You are not special.

  Bolothamogg’s parting words echoed in his mind when he woke up, skin pale and glistening with sweat. The dim orange glow of the morning sun barely peeked over the horizon as the Hollow slowly awakened to a new day. Alex and Gale were the only ones who remained under the lean-to; the other bedrolls were either empty or already rolled-up.

  Alex crawled out of his bedroll, careful to not disturb the sleeping wizard, rolled it up, and secured it to his backpack. Am I really here because of some twisted cosmic turn of fate? Not because I am best-suited to defeat the Absolute, but because… it would be funny to watch me try?

  He walked over to the kitchen area and grabbed a bowl of gray mush. He sat down at an empty table and idly spooned some into his mouth, too lost in thought to be bothered by the bland taste. Regardless, I am just a fish in a tank to Bolothamogg. It does not care about my well-being beyond my entertainment value. I just need to focus on getting to Baldur’s Gate and figuring out how to get home.

  “You look like you are scheming something.”

  Alex nearly jumped out of his skin. He had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice Lae’zel join him across the table. “Sorry,” he muttered, staring down at his spoonful of gray gruel. “Just thinking about our next moves.”

  Lae’zel huffed into her own bowl of gruel. “Chk. You humans and your scheming and planning. So often you fail to realize that you need to focus on accomplishing the current objective before you can even think of pondering the next one.”

  She’s right, as much as I don’t like to admit it, he thought. All this time spent thinking about how to get home is worthless if we can't even solve a puny goblin problem. “You know, you’re right. Thanks for the pep talk,” he said with a small smile.

  “Do not think this conversation is one between friends,” she warned with a serious expression. “I simply observed that the person responsible for protecting me from imminent ceremorphosis appeared distracted and unfocused. It is in my best interest that you survive until I am able to reach a zaith’isk.”

  Direct as always. At least she is clear about the fact that she is just using me. “Your honesty is refreshing,” said Alex, truthfully. Especially compared to the others. Everyone else is still hiding their true motivations. Including me, I suppose. “To be honest with you, my goal is just to get home.”

  “And where might that home be?” asked Astarion, making Alex nearly jump again. He somehow appeared next to Lae’zel, and neither of them noticed him approach the table.

  “A place that is very, very far away from here,” replied Alex, repeating what he said last time. “I don’t know exactly how to get there, but I think the first step is getting to Baldur’s Gate.”

  Astarion flashed a devilish grin. “Sounds like our goals are aligned. Perhaps if we grow to trust one another, you can share some more about your home.”

  “Your line of questioning is bothersome, elf,” interjected Lae’zel, much to Alex's relief. “Even I recognize that you are a liar and a charlatan. Why should he tell you anything when you have yet to reveal anything about yourself?”

  “You wound me, Lae’zel,” pouted Astarion. “But do not fret, perhaps someday I will tell you all about myself. Someday.”

  The trio returned to their shelter to find the rest of the group getting ready to venture forth. They put on their armor, picked up their weapons, grabbed their backpacks, and said their goodbyes to Dammon. Outside the Grove, they headed west, in the direction of the abandoned village spoken of by Zevlor. They followed a narrow dirt trail through the woods, the overhead tree canopy casting most of the pathway in shadow. The well-trodden path was covered with footprints, mostly humanoid-sized, but with a few smaller ones.

  “Looks like we are sharing the road with goblins,” noted Astarion.

  “We should be prepared to take cover at any moment,” said Wyll. “They could easily overwhelm us with their numbers if we are discovered.”

  Alex’s gaze followed the edge of the path, trying to peer through the shadowed, foreboding trees but seeing only dense vegetation. He nervously fiddled with the improvised leather strap of his spear, slung awkwardly over his shoulder. “Probably what happened to those other adventurers.”

  They continued along for a few hours, following the path and staying alert for any signs of goblins. But with the midday sun now above them, the only creatures they encountered were some deer, squirrels, and birds. They thought about stopping for lunch when Astarion noticed something unusual on the path ahead.

  The corpse of a goblin lay on the side of the path, a large puddle of fresh blood pooled underneath it from a long, deep slash across its chest. A trail of blood led from the puddle into the trees, the underbrush parting before it. Broken branches and flattened shrubs heralded the passage of a massive, ferocious beast in a hurry.

  Wyll ran forward, invigorated by the sight. “This must be that devil’s work. Just look at the size of the trail it made. I will not let it get away.” Before anyone could argue otherwise, he left the path and plunged into the woods after the trail of blood.

  It must be Karlach. I will not let him kill her. After a moment of hesitation, Alex ran into the woods after Wyll and the rest of the group followed, grumbling in protest. Wyll sprinted ahead of him, fueled by purpose as he chased and tried to keep up. After not even a minute, he was gasping for air and covered in sweat, his breastplate bouncing and slowing him down as he dodged around trees and shrubs, leapt over protruding roots, and shielded his face from reaching branches. But he continued running, the thought of Wyll holding aloft Karlach’s decapitated head driving him forward.

