"Come on, give it up."
Nope
An exasperated sigh.
"You can't actually expect me to throw something like that."
Yes!
Another sigh.
"Just...come here." The stubborn creature ambled to the sigher, tail wagging furiously as it dropped the fragment of an Order of the Companion chestpiece, more than likely belonging to one of the many paladins that fell during the mysterious plague that occurred in this area not a few years ago. His deep green irises ran over the scratches and cracks, silvery black hair ruffling slightly as he shifted forward, running his hand over the solid white coat of who he considered to be one of his closest friends (Gale was slightly miffed by Scratch's place in the pantheon of friends, but then again, the wizard did enjoy giving Scratch belly rubs, so maybe they had formed an understanding).
"What a reminder." The half elf mumbled, tossing the chestpiece aside. What was it a reminder of, he wondered. The amount of suffering and death that this part of the Coast had seen over the years? Maybe the idea of a massive plague and people panicking in the streets hit too close to home; after all, it had only been six months since Baldur's Gate had withstood one of the most disastrous events in it's history, almost coming close to becoming the origin site of the final Grand Design (or at least, he hoped. Please by the Seldarine, no more Illithids). There were times even at home, sitting by their hearth in the quiet evenings, that memories surged back, threatening to drag him back to where he was only six months ago: trapped in that blasted pod, no memory of how he had gotten there, only knowing that his life as a monk in the Open Hand cloister had suddenly been upended.

He chuckled, rising from his once prone position. Maybe that's how his family had felt when he left Baldur's gate at the ripe age of 20 to discover the world, leaving behind his parents and younger brother to pursue a "purer" way than that of being minor nobility in Baldur's Gate. His father was grieved by his decision especially, seeing as Father had expected him to succeed him in his position as Assistant Chancellor of trade, wanting his work and sacrifices as one of the first High Elves holding position within the Coast. He had argued with Father before he left, railing against materialism, social caste systems and alienation from the self. It was all so moronic now, to not have just had an honest conversation with his father, who now along with his mother and younger brother occupied graves in the city as a result of a Bhaal cultist murdering them in broad daylight not too long before they arrived in the city (a legal missive had come from the family's lawyer, who received the travelers in the city and confirmed every horrid detail). No doubt Orin had ordered the attack to spite him, just like she tried to spite all of them. A vindictive smirk crossed his lips, knowing that the abomination was gone from this life for good.

He felt a gentle nudge at his leg, the half-elf looking down to see Scratch's tongue lolling out, eyes sparkling.
"You're right; no use dwelling on the past. Besides, our lovely Shadow is going to be wondering why it took us so long to retrieve ingredients for dinner." Indeed, he had set out when the sun was at it's peak, but now it was beginning to creep down towards the horizon. Their patch of happiness was located in-between Baldur's gate and Elturiel (or at least, what's left of it), but there were several small villages that dotted the path and Soubar, a walled town that was the most thriving in the area and had the best shops for the concoctions that he and Shadowheart created in the kitchen and alchemy lab (while not as good as his love at alchemic creations, he was getting the hang of it). Soubar was only about an hour's walk from their home, but maybe it was the detour to the chapel of Bane that he sidetracked him (no, not maybe, definitely). He hadn't had the courage to investigate the chapel until today, he and Scratch poking around the abandoned building to find little of value except for a few manuscripts written by zealots of Bane that outlined the god's teachings on cruelty and murder along with the chestpiece that Scratch had found.

"Nuvyen! Nuvyen!" The half-elf stood fully upright now, his broad frame (inherited from his mother's human side) striding forward out of the grounds of the chapel back into the town proper to greet the caller, who happened to be the shopkeeper he had been talking with earlier.
"I've got the Orchids all ready for you just like you asked."
"Wonderful. She'll absolutely love them, thank you." Along with the satchel of ingredients, Nuvyen had decided to purchase an arrangement of Night Orchids for their quite barren dinner table (all of their flora, fauna and crops were still not ready to be used thanks to just purchasing their land only three or so months ago).
"Tell the lady I send my greetings."

On the walk back, Nuvyen couldn't help but marvel at the beauty that this area of the Coast featured, especially due to being called "The Fields of the Dead". Tree lined paths, flora bursting out of seemingly every nook and cranny...it was actually quite perfect, which made their home and plot of land even more of a gift to be grateful for. They had roamed for three months after the Netherbrain was defeated, fending off Sharran assassins (while nearly naked. Fun times. He liked to remind Shadowheart of how great she looked while stabbing one of the assassins in the throat), going north to Waterdeep, somehow befriending an imp named Bing Bong that refused to stop following them until one day it suddenly vanished; yet, those adventures paled in comparison to the day a missive from Wyll had found it's way to them, telling them to meet him outside Elturel. It so happened that on his way with his retinue (because he had a retinue now) to sign formal treaties and do other political nonsense (his words) with the new government of Elturgard, he had passed an abandoned home with land that, upon investigation, had belonged to a husband and wife that moved out of Elturel and had died with no children to claim it. Remembering Shadowheart's love for animals and Nuvyen's desire to settle down somewhere, the Grand Duke purchased the home for the couple, asking only that they send some of their finest bounty to the budding refugee settlements that needed starter plants and seeds. It was a grand gesture on Wyll, but of course, their friend was prone to grand gestures in all things(Nuvyen remembered in the delirious moments after the Netherbrain was defeated, Wyll was the first to speak, waving his arms grandiosely, proclaiming that their names should be etched on the annals of history forever...or something like that).

