#I am now 90 hours into my second bg3 playthrough lol

[noa748]

Unnamed bg3 bunny (part 3)

Part 4 will have a title. Maybe.

[Part 2]

Ugh, I have had a sinus infection all week that finally seemed to be going away, except for the freaking headache that has been plaguing me all weekend. At least I managed to finally get some writing done.

ENJOY. This bunny is 12k words so far lol and I've covered like half an hour of gameplay???? GOD I ALWAYS DO THIS.

----

“Yes, of course. Lead the way and I shall follow,” Gale replied.

There was a moment’s pause, and I suddenly felt Shadowheart and Astarion staring. Seriously?! At this point I felt like my meat shield status was becoming something of a running joke. I could see it in their eyes.

I hate you both, I thought, smiling sweetly at them as I walked past to take the lead. I couldn’t help feel like this might be karmic retribution for my shithead behavior as a teenager.

Sorry, Regal. Sorry, Kratos.

Though I had hoped the paved path meant we were close to a town as Shadowheart mentioned, it took another hour of walking before it felt like we were making any headway. The first thing we encountered when we arrived at a fork in the road was a pair of bodies—a tall man and a very short, stocky one. A dwarf? No—something else. My vague knowledge of D&D told me there was a word for it, but I just couldn’t remember the name of the race.

“Lovely,” I muttered, walking up and staring down at the pool of blood coloring the ground beneath them. The corpses looked stiff, well into the late stages of rigor mortis. The killer was probably long gone.

“At least their heads aren’t cracked open,” Astarion commented. “Never imagined I’d be so happy to see a run of the mill mugging.”

Run of the mill? I wasn’t so sure. Both had been dispatched with a single clean diagonal strike, ribcage to jugular. I still bore the scar from a shallower version of that wound. To have killed both of them like that required skill, a heavy blade, and decisive speed.

“This wasn’t the work of a petty thief,” I said at length. I crouched by the taller of the two men, noticing a pouch poking out from beneath where the breast of his leather guard had been slashed. I pulled it out, giving it a light shake only to hear the telltale jingle of coin.

“Just for the joy of it, then? I can appreciate that.” The pale elf had bent down beside me, one hand tucking something away in his own pocket. I realized belatedly that he must have nicked the shorter man’s coin purse. He’d been quick enough about it that it made me wonder.

“Calculating as our illithid friends may be, I don’t imagine they exclude thieves and murderers from their abductions,” Gale remarked as he walked up. “Hard to say what sort of dark urges our fellow infected may be indulging. Best to proceed with utmost caution.”

Illithid. I mentally catalogued the word, as I had done with nautiloid and ceremorphosis earlier.

“This is the work of that Gith, no doubt,” Shadowheart said, venom in her tone.

“A Githyanki?” Surprise flashed across the wizard’s features.

“How fun,” Astarion remarked.

I could tell Shadowheart’s words were meant for me. I stared out at the road ahead, troubled. Could that woman really be the one responsible for this? Her prowess in battle would be helpful, but I hardly wanted to travel with someone who would indiscriminately slaughter anyone we met on the road the way she had cut down the imps on the ship.

I let out a sigh. “Well, hopefully if we run into her she’ll be feeling a little less stabby.”

Maybe none of it would matter. Without a cure, it wouldn’t be long before the concept of personal values ceased to exist.

Ceremorphosis, I thought bitterly. The great equalizer.

----

We came upon another sign of civilization: the ruins of an old chapel. Earlier, I had spotted the angular silhouette of its steeple poking out over the tree tops, thrown into harsh relief by the light of the setting sun. The discovery was disappointing in the end; we’d come all this way in the hopes of finding a village.

The most disappointing thing, though? The fact that the interior was already occupied by a bunch of looters that attacked us on sight.

To Gale’s credit, he was quick to step up and prove his earlier claims about being a skilled wizard. The first three bandits that came charging towards us were sent flying by a mere flick of his wrist and a few muttered words. The force that had blasted from the palm of his hand was enough to blow my hair back. Things dissolved into chaos after that.