  On the verge of collapse, he finally caught up to Wyll, nearly crashing into him. Wyll crouched amongst the trees at the edge of a woodline, rapier drawn. Beyond the trees, the ground gently sloped down towards the bank of a calm stream. A half-dozen goblin bodies lay scattered between the trees and the stream, one with a bloody greataxe embedded in its chest. An enormous red figure knelt at the edge of the water, washing blood off of muscular arms. That has to be Karlach. But how do I convince Wyll not to-

  “I have you now, devil!” shouted Wyll as he charged out of the trees, rapier at the ready.

  “Fuck.” He summoned his reserves of stamina and sprinted after Wyll. Behind him, he heard the rest of his companions crashing through the trees after them. As he drew closer, the red figure came into focus. It was a huge tiefling woman, missing one horn, chest glowing bright orange underneath a torn black shirt.

  “What the hells?” she said as she noticed Wyll and stood up in surprise. “Did you just call me a devil?” Her eyes flicked over to the bloody greataxe, far out of reach.

  “I have you now,” snarled Wyll as he closed the distance between them, a hand crackling with magical energy. “I’m going to-”

  Alex interrupted by tackling him from behind, and they both collapsed in a heap at the tiefling’s feet. “Don’t… kill her!” he shouted, panting heavily, drenched in sweat, voice hoarse and ragged from the most sprinting he’d done in years, and in armor to boot. “She’s just… a tiefling!”

  Wyll pushed him off, scrambled to his feet, and pointed his rapier threateningly. Flat on his back, Alex stared at the point of the sword, aimed directly at this throat. “She is a devil,” declared Wyll, fury and violence on his face, “and if you are in league with her, I swear I will-”

  “You will what?” interrupted Shadowheart, flail raised. She and their other companions stood a few paces away, panting from their sprint through the forest, but with weapons drawn and ready for action.

  “Who knew the Blade of Frontiers would be so quick to kill an innocent when it suited him?” called Astarion, a dagger drawn in each hand, crouched in a combat stance.

  “Put down your weapon, istik, before I remove it myself,” threatened Lae’zel, glowering and hefting her greatsword in Wyll’s direction. “Need I remind you that he is our only protection from the tadpole?”

  “Yes, I’m sure we all know what will happen if you try to kill our friend here,” added Gale sternly, a flame conjured in the palm of his hand.

  Wyll glanced down at the exhausted and alarmed Alex, then at each glaring companion in turn, and finally at the frightened tiefling, who had backed up into the stream, steam rising around her body. A look of pure horror spread across his face as he realized what he had almost done.

  “I’m not a devil, I swear!” the tiefling pleaded, eyes wide and scared, hands raised. In that moment, she looked small, shrunk by her fright and surprise. “Please just leave me be!”

  “...Shit,” muttered Wyll, sheathing his rapier. “What the hells is wrong with me?”

  Alex slowly pulled himself up and backed away to the safety of the rest of the group, heart pounding from exertion and the realization that Wyll had almost run him through. Wyll stood alone, his face contorted with conflict, staring down at the hands that almost claimed two innocents.

  The tiefling cautiously made her way back to shore, steam hissing and billowing with each step in the water. She held her hands up and crouched to make herself smaller and less threatening. Soon, she stood only a couple steps away from Wyll, looking down at him anxiously. “I know why you are after me. I know that I look like a mean, scary devil, but I’m not. My name is Karlach, and I’m just a tiefling. I was enslaved by Zariel and forced to fight in the Blood War. I’m not an evil person.”

  Wyll looked stricken, a torrent of emotions raging in his body. He clenched and unclenched his fists, desperately trying to process the situation.

  “I’ve never killed anyone besides demons and devils, I swear!” Karlach continued, tears forming in her eyes. “Well, aside from these damn goblins, but they came after me first and chased me all the way here. I would never hurt an innocent person!”

  He better make the right decision, thought Alex. He and the rest of the companions stood back out of caution, watching the scene play out. Then again, maybe he needs to be prodded into making it. “Wyll… I don’t understand what’s going on, but this whole thing seems like a big misunderstanding.”

  Silence fell, punctuated only by the babbling of the stream and heavy breathing of the companions. Karlach stared down at Wyll with wide, pleading eyes, begging him to understand.

  “...A ‘misunderstanding’ is an understatement.” Wyll took a deep breath, shoulders sagged with defeat, staring at the ground in shame. “I’m sorry, to all of you. I was misled about this whole mess. To think that I was about to kill an innocent person…” He turned to Karlach. “I believe you. I’m not going to kill you. And I'm sorry.”

  “Thank goodness,” she sighed with relief, voice shaky as she wiped her tears. Like an unwinding spring, she slowly straightened up, towering over everyone. “It would have been a funny way to go, though. Surviving ten years of enslavement as Zariel’s war dog, only to be killed the instant I make it home.”

  Wyll shrunk even more at her words. He moved to the side and stared out at the stream, as if hoping the gently-flowing water would wash away his sins. With the threat passed, the group relaxed and stowed their weapons.

