Baldur's gate 3... The Illithid War 5 chapters

The temple

The temple looms ahead, its ancient stone walls cracked and overgrown with vines. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and decay, and the faint sound of dripping water echoes from within. Shadowheart leads the way, her movements cautious but determined. Lae’zel follows close behind, her sharp eyes scanning for threats. You bring up the rear, your senses on high alert.

As you step inside, the dim light filtering through the broken roof reveals a cavernous hall, its walls adorned with faded murals and crumbling statues. The atmosphere is heavy with history—and something else. Something darker.

Lae’zel strides ahead, her tone dismissive. “This place is a ruin. What do you hope to find here, half-elf?”

Shadowheart doesn’t look back. “Answers. Or at least a place to regroup. Unless you’d rather stay out there and wait for more of those creatures to find us.”

Lae’zel snorts but says nothing. You, however, can’t resist a little teasing. “You know, Lae’zel,” you say, your tone light, “for someone who’s always talking about strength and honor, you sure do complain a lot.”

She turns to glare at you, her golden eyes narrowing. “I do not *complain*. I state facts. This place is a waste of time.”

You shrug, a smirk playing on your lips. “Maybe. But it’s better than standing around outside, waiting to be eaten by intellect devourers. Or are you just afraid of a little adventure?”

Her glare deepens, but there’s a flicker of something else in her expression—amusement, perhaps? “You have a strange way of speaking, istik. But do not mistake my tolerance for weakness. I am not afraid of anything.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” you reply, your tone teasing. “But I have to admit, it’s kind of refreshing to see you out of your element. The great Lae’zel, brought low by a bunch of tieflings and a rusty cage.”

She steps closer, her voice low and dangerous. “Careful, istik. You tread on thin ice.”

You hold up your hands in mock surrender. “Just saying. You’re not exactly the picture of githyanki perfection right now.”

For a moment, she looks like she might strangle you. But then, to your surprise, she smirks. “You are bold. Foolish, but bold. Perhaps there is hope for you yet.”

Shadowheart, who has been watching the exchange with a raised eyebrow, finally interjects. “If you two are quite finished, we have more pressing matters to attend to.”

You glance at her, your smirk widening. “Jealous, Shadowheart?”

She rolls her eyes. “Hardly. But if you’re going to flirt, at least do it quietly. We’re not exactly in the safest place.”

Lae’zel snorts. “Flirt? Do not be absurd. I have no interest in such trivialities.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Trivialities? Come on, Lae’zel. Admit it. You’re starting to like me.”

She glares at you again, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Do not push your luck, istik.”

As the three of you move deeper into the temple, the atmosphere grows heavier. The walls seem to close in, and the air is thick with the scent of something ancient and forgotten. Shadowheart pauses at a set of large, ornate doors, her expression thoughtful.

“This is it,” she says. “Whatever we’re looking for, it’s behind these doors.”

Lae’zel steps forward, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. “Then let us not waste any more time.”

You nod, your playful demeanor fading as the gravity of the situation sets in. “Let’s do this.”

 

You open the door seeing...




A gang of people robbing the place

The heavy doors creak open, revealing a dimly lit chamber beyond. The air is thick with the scent of mildew and old stone, and the faint sound of whispered voices reaches your ears. You step inside, your eyes adjusting to the gloom, and the scene before you comes into focus.

A group of rough-looking individuals—armed with daggers, crowbars, and sacks—are busy ransacking the crypt. They’ve pried open ancient sarcophagi, scattering bones and relics across the floor. One of them holds a glowing amulet aloft, its light casting eerie shadows on the walls.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” you mutter, your hand instinctively reaching for your weapon.

Shadowheart steps up beside you, her expression grim. “Tomb raiders. Just what we needed.”

Lae’zel, ever the pragmatist, draws her sword. “They are in our way. We should deal with them quickly.”

Before you can respond, one of the raiders notices you. “Oi! We’ve got visitors!” he shouts, his voice echoing through the chamber. The rest of the gang turns, their weapons raised and their eyes narrowing in suspicion.

The leader, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, steps forward. “This is our score, friends. You’d best turn around and walk away if you know what’s good for you.”

You exchange a glance with Shadowheart and Lae’zel. “We could try talking our way out of this,” you suggest, though you already know what their responses will be.

Shadowheart shakes her head. “They’re not the negotiating type.”

Lae’zel smirks. “Finally, something worth fighting.”

The leader’s patience wears thin. “Last chance. Walk away, or we’ll make you regret it.”

