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Despite the wet, cool interior of the once abandoned sanctum, Shadowheart’s face burned hot against the light of a threatening torch. The flames danced in close proximity, creating small beads of sweat against her forehead that pounded in a pain she was still becoming familiar with; it was the tadpole.
A connection had been established and her mind was being unraveled. Not entirely, though. Just enough for the visitor to make their presence known.
On the opposite side of the flame was Nightwarden Minthara, a distinguished figure in the Absolute’s ranks. She was as fierce as she was beautiful. Her voice oozed with prowess and confidence. It was clear that she was on the Sword Coast for some kind of mission. She sought answers, victory, and perhaps more. Definitely something more.
“Show me the druid grove.”
The demand had echoed through the walls of Shadowheart’s brain, bouncing around and trying to cling onto any surface. It left scrapes and bruises with every impact, causing the cleric to grimace intensely.
“If you really are a True Soul, why do you deny me in carrying out the Absolute’s will?” Minthara asked aloud.
Shadowheart shook her head lightly, as if to free herself from the drow’s grasp, but she could still feel her nails clinging onto the edges of her mind. It was an awful feeling, but one not entirely foreign to her. Being a worshiper of Shar and pledging one’s life to secrecy often meant that her memories existed as nothing more than a haze within the recesses of her consciousness. There was always something pulling her back, keeping her from the past with an intense strength. She had nothing but trust and faith within the Dark Lady, but-
“Focus, Half-Elf! The grove is our priority right now, not your religious qualms,” the Nightwarden exclaimed with a snap of her fingers.
Shadowheart’s brow pinched together as her eyes locked with Minthara’s. It was easy to get lost within those enticing pools of crimson. There was so much to read in them; pain, enjoyment, and, especially, desire. The more she stared into them, the more she wanted to know. It was definitely peculiar, but something she couldn’t give much thought to… the drow was interrogating her, after all.
“I haven’t seen anything related to any Druids within the Sword Coast. In fact, I was on my way to Baldur’s Gate when your companions attacked me,” Shadowheart lied.
She forced Minthara’s presence forward, to the forefront of her mind, in an attempt to block off her access. She had passed through the Emerald Grove, and although she didn’t particularly consider the Druids allies, the promise of a cure by way of the Cultists’ prisoner, Halsin, was enough to keep their interests aligned. She wasn’t always the best at making decisions for the needs of others, but lately she found herself trying to do more good than she was used to. Perhaps a side effect of the tadpole. Wretched thing.
The Absolutist raised her eyebrow. Shadowheart read the expression as one of being impressed, yet there were also hints of annoyance. It was evident that Minthara was reacting to the cleric’s attempts to sever their connection. Hells, it seemed like she was perhaps even humoring it.
“Ah, True Soul, as resistant as you may be, I still have my ways of extracting the information I want,” Minthara smiled wickedly, leaning forward. Her presence now seemed larger, occupying as much space around Shadowheart as she could. Quite the intimidation tactic.
The Shar Worshipper kept her gaze solid and unwavering, trying to sell her unbothered spirit and demeanor. Although, the truth was, she was nervous. She didn’t want to let her mind slip and bring about the deaths of so many innocent people. She didn’t want to let the drow know that she was getting under her skin. All her secrets were buried within the darkest parts of her memory, but there’s no doubt in her mind that if Minthara went looking hard enough, she’d find them. However, the thing she definitely didn’t want to let slip was how flustered she was.
Minthara began to brandish her dagger from its place at her hip. The speed in which she did so was slow, meticulous, as if to send an unspoken message to Shadowheart; this is your last chance to cooperate before things turn violent. The wicked smile was gone from the cultist’s face and was replaced by a stern frown. Shadowheart could tell that this was the last thing the drow wanted to do and being forced to such measures truly irked her. Or perhaps she was the one being irksome. As her mind wandered in its attempt to understand her interrogator, her eyes did not shift from the blade, now fully brandished and reflecting the orange flicker of the flames around them.
Within an instant, Minthara pounced towards the cleric, pinning her back to the stone. Her hand swung up to settle the dagger against the cleric’s pale neck. A gasp echoed throughout the sanctum as the half-elf’s air left her lungs. The cultist bared her teeth at Shadowheart and roared with broken patience, “Last chance, True Soul!” Her breathing was heavy and angry.