  “So… Karlach, was it?” said Alex, finally speaking up and eager to have Karlach join their group. “How did you end up here? Were you on the nautiloid?

  “Why, yes I was,” she said, blinking with surprise. “Fought my way through a horde of demons and devils to catch a ride when it appeared in Avernus. But how do you know that?”

  “Because it seems like every weirdo within a ten mile radius was on that thing,” said Astarion in his usual sardonic tone. “Including us.”

  “Out of curiosity,” asked Gale, leaning close with open curiosity, “do you happen to have a tadpole whispering nasty thoughts into your head? Because if so, we happen to have a temporary solution.”

  “I do, and I am hoping to get rid of the godsdamned thing… somehow,” said Karlach, rubbing at her temple. “What ‘solution’ are you talking about?”

  Alex raised his hand, restraining himself from triumphantly punching the air. “Me. If I touch you, I can block those nasty thoughts and silence the tadpole. Not sure how, but it works.”

  “Well… about that…” Karlach scratched at her head sheepishly. “I’ve got a bit of a touch problem, in that I can’t touch anyone. I’ve got this here infernal engine in me.” She pointed at her glowing chest. “It makes me run as hot as a lava elemental. You touch me, you get burned. You saw that steam cloud when I walked into the creek.”

  Despite the warning, Alex slowly approached her. She’s even more massive than in the game. She’s over a foot taller than me. He felt the heat radiating off her, but it was not too uncomfortable. It was similar to standing directly in front of a space heater, tolerable for a short period of time. “Your heat is generated by your infernal engine,” he said, looking up at her. “Would you say that is magical in nature?”

  “Er… I suppose. Part magic, part machine, I’d say.”

  “Sounds about right,” called Gale from several feet away. “I hypothesize that your ability to dispel magic will protect you briefly, but don’t overdo it. Infernal engines are powerful things.”

  Alex carefully reached forward and held the palm of his left hand an inch from Karlach’s forearm, the heat warming his palm. Uncomfortable, but bearable. She looked down at him nervously. “Look, I appreciate what you’re tryin’ to do, but please be careful. I don’t want you getting burned on my behalf.”

  Without another word, Alex put his hand on her forearm. It felt like holding a burning hot pan with an old oven mitt. He kept his hand on her for a few seconds and withdrew when it became too much.

  “...You can touch me,” she whispered in shock.

  “Uh, yeah, now how does your tadpole-”

  “You can touch me!” she yelled as she picked him up and enveloped him in a hug, tears of joy flowing from her eyes, turning into steam shortly after touching her cheeks.

  Alex thought his spine was going to snap. “...Please… help…” he managed to croak out, just as his clothes started to singe.

  “Oh, sorry.” She released him with an embarrassed shrug. “It’s been ten years since I’ve been able to touch anyone who wasn’t a demon or a devil. I almost forgot what it felt like.”

  Shadowheart appeared between them, checking him for injuries and doing her best to check Karlach. “I’m glad everyone is getting along, but now what are we going to do?”

  The group milled about, still tired from sprinting after Wyll, who now sat down next to the stream, staring into the void. “How about you join us for lunch, Karlach? We’re all pretty tired from the excitement,” prompted Alex, still exhausted from his own sprint but utterly relieved at the turn of events. “And maybe afterwards you can help us with our goblin problem.”

  A wide grin spread across her face. “Fuck yes.”

  “Gods, it’s been so long since I’ve had fresh fruit,” mumbled Karlach around a mouthful of partially-chewed apple. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste as the juice ran down her chin.

  The group had moved a short walk downstream, so they could eat without having to look at the bloody goblin corpses. They sat in a circle on the grassy streambank, munching on the rations they packed from the Emerald Grove. After introductions, Alex, Gale, Shadowheart and Wyll pitched in to give Karlach some food. Wyll even more so than the others, as if trying to atone for his earlier actions. He ate silently, only the crunch of a biscuit reminding the others that he was present.

  I guess he just needs time, thought Alex as he munched on his own biscuit. We all have our secrets. Mizora will show up on her own anyway, right?

  Finishing his biscuit, he sipped on a bottle of water to relieve his parched mouth, listening to Gale pepper Lae’zel with questions about githyanki culture and Astarion fruitlessly try to draw more information out of Shadowheart. It’s only Day 3, but no one has spilled any of their secrets yet. There haven’t even been any hints of Astarion’s vampirism. I suppose real people are far less trusting than the game would have you believe.

  We’ve got the main party assembled, but will keeping it together be the real challenge? They all should know that they need me, at least, to quiet their tadpoles until we find a cure or another means of protection. But when these secrets get out, I’ll somehow have to convince them that they need each other.

  Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice Lae’zel silence Gale with a shush and slowly stand up, reaching for the hilt of her greatsword and staring into the nearby woodline. But the rustle of branches and crunch of fallen leaves startled Alex out of his trance and he reached for his spear, which laid on the ground behind him. Around him, the rest of the group shot to their feet, reaching for their own weapons, eying the woods with trepidation.