The moment he was cornered, Astarion struck like a coiled snake, his dagger biting into throats with brutal efficiency. It was the sight of blood painting the stone floor that launched me out of my stunned stupor. Survival instinct took over and before I knew it, I was lunging into the fray.

It was over in a matter of minutes—eight bodies haphazardly scattered across the room. Three had been burnt till their skin was black, courtesy of Gale and Shadowheart. The air reeked of blood and charred flesh. Meanwhile, a fire crackled invitingly in the hearth and the table was set with a veritable feast of meats, cheeses and wine.

My stomach growled. I wanted to throw up.

There was a moment of thick tension as we all stood silent and waited to see if any more would come. No others came bursting through the open door at the far end of the room; we were alone.

Shadowheart coolly looked at each of us in turn and nodded, seeming satisfied that no one was injured beyond cuts and scrapes. Then she moved to start patting down the unburnt corpses.

“Unpleasant business, this,” Gale murmured, for once having little to say.

“On the contrary, I find my own survival to be quite pleasant.” Astarion wore a smile, but his words were sharp with irritation. Somehow he looked even paler than usual.

“Supplies and shelter,” Shadowheart commented as she picked up a small pack. “It’s a start.”

I pulled a rag off of a nearby shelf and began to slowly wipe my blade clean, trying to disguise the fact that my hands were shaking. I didn’t trust myself to speak just yet. The faces of the three people I killed flashed by in my mind’s eye. One of them had already been downed by Astarion; I just leapt in to finish the job, to stop them from getting up.

It was far from the first time I had killed someone. I lost count of how many lives I had taken back then. But so much time had passed… I had fooled myself into thinking I would never have to do it again.

I hated that it had been so easy.

You cannot simply wash away the bloodstains of those you kill. You bear the burden of every life you take.

Sheathing Kerberos, I tossed the bloody rag to the floor and let out a slow breath. Of course it had been easy—self-preservation was pure instinct. The aftermath… that was the hard part. Here was the stark reminder that even after all this time, the burden had never gotten any lighter. I had tried to crawl back into my old skin for thirteen years, to live a normal life, but every time I looked down I saw my dirtied hands.

I didn’t want my companions to see my internal turmoil, so I began to make my way up the set of steps that led to the door into the next room. Let them think I was just being the leader again, forging ahead. I really just needed a moment to myself.  

The doorway opened up into a wide central corridor, dimly lit with flickering candles. My footsteps echoed on the uneven floor as I stepped over pieces of stone that had crumbled away from ancient walls. A single torch lay on the floor near an open door to my left, still sputtering flame; I paused to pick it up.

The bandits had definitely made themselves at home here for a while. The door led into a small room that had clearly been lived in, if the bedrolls scattered about were any indication. There were even a couple of real beds pushed up against one wall, though the mattresses looked lumpy and moth-eaten.

A few personal effects caught my eye—a hair brush, an open book, a pair of shoes. My jaw tightened and I tore myself away from the room.

The corridor led to a single door that was guarded by a pair of imposing stone figures. Pushing the door open, I was startled to find a room lit with brilliant orange hues. The last light of the sunset shone through a hole in the high ceiling, bathing a statue on the far end of the chamber in an almost mystical glow.

The air had the distinctive musty, lightly sweet aroma of old books. As I walked past a set of massive stone pillars, my eyes fell upon the rows of bookcases lining the walls. Against one wall was a large stone table set up with a quill and inkpot, the shelf above it littered with countless scrolls.

I stared up at the statue. It was a bearded man in hooded robes, hands held out with his palms up in what looked like a gesture of offering. For a moment, I wondered what sort of deities were worshipped in this world. I personally didn’t throw my lot in with any one religion anymore—I was too jaded after the whole Cruxis debacle. That said, if a higher power could perform some kind of tadpole exorcising miracle right about now, I’d happily kiss their divine boots.

“It’s unusual to see surviving archives in a place like this.” Gale’s voice broke me out of my thoughts, and I looked over my shoulder to watch him approach.