Nuvyen could finally see their home, flanked by the aspiring gardens and plots of crops that they were tending to.

Home. He grinned.

"Go on, Scratch. I think someone else is going to want to see you." Their owlbear guardian should be around somewhere, which should mean that Shadowheart wouldn't be too far behind.

Tending the gardens always made Shadowheart think of the Emerald Grove.

She wondered what Halsin would think of her work. She'd wanted to arrange a visit for him since they arrived, to catch up and hear about the formerly Shadowcursed lands and his efforts to rebuild there. Showing others her home was something of a novel concept, a worry that she'd never really needed to deal with before. Certainly a change of pace from what she'd had to worry about in recent times.

But there was lots of time, for once. No impending doom in their heads, no devils and illithids trying to dominate them, no githyanki on their tails... just the Sharrans that refused to give up. She and Nuvyen had faced some close calls, but ever since reuniting with their charming owlbear friend, the Nightsinger's lackeys had become unsurprisingly more cautious. And now that they had tucked themselves away in such a remote little part of the Coast, Shadowheart was starting to believe they might actually be able to rest easy.

Rest, as it happened, came in the form of kneeling in the dirt, plucking out weeds, planting flowers as well as separate gardens for herbs and fruits. There were probably spells Halsin or Jaheira could've taught her to speed up the process, but working with her hands gave Shadowheart something to focus on, something to calm any encroaching nerves.

The change was proving more difficult than she thought it would be. She'd gone from facing down death nearly every day, escaping from her past and trying to make sure there was a future at all, to... tending gardens and crops. It was what she wanted, it was just difficult not to tense at every sound in the woods, not to have her spear within reach at all times. She kept expecting that horrible pain from the wound on her hand to flare up at any instant, only to remind herself that it was gone.

She'd been through a lot the past few months. Physically, mentally. She knew well how to conceal it from people. She tried not to conceal it from Nuvyen, but sometimes she couldn't stop herself from putting the walls up. She told herself she just needed time. With luck, her new home would give her all that she needed.

The familiar sound of panting and padded steps preceded the arrival of Scratch at her side, the dog licking at her cheek enthusiastically. Shadowheart laughed softly, trying to shake her hands clean of dirt before scrunching up his face and scratching his back. She wore sleeveless white robes that she'd bought back in Baldur's Gate, the skirt stained with dirt, but nothing a little magic couldn't fix. Her change to stark white hair and the clothing along with it had been a spur of the moment decision at a time when her world had been turned upside down, but she was getting used to it. Growing fond of it, even.

She stood, about to greet Nuvyen when a familiar roar of an owlbear from the woods nearby drew her attention, accompanied by a crashing of branches. She shook her head. "He's been at it for hours," she explained. "Quite the appetite, that one. There'll be no game left in a few weeks at this rate."

Shadowheart glanced over Nuvyen, trying to subtly search for anything out of place. "You were gone longer than I thought. No trouble, I hope?"

Nuvyen's brow shot up in response to the owlbear's commotion, chuckling.
"Well, he'll have to learn how to be more of a vegetable consumer if he keeps eating everything in sight." As he drew within a foot or so of his partner, he thought he saw a flicker of apprehension flash across her eyes while asking if things had gone alright. He smiled, nodding as he took her into his arms, planting a soft kiss before telling her:
"Nothing wrong, love. Scratch and I got...distracted in Soubar by the chapel." He would tell her more over dinner, but why make her worry even more? Besides...
"I also was waiting for our favorite alchemist to arrange something for you." Removing himself from their embrace, he withdrew the arrangement of orchids from the satchel he had carried, placing the bouquet in her hands.
"Not exactly easy to find these beauties in this area, but apparently Lurcena had been working on growing these in her basement and when I told her that these were your favorite flower, she wanted to put something together for you so you could try and grow them here." The understated yet beautiful arrangement seemed to compliment and frame Shadowheart just right, especially with the orange hues of sunset reigning over them.

Goodness she was beautiful.

Not wanting to gawk for too long (and make her feel a touch embarassed), he took the satchel back into his right hand, casually brushing flecks of dirt off of Shadowheart's robes with a smile.
"I'll start on dinner if you can get BOTH of our animals in line." Scratch barked in the direction of the wooded area that led farther north in the direction of Waterdeep, tongue lolling.
"I'll leave you to it."