The title the Nightwarden had placed on Shadowheart made her uncomfortable. It left a sting in her brain that dissipated into a dull static as if, through their connection, Minthara was inflicting pain just for the sake of submission. As this thought entered her head, she couldn’t help but look down at the dagger and confirm her own suspicions.
With a firm conviction in her clenched throat, Shadowheart reminded the drow, “I’ve already told you, I know nothing about a damned grove!” The snarl across Minthara’s face intensified as he applied more force into the blade. A sharp tinge crawled across Shadowheart’s neck, then a small, warm tickle danced its way down onto the collar of her armor. Despite the little bit of enjoyment she was having at Minthara’s expense, the cleric knew that she was reaching a breaking point.
That familiar sting and pull caused by their unfortunate mental tether rang through Shadowheart’s skull once again. That grimace across the drow’s face slowly contorted into a wicked smile, one birthed from gained knowledge and reassurance. “What’s the matter, Cleric? Afraid that you’ll die here? Don’t you trust me?” She said slyly. There was no denying it; Shadowheart was afraid to die and now that truth was in the hands of Minthara. Along with that damned dagger. As far as the trust goes, the foundations in which that stood were already paper thin…
“If your memories are blocked from my grasp, perhaps I can reach elsewhere…” the Nightwarden almost whispered to herself inquisitively, as if to reinforce her own train of thought. She was indeed an intelligent woman, yet that truth has often been bogged down by the company of sniveling goblins who couldn’t tell the difference between a griffon and a chimera. True imbeciles.
“Our emotions are entwined like the webs of a spider, ever branching, yet ever connected,” Minthara hissed. “You can’t lie to me now, half-elf!”
She was absolutely right. Within an instant Shadowheart was able to feel the drow move through her mind, her presence made clear through every motion as a symphony of pain danced along the threads of that tangled web they were both ensnared in. Each pluck and vibration brought up pure emotion to the surface only to get tangled and torn free by the likes of the Nightwarden. The pain caused Shadowheart to twitch, allowing the dagger to leave a clean, fresh line of crimson along her neck. She was being accosted both physically and mentally, and it was enough to drive her mad.
“Is that fear, I taste?” Sneered Minthara, her lips light parted into a soft grin.
“Get out of my head!”
“Not until I have what I want,” she continued to push, plucking more into the tortured woman’s head.
“Get your damned answers and leave me be!,” Shadowheart wailed.
“Just a little further…” Hummed the drow.
Then, a weight had made itself known within the center of their web. It was Minthara. She made her way to the apex of their connection, every thread wrapped around her devious fingers, all at her disposal. Shadowheart wished she could fear this development, but she knew it would only play right into the cultist’s scheme. She simply swallowed, careful to avoid the blade’s edge.
“Oh my, what a feeling this is. It’s all here, every bit of your mind as well as every corner of my own,” Minthara grinned, “and it’s truly marvelous”
The cleric simply stared back at her.
She felt no need for words or outward displays of emotion as the drow already had access to these thoughts before they could even properly form. She was ensnared in this web like prey. Yet, Minthara wasn’t quite ready to feast just yet. She enjoyed playing with her food.
“Anger, dishonesty, and a thirst for retribution,” the Nightwarden’s eyes rolled back into a pleasured expression. She was enjoying this more than Shadowheart could know. “What a wonderful taste, indeed”
The dagger began to quiver slightly against the half-elf's skin, the product of a loosened grip. However, she knew better than to even manifest any kind of counterattack, as Minthara was already steps ahead. She sat in frustration, stuck between her blade and the wall.
A brief flash of memories played itself back at the forefront of Shadowheart’s mind, the little that she could remember being replayed with the intention of some sort of self reflection. She couldn’t help but think about how lovely a glass of wine would be at the moment. A nice suppressant to dull the length of this tortuous death. Her mind wandered into far recesses she wasn’t even sure existed. Laughter, pride, and determination, all swelling in her chest from the memories of the past few days. Hells, maybe if the circumstances were different and she had that aforementioned wine, she’d maybe even be enjoying this to some extent.
Shit.
