Chapter Text
Chapter 1:
As twilight enveloped the camp nestled amidst the ruined outskirts of Rivington, the glow of the campfire cast a warm light on the faces gathered around it. Tavreus spoke quietly over the crackle of the burning fire.
“Orin surprised us. We need to be more vigilant. When Lae’zel and I head to Sharess’ Caress to meet with Voss tomorrow I need others to come with us. Any volunteers?”
Karlach’s hand shot into the air, "ME! That's me! Choose me!" she said, her voice laced with excitement. "After all I've been through, especially with this," she gestured to her chest, where her infernal engine lay quiet, "a bit of carefree enjoyment sounds like a damn good plan."
Lae'zel, her posture rigid, interjected with a dismissive tone. "T’Chk! We have a purpose. Our quest does not afford us the luxury of frivolity. Tavreus is not taking you to indulge in your neglected hormones."
It was then the camp's newest and youngest member, Yenna, piped up, "Could we visit the carnival? Please? It sounds like a dream," she pleaded, her gaze fixed on Shadowheart with a hopeful intensity.Though she had only been there less than two days she had Shadowheart already wrapped around her finger.
Shadowheart, usually shrouded in stoicism, softened visibly at Yenna's request. "Perhaps a short visit wouldn't hurt. We all deserve a moment of joy," she suggested.
Astarion, lounging with an air of detached amusement, smirked. "Ah, yes, let's frolic at the carnival while dangers lurk in every shadow. Truly a brilliant strategy. You do know what a shapeshifter is?"
Minthara's response was cold, her voice cutting through the warmth of the fire. "This is a distraction. We are on a mission, not a holiday. Our focus should be unwavering. No Carnivals, The brothel is only to meet a contact not for fornicating."
Lae'zel nodded, "Distractions can prove fatal. We must remain vigilant and dedicated to our cause."
The camp split into a cacophony of opinions. Yenna's hopeful expression dimmed under the weight of their words, her shoulders slumping in disappointment.
Wyll, unable to watch the child's heartbreak, interjected. "We're fighting for more than just survival. Moments of happiness are glimpses of the world we're trying to save."
Gale added, "Indeed, the pursuit of joy, however fleeting, is a reminder of why we endure. Let's not disregard the value of a lightened heart."
The debate grew heated, voices rising and falling in a tumultuous wave, until Tavreus's authoritative voice cut through the noise. "Silence!" he commanded, and the camp fell still. "We're not monodrones programmed to complete just one task; we're also protectors of each other's spirits. The encounter with Orin was a jarring reminder of the threats that shadow us. We cannot afford to let our guard down, but we also cannot become the shadows we fight against."
He looked around, his gaze steady and commanding. "Tomorrow, those who wish to indulge at Sharess' Caress can accompany Lae'zel and me.”
Halsin cleared his throat and raised a finger indicating he was ‘volunteering’. Tav nodded in acknowledgement. He continued “The carnival," he glanced at Yenna, who looked up with renewed hope, "will be a mission of a different sort. Wyll, Astarion, Shadowheart, and Minthara will ensure it's a haven for Yenna. Joy is a rare commodity in these times, and just as valuable as any weapon we wield."
As his words settled over the group, a sense of unity began to mend the rifts of the evening's debate. "We split at dawn, but we do so with purpose and caution. Together, we stand stronger.” As he finished his speech Tavreus noticed Astarion’s eye roll not quite as discreet as perhaps intended.
As the camp settled into a reflective silence, Gale began distributing bowls of steaming potato pottage. It was then that the elf slid next to Tavreus on the log they used as a makeshift seat, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Astarion started, his voice smooth as silk, "Quite the speech, Tav. You have a way with words that could almost make me forget the hunger that gnaws at me."
Tavreus, accustomed to Astarion's roundabout ways, chuckled softly. "I doubt my words are that filling. But there's plenty of pottage to go around."
"Oh, it's not the pottage I find myself craving on these long, arduous nights," Astarion replied, his gaze lingering on the flickering flames before turning back to Tavreus. "The night holds different kinds of hunger, doesn't it?"