  Out of the undergrowth, tail wagging and mouth panting, emerged a white dog. Its medium-length fur was streaked with mud, dirt, and dust, like it had been wandering the wilderness for some time. It took a few steps forward and then sat down, smiling, panting, and wagging its tail at the party. A rugged brown collar wrapped around its neck, with a small silver name tag. Underneath its matted fur, Alex saw some of its ribs protruding.

  “What is that… thing?” asked Lae’zel with evident confusion. “Is it a threat?”

  “It’s a dog, obviously,” said Shadowheart, looking at the creature with concern. “And it looks hungry.”

  She grabbed a dried sausage from her pack and slowly approached the dog, careful not to scare it away. The dog's eyes widened and its tail wagged eagerly. She placed the sausage on the ground in front of the dog and its smile grew. “Scratch. Property of Sword Coast Couriers,” she read from the name tag. “I wonder what it’s doing alone out here.”

  The dog stood up, turned back to the woods, and barked happily. There was another sound of rustling that made the group briefly tense, and another creature trotted out of the woods, with big, bright yellow eyes and a sharp, pointed black beak. Smaller than the dog, it looked almost like a plump owl, if owls walked on four legs.

  “An owlbear cub,” observed Gale. “We must be cautious. Its parents probably aren’t too far behind.” He looked around nervously, as if expecting to see an owlbear leap out of the woods at any moment.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Gale’s words pulled Wyll out of his stupor. He grabbed a sausage out of his pack and placed it before the cub.“I don’t think so. The cub’s mother would never have left it alone. Something must have happened to its parents.”

  “Maybe the goblins got to them,” said Alex. Just like in the game. But it certainly doesn’t bode well for us. It seems like they’ll attack anything on sight, even a giant owlbear.

  Scratch and the Owlbear Cub eagerly picked up their sausages and turned to retreat back into the woods. Scratch gave them something that looked like a nod before he disappeared into the trees with the Owlbear Cub, tail wagging happily.

  “Ungrateful little creatures,” muttered Astarion. “We feed them, and then they immediately leave without so much as a bark of thanks.”

  “At least they were cute and quiet, unlike someone I know,” retorted Shadowheart, generating an eye roll.

  After the departure of Scratch and the Owlbear Cub, the party finished their lunch in peace and made their way back up to the path. Moving quickly but cautiously, on the alert for goblins, they continued marching west towards the abandoned village, occasionally stopping for a short break in the shade of the overhanging trees.

  With the late afternoon sun beating down on them, everyone was looking forward to dinner and rest, even if it would be on an uncomfortable bedroll. Then, in the distance, further ahead of them on the path, they heard something that confounded everyone: singing. An almost opera-like performance, coming from a dark figure who stood in the shadows of the trees.

  Astarion peered forward. “It seems to be just a man. A rather dashing-looking man, if I do say so. But he still pales in comparison to myself, of course.”

  “Who could be crazy enough to draw attention to themselves out here?” murmured Shadowheart, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  “I don’t know, but something seems off about him,” said Karlach, hand moving to the greataxe slung across her back. “We should be careful.”

  The party drew closer to the shadowy figure, hands resting on their weapons, and as they approached, they could make out the words of the song:

  "

  Here comes a party

  Scurrying with fright

  Not from me, but from goblins

  They’ll hurry into the night

  The cult and their tadpoles

  Frighten even the bear

  But proceed to the shadowlands

  If you truly dare

  "

  Alex stopped in his tracks. Cult? Shadowlands? Who is this guy? And how does he know all that? Could it be-

  “Ah, my new favorite adventurers,” said the figure in a well-practiced, smooth baritone that swelled with charisma and sounded almost hypnotic. He stepped forward from the shadows, revealing himself to be a man of medium build, but with a face that seemed to belong to a chiseled Hollywood actor and an opulent outfit more suited to a Shakespeare production than a dusty dirt road. “It is a pleasure to meet you. You may call me Raphael.”

  The rest of the party halted, seemingly hypnotized for a moment, before regaining their composure. “You smell of sulfur,” growled Karlach. “You are no man. You are a devil.”

  Raphael laughed, a low chuckle with a malevolent undercurrent that made Alex’s hair stand on end. “You are correct, Karlach. I should have known that you would realize it immediately, former war hound of Zariel.”

  “What do you want?” said Wyll through gritted teeth, one hand on the hilt of his rapier. “I’ve had enough of you devils to last a lifetime.”

  Another short, patronizing chuckle. “Well, that is why I am here, of course,” said Raphael with a short, mocking bow. “I am here because I am interested in all of you. Poor, tadpoled souls, who barely escaped from that dastardly nautiloid, and now desperately seek a cure before they become illithid. It has the makings of a stage play, I must say.”

  “Cut to the chase, devil, before I split you in half,” snarled Karlach, hand on the shaft of her greataxe. “I’ve killed plenty of demons and devils, and you are no different than the rest.”