---

Evening featured a pleasant dinner and a fire in the hearth afterward, the half-elf looking over some of the documents he had pulled from the chapel of Bane, grunting in disapproval at the dogmatic declarations of cruelty, murder and strife that Bane was willing to advocate for in the name of...chaos? Power? The pursuit of both made Bane and the other chosen Three look like petulant children that sought to upset the lives of mortals for no other reason than to prove they had power. Although, Shar made the chosen Three look literally like child's play; while the latter almost brought Baldur's Gate to it's knees, the former would seek to swallow the entirety of the universe in complete blackness. Shadowheart had shared her studies about Shar and contrasted them with what she was learning about Selune, prompting gratefulness for his love's newfound devotion to the Moonmaiden and horror towards what Shar was willing to do to all who accepted her embrace.

He sat up in the high-backed chair he currently occupied, placing the last of the documents on a nearby end-table, about to see if Shadowheart wanted to take an evening stroll when he heard a sharp bark emanate from Scratch, the canine moving swiftly from the living area to the front door, barking again. A shock of adrenaline ran through his system, shooting out of his chair and half-sprinting to the door, swinging it open to find...nothing. He refocused his gaze to scan farther in the distance, taking a few steps out of the home and turning to the woods to find a figure shambling towards them.
"Shadowheart, we've got company!" As the figure came closer, the near full moon's light cast a glow to illuminate the figure's features: a human, male, about five foot, eight inches, garbed in what once were gracefully white robes now stained with crimson and beige, earrings in both ears with what looked like-
"Silverstars...a priest of Selune...hells!" Nuvyen ran to the priest and quickly offered a supporting shoulder, the latter slumping against Nuvyen's frame, breath coming in ragged gasps.
"He's wounded! Where do you want me to bring him?"

The sound of a cantrip being cast indoors preceded a bright silvery light glowing from the windows, illuminating the edges of the woods beyond even as it cast deep, shifting shadows.

Shadowheart appeared from the door of her study, Selûne's Spear of Night glowing from a light spell in her hand. Her hazel green eyes took in the situation quickly, her expression focused, serious, calculating. "Set him down on the front steps, I'm sure I can fix this."

She'd been looking forward to a peaceful night. A walk, maybe a swim (she still needed the practice), and then hopefully a dreamless sleep. It seemed all of that would have to wait. Once the priest was sat down on the step, Shadowheart propped her spear against the wall to have the light she needed to examine him. Beneath the left arm of his white robes she found a short, curved dagger, embedded in his side.

"How far did you walk with this?" she asked. It was sunk in deep, lucky not to have hit anything vital.

"I don't know," he admitted, breathless. "More than a mile, I think. You... you are Shadowheart, yes. The cleric? Can you heal me?"

She wasn't surprised the man knew who she was, though she wasn't immediately sure how. She'd actively avoided building a reputation in this area. "I am, and I can. Hold still, this will be more than a little unpleasant." She planted a hand against his shoulder to steady him, carefully taking the dagger's hilt and pulling. It caught on something, and she realized the blade was serrated, designed to inflict even more damage as it was withdrawn.

There was nothing to do but pull harder, unfortunately. The blade ripped free from the priest's side, causing him to cry out in pain, and spurting an unfortunate streak of crimson onto Shadowheart's arm and robes. She paid it no mind, setting the dagger aside and calling on the Moonmaiden's aid. Her hands lit with a blue-white glow, which she pressed to the open wound. "Te curo." The incantation sent a strong surge of healing magic into the priest's body, quickly sealing the wound and giving him much of his strength back. He sighed in relief.

"You were smart not to remove it yourself," she noted. "You'd have bled out long before you reached us. What happened? Where did you..." She trailed off, noticing the make of the dagger on the step for the first time. The handle was wrapped in a deep purple cloth, the hilt inlaid with an obsidian stone, black as darkest night.

"My name is Sef. Sharrans attacked me on the road not far from here. I was able to escape with the help of a Guardian of Faith scroll, but not before I was wounded. I am sorry, but they may have been able to follow my trail here."

"Bleeding as you were, I'm guessing it's a pretty clear trail." Shadowheart sighed, her heart sinking. If the Sharrans found this place, she and Nuvyen would either need to go to great lengths to defend it, or pack up and leave again. It simply never ended with these people. "Were you sent to find us?"

He nodded. "Yes. By the temple in Baldur's Gate. High Cleric Isobel needs you and Nuvyen to return. Here, I have a letter..." He reached into his robes and pulled it free, though Shadowheart could see that it was unfortunately stained with blood by the priest's wound. She took a look, finding it to indeed be written in Isobel's hand. She was one of the few people Shadowheart had kept correspondence with, one of the few that would know how to find her. There wasn't much detail in the letter, but she knew Isobel wouldn't drag her back to the city unless something urgent was happening. Sharran assassins intercepting the messenger gave weight to that, too.

She handed the letter up to Nuvyen. "What do you think?"