Tavreus knew where this was heading but playing along, raised an eyebrow. "Plenty of animals nearby. Just don’t go killing any more chickens"
"That was not me!” Astarion squawked but quickly recovered himself. ”Darling, there's nourishment, and then there's sustenance," Astarion mused, leaning in closer. "The latter being what truly invigorates an being like myself. It's not often I find company so... robust, capable of understanding such needs."
Tavreus let out a sigh, half in amusement, half in resignation. "And if someone were to offer help in... quenching this particular thirst of yours, you'd be... what, exactly? Grateful? Less inclined to indulge in eye-rolling?"
Astarion's eyes grew rounder; he tucked his chin and gave a soft smile. "Grateful is an understatement.”
“I was always told never feed a stray cat. Once you do, it thinks you're their’s and they are entitled to be fed.”
“Oh, Darling you are mine. Aren’t you?” Astarion purred. It was Tavreus' turn to roll his eyes.
This wasn't the first time they'd played this game, nor would it be the last. It had become a ritual, a playful dance of words preceding a far more intimate offering. Tavreus had always insisted on the question, a touchstone of consent in their unusual bond.
Tavreus, making his decision, nodded slowly. "If such a sharing could ease your burden, Astarion, then consider it offered. But let's keep this between us, shall we?"
Astarion's smile broadened, his eyes gleaming with a mix of victory and genuine appreciation. "Discretion is my middle name, Tav. You have my word, and my thanks. This offer, as you so aptly put it, will not be forgotten."
---
The camp was quiet, the embers of the fire slowly dying. Tavreus, feeling the weight of the day's events, moved towards his bedroll, laid atop a surprisingly comfortable haystack. The night air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves. Carrying with it the sounds of the distant city.
As he began to settle in for the night, a palpable presence made itself known at the foot of his makeshift bed. Tavreus didn't need to look up to know who—or what—awaited his attention. His Knightmare, as he had begrudgingly named the apparition, stood silently, an imposing figure that seemed both there and not, its existence a paradox that Tavreus had grown accustomed to, yet never comfortable with.
"What do you want now?" The question scraped out of Tavreus, resentment roughening his weary voice. Inside, his mind apparently was an open boarding house, a cacophony of alien demands and insidious whispers vying to outshout his own fading resolve. The Knightmare, silent and dreadful, was just one more unwelcome tenant squeezing into his overcrowded thoughts.
The entity remained silent at first, its stillness a stark contrast to the soft rustling of the night. Then, in a voice that echoed deep within Tavreus's mind, resonating with a gravity that seemed to pull at his very soul, his Knightmare spoke, "I told you, Oathbreaker, that I would help guide you. Tomorrow, an important decision will be made."
The weight of the Knightmare's words settled over him like a heavy cloak. "What decision?" he asked, his curiosity piqued despite his apprehension.
The reply was slow in coming, as if the Knightmare itself was pondering the depths of destiny before imparting its knowledge. "I do not know," it finally admitted, its voice a rumble that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. "But the threads of destiny are ready to be set—or altered. The choice will be yours."
Tavreus turned then, facing the ephemeral figure, sighing in exasperation. "And how am I to choose wisely if I don't even know the nature of the decision?"
His Knightmare, its form a blur of shadows and half-light, seemed to consider this. "Some options may appear as the wrong ones if you continue to think as the you of before," it counseled, its voice a deep echo resonating within Tavreus’s thoughts. "But if you allow yourself to think freely, to see beyond the constraints of your past convictions, many doors will open."
The words hung in the air, a prophecy of sorts, leaving Tavreus with more questions than answers. Yet, there was a truth to them, a reminder that the path of righteousness was not always clear-cut, that morality and duty could be as labyrinthine as the darkest dungeon.
As his Knightmare faded away, dissolving into the night as mysteriously as it had appeared, Tavreus was left to ponder its words. His Knightmare had not steered him wrong yet. The ephemeral knight seemed genuine in its need to help Tavreus. When his Oath was broken it was his Knightmare that showed him how to reforge himself. Its advice given to him was almost always to think freely, to consider options beyond the conventional.
Lying back on his bedroll, Tavreus stared up at the night sky through the hole in the barn’s roof. With a deep breath, Tavreus closed his eyes, the Knightmare's parting words a whisper in his mind, a reminder that destiny was not a chain, but a web, intricate and ever-changing.
