6. The Emerald Grove
The next tenday blurred as the four of them traveled through the Western Heartlands, grateful that they had not sprouted tentacles just yet. Together, they wandered the wilderness following rumors of healers and strange magic, hoping something might offer a cure for the parasites in their heads.
Instead, they found trouble and dead ends. A nest of redcaps in a swamp. A hag who claimed she could help until it became obvious she was toying with them. A wandering monster hunter who Astor stabbed through the throat before the man finished introducing himself. Packs of gnolls. Too many gnolls.
Through all of it, Astor carefully positioned himself at the center of every decision. He chose which road to follow, when to stop for the night, and which rumors were worth chasing. Kal rarely paid enough attention to object and Shadowheart watched carefully but allowed it. Night frequently had differing opinions, but after numerous back-and-forths, she couldn’t refute Astor’s reasoning and reluctantly went along with his choices.
In the evenings, they would find secluded areas to make camp. Kal would then leave camp to hunt, dragging back game large enough to feed them all, though his definition of game wasn’t always appetizing.
If Astor didn’t find suitable opportunities during their daily battles to discreetly drink his fill of blood, he would also slip away from camp to hunt before bed. He made sure to explain his absences as scouting the area, clearing nearby beasts to ensure they wouldn’t be disturbed as they got their much needed rest.
Some nights, they had an extra camp companion. The robed figure who introduced himself as Withers appeared at their campsite without warning, joining their nightly routine without comment.
When they were particularly injured, Withers would use healing magic on them. When they asked him questions, he would answer with riddles, and then ask strange ones of his own. By morning, he would be gone. They’ve stopped trying to make sense of it.
Between the fights and the rest stops, they sought out traveling merchants to refill their supplies. Night and Shadowheart inspected each cart for spell components and rations, while Kal was always on the lookout for interesting trinkets to buy.
Astor acquired several sets of clothing and a bag of holding with money politely borrowed from Night. And though he had numerous chances to purchase a bedroll and a tent, he had let each opportunity pass him by. Each evening, he simply returned to Night’s demiplane and claimed the couch. Soon, various personal belongings of his took up permanent residence in Night’s living room.
Having his own tent would grant him privacy, but proximity to Night proved far more valuable. He had a simple plan: acquire a powerful archmage and keep her firmly on his side. Act friendly. Make her laugh. Become someone she enjoyed having around. Soon enough, she would think of him as a trusted companion rather than a temporary ally.
Each evening, he initiated conversation with her about a variety of topics. Magic was always a safe one, and he could pluck any arcane book from her shelves and ask her about it.
He invited her to sit beside him on the couch, and she would then make them both a cup of tea. As they chatted, he made sure to give her enthusiastic responses, ensuring she enjoyed the nightly routine enough that it became a habit.
The party came across the Emerald Grove, a druid sanctuary hidden amongst tall cliffs and thick trees. This group of druids aligned themselves with the Emerald Enclave, an organization of druids and nature lovers who worshipped Silvanus, the God of Wild Nature.
Though for some reason, the grove was full of tiefling refugees who had just escaped from Avernus, the first layer of the Nine Hells.
Astor wrinkled his nose. The place reeked of brimstone and desperation, but at least the tieflings had wares for sale.
“You’re selling this for how much?” Astor stood in front of a tiefling merchant’s makeshift stall, holding up a doublet with ornate embroidery that caught the sun.
“Seventy gold pieces. It’s a steal for what it is. Avernian silk has natural heat resistance,” the merchant explained enthusiastically.
“It would look good on you,” Shadowheart said, admiring the needlework.
Astor fiddled with the coins in his pocket. “I think I’ll pass.” Between the gold he borrowed from Night and the coins he looted from enemies, he didn’t have enough to be spending frivolously.
Night leaned in to Astor and spoke quietly. “The heat resistance wouldn’t be worth it. It’d be barely noticeable in combat.”
Kal peeked into a clay pot where several large pieces of meat were piled up high. He took a long sniff. “Mmmmm. What’s this?”
“You have a good nose, my friend. Cured hellboar ham. The best quality you’d find in Avernus! Only thirty gold pieces. But I’ll give you a discount if you buy two.”