Nuvyen listened to Sef's story while every so often looking towards the woods north of their home, eyes narrowing to try and catch a glimpse of anything suspicious. No doubt he would have issues seeing anything out of the ordinary until the Sharran assassins wanted to be revealed; he knew all too well how well trained they were in skulking before their assumed kill (even Shadowheart had gotten the jump on him a couple of times with how quiet her steps could be). While Sef attested that he had made it more than a mile before getting to their home, Nuvyen found it difficult to believe that the Sharrans couldn't catch up to someone wounded and with such an important mission. Wouldn't they have wanted to murder Sef before he could deliver the missive? And wouldn't a priest of Selune, no matter how potentially inexperienced, be able to heal himself enough? Maybe that's how he got to their front step...and yet, he was convinced that Sharran blades inflicted some kind of ailment that didn't permit the victim to be healed of any kind (Gale had called the condition "Bonechilled" and Nuvyen had been on the receiving end of that magic several times in battle; not fun).

His thoughts on the matter came to a halt as his love looked up to him, handing him the letter and asking for his input. Nuvyen looked over the letter himself, scanning the pages for any discrepancy, but found none. It was moments like these, the very, very rare moments when he wished that they had their telepathic link still intact from their unwelcome cranial guests so he could communicate his doubts. A subtle, hasty frown flashing across his face would have to be enough before he responded:
"It appears you've succeeded on your mission in getting us the missive, for which we're grateful. The least we could do is give you a roof over your head and company that won't try to stab you to death until morning."
"You would offer me that? A kindness indeed." Sef managed to straight up against the front wall of the house, a grateful smile tainted with what Nuvyen thought was malice flickered.
"I would be most appreciative. The assassins were not too far behind and if Shadowheart is correct about my bleeding, they could be here sooner than we realize." Those last few words sent a shiver down the Monk's spine, his Ki vibrating in alarm. Something was drastically off, but Sef's exterior self nor his story could be proven as false. He and Shadowheart would have to coax the truth out carefully. Thankfully, he and his partner were adept at this process through experience.
"Indeed; please, go inside and down the hallway to the second door on your left. You can rest there for a while before you make the trek back to Baldur's gate."
"I am most grateful. The Moonmaiden bless you." Sef gingerly walked through the front door, Nuvyen closing it behind the priest before waiting a few seconds, then motioned to Shadowheart, taking her in his arms, whispering as quietly as he could:
"Something's off with him. I can play decoy outside with our owlbear friend and meditate, see if I can't detect the assassins before they come and try to discern why my Ki was disturbed so greatly if you want to go inside and survey his actions...or wait out here with me. Won't have much to say to you while I'm meditating unfortunately." A chuckle.
"Unless you can think of a better way to handle this odd and unfortunate interruption to our evening?"

Unfortunate was putting it mildly. Shadowheart sighed softly, trying not to think of what she was missing out on by being forced to deal with yet another Sharran plot. She'd had such high hopes for tonight, and so many nights after this.

"I'll speak with him," she said. "The letter isn't forged, I'm sure it's from Isobel. The priest, though... I think you're right. He's either a charlatan or a victim himself, but either way this feels like a trap. Just need to find out if he's trying to spring it on us by choice or by force." There was a chance he was truly a Selunite, and that Sharrans captured someone close to him as leverage unless he did as they asked. Or they merely let him think he escaped, so they could follow him here.

Or he was a Sharran in disguise, come to lure her and Nuvyen to somewhere they'd be more vulnerable than their own house.

"Be careful," she instructed, though it was she who was volunteering to sit alone in a room with a possible assassin. It was possible there were more hiding in the woods, but she suspected the owlbear out there was part of the reason they were trying this tactic.

She kissed him in parting, then gave their guest some time while she prepared some tea. Time to sit with his thoughts. Time to grow nervous, perhaps. Time to wonder if he was actually a guest, or already a prisoner.

A few minutes later she carried the tea to the guest room. She'd hoped the first guest they'd house would be a friend, probably someone from their adventures, someone they actually invited. Hope was something she'd originally been taught to do without, so she dared not hope that Sef was anything other than her enemy.

"Care for some tea?" she asked, knocking gently on the door. Sef accepted, at which point she made her way in and served, pouring for both of them. She watched carefully as she finished, only for Sef to pick up his cup without hesitation and drink. Trusting, or perhaps too eager to seem that way. She drank from her cup as well.

"Thank you," he said, "the road has been... unkind, to say the least."

"Tell me about this Sharran attack again. You used a scroll to escape, you said. Guardian of Faith?"

He nodded. "They were on me before I could react, I barely managed to get the scroll from my pack, and then lost my pack as well. The one that stabbed me, the guardian took his arm clean off at the elbow. I don't know if he died or not, after he vanished back into the shadows. I put the guardian between me and the other, and ran as fast as I could."