---
Dawn crept over the camp with a gentle touch, the morning light filtering through the trees in soft beams that danced upon the sleeping figures. Tavreus was startled from his rest by the yowl of a frightened cat. Next the familiar soreness at his neck and the slight wooziness in his head greeting him. He bleary opened his eyes to the chaos of camp life stirring to wakefulness.
Halsin's voice carried throughout the camp, as he berated Softmeat, the owlbear cub, and Scratch, who both sat with an almost comical look of chastisement. "We do not scare Grub, nor do we entertain the notion of eating him," Halsin's words were stern yet held an affectionate tone, the two animals looking up at him with an understanding beyond their natural instincts. Yenna, clutching Grub to her chest, watched the scene, a stern expression adorably mimicking Halsin’s own.
Shaking off the remnants of sleep, Tavreus rose, his movements slow and measured as he reached for his Amulet of Silvanus. Clasping it in his hands, he whispered a soft prayer, allowing the divine energy to cleanse his mind of its muddledness, the small ritual had become as necessary as breaking his fast.
As he reached for his morning rations, the sharp, commanding presence of Lae'zel approached, her impatience palpable. "You have dallied long enough. Make haste," she snapped, thrusting his armor into his hands with a briskness that quelled any argument. Her assistance in donning the armor was swift, her movements efficient, yet each snap and buckle came with a sharp comment about the importance of their mission and the unacceptability of delay.
Through the terse exchange, Tavreus noticed Gale,chuckling, as he watched Tavreus get manhandled (or in this case Gith-handled) into his armor. "I’ll admit, it's a relief that it's you and not I that is burdened with this folly," Gale remarked, his eyes twinkling with amusement at the scene before him.
“Betrayer,” Tavreus answered in Celestial. Causing Gale to chortle.
"This should help clear any remaining cobwebs," Gale said, presenting a cup of dark wake tea to Tavreus in lieu of an olive branch.
Tavreus accepted the tea with a grateful nod, its heady aroma promising a much-needed clarity. He sipped slowly, the warmth of the tea a welcome contrast to the cool morning air and Lae'zel's frosty demeanor.
----
As the party made their way into the bustling hamlet of Rivington, the air was crowded with the sounds and scents of a community teetering on the brink of chaos. The streets were alive with the comings and goings of refugees, each face telling a story of loss and hope, the town swelling beyond its means to accommodate the influx.
Minthara walked with a grace that belied her frustration, her steps measured, her normally sharp gaze hindered by the morning sun. She took in the spectacle of Rivington's makeshift market. She turned to Tavreus with barely concealed disdain.
“I do not understand why the matorns - sorry, patriars- of the city do not open their gates to the refugees.”
Tavreus did a bit of a double take. “I agree. But the people are afraid of letting in spies.”
Minthara gave him a glare and continued. “I was not suggesting they be allowed to roam free. They should be put to work - the city needs laborers, and fodder to protect it.”
“You are describing slavery, Minthara. You know how I feel about that,” Tavreus glared back. His tone, cold and sharp.
“I am suggesting they be fed and sheltered, and they work in return. Call it whatever you wish.” she said in exasperation. “Perhaps you think it would be better for them to starve or be slaughtered here, while the citizens hide behind their walls?”
The party stayed silent as Tavreus and Minthara argued. Finally they also fell into a heated silence.
As they approached the carnival grounds Minthara spoke again.
"This carnival," she began, crossing her arms, her voice laced with contempt, "is a farce. A pitiful display of frivolity in times that demand seriousness. You assign me to be a nursemaid amidst this...ridiculousness, while you attend to matters of importance."
Tavreus met her gaze squarely. "I know how it appears. But the carnival, for all its gaiety, is not without its dangers. Your vigilance could be what keeps the party safe."
She scoffed as they navigated through a crowd gathered around a street performer. "Watching over a troupe of merry-makers does not suit me."
Tavreus nodded, acknowledging her point. "And as a paladin, you know the value of strategy. Sometimes, the battlefield is not where swords clash but where unsuspecting eyes roam. I'm not asking you to enjoy the carnival, Minthara, just be vigilant and protect our people."