  Raphael wagged a finger at her. “And that is where you are wrong. I am here not as an enemy, but as someone who can provide assistance in this dark hour.” A wide grin spread across his face, that of a predator who caught its prey in a trap. “I am here because I can offer each of you something. Something that will satisfy your deepest desires. And all you have to do is sign a simple contract with me,” he said, conjuring a floating quill, ink pot, and infinitely long scroll of parchment covered with glowing text next to him. The faint, acrid odor of sulfur and phosphorus filled the air and the sunlight took on a nightmarish red tint, like a wildfire burned on the horizon.

  First, Raphael turned to Lae’zel. “I know that you want a dragon of your own. To be a kith’rak. To be one of Vlaakith’s mightiest, most trusted warriors.”

  He looked to Karlach. “I know about your little heart trouble. I, and I alone, have the connections needed to fix it.”

  Then to Wyll. “I know about your little contract, of course. It’s practically the everyday gossip of the Hells. I also know how much pain and anguish it has brought you. And I can get you out of it.”

  Next, to Shadowheart. “I know everything about you. Your past, your upbringing… your family,” he said with an evil glint in his eye. “I can restore those memories and make you whole again.”

  Then Gale. “And that accursed Netherese Orb in your chest. Afflicting you like a terminal disease, making you a shell of your former self. I can remove it, and perhaps even restore you to Mystra’s favor. I have friends in high places, after all.”

  Next, Astarion. “I know all about your vampirism and the suffering you endured at your master’s hands,” he said, eyebrows raised with false empathy. “I can eliminate him, and free you forever from his noose.”

  And finally, to Alex. “You are most interesting. Your abilities intrigue me, and you are clearly not from this land,” he said, his eyes boring into Alex’s soul. “But I know what you want. Above all else, you want to return home and see your family again. And I can do that for you. Just sign here, and it will be like none of this ever happened.”

  Each companion stood silent in shock, their very deepest desires having been exposed for all to see. His words seemed to hypnotize them, and Alex found himself almost believing this charismatic, magnetic devil. Can he really send me home? Just as easy as that? I just need to sign this contract, and then…

  Driven by curiosity, he slowly reached for the floating scroll…

  …only for it to lose its power and flop unceremoniously to the ground in a heap, its infernal power dispelled. The quill and ink pot followed, and with them went Raphael’s aura of powerful assurance. The red tint and smell of sulfur faded, and Raphael clucked his tongue in disappointment. “I’ve heard secondhand reports of your antimagic, Alexander. But it is quite impressive to see it in-person.”

  “Sorry, but I’m not signing anything without reading it. Especially not a devil’s contract,” said Alex, pointedly glancing down at the disheveled scroll. As if Raphael actually is more powerful than the Elder Evil disturbing my sleep.

  Raphael’s face darkened and eyes narrowed. “We will see about that. Everyone needs something, no matter how much they deny it. All I ask is that you keep my offers in mind. Until we meet again.” He snapped his fingers and vanished in a cloud of black smoke.

  With their deepest secrets and desires revealed, everyone stood around in an awkward silence, avoiding looking at each other. Only Alex and Lae’zel seemed unfazed.

  “I do not understand exactly what just happened, but it seems that we all have some explaining to do,” she said with a glance at the rest of the party, who all seemed lost in thought. “That is, if you wish to continue traveling with me.”

  “How about we walk and talk?” said Alex, thinking quickly to keep everyone on track. He set off down the path at a slow pace, Lae’zel following. With a look over his shoulder, he saw the rest of their companions trudging after them, one by one. “It seems that devil Raphael somehow knew our deepest desires,” he began, stating the obvious. “Maybe he openly shared them to sow distrust among us. I think we should clear the air to avoid any… misunderstandings.

  “So, I’ll go first,” he continued, speaking loudly enough for those in the rear to hear. He sensed his companions perk up and focus on listening. “It’s true that I am not from around here. I’m not from Faer?n.” He turned to share a look with Gale. “And I am not from Kara-Tur or Maztica, either. But I did not lie when I said that I am from a place that is very far away.”

  “Most intriguing,” said Gale with an arched, inquisitive eyebrow, Alex’s words pulling him out of his stupor. “You don’t seem like an extraplanar being; you are far too normal for that. Are you from one of the Tears of Sel?ne, then? Perhaps the Rock of Bral?”

  Lae’zel gave a dismissive wave. “I come from one of the Tears myself, and he does not have anywhere near the mental or physical toughness to have possibly come from there.”

  “No? Perhaps one of the other planets then? Anadia or Garden, maybe?”

  “You are on the right track,” admitted Alex, wary of how much to tell them. I can’t tell them yet, I don’t even know how far Earth is from here. If it turns out that I traveled a near-impossible distance, that could raise a lot of questions about how I got here. And I doubt they would trust me if I told them that a Great Old One brought me here to play a game. “If we grow to trust each other more, I’ll tell you where I am from. But not yet.”

  “Boo, boo I say!” called Astarion from behind them. “You really mean to tell me you are some sort of alien? The person with the most unique, delectable blood that I’ve smelled in ages isn’t even from Toril? I must truly be cursed.” He released an exaggerated sigh and slumped his shoulders.