Shadowheart was guessing that wasn't very fast, with a knife stuck in his side. He came across like a novice to her, or rather, a Sharran's idea of a novice. A naive, optimistic idiot, blindly serving the moon witch. She had come to learn that the Selunites could be as clever and cunning as their Sharran mirrors. Isobel was certainly that way, when she needed to be. She was smart enough to know not to send novices to deliver messages to Shadowheart of all people.

She let her polite facade fade away, lacking the patience for it. If Sef were a Selunite acting against his will, he would be more nervous. She would detect a note of guilt. This priest was simply lying. Confidently, but poorly.

"I had other plans for tonight," she admitted. "A walk, a swim, a peaceful rest by the fire. But it seems the Nightsinger still wants me to play her little games. I'd wager I know them better than you do. You're still an initiate, aren't you? Your brothers and sisters sent you here as a test, to see how well you've learned to embrace pain, to tell lies, to lead Shar's enemies to death and darkness. What they didn't tell you is that they expect you to fail. They expect me to ask questions to your corpse, because the knowledge you won't part with willingly is the real bait. Am I close, or...?"

A heavy tension had fallen between the two of them, Sef's mortified reaction revealing that Shadowheart was more or less correct, even if Sef was only just now realizing it. He then shot upright, rearing his arm back to try to strike her. Shadowheart was quicker, darting forward and launching a flat, upward palm into his nose. There was a crack and a crunch, and when her hand came away, Sef's face was red and bloody. A trick she'd learned from her love.

Like any Sharran, he took pain well, well enough that before she could strike again, he'd vanished in a cloud of mist, landing with a thud in her garden outside. He scrambled to his feet and bolted, but Shadowheart could see him out of the window.

"Impero tibi!"

Her enchanting Command spell latched on to him, causing Sef to lurch upright and skid to a halt, only to turn and walk with a controlled pace back towards the front door, where she expected Nuvyen was waiting. "He's trying to run!" she called to him, almost playfully. She was enjoying herself a little. She wasn't going to let Shar ruin everything about this night, after all.

While the encounter between Shadowheart and Sef had been playing out, Nuvyen sat crosslegged at the front door, eyes half-closed in a meditative state that could be entered by any trained in any of the Monk schools. This state of consciousness allowed for the Monk meditating to stretch the native Ki within them outward, to feel the various tendrils of energy that all creatures and objects emanated and detect changes in the normal resonance of one's environment as well as enhance their senses; in other words, a Monks meditation was an excellent threat detector.

Nuvyen felt a spike in energy coming from within the house, accompanying footfalls barreling towards their home in orderly, swift motion. His eyes snapped open, rising to his feet, fists clenched, feet firmly planted on the earth beneath. Sef materialized not too far out in front and was indeed trying to escape when Shadowheart ensnared him with a Command, the "priest's" eyes darting helplessly as he marched towards the front of the house.
"And doing a poor job of it, it seems!" A smirk came and went as he moved forward past Sef to address the now audible footfalls, four forms shimmering into view under the pale rays of moonlight that cast both a menacing and soft glow on the armored attackers. Two Tieflings, a dwarf and a human, all of whom wore the trademark armor of a Sharran assassin, their weapons of choice glimmering in bloodlust.
"Our Lady demands that you and the betrayer see the justice you escaped." One of the Tieflings hissed, the party drawing closer to Nuvyen.
"Is that what Shar calls our desire to not see the entire world enveloped in brutal, cold darkness?" A snort, hands coming closer to his face in a defensive position.
"Your mistress surely knows she sent you all on a fool's errand. This won't end well for any of you." The dwarf let out a cry of battle, charging forward first, blade outstretched above his head before attempting a downward cleave at the half-elf, Nuvyen darting to the right as the blade crashed into the ground, using the moment to deliver a powerful elbow to the dwarf's right cheek, followed by an open palm strike to the neck. The dwarf gasped, crumpling to the earth just in time for Nuvyen to feel a dagger whistle a few millimeters past his ear, the Tiefling who had spoken sprinting towards his position with another dagger, this one visibly dripping what Nuvyen assumed to be poison. The other Tiefling and human were heading towards the front door, prompting Nuvyen to shout aloud:
"Two headed your way! Be there in a minute!" He jumped backward a few feet, avoiding a potentially lethal series of blows from the Tiefling before delivering a side-kick to the weapon-bearing arm, then another kick, this one a jumping roundhouse in the direction of the attacker's face. The Tiefling managed to dodge the second kick, but the first dislodged the dagger. His attacker grimaced, lunging for her weapon, creating an opening which Nuvyen took, channeling his energy to dash forward before thrusting his right arm forward, fist clenched, a burst of purple light surrounding his closed hand to inflict not only physical, but mental damage as well. The blow connected, sending the Tiefling to the ground next to her dwarven companion, their bodies both still.

Now how was Shadowheart doing?

Sef tried to run, but a sudden scream and the heavy footsteps of an owlbear preceded a rather horrid crunch and tearing of flesh. So much for the novice. Then she heard Nuvyen's warning.