Minthara paused, sneering in disgust as her gaze lingering on a group of children chasing each other with laughter ringing in the air. "They are not my people.” She hissed then shook her head, “Very well," she finally conceded, her tone softening ever so slightly. "Should our adversaries choose this moment for an assault, I will stand ready. However," her eyes narrowed, a hint of menace creeping into her voice, "if any within our ranks, unnamed of course, find themselves ensnared in folly of their own thievery, they will find no sanctuary behind me."
Tavreus smiled, "That's all I ask. Keep them safe, and let's hope the only spectacle you witness is the carnival itself."
They parted ways, Tavreus with a sense of relief now that he knew Minthara would watch over them. Sometimes, he found Minthara so similar to himself. Yet they were still so different.
“Sharess’ Caress here I come!” Karlach cheered as they approached Wyrm’s crossing. “Hopefully multiple times!”
---
The dimly lit luxury of Sharess' Caress felt strange, yet oddly tempting. This was a far cry from the rigid world of his childhood, and even further from the pious life he'd trained for under Priestess Mishann. The thought of her discovering him here, face burning with righteous anger, brought a twisted flicker of amusement. Then, as if a cold hand gripped his heart, the humor vanished. His broken oath wasn't some minor transgression. It was a betrayal of her trust, a shattering of the ideals she'd instilled in him. Compared to that, this place held no shame.
The memory was vivid and sharp. Barcus, with his gentle demeanor and grateful eyes, had represented to Tavreus the very essence of what he fought for—innocence and freedom. But seeing Barcus again, not as a free gnome but as a slave toiling under the cruel yoke of Duergar slavers, had ignited a fury in Tavreus that could not be contained.
The act of murder he committed that day, though driven by a righteous anger, was a direct violation of his sacred oath as a Paladin. To take a life in such a manner, even for an innocent’s well being, was anathema to the vows he had sworn to uphold. The fallout was immediate and devastating; he felt the connection to his divine powers snap, a tangible manifestation of his failure to adhere to the Oath of the Ancients he had pledged to follow.
Yes, he had acted to save Barcus and the other enslaved deep gnomes, a deed that, under any other circumstances, would have been laudable. Yet, in doing so, he had forsaken the very principles that defined him as a Paladin of Amaunator. The distinction between the moral and the right, once so clear to him, now blurred in a mire of guilt and but not regret.
Atonement for such a sin was possible, a path back to the light offered by the tenets of his faith. Yet Tavreus found himself ensnared in a web of doubt. Could he truly seek forgiveness for an act he didn’t regret? Was the preservation of his oath worth more than the lives he had saved? These questions tormented him, their answers as elusive as shadows in the flickering candlelight of the brothel.
Meanwhile, Karlach was a whirlwind of excitement, her eyes sparkling as she perused the 'menu' with an eagerness that was infectious and slightly overwhelming. She flitted from conversation to conversation with the workers, her enthusiasm undimmed by the variety of choices. "How can I choose?" she laughed, ”I want them all!” her voice full of wonder and indecision.
It was Halsin who pointed out a pair of drow, noting their willingness to offer them both a joint experience at a reduced rate. Karlach's initial hesitance melted away as she considered the possibility, her gaze distant and her smile broadening. "Well, when in Sharess' Caress," she mused, her decision made, her earlier reservations forgotten in the face of potential pleasure.
Karlach and Halsin accompanied the Drow pair up the stairs to a more private room, leaving Lae'zel and Tavreus to await Voss's arrival. Lae'zel watched them leave with a mix of disdain and aloofness. "As you are aware, I would never share," she stated coldly, her eyes narrowing just as a pretty worker approached. A single glare from the Githyanki was enough to send the worker scurrying away, her message clear.
Tavreus searched for Voss among the many faces coming and going. He couldn’t imagine the Githyanki blending into a place like this. Even with a spell to disguise his otherworldly looks. As the lively atmosphere of Sharess' Caress swirled around him, Tavreus's gaze locked onto a familiar figure standing nonchalantly at the bar. It was Korrilla, the dwarf who had played a pivotal role in his escape from the goblin prison. Pushing back his chair, he stood up and made his way through the crowd,
"Korrilla!" Tavreus greeted, his voice carrying a genuine warmth, he approached her.e. "I am happy to see you again. Let me buy my savior a drink." he said, waving over the barkeep and gesturing for another round.