You step forward, your tone calm but firm. “We’re not here for your loot. But if you don’t step aside, you’re going to regret it.”

For a moment, the raiders hesitate. Then the leader snarls, “Have it your way. Boys, take ‘em out!”

The fight begins in a blur of motion. The raiders charge, their weapons glinting in the dim light. Lae’zel meets them head-on, her sword a whirlwind of steel as she cuts through the first wave. Shadowheart hangs back, her hands glowing with radiant energy as she summons a burst of light that sends two raiders stumbling.

You dive into the fray, your makeshift weapon striking true. The raiders are tough, but they’re no match for the three of you. The leader, realizing he’s outmatched, tries to make a break for it, clutching the glowing amulet.

“Oh no, you don’t,” you mutter, sprinting after him. You tackle him to the ground, the amulet slipping from his grasp and skittering across the floor.

He struggles, but you pin him down, your blade at his throat. “Yield,” you say, your voice cold.

He glares up at you, but the fight has gone out of him. “Fine. You win. Just let me go.”

You glance back at Shadowheart and Lae’zel, who have finished off the rest of the raiders. Shadowheart picks up the amulet, her expression thoughtful. “This is no ordinary trinket,” she says. “It’s enchanted. Powerful.”

Lae’zel steps forward, her sword still in hand. “We should take it. It may be useful.”

You nod, releasing the leader and standing. “Get out of here,” you tell him. “And if I see you again, you won’t be so lucky.”

He scrambles to his feet, his bravado gone, and flees into the shadows. The chamber falls silent, save for the sound of your breathing.

Shadowheart examines the amulet more closely. “This could be what we’re looking for. Or at least a clue.”

Lae’zel crosses her arms. “Then let us not waste any more time. We have a cure to find.”

You glance at her, a smirk tugging at your lips. “You know, for someone who’s always in a hurry, you’re pretty good in a fight.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Do not mistake my efficiency for enthusiasm, istik. But… you are not entirely useless yourself.”

Shadowheart rolls her eyes. “If you two are quite finished, we should keep moving. This temple isn’t going to explore itself.”

You laugh, the tension of the fight easing. “Lead the way.”

What do you find inside?

A new friend

The amulet’s glow pulses faintly as you venture deeper into the crypt, its light revealing ancient carvings of forgotten gods and crumbling pillars draped in cobwebs. The air grows colder, and a faint hum of magic prickles against your skin. Shadowheart holds the amulet aloft, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“This way,” she says, gesturing toward a sealed stone door at the far end of the chamber. The door is etched with faded runes, and a rusted iron lock bars your path. Lae’zel steps forward, her sword raised, but you hold up a hand.

“Wait. Let’s try the amulet.”

Shadowheart nods, pressing the glowing artifact into a recess in the door. The runes flare to life, and the stone grinds open, revealing a hidden chamber beyond. Inside, the walls are lined with dusty sarcophagi, and at the center of the room sits a single, ornate coffin—its lid slightly ajar.

Before you can take another step, a voice echoes from the shadows, dry and rasping like parchment. “Thou hast disturbed mine slumber. Yet… thou art not mere grave-robbers. Curious.”

A skeletal figure emerges from the darkness, draped in tattered robes that seem to shift and shimmer unnaturally. His hollow eye sockets glow with a faint blue light, and his bony fingers clutch a gnarled staff.

Lae’zel snarls, raising her sword. “What foul undead abomination is this?”

The figure tilts his skull, unperturbed. “I am Withers, keeper of this crypt. And thou… thou art touched by the parasite. A most intriguing predicament.”

Shadowheart tenses, her hand drifting to her dagger. “You know about the tadpoles?”

“Indeed,” Withers intones, his voice echoing with grim amusement. “The illithid’s kiss is a burden few bear for long. Yet thou seekest a cure. A futile endeavor… for now.”

You step forward, your curiosity overriding your caution. “Can you help us?”

Withers’ skeletal jaw creaks into something resembling a smile. “Help? Nay. But I may offer… services. For a trifling fee, I can return the fallen to life. Or alter the threads of fate that bind thee to thy chosen path.”

Lae’zel scoffs. “You speak in riddles, corpse. What use are your 'services' to us?”

“All mortals meet their end,” Withers replies, his tone infuriatingly calm. “But for thee, death need not be permanent. And should thou wish to reshape thy skills, thy very essence… I can unravel and reweave it.”

Shadowheart narrows her eyes. “You’re a necromancer.”

“A custodian of equilibrium,” Withers corrects, his staff tapping the ground with a hollow *clack*. “Life, death, rebirth—such forces are mine to… mediate.”