More of them. Shadowheart steeled herself, knowing there'd be no escaping the stench of death tonight. With just one she'd hoped they could subdue and keep him contained, but now that the numbers were stacked against them, they couldn't take that chance. Much as she didn't like to admit, she and Nuvyen were much more vulnerable as a pair on their own than they were when they were united with all the others they'd saved Baldur's Gate alongside.

"Ira et dolor!" she cried, erupting with radiant light as she burned another spell. There were plenty to spare, given they'd likely rest for the night after this brawl. Glowing gold spirits enveloped and circled around Shadowheart, and she took up her spear and went to meet the two Sharran cultists Nuvyen warned her of. Being caught out of armor wasn't a problem her love needed to worry about, but Shadowheart felt a bit naked without it. She'd have to be careful.

The tiefling Sharran burst through the doorway, seeing Shadowheart rushing right at him, so he hacked his curved scimitar sword down into her neck, only to realize he'd been fooled by an illusion. The duplicate of Shadowheart dissipated into wisps of magic, the real half-elf surprising him from the flank. She rammed her spear into his side, closing enough for the radiant spirits swirling around her to strike and burn him.

She reached in close, planting a hand against his chest, fusing it with magic. "Morē!" she called as the incantation, willing necrotic energy to flood in and open the tiefling's wounds. The spell was more than enough, turning the tiefling's formerly red skin a pale shade of grey as the very life was drained out of him. He sank to the floor.

Suddenly Shadowheart was enveloped in a thick fog of magical darkness, her vision going dark, and then completely black. She heard a cantrip cast nearby, trying to dodge out of the way, but the human's Bone Chill spell struck her in the shoulder. The draining force she'd used on the tiefling was forced on her in turn, an insidious cold that she managed to fight off, though she failed to keep the spirit guardians around her.

"Pitiful," the Sharran woman said, "you turn away from the dark, and now you look like a lost lamb in it."

Shadowheart backed up, trying to retreat out of the darkness, only for her back to hit a wooden wall. She thrust out blindly with her spear, striking nothing but darkness, the darkness concealing the Fidelian's approach. The Sharran slammed the end of her quarterstaff into Shadowheart's midsection, and with it came a torrent of necrotic magic, the blow empowered while the Fidelian was concealed in darkness. Shadowheart couldn't fight it off this time, and found herself blasted through the thin wooden wall and onto the ground in the next room.

Still in the magical darkness, Shadowheart struggled to rise, finding yet more necrotic magic swarming around her, beckoning her, drowning her. It was a cold that seeped into her soul, reminding her of what she'd lost, begging her for the release of absence, the sweet relief of forgetfulness.

"I'm not the Nightsinger's slave anymore!" she declared, channeling a Daylight spell into her spear, Selune's Spear of Night, suddenly glowing with all the brightness of the day. The darkness was banished, leaving the masked Sharran Fidelian plainly visible in the now battle-torn house. She hurled another Bone Chill at Shadowheart. Without her armor she had little defense against it, staggering backwards and falling to a knee as the necrotic magic coursed through her again.

The Sharran woman looked quickly for a way to retreat into the darkness again, but Shadowheart trusted that Nuvyen would arrive in time to deal with her before she could escape.

The immortal sun

Nuvyen threw the front door open and was ready to charge forward when he spotted Shadowheart's lance glowing amidst the chaos of what was once their well-kept home, the glow illuminating not only the wreckage of domesticity, but the last of the Sharran assailants, eyes wide as she began backpedaling towards a plume of murky darkness behind her.

Ohhh no you don't.