He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath through his nose and letting it out in a contented sigh. “I do love the smell of aged parchment—a most welcome olfactory palate cleanser after putting bandits to rout, wouldn’t you say?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” I responded with a halfhearted smile. Then I turned my attention back to the statue, crouching a bit to wipe cobwebs from a plaque beneath it. The symbols etched on the metal were unrecognizable to me.

Footsteps drawing closer. The wizard came to a stop beside me and followed my gaze.

“Hmm. A dead tongue,” he remarked. “Whoever worshipped here must be long gone.”

“Guess they won’t mind if we camp here, then,” I responded, looking over my shoulder to eyeball a ring of stones positioned near one of the pillars, away from the bookcases—the remains of a campfire. The location of it made sense, given the ventilated ceiling in this room.

“I suppose not,” Gale agreed. “It’s hardly ideal… but then again, the same might be said for our present state of affairs.”

Echoing voices from the next room over drew my attention. From the tone, it sounded like Astarion was griping about something yet again, with Shadowheart providing input. I was briefly grateful they had trailed behind; I had needed the breather, and Gale at least felt a little less callous.

Not that I was one to talk. I got used to the killing before. I’d probably get used to it again. Especially if I turned… what was the word? Illithid.

 Something on the far wall caught my eye as I absently began to circle around the statue. At first glance it appeared to be a human skull, its smooth surface gleaming in the fiery light of the sunset.

That probably doesn’t bode well, I thought dryly, but morbid curiosity pulled me closer.

There was an odd slot in the wall behind the skull, like it was mounted on some sort of track. This felt very… Indiana Jones. Which meant I probably shouldn’t put my hand on the creepy skull and push down. So why the hell was I doing it?

There was a rumble and a loud click. I stood there and waited for a giant boulder to drop on my head, thinking about Astarion’s earlier snide comment about my lack of concern for consequences. Something about impending doom made me reckless, apparently.

“Oh. Well! How’s that for timing?” Speak of the devil—Astarion’s voice floated in from the next room.

“Pity. I was looking forward to seeing you attempt to lockpick a door with no lock,” Shadowheart said. Her voice carried more as she spoke her next words; they were intended for us. “Whatever you did, it seems to have worked.”

“Worked?” I called back, confused. Gale was already making his way towards where the other two were standing, so I followed.

We moved into the next room only to discover Shadowheart and Astarion waiting by a heavy, dark door I hadn’t noticed before. As Shadowheart had mentioned, there was no visible lock—no knob, either. It stood ajar now, apparently due to my fiddling with the skull.

I noted the series of gouges along the surface of the door around its edges. Someone had been trying to pry it open.

“Huh.” I wandered past the doorway into the next room, which just led to another door and an ominous stairwell descending down into darkness. “Guess we found what the thieves were after. Wonder what’s down there?”

“Things that are worth stealing. Obviously,” Astarion said impatiently. “Their loss is our gain, I say.”

I looked over at him, brow furrowed. “You’re really thinking about that right now? Don’t we have bigger priorities?”

He stared at me like he thought I was a complete idiot. “Nothing in life is free, you know. If we do manage to find a healer, do you honestly believe they’re going to help us out of the goodness of their heart?”

“Cynical, but our pale friend does have a point,” Gale said.

“We’re already here. We may as well take a look,” Shadowheart chimed in.

As much as I wanted to disagree with Astarion out of spite, I recognized when I was outnumbered. Staring out into the darkness of the stairwell, I found myself suddenly glad I had thought to grab the torch.

“Fair enough,” I finally relented with a sigh. “Let’s go.”

----

What lay beneath the old chapel appeared to be some sort of crypt, and the first room we walked into was loaded with traps. Fortunately, Astarion appeared to be an expert at disarming them—as well as picking locks, which gained us entry into a series of gilded chests scattered throughout the chamber. There were no serious riches to be found, but we did encounter some gold here and there as well as some jewels, pendants and rings. I guessed that the latter might be worthless, though—Gale examined them all with a keen eye before setting them aside with disappointment plain on his face.

While I waited for Astarion to clear the next room and tried not to touch anything lest I get us somehow blown up, I was afforded plenty of time to think