The cleric’s eyes fluttered down to Minthara, who’s grip on the dagger had weakened even further to this point. She could tell that all of those thoughts and emotions had been previewed by the Nightwarden. Her eyes were intense one second, then large and full of surprise by the next. Even her cheeks looked to brighten to a soft shade of magenta.
She was blushing.
Yes, Minthara and her were technically enemies, but her large and powerful personality made her quite attractive. Within the moments that had passed, from their initial introduction to now, Shadowheart admired every aspect of her orchid skin, bleached hair, and sultry voice. Perhaps the adoration was hidden by the promise of death and torture, but it was there all the same.
“Seems like you may have pushed too far, drow,” Shadowheart proclaimed with a cocked eyebrow.
She had no embarrassment to display. With her secretive nature, the truth was always easy to deliver when she wanted.
“I…You… How dare you!,” Minthara snarled, leaning her face closer to the half-elf, dropping the dagger back to her side.
Their noses were now nearly a few inches apart. The heat from the angered breaths of the drow knocked aggressively against the cleric’s skin, almost perspiring. Minthara’s orchid hands clutched so tightly around Shadowheart’s collar they turned pale. She hadn’t noticed the dagger clatter against the stone floor. The entirety of her vision was consumed by an explosive bashfulness, trying its best to be suppressed behind an illegitimate anger. Before Shadowheart could think of her next move, the Nightwarden had already returned to her screaming.
“You two! Leave us this instant!” Minthara snarled at the two goblin guards keeping watch over this whole endeavor.
Honestly, she had forgotten they were there to begin with. As did Shaodwheart.
Without a question or resistance, the two goblins stammered away, occasionally shooting glances between each other and the two True Souls. They weren’t about to stick around to find out how it ended.
“You dare enjoy my torture, reduce me to some sort of visual pleasantry, and try to demean me?” Minthara had hissed through heavy breaths.
Shadowheart raised her eyebrow, “No, quite the opposite. If anything, it made me realize how strong and capable you are. You’d make for an interesting lover, in all honesty.” The remark left her lips with purpose, one to lower the Nightwarden’s guard and allow her to weasel her way out of this mess.
Minthara had dropped her head, lowering her eyes from her half-elf counterpart. It seemed to have been done in contemplation. There was no outburst, no attack, it was just an uncertain silence. Regardless, the grip on Shadowheart’s collar remained just as strong.
As the cleric looked down to try and study the drow’s next move, their Ilithid connection roared to life with a new intensity. Minthara had pushed her way through the depths of her mind, grabbed hold, and pulled her back in the opposite direction. The Nightwarden’s mind filled her with a sense of dread; it ran chills up and down the length of her spine. There was much to unpack within that void: anger, vengeance, uncertainty, and, somehow, fear. The vulnerability of it all shook Shadowheart to her core. It was so different from her closed-off nature but it was welcoming and confusing all at once. She couldn’t help but wonder why?
Although, at its center was reciprocation.
Minthara confirmed to Shadowheart that they weren’t necessarily allies nor enemies in the moment, she admired her all the same. There was a tension between them from the beginning and albeit for different reasons initially, there was still something electric, tangible. Maybe it was birthed through the small glances they shot each other as they traversed the Shattered Sanctum or the connection they shared, but it was alive now. It was real.
Minthara looked up unexpectedly through her brows to find the cleric still staring down at her, almost stunned. There were no words for either of them felt in that moment, but neither of them had to say a thing.
Without wanting to waste another moment, Minthara threw her lips into Shadowheart’s, pulling her closer into her. Shadowheart’s eyes widened with surprise, before slowly closing in pleasureful embrace. The half-elf’s arms, which had been braced against the rock wall behind her, dropped to the drow’s waist, wrapping her up.
The connection had amplified everything. Shadowheart swore she could feel the sensation of her own lips through Minathara’s mind, the heat rising within the drow’s body and herself. Every thought they shared echoed in the other’s ear like a lingering whisper, begging to be heard and repeated. Shadowheart could feel herself moving through the Nightwarden, almost puppeting her hands to scratch and claw at the latches of her armor. It was exhilarating.
Minthara leaned forward, intensifying their kissing before giving the cleric’s lower lip a playful bite.
“Ah, to Hells with the Druids. Tonight, you’re mine”