  Alex shook his head in exasperation. I guess AB negative blood is pretty rare here. “So that's why you kept bugging me about where my home is? To get ahold of people with blood like mine?”

  Astarion grinned broadly, finally revealing his fangs. “But of course. I am not foolish enough to drink the blood of my tadpole repellent. But if I find a community full of people with the same blood…” He paused to lick his lips hungrily. “...I will be like a starving man at a buffet.”

  “Wait just a moment,” interjected Wyll, with evident disbelief. “You mean to tell me that you really are a vampire? How can you walk about in the daylight?”

  “Vampire spawn,” emphasized Astarion, wagging a finger at Wyll. “I have fangs and a need to drink blood, but the true vampire is the one who created me.” His eyes sharpened, his face darkened, and his mouth curled into a disdainful grimace. “Cazador Szarr.”

  “Cazador Szarr?” repeated Karlach. “Isn’t he one of those fancy, rich types who live in the Gate’s Upper City?”

  “Indeed…” murmured Wyll, sounding faraway as he dredged the depths of his memories. “I’ve met him before, but I always thought he was just an eccentric aristocrat who kept to himself.”

  “Well, count yourself lucky that he didn’t find you too appealing,” said Astarion scornfully, glaring at the road ahead. “I’ve been his spawn for two hundred years now. This tadpole, as bothersome it may be, has given me the only taste of freedom I’ve had in centuries. And the ability to walk in sunlight, somehow.”

  “Just keep your appetite under control, spawn,” hissed Lae’zel in warning. “I will not hesitate to remove your head if I find you slinking around my bedroll in the dead of night.”

  Astarion rolled his eyes. “As if I would be caught dead anywhere near your bedroll, dear. Anyway, I am not stupid enough to feed off of someone who can actually fight back. I’ve been getting by on animals, and I intend to continue doing so. Unless any of you are offering, of course,” he finished with a wink.

  Lae’zel shuddered at the thought. “At least my desire is straightforward and honorable. To be a kith’rak, a knight of our supreme ruler Vlaakith. And to someday earn the right to ride a red dragon of my own.”

  “Honorable?” questioned Shadowheart, eyebrow raised. “And here I thought all githyanki were just mindless, murdering psychopaths.”

  Lae’zel glowered at Shadowheart. “Chk. And what right do you have to talk of such things? The wizard was kind enough to inform me of the nefarious reputation of your goddess.”

  Now it was Shadowheart’s turn to glare, this time at Gale, who raised his hands defensively. “You are not exactly subtle about being a Sharran. Shar’s symbol is all over your armor. And you of all people should know that she isn’t the friendliest goddess around.”

  “I don’t worship her because she is friendly,” bristled Shadowheart. “I worship her because the Lady of Darkness gave me comfort and protection in my hour of need. She took me in and sheltered me when no one else would.”

  “And how would you know that, if you are really missing your memories?” mused Karlach. “Sounds like a load of crap.”

  “I’m sure my Dark Lady had good reasons for wiping my memories,” replied Shadowheart sternly. “Perhaps they were distracting, or dangerous, or something else…” She drifted off, voice underlain with uncertainty. “But I’m not the only religious one amongst us. Isn’t that right, former Chosen of Mystra?”

  Gale winced. “I suppose I deserve that.” He absentmindedly rubbed at his chest, then stopped when he realized what he was doing. “Contrary to my current state, I was once a great wizard, you know. The finest student to ever emerge from Blackstaff Academy. A prodigy who shaped the Weave as a sculptor shapes clay or marble. It was enough to attract the attention of the goddess of magic herself.

  “She made me her Chosen, and… took me as her lover,” he admitted with mild embarrassment, drawing an exaggerated gasp from Astarion. “For a short time, it was wonderful. But then my ambition and my desire to impress her got the better of me, and I ended up with a Netherese Orb in my chest for my troubles.”

  “Netherese?” asked Wyll. “You mean the ancient empire of Netheril? The empire whose mages crafted magical items of unbelievable power?”

  “Of course,” replied Gale with a rueful smile. “And now here I am, abandoned by Mystra and reduced to such a lowly state, unable to cast anything more powerful than a prestidigitation cantrip without feeling some discomfort. Though I suppose it’s a good thing that I ran into you,” he directed at Alex. “That orb eats away at my very essence, and I can only survive by regularly consuming magical items and absorbing their fragments of the Weave. Somehow, when you grabbed my hand to save me from my own portal, you must have quelled the Orb, too.”

  I can’t fight, but at least I’m good for something, thought Alex with a grin. “If you feel it acting up, just give me a handshake or something.”

  “Will do,” said Gale, before he turned to Karlach. “But what of your chest pains? Something to do with your infernal engine?”