Korrilla turned to face him, her expression one of amused surprise, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Oh! It's Raphael's Favorite Misadventurer," she teased, her tone light yet carrying an edge of gentle mockery. "Good to see you again, even if you have put me out of pocket. The boss bet me five soul coins you'd reach the city in one piece."
Tavreus's smile faltered for a moment, caught off guard by the mention of a bet on his life, but he quickly recovered, his curiosity piqued. "Well, at least *he* had faith in me. Did you make that bet after helping me with the goblin Priestess?" he asked, his tone jesting, with genuine inquiry.
Korrilla's laughter filled the space between them, genuine yet cruel. "Of course. Tricked by a goblin. I thought there was no way you'd get past the Moonrise. You did alright though. Was keeping an eye on you," she admitted, her gaze appraising. "I was impressed with your fight with that giant bush. I suggested to the boss that you might make a good gardener. But he has loftier goals in mind for you."
The absurdity of the situation was not lost on him. "I wouldn't be a bad gardener, as long as you didn't mind all your plants dying," he quipped, the lightness in his voice masking the deeper currents of unease and speculation about Raphael's intentions.
Korrilla nodded, her demeanor shifting to one of business-like seriousness. "The boss will be glad to see you. He secured a room upstairs in the hope that you'd drop by."
"He wants to meet me in a private room?" Tavreus echoed, his eyebrows raised in surprise and skepticism. The idea of such a clandestine meeting, especially in a place like Sharess' Caress, made his stomach lurch though perhaps not in a bad way.
Korrilla shrugged, "What better place to do business than in the home of the oldest trade? Take your time - have a drink, go see him when you're feeling refreshed."
Tavreus cleared his throat, the reality of his situation setting in. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine he’d be meeting a devil in a secluded room within a brothel. A wave of heat flushed his face, a physical testament to his discomfort. “Right. Well, I am supposed to be meeting someone here. So I’ll be off then,” he managed to say, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. He turned on his heel, making a hasty retreat back to where Lae’zel was seated.
Lae’zel had been observing the exchange with a sharp eye, her gaze piercing through the dimly lit ambiance of Sharess' Caress. “You are flushed. Did the female dwarf distress your delicate feelings?” she inquired, her tone laced with mockery.
“She says Raphael is here. Waiting for me upstairs,” Tavreus confessed, feeling the heat in his cheeks intensify with each word.
“Strange. Your world is not so small. Yet we come to meet Voss here, and find Raphael in his stead. I do not think this is a coincidence. We should meet with him,” Lae’zel devised, rising from her seat with a decisiveness that left no room for argument.
The pieces hadn't clicked for Tavreus until now. "Right. It must be connected," he agreed, his mind scrambling to keep up with Lae'zel’s.
As they ascended the stairs, the sounds of the brothel’s taproom below fading into a distant murmur, Lae’zel turned to Tavreus. “Which room is Raphael in?” she asked, her voice echoing slightly as they climbed another set of carpeted stairs.
Tavreus felt a fresh wave of embarrassment. “I... I don’t actually know,” he admitted, and winced at Lae’zel ‘Chk’.
As they walked down the verandah. They passed a door that stood out from the rest with a plaque boldly declaring “Devil's Den.” Tavreus raised an eyebrow, pointing at the door. “This must be it.”
Before they could knock, the door slammed open, and Kith’rak Voss stormed out, his eyes immediately locking onto Tavreus and Lae’zel. “Lae’zel, T'lak'ma Ghir—that devil holds the key to freeing the Gith people. Right here, right now, you could seal our fate. Please listen to his offer.”
From within the room, Raphael’s voice carried out, smooth and inviting. “Come in Tavreus. I had been hoping you would come by.”
Stepping into the room, They were met with Raphael’s slight frown. “Lae’zel, a pleasure to see you too. But alas, I am only meeting potential clients one at a time. You can go and speak to the Kith'rak. He seems to enjoy talking.”
With a nod from Tavreus, Lae’zel reluctantly left, her parting whisper carrying a promise of proximity and protection. “I will be nearby if you need me.”
Alone with Raphael, Tavreus felt the gravity of the moment. The room, aptly named for the dealings that took place within its walls, held an air of inevitability. As the door closed behind Lae’zel, Tavreus steeled himself for the conversation ahead, aware that the decisions made in this “Devil's Den” could alter the course of their journey in ways he could scarcely imagine.