Nuvyen summoned a burst of Ki, infusing his feet with the speed he needed to close the distance between he and the Sharran before delivering a crushing elbow to the assassin's solar plexus, then an uppercut, briefly sending the attacker into the air. With his resonance still in high gear, he managed one more attack: a vicious side kick, the Sharran falling to the ground, eyes rolled back into her head. The darkness that once loomed in their home disappeared, leaving he and Shadowheart standing in silence except for their breathing. Nuvyen approached Shadowheart, brushing a few drops of blood off of her forehead as he looked her over.
"Did more damage than took it, eh?" He smiled, relieved that she had made it through yet another attack from those who would drag her back to Shar.
"Might be beneficial to ransack the lot of them and see if they have anything else that can tip us off...but after we talk to Sef a bit more, eh?" Thankfully, Shadowheart seemed to have kept concentration on her Command spell, which meant that Sef was still by the entrance, his eyes wide with alarm at the results of the battle.
"Love, snap him out of the spell, will you? He'll need to talk a bit more freely; besides, I doubt he'll have any real incentive to try and pull another stunt." A pat on the shoulder.
"Isn't that right, Sef?" A few moments later, Sef answered the question, his sensibilities back under his control:
“Yes, fine, fine!” Desperate annoyance edged his voice, indicating what Nuvyen suspected, which was that Sef had entered a lose/lose proposition. If he tried to escape and succeed, Shar would kill him. If he tried to escape and failed, he would die. If he confessed everything, Sharran assassins would come for him. There was really no way for Sef to escape this night alive unless he informed the duo of the scheme he had been involved in and make haste as far from Baldur’s Gate as possible.
“How did you obtain that letter from the High Cleric?”
“We ambushed a priest on the way here. Tailed him from Baldur’s Gate before we made short work of him. Some of us thought we could ambush you lot and avoid this nonsense, but obviously that wouldn’t work…nor did this.” Sef grimaced.
“And why go after the priest in this context? Why not assassinate him in Baldur’s Gate?” Sef shook his head.
“Been to the city lately? Grand Duke Ravengard has us on the run, especially after ‘The Heroes of Baldur’s Gate’ swept us all out of the House of Grief. Hiding in cellars and caves like rats.” A smile formed, one filled with sadism.
“But you’ll see what Our Lady has in store. For you, for all of us. Soon Her embrace will not be a mere part of the Coast, but all across the Realm!” WIth a sudden jerk of Sef’s hand, the Sharran materialized an ebony dagger, which he then plunged into his chest. Nuvyen uttered a curse, vainly lunging for the dagger which disappeared as quickly as it came into existence. The damage had been done, however, Sef’s bleeding corpse just adding an exclamation point to the chaos that punctuated the home.

The monk took a moment, half-closing his eyes, reaching out to their immediate surroundings to try and sense if there was a second wave of attackers, but nothing seemed apparent. They were alone again. Nuvyen turned to face Shadowheart, quietly telling her:
“We’ll need to see Isobel after all this. Both of you will have some things to discuss, I’m sure.” He scanned the wreckage, blowing out a sigh.
“Least we can do is tidy up, eh?” Tidying up started with Nuvyen rummaging through the belongings of the Sharrans outside, finding weapons and provisions, but little to nothing of importance.
“Mind searching Sef? He might have something on him that you’d recognize as important.”

It was remarkable how willing the Sharrans were to throw away their own lives. They were told the bliss of the void awaited them, a perfect state of absence and nothingness. Shadowheart had been just as willing to die for the cause, once. When life was hell, the idea of escaping it into the embrace of darkness didn't seem so bad. But that was a long time ago. Now she had so many things in her life that made her desperately want to keep living.

The fight had been another near brush with death. Too many to count, at this point. The necrotic magic had taken a lot out of her, wounds that weren't visible on the surface, but a little rest and recovery would set her right, no healing magic required.

Something didn't quite add up. There was no address on the letter from Isobel, no instructions on how to find them. If the priest was ambushed on the way, it didn't explain how the Sharrans found them. She searched Sef's corpse, already cold from the magic of the dagger that had ended him, but found nothing. Standing again, Shadowheart sighed. There was more she needed to ask.

She quickly cast a disguise spell, the form of Shadowheart being suddenly replaced in a flash of magic by that of their githyanki friend, Lae'zel. It was a humorous image, the fierce githyanki warrior wearing soft, flowing white robes. She could practically hear the woman giving her a good chk in disgust.

She dredged up necromantic magic from a dark part of her soul, asking her new goddess to forgive the act, as it was for a good cause. "Cum Mortuus in Lingua Mortua," she spoke stoically as the incantation, and then her eyes began to glow with green unearthly light, a power that swirled around her, and around the corpse. Sef lifted into the air, head lolling back, mouth agape, air forced in and out of his lungs by the magic, granting his mortal remnants the ability to speak for a brief time.

"How did you find this place?" she asked, with Lae'zel's voice.

"Interrogated the priest," Sef rasped in reply. "He resisted for three days before breaking..."

"What was done with the priest after the interrogation?"

"Kept him... could still be of use..."

So he was alive, though perhaps he wished he wasn't. Shadowheart didn't feel any animosity for being given up. The vast majority of Selunites weren't mentally equipped to withstand the torture a trained Sharran could inflict. Three days was an impressive feat, all things considered.

"And where is the priest being kept?"

"Our hideout," Sef answered simply. "Under lock and key..."

Shadowheart shook her head. Obviously. Even in death this novice wasn't particularly helpful. "How do I reach this hideout?"

"On the road to Baldur's Gate. Find a trail that leads east into the hills. There is a dark pond, and a cave. The Nightsinger's faithful are inside..."

"And how well is this hideout defended?"

"Not expecting attack, but... the faithful are arriving from all corners of the Sword Coast... seek their lair... and you will die."

The spell's power waned and then ended, lowering the corpse of Sef back onto the ground, and returning everything to silence once more. Shadowheart let her disguise fade, regaining her half-elven form, and she looked to Nuvyen. "I think I know the place he's talking about. It's even on our way, assuming we're headed for Baldur's Gate. Taking on a whole den of Sharrans ourselves is risky, but... if we take the time to find more help, that priest will be long dead. We're his only chance."