  Karlach released a mellow laugh, not at all humorous. “That’s one way to put it.” She paused to gather her thoughts, years of repressed suffering flashing across her face. “Ten years ago, I was living happily in Baldur’s Gate, working as a bodyguard for an indoorsy merchant type named Enver Gortash. Then one day, he sold me to Zariel…” She clenched her jaw tight. “And that archdevil took my heart and stuck this engine inside me. She made me serve as her soldier in the Blood War. I fought and fought, and now finally I got out…”

  She paused, shaking with rage as small flames erupted from her shoulders, making the party members step away in surprise and give her a wide berth. “And now I'm going to kill that fucker Gortash for putting me through it.” She grimaced in pain and rubbed her glowing chest, the flames dying out. “I just hope that I can keep it together. I can feel it grinding and popping inside me. The engine doesn’t like being here, outside of Avernus.”

  Silence fell for a minute, each party member digesting what was said during their little group therapy session as they continued along the path, the sun dipping low on the horizon.

  “And what of you, Mister Blade of Frontiers?” prodded Astarion. “We’ve all shared a little about ourselves in this little show-and-tell, so what about you? What’s this contract that the devil mentioned?”

  Wyll looked down at his feet. “Well, it’s not that simple. I cannot talk about it.”

  “It must be an infernal contract,” reasoned Gale. “And his patron prevents him from speaking of it.”

  Wyll said nothing, but his silence was as clear as any words that he could have used.

  “Well, who is it with?” asked Karlach. “Someone I might know?”

  More silence from Wyll. “...I have a feeling she will be joining us soon. She won’t like that I let you live.” Realizing what he said, he looked up at Karlach. “Not that I regret it at all,” he said hurriedly. “I know that I made the right choice and I will stand by it. I suppose it was only a matter of time before this whole thing caught up to me.”

  With the sun setting, the group stopped their march to make camp. After some scouting around, they found a relatively flat, grassy area a couple hundred feet off the path. Far enough away to avoid any nighttime goblin patrols, but close enough to easily find the path again in the morning.

  Finding an area free of rocks and dirt, Alex unfurled his bedroll under the branches of a large tree. He unclasped his breastplate and slipped out of his padded cloth gambeson, leaving him in his scratchy camp clothes. After the day’s exertions, his clothes stank with sweat and a thin layer of dust covered his exposed skin.

  I feel completely disgusting. But with no nearby stream or other water source, he would have to suffer in his filth like everyone else. As much as I would like to, it would be a selfish waste to ask Shadowheart or Gale to use a create water spell on me. They need to save their magic for the goblins. And so he splashed a handful of water from a bottle on his face, futilely rubbing at the accumulated grime. He removed his boots to relieve his sore feet, thankfully seeing no blisters poke through the holes of his socks.

  Feeling no more refreshed, he sat down on his bedroll and munched on a pear from his pack. The rest of the party also sat around, happy to eat and get off their feet after a day of walking. Only a few more days of this. Then we’ll be back in the Emerald Grove and I can take a bath and spend a day sitting around doing absolutely nothing…

  …Only to then have to hike all the way to the Mountain Pass, into the Shadow-Cursed Lands, and then onto Baldur’s Gate. Not to mention all the enemies that stand against us, he thought morosely. It was one thing to spar with Wyll yesterday. How the heck am I supposed to fight an ogre? Or a mind flayer? Or any of the other monsters we will surely face?

  He glanced over at his companions. Lae’zel and Astarion both finished eating and were busy with their weapons. The former stood in a nearby clearing, giving a wide berth to the others, and swung her greatsword around in wide, sweeping arcs and flourishes with measured breathing, working through a series of training forms. The latter knelt on the other side of their impromptu campsite, fiddling with his crossbow.

  I suppose I need to start somewhere. He took a deep breath, slipped his sore feet back into his boots, and approached Astarion.

  “Don’t you have some food to devour? Or a wizard buddy who has some stories he’s been bottling up?” said Astarion as he examined the crossbow, not bothering to turn around.

  Alex brushed off the barb, doing his best to stay calm and friendly. “Well, I was hoping that you could teach me how to use that thing.”

  “A crossbow? Every child knows how to use one,” scoffed Astarion. He stood up and turned to face Alex. “Are you seriously telling me that you do not know how?”

  “Yes,” admitted Alex, swallowing his pride. “They’re not exactly common where I’m from.”

  Astarion rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll show you. Just because it may slightly increase the odds of your survival, and consequently, my survival. But pay attention and don’t expect me to do this often.”

  He held up the crossbow with two hands. About as long as one of Alex’s arms, the wooden stock was worn and cracked, but usable. “This is a relatively simple and shoddy crossbow. I had to spend hours getting all the bloody splinters out of this thing, so don’t ruin it. First, you flip up this part,” he demonstrated, raising a small metal latch that rested about halfway along the upper body of the crossbow.

  “Then, you point it towards the ground, step into the stirrup, and pull up the string,” he continued, demonstrating as he spoke. He lowered the crossbow, aimed downward, to the ground and stuck a boot through a metal hoop affixed to the end. Then, he bent forward, grabbed the string with both hands, and pulled upward until it caught on the latch.

  “Load the bolt…” He picked the crossbow back up, holding it flat with one hand while selecting a bolt from a quiver strapped to his thigh with the other. He slid the bolt into a groove on the crossbow’s upper body, right in front of the latch.