You cross your arms, skeptical. “Why offer this to us?”

The blue light in his sockets flares. “Thou art entangled in a tapestry of great import. The Absolute’s rise, the illithid’s scheming… and that artifact thou carry.” His gaze flicks to Shadowheart’s pack. “I would see how this thread unravels.”

A cold silence falls over the chamber. Shadowheart’s hand tightens around her pack, but she says nothing.

Finally, you break the tension. “So, you’ll follow us? Just like that?”

“For now,” Withers says, his robes billowing as he steps fully into the light. “My interests align with thine. And death… is patient.”

Lae’zel grumbles, sheathing her sword. “A skeleton as an ally. How… quaint.”

Withers ignores her, turning to you. “When thou art ready to cheat death—or thy own nature—seek me. But remember: all things have their price.”

With that, he dissolves into a swirl of shadows, leaving the crypt colder and heavier with unspoken truths.

Shadowheart shivers. “I don’t trust him.”

“Nor I,” Lae’zel adds. “But if he proves useful, we will endure his presence.”

You glance at the empty space where Withers stood, the amulet’s glow dimming in your hand. “Let’s keep moving. We’ve got bigger problems than a chatty skeleton.”

As you leave the crypt, the weight of Withers’ words lingers. The road ahead is darker than ever—but at least now, you’re not entirely alone.

You...

Walk out of the temple

The amulet’s glow dims as you emerge from the crypt, the midday sun glaring harshly over the war-torn landscape. Withers lingers in the shadows behind you, his presence unsettling but silent. Ahead, the ruins of the temple give way to a rocky ravine, where the distant clash of steel and shouts echo through the air.

“More fighting,” Lae’zel growls, her hand tightening on her sword. “Let us avoid it. We have no time for distractions.”

But Shadowheart frowns, her gaze sharp. “Wait—those aren’t intellect devourers. Those are voices. Survivors, maybe.”

Before you can decide, a roar splits the air—not of pain, but of defiance. A voice booms, rough and vibrant: “Come on, then! I’ll take all of you!”

You exchange glances and sprint toward the sound. Rounding a jagged outcrop, you spot her: a towering tiefling woman with crimson skin, her horns curling like flames. She’s surrounded by a squad of cultists, their black-and-gold robes marking them as followers of the Absolute.

Karlach swings a massive greataxe, its blade wreathed in embers. The weapon cleaves through a cultist’s shield, sending splinters flying. “That all you got?!” she taunts, her laughter wild and infectious.

But even her strength is flagging. A cultist lands a glancing blow on her shoulder, and she staggers, her axe dipping.

“Now that’s someone I want on our side,” you mutter, drawing your weapon.

Lae’zel snorts. “She is reckless. But… formidable.”

You charge into the fray. Shadowheart’s magic illuminates the battlefield as Lae’zel cuts through cultists with lethal precision. Karlach glances at you, her golden eyes blazing. “About time someone showed up! Let’s make this quick—I’ve got plans tonight!”

Together, you dismantle the cultists. Karlach’s axe leaves trails of fire in its wake, and her laughter rings out with each strike. When the last cultist falls, she plants her axe in the ground, breathing heavily but grinning.

“Thanks for the assist,” she says, wiping ash from her brow. “Name’s Karlach. And you lot look like you’ve seen the wrong end of a mind flayer ship too.”

Shadowheart eyes her warily. “You’re infected.”

Karlach taps her temple, her smile fading. “Yep. Little wriggler in my skull, same as you. Been trying to track down a healer, but all I’ve found are Absolute fanatics and idiots with swords.”

You cross your arms, sizing her up. “We’re looking for a cure. Strength in numbers. You in?”

She hesitates, then barks a laugh. “Why not? Better than dying alone. But fair warning—I’m not great at following orders.”

Lae’zel steps forward, her tone icy. “You will follow orders if you wish to survive.”

Karlach leans on her axe, unimpressed. “Oh, you’re fun. Let’s get one thing straight: I fight my way, or I don’t fight at all. Got it?”

You step between them, suppressing a grin. “We’ll work it out. Welcome to the team, Karlach.”

“Cheers, soldier,” she says, slapping your shoulder with a force that nearly knocks you over. “Now, where to next? More cultists to smash? Temples to loot?”

Shadowheart nods toward the horizon. “There’s a settlement nearby. Rumor says a healer lives there—someone who knows about mind flayer parasites.”

Karlach’s grin returns. “Perfect. Let’s go kick some Absolute arse along the way.”