When he asked Shadowheart to search Sef, he hadn't thought of trying to interrogate the Sharran after the departure of the man's soul from his body, but it was a good idea (although it was very, very strange to see his partner turn from her normal beauty to the sharp angularity of Lae'Zel). After the exchange between Shadowheart and Sef's post-mortem form, Nuvyen weighed what his partner said with great care. If Sef's words to be trusted even from the afterlife, they would indeed be casting themselves into a very hungry den of wolves itching to devour them; then again, Nuvyen could only assume that this priest, whoever he was, must be an important part of the Selunite order for the Sharrans to not only detain him, but for Sef to lie in his exchange with Nuvyen about whether or not he was alive. The half-elf had little understanding of what a Selunite priest(or priestess) did outside of the scope of their responsibilities at their sites of worship, but he could only assume that the priest was more than his title.

"I'm not keen on delving back into a Sharran hideout." He grimaced, memories of squaring off against Viconia and her horde of Sharrans in the House of Grief flashing across his mind.
"But this priest has to be important to Isobel, important enough to be waylaid and kept alive." A host of questions threatened to bubble up to the surface of his mind, but he channeled his thoughts to the present, closing his eyes for a brief moment before continuing:
"We won't have time to get any kind of reinforcements, so it'll be just us." He scanned their home, noting that Scratch had gone missing in the ruckus, more than likely galloping towards his owl-bear companion in an attempt to ensure it's safety.
"And it would be unwise of us to charge out into the middle of the night towards this cave. From here to the Gate is about a day and a half's journey, so let's restore this place to a semblance of normalcy, rest as much as we can and head out in the morning." Nuvyen looked past Shadowheart down the hallway and chuckled.
"At least our room didn't get destroyed. That's nice."

----

The rest of the evening was spent digging shallow holes for the corpses to be buried and cleaning up the debris around the house, Nuvyen breathing a sigh of relief when, upon wrapping up the exterior clean-up, saw Scratch and their faithful owl-bear bounding towards their home. Neither animal seemed to be hurt and took their normal posts for sleep, allowing Nuvyen to assist Shadowheart in interior clean up, collapsing into bed as the moon was beginning to fade in the sky. When the monk awoke, the sun's rays were piercing through the window in their room, rudely awakening him from the too-short slumber. He felt for his partner in bed, but found it empty; no doubt she was already at work preparing for their encounter. The monk began his own preparations and was soon ready to depart, satchel slung over his shoulder.
"Scratch and his much larger companion have got enough meat from the cellar that they should be fine for-" He thought Shadowheart was in her library, but the room was empty.
"The time we're gone." Cocking his head slightly, he surveyed the living area and kitchen to no avail. His pulse quickened slightly after the events of the last night.

Where had she gone off to?

He found her in the herb garden outside, kneeling in the dirt and finishing up a patchwork repair job. She was ready for the journey, armored in an elegant set of shining silver elven chain over a clean white linen top and leggings. Her knee-high grey leather boots were well-worn, pliable but sturdy, buckled at the ankle. She'd picked them from the corpse of a goblin trader back in that ruined temple of Selune. She vividly remembered snickering at the defaced imagery of the goddess everywhere. She'd done a lot of growing up since then, wearing these boots all the while. She often wondered who had owned them before the goblins looted them.

"One of those fools trampled through here in the fight," she said softly. "I'd ask Scratch to look after it, but he'd need thumbs for that." She sighed, adding a quite "what does it matter" under her breath.

She stood, forcing a little smile for Nuvyen as she took up her pack and her spear. Her long white hair was secured in her usual long braided ponytail, coiling and wrapped in a thin chain to the middle of her back. She wore a circlet around the crown of her head, thin chain as well, a moonstone now resting where once there had been obsidian above her brow. It was not a subtle look, but it was certainly a striking one. The Sharrans would not mistake her for anyone else.

Let them come.

"Ready? It's a long walk, but we should be able to get there before dusk."

----

On the road again, a familiar and uncomfortable anxiety clawed its way back into the pit of Shadowheart's stomach, steadily tying knots. There was a heaviness on her shoulders, one she was sure she wasn't concealing from Nuvyen, despite her best efforts. She felt such a fool for actually starting to believe she might be free of her past.

"I'm not sure if we can go back," she said, after a long period of silence on the road. "Even if we wipe out this Sharran lair completely, they'll likely have sent word to others before we arrive. We'll be looking over our shoulders the rest of our lives, sleeping with one eye open..." She certainly didn't get as much sleep last night as usual, rising from their bed early so as not to disturb Nuvyen.

Viconia was gone, but the Nightsinger had other servants, more loyal and devoted ones, too. If they were organizing again on a larger scale, there had to be someone pulling the strings. Maybe if they could find and destroy that person, they could try to live in peace again. Until then, they had to walk a path of darkness.

"I'm starting to think we're just not meant for a quiet, peaceful life. But hopefully I'll be proven wrong."