  “And finally, fire it.” He raised the crossbow to his shoulder, right hand poised near a long lever that appeared to be the trigger mechanism. He aimed at a tree about forty feet away, squinted, and fired. With a low thwack, the bolt flew forward and landed right in the middle of the tree trunk, embedding a couple inches into the wood. He offered Alex the weapon. “Child’s play, isn’t it?”

  Alex gulped and gingerly took the crossbow. He repeated Astarion’s motions, taking twice as long to do so, just to make absolutely sure he wasn’t messing up. Astarion grumbled the whole time, but didn’t need to correct him. After triple checking that the string was properly pulled back and the bolt was correctly loaded, Alex brought the crossbow to his right shoulder. Kind of like a shotgun. Except far less room for error. He aimed for the same tree as Astarion and fired.

  The bolt flew through the air and landed below and to the left of Astarion’s shot. But at least it hit the tree, much to Alex’s relief. I’ve read that crossbows are relatively simple weapons to learn, especially compared to normal bows. I’m glad that I’m not that helpless.

  “Could have been worse,” appraised Astarion. “Take some more shots if you’d like. It’s not like there’s anything else to do around here.”

  Alex fired the crossbow a few more times, each bolt landing closer and closer to Astarion’s, with his final shot landing only an inch away. But with the shadows growing and the sun finally disappearing below the horizon, it was time to call it a day. Feeling decently accomplished, he handed the crossbow back. “Thank you. I mean it, this was a big help.”

  “Just keep my tadpole quiet, and we’ll call it even,” replied Astarion with a smirk. “And I’m always accepting blood donations, if you’re offering.”

  “...I’ll think about it,” said Alex as he retreated to his bedroll, not at all willing to think about it. At least I can do something right. Knowing the basics of how to use a spear and crossbow isn’t too shabby.

  He slipped into his bedroll. The night sky peeked through the branches and leaves of the tree canopy, a canvas of stars far more vivid than anything he remembered from home on Earth, dominated by an enormous moon that enveloped the campsite in a welcoming white glow. By moonlight, he hurriedly wrote in his journal, the exhaustion of the day’s march starting to set in. Shortly after he put down his pencil, he fell asleep to the chirping of crickets and the hooting of owls, the gentle sounds of a springtime night…

  …And for the third night in a row, he woke up floating in the vast expanse of space. But this time, something was different. The infinite, usually empty blackness dotted with stars, galaxies, and other celestial bodies was not so black. Now, everything was tinted an eerie, unsettling purple.

  A wave of heat washed over him, like someone had yanked open the door of a burning hot oven just inches from his skin, and a high-pitched, frantic voice that was everywhere yet nowhere assaulted his ears. “This is your game piece? My friend, I’m afraid this match will be over before it has even really started.” A burst of static, grating and screeching like nails on a chalkboard, made Alex shut his eyes and wince in pain. It was… laughter?

  Bolothomogg’s familiar low rumble was almost comforting by comparison. “You thought you were being clever by choosing some minor god as your token. But I can be clever in my own way. Is the perceived imbalance of power not amusing to you?”

  Alex opened his eyes and pulled himself to his feet. In front of him stood the massive, swirling black void of Bolothomogg’s form. But to its left floated another: a towering violet flame, burning like it topped an invisible candle. The edges of the flame undulated and pulsed, but its center, a ball of pure white light, stood still and unmoving, seeming to draw him in.

  Another burst of grating static, and the edges of the flame flickered. “Do not look at me too closely, mortal, lest your mind not like what it finds,” cackled the being. “I took this form out of professional courtesy to my gaming buddy, but I cannot help if curiosity gets the better of you and your mind ends up in the gutter.”

  Bolothomogg released a low rumble of laughter that passed over Alex like a wave. “Come now, introduce yourself to my little lanceboard piece. I think you will find him more interesting than you expect.”

  The flame stood up straighter. “You may call me Y’chak, little mortal. It is a pleasure to meet you,” said the high-pitched voice, speaking to him as if speaking to a dog, or possibly even an insect. “I would have introduced you to my own little game piece, but he is most busy right now. Gods, as you know, even the most minor, most insignificant gods, are so full of self-importance and refuse to keep their schedules clear.

  “But perhaps you already know him. He is somewhat famous in Realmspace, I’m sure,” continued the being known as Y’chak. The flame pulsed, winking at Alex. “His name is Bhaal.”

  Bolothamogg is said to be the darkness between the stars, the guardian force or entity that exists to ensure that nothing in the multiverse can escape to taint the true reality of the outer dimensions…

  Y’chak is unique among the Elder Evils in a terrible way - it is actively interested in the development of life or, to be more precise, in the development of the destruction of life. Its presence can be felt in civilization throughout time, because it acts as a muse and inspiration for all that is destructive and ruinous… its true form is said to be a brilliant pillar of violet flames that conceal an inner form so horrifying that to see it clearly is to invite utter destruction upon the body and the soul.

  Lords of Madness: The Book of Aberrations, Accessory for Dungeons & Dragons 3.5th Edition