As the group moves out, Karlach falls into step beside you, her energy infectious. “So, you the leader of this ragtag bunch? Bet you’ve got stories.”

You smirk. “Depends. You got any good ones?”

“Oh, loads. Did I ever tell you about the time I fought a dragon with my bare hands? Well, almost…”

Lae’zel groans. “Do not encourage her.”

Karlach winks. “Don’t worry, greenie. I’ll make a firebrand out of you yet.”

Shadowheart rolls her eyes, but even she hides a smile. With Karlach’s laughter echoing through the ruins, the road ahead feels a little less hopeless.

Before meeting with the healer...

You make camp for the night

The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. You decide to make camp in a sheltered grove, the crackling fire casting a warm glow over the makeshift tents. Each of your companions retreats to their own space, leaving you to wander the camp and check in with them.

Shadowheart’s Tent

Shadowheart’s tent is modest but orderly, with a small shrine to Shar set up in the corner. The dark goddess’s symbol glints in the firelight, and Shadowheart kneels before it, her eyes closed in silent prayer.

You clear your throat, and she looks up, her expression guarded. “Can I help you?”

You sit across from her, your tone gentle. “Just wanted to see how you’re holding up. You’ve been quiet since we left the crypt.”

She sighs, her fingers brushing the artifact in her pack. “It’s… complicated. This artifact—it’s more than just a trinket. It’s tied to my past. My purpose.”

“Care to elaborate?”

She hesitates, then shakes her head. “Not yet. Let’s just say I have obligations. To my goddess. To my cloister. And now, to this… *thing*.”

You nod, respecting her boundaries. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Her lips curve into a faint smile. “You’re surprisingly optimistic for someone with a mind flayer tadpole in their head.”

“Someone’s got to be,” you reply, grinning.

She chuckles softly. “Get some rest. Tomorrow won’t be any easier.”

Lae’zels Tent

Lae’zel’s tent is sparse, reflecting her no-nonsense attitude. She sits cross-legged, sharpening her sword with meticulous precision. Her golden eyes flick up as you approach.

“What do you want?” she asks, her tone clipped.

You sit across from her, unfazed. “Just checking in. You’ve been quiet too.”

She scoffs. “Silence is a warrior’s ally. Unlike some, I do not feel the need to fill the air with pointless chatter.”

“Fair enough,” you say, leaning back. “But even warriors need to rest. What’s on your mind?”

She pauses, her blade stilling. “This… *delay* frustrates me. Every moment we waste is another step closer to ceremorphosis. My people would have already found a creche and purged the parasite.”

“Your people aren’t here,” you point out. “We are. And we’ll get through this.”

Her gaze softens, just a fraction. “You are… persistent. I will grant you that.”

You smirk. “And you’re not as tough as you pretend to be.”

Her eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of amusement. “Do not mistake my tolerance for weakness, istik.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you reply, standing. “Get some rest, Lae’zel. We’ll need you at your best tomorrow.”

Karlach’s Tent

Karlach’s tent is a chaotic mess of weapons, armor, and random trinkets. She’s lounging on a pile of furs, her greataxe propped against the tent pole. When you enter, she grins and pats the space beside her.

“Hey, soldier! Come to keep me company?”

You sit down, laughing. “Someone’s got to make sure you don’t burn the camp down.”

“Ha! Fair point,” she says, tossing you a flask. “Here. You look like you need a drink.”

You take a swig, the liquid burning your throat. “What’s your story, Karlach? How’d you end up here?”

Her grin falters, and she looks into the fire. “Long story short? I was a soldier. Fought in a lot of battles, made a lot of enemies. When the mind flayers took me, I thought it was the end. But now… I’ve got a second chance. And I’m not wasting it.”

“Sounds like you’ve been through a lot,” you say, handing the flask back.

“Yeah, well, life’s a fight,” she replies, her tone lighter. “But I’ve got my axe, my wits, and now… this ragtag bunch. Could be worse.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Ragtag? I’m hurt.”

She laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “You’re all right, soldier. Just don’t let Lae’zel hear me say that.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you promise, standing. “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s another day for smashing cultists.”

“Can’t wait,” she says, her grin returning. “Night, soldier.”

The Campfire

As you return to the fire, the weight of the day settles over you. Each of your companions carries their own burdens, their own secrets. But for now, the camp is quiet, the fire crackling softly under the stars.

You sit by the flames, staring into the embers. The road ahead is uncertain, but one thing is clear: you’re not alone.

Do you try to press your luck with one of the ladies?