not from any serious cut or thrust. His hands, neck, and head are unprotected. If I were actually trying to kill him, I would go for his head or neck… but he probably knows to keep them well guarded. His hands would be easier to hit, and a real sword strike there could disarm him.

  He glanced down at Wyll’s side and examined his rapier. It has a basket guard. He is probably used to taking advantage of it to protect his sword hand. I can use that.

  Alex shuffled forward awkwardly, drawing a guffaw from Astarion and a laugh from Shadowheart, but he paid them no mind, focused on keeping the tip of his sword centered on Wyll’s throat. Wyll did not laugh, and his eyes widened at the realization that he faced a serious opponent. He raised his sword to parry the expected thrust to his throat…

  …and released a small grunt of pain as Alex instead snapped his sword down and struck the back of his hand, rapping his knuckles. Before he could recover, Alex returned the sword back to its original position and finished closing the distance between them, the tip of the wooden sword only a couple inches from his throat.

  The laughter and cheers from his companions ceased. Astarion, Shadowheart, and Karlach gawked at him like he had grown another head. Wyll looked dumbfounded, staring down at the wooden sword aimed for his throat.

  Holy shit, thought Alex, adrenaline coursing through his veins. I… won. He lowered his wooden sword. “Are you okay? Did I hurt your hand?”

  Wyll shot him a broad grin. “It stings, but I’ll be alright. You are full of surprises.” He backed up a few paces and raised his wooden sword in a fencing salute. “Care to show what else you know?”

  And so passed the next few days, Alex doing his best to rest for the journey ahead while also learning as much as possible. He continued spear and sword training with Wyll, spent some time learning plant identification from Halsin, and reviewed basic first aid with Shadowheart. Karlach and Lae’zel argued over who would get to teach him javelin throwing while Astarion showed him how to throw knives and pick simple locks, grumbling the whole time. He and Gale cooked a few simple meals together to get used to campfire cooking. Somehow, he even managed to find enough time to keep up with his journal, read his borrowed books, and wash his clothes before they hit the road. Thankfully, the Elder Evils did not bother him, and he got a few nights of completely uninterrupted, restful sleep.

  And then the day came. Just as the morning sun peeked over the horizon and birdsong started to fill the air, Karlach shook him awake with an excited smile, insisting that he listen to her heart. To his amazement, he heard… nothing. She and Dammon had been up all night working on the fix; the poor blacksmith looked exhausted, but accomplished, and Karlach seemed to have boundless energy.

  Gale, Wyll, and Lae’zel carefully loaded the final parting gift from the druids into their bag of holding: several baskets and crates full of food; some fresh, some preserved. To his surprise, Gale explained that food stored in a bag of holding actually lasts about ten times longer than when stored normally. Before he could launch into an overwhelmingly detailed explanation, Alex thanked him and headed to the kitchen for one last breakfast, passing a slinking Shadowheart and skulking Astarion, both carrying armfuls of wine bottles, fresh from the druids’ cellars. Scratch and the Owlbear Cub trundled after them, each happily carrying a large sausage.

  The druids had prepared a simple, yet hearty meal to give everyone energy for the long road ahead. Alex slowly picked at a plate loaded with bacon, eggs, and roasted potatoes, savoring the taste of a meal that evoked memories of home. He washed it down with a cup of herbal tea, warming his throat and settling his stomach. Before leaving the kitchen, he grabbed an apple, a few slices of bread, and a bottle of water, placing them in a brown satchel gifted by the druids, alongside his tinderbox, a few potions, and a new lockpicking kit.

  Back at their lean-to, he donned his armor with the rest of his companions, unsure of what dangers they would face on the road. He belted a sword to his waist and secured several throwing knives to the strap of his satchel, all gifted from Dammon. Ready to head out, he packed his remaining possessions into his chest and lowered it into the bag of holding with help from Gale.

  The party headed for the gate, joining a steadily growing crowd of tieflings and druids saying their final goodbyes. Handshakes, hugs, prayers of good fortune, and promises of someday reuniting were all exchanged. Alex didn’t have the heart to tell them otherwise. Maybe things will be different this time. Maybe more of them, or even all of them, will actually survive the Shadow Curse. Or not. As long as we make it to Baldur’s Gate.

  The final crates and chests were loaded onto the wagons, and the tieflings’ young and elderly were gently helped aboard as the oxen were hitched up. Halsin and Zevlor said their final goodbyes to the Emerald Grove, then strode together to the head of the column. At their signal, the wagons started to crawl forward.

  One step closer to home.

  Gith Language Translations