“…I think you might need to lower your prices,” Shadowheart said. “People passing through here wouldn’t have enough gold for any of these.”
The merchant looked offended. “These are luxury items straight from the Nine Hells! I’m already offering them at a steep discount.”
“I’ll take two pieces of the ham,” Kal said distractedly. He was already eyeing another item for sale, a glassy black dagger with a red sheen and veins of scarlet. “What’s this dagger?”
The merchant clapped his hands happily, quickly shuffling next to Kal. “This is a one of a kind Infernal dagger, forged in Cania and enchanted with fire magic runes!”
Kal’s yellow eyes glowed brightly for a moment, his innate identification magic flaring. “I’ll take it,” he announced.
Astor, Night, Shadowheart and the merchant all stared at Kal, wide eyed.
“And, er, how will you be paying, saer?” The merchant asked cautiously, rubbing his hands.
Kal raised a hand, and a small, red portal ringed with flames materialized. He stuck both arms in, and after some rummaging, extracted an arm full of gold coins. He dumped them in a pile on the stall’s counter, leaning over to stack them. A few pieces fell to the ground.
The merchant’s eyes sparkled, and he moved to help pick up the dropped coins.
Night immediately stepped closer. “Hey, Kal, what was that portal? Was it a demicache?”
“It’s my storage,” Kal explained, counting the coins.
“That’s quite useful, being able to open a portal to your own pocket dimension from anywhere. How did you learn that spell?” Night asked.
Kal shook his head. “I don’t remember.”
Astor, meanwhile, stood dazed as he eyed the coins. He had caught a glimpse of the inside of Kal’s portal, had seen the piles of gold and gems and treasure chests in his hoard. His eyes moved to Kal’s back, and then to the coins he was counting. He understood why adventurers risked their lives to plunder dragon lairs.
After the purchase was settled, the group walked further into the enclave. Kal had a ham in one hand, and the dagger in the other.
“Here,” Kal said. He stepped in front and pushed the infernal dagger into Astor’s hands. “For you, dear leader.”
“What?” Astor blinked, caught completely off guard. He turned the curved dagger around in his hand. Silver runes were inscribed down its blade and the dark metal reflected in the sun with a red tint. “You bought this for me? Why?”
Kal had a simple answer. “If you’re going to represent us, you need to look the part. Your current dagger is an embarrassment. Use this one instead.”
“Excuse me?” Astor blurted out. “I mean…er.” He griped the dagger. “…Thank you.”
Kal flashed him a wide grin. Then he turned his attention to his ham.
“Wow,” Night said, whistling in approval. “A dragon paid from his cache for you. That’s flattering.”
“Is this made of infernal iron?” Shadowheart gasped as she grabbed Astor’s wrist to bring the dagger to her face for a better look. “How much did this cost, Kal?!”
Kal shrugged. He muttered something indiscernible through a mouthful of ham.
The group asked around the grove for healers who might have knowledge about mind flayer tadpoles. This led them to the very heart of the encampment, an inner sanctum created in a system of caverns. Deep within the tunnels, a dwarven druid named Nettie agreed to take a look at their predicament.
Food wasn’t allowed in the clinic, so Kalsarin, still stuffing his face, waited outside with Shadowheart for company.
Once inside, Astor and Nightingale sat down in Nettie’s office. Night gave Nettie an overview of their situation, much more info than Astor would have been comfortable revealing. He clicked his tongue in disapproval.
“There has been an increase in people with the parasite in their heads. It is supposed to be a rare occurrence, but the cases recently all seem connected,” Nettie said.
“So do you know how to remove them?” Night asked.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Nettie stood and moved to her work bench, opening cabinets and drawers, searching for something. When she came back, she gestured to Night. “Give me your wrist.”
Night obliged, holding out her arm. In one swift motion, Nettie pricked her with a stick full of thorns.
“Ow, what the—“ Night withdrew her arm, rubbing the spot. Her veins were turning green at the wound, and spreading quickly up her arm. She paled, her breathing quickening.
Astor jumped up and grabbed Night’s wrist, pulling her into his arms. Night gave a surprised yelp.
“You!” Astor pointed at Nettie. “What did you do?!”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for her. The poison will take an hour to spread, and then it’ll be like falling asleep.”
“What—“ Night began, wide eyed.
“You’re trying to kill her,” Astor realized. “I thought you were a healer!”
“There is no cure for the parasite. A swift death is the most logical treatment,” Nettie explained. She wore an apologetic expression, and leaned forward in a small bow.
“I’m sorry, what gives you any right to decide this?” Astor said, his temper rising. “I need this woman alive.”
“She is going to die soon regardless. It’s better that it be now, rather than losing herself as a mind flayer.”
Nettie gestured to a door behind her. “If you want, you can leave her here so you don’t have to watch.”
“Wow, this can’t be legal,” Night muttered.
Astor snapped. Stalking forward, his voice dropped, mind magic weaving through his words as he suggested: “Give me the antidote to the poison.”
Nettie’s eyes glowed pink as his words threaded through her mind. Her eyelids drooped. She turned and rummaged behind her, then she held out a vial to Astor.
He grabbed it, immediately uncorking it, handing it to Night.
Nettie snapped out of the enchantment. “Ah. Wait. You can’t do that!” She stood up, pointing the barbed stick towards Astor aggressively. “Think of all the people she’ll kill!”
As Astor watched Night drink the antidote, he saw the green in her veins recede. He breathed a sigh of relief.
He turned to Nettie. “She won’t be turning into a mind flayer. And even if she does, I’ll be the one to kill her.”
“Can you promise me that?” Nettie looked at him seriously, her arms crossed.
“I don’t need to promise you anything,” Astor replied. “We’re done here.” He turned and grabbed Night’s arm, dragging her towards the door.
“And who’s going to kill you if you turn into a mind flayer too?” Night whispered to him.
“Shut your mouth, Night,” Astor hissed.
The entrance was blocked by a heavy stone door. There was no handle.
“Open it,” he growled at Nettie, his enchantment magic flaring.
Nettie’s eyes flashed pink again, but the glow dissipated quickly. “That won’t work on me twice,” she said. She moved in front of a lever on the wall. “I’m afraid I can’t let you leave.”
Astor glared at her, then at Night. She was already holding up one hand crackling faintly with lighting energy. He shook his head and put a finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet. The last thing he needed now was her noisy magic alerting the whole grove to their business.
His hand brushed his leg where his new dagger sat in its sheath. Time to try out Kal’s gift, he thought.
Beside him, Night was muttering an incantation under her breath, and from the corner of his eye he watched her trace a glowing sigil in the air behind them. He didn’t know what spell it was but he hoped she was not an idiot.
Nettie noticed, dating forward with her stick of thorns, attempting to slash at Night. Equipping his dagger, Astor parried Nettie’s strike, trying his best to keep the thorns away from him.
Suddenly, he felt Night’s magic expand around him and he felt a pressure on his ears. All sound abruptly vanished, and he realized they were in a silence barrier.
Nettie opened her mouth to cast a spell, but nothing came out. Panic flashed across her face, and she positioned her stick in front of her defensively.
Astor lunged, the black dagger in his grip, its runes flared with red light and fire bursted from the glassy black blade. A tower of flames engulfed the dagger, and Astor swung it with precision, slicing Nettie’s arm and causing her to drop the stick of thorns. Her screams were lost in the silence aura.
Unarmed and mute, Nettie posed no threat at close range. Astor felled her easily, his blade burning her with each strike. She collapsed on the floor.
Night dismissed her barrier, approaching Astor. “That’s quite the weapon Kal bought you.”
“Could you dispose of the body?” Astor asked casually as he inspected his dagger.
Night gave him a smirk and nodded. She dug around her pouch for a lodestone, casting a spell that caused Nettie’s body to disintegrate into a pile of dust. Grabbing a broom that leaned against the wall, she swept the dust into a corner.
Astor watched all of this with some sort of twisted fascination. “You seem used to this,” he remarked.
“Well, yeah, I did work for a god,” Night said, like that explained everything. Then she went back to sweeping.
“What exactly did your work for Mystra involve?”
“I worked in the Epic Magic division under her subordinate god Azuth, the Lord of Spells,” Night explained cheerfully, though there was a hint of bitterness she couldn’t hide. “Half of it was a desk job, in his tower in Mystra’s realm, Dweomerheart, but I was also dispatched to the field to enforce Epic Magic usage amongst mortals. You know, mortals aren’t allowed to use Epic Magic, so I am sent to stop them.”
“Meaning…?’
“Warning them. Convincing them,” Night said thoughtfully. “Or destroying their research or magic items or lab. Whatever it takes to rein them in.”
“And what if that’s not enough?” Astor asked. “Or they fight back?”
“Then I kill them. Obviously.”
“Ah.”
Astor tried to hurry the group out of the grove, but there was a commotion by the door of the entrance cave. There was yelling and heated discussions between many of the druids. In the middle of the room on the stone floors lay the unmoving body of a tiefling child.
“What happened?” Astor whispered to Kal and Shadowheart.
“The kid stole some artifact of the druids, and they punished her. That snake there bit her,” Kalsarin explained.
“I think she’s dead,” Shadowheart said quietly, shaking her head. “They’re supposed to be druids, yet they’re here killing people.”
Astor chuckled. “They’re hypocrites. Let me tell you what happened once we’re back at camp.”
They quickly and quietly left the grove while the druids were busy with their own drama.
The group had set up camp at a clearing a ways away from the grove—Astor wanted them as far away as possible. But with the amount of internal turmoil amongst the druids, they probably wouldn’t realize Nettie was dead for a while.
The moon was up and the stars were out. There was a light breeze in the air, and the smoke from their campfire was blown across the treetops.
“So that’s what happened,” Night said, having described everything that occurred with Nettie. She tore a piece of meat off the skewer with her teeth, and then stuck the rest of the skewer back near the fire.
“I can’t believe the healer tried to kill you,” Shadowheart said, appalled.
“Wow,” Kal replied, shaking his head. “Druids and their poisons. I’m sure that child is going to waste too, if the snake poison is what killed her. Her meat wouldn’t be appetizing anymore.”
Shadowheart made a disgusted face. She didn’t want to judge Kal’s choices in food but she also didn’t enjoy hearing about it. “Anyway, this owlbear is surprisingly delicious, Kal. It’s very tender. I never would have guessed.”
“Do you know why it’s so soft?” Kal asked, grinning mischievously.
Shadowheart shook her head, her mouth full of meat.
“It’s a baby owlbear. I ate the mother and processed the baby meat for your meal.”
“Uh—“ Shadowheart paused and then stared at the meat in silence. Then she swallowed, and took another bite.
Night laughed hard.
Astor returned to camp silently. He was away for a nightly hunt, managing to find a boar and draining it dry. This area had plenty of wild game, and it was enough to keep him satisfied between the meals of thinking blood he snuck in during their battles.
He immediately went to Night’s tent to clean up. Water dripped from his silver curls—he hadn’t dried them yet, not wanting his absence to arouse suspicion.
Approaching the group, he walked into view, the light of the campfire lighting up his features.
“Welcome back,” Night said. “I made you a skewer. Here.” She handed him a grilled skewer. “It’s owlbear meat. Have you ever had owlbear before?“
Between chunks of meat there were also vegetables they had foraged. He didn’t know what they were.
“Er—“ Astor looked down at the skewer in his hand. Continuously rejecting their offers of food would be too suspicious. He didn’t have a choice. He took a bite, and chewed, giving a thoughtful expression. “Oh, it’s not bad. Is this what Kal caught tonight?”
“Yup!” Kal said proudly. “The mother put up one heck of a fight. Look at this gash I got on my shoulder. Though it’s already almost healed.”
Truthfully, Astor couldn’t taste much from the skewer. Since becoming a vampire, all food tasted off to him. Mostly like sand or dirt, and he could only gain sustenance from blood. Even his beloved wine tasted mostly like vinegar.
He forced himself to finish the skewer.
Night immediately shoved another skewer into Astor’s hand. “Enjoyed that, did you? You should eat more, Astor.”
Astor cursed internally, but he smiled and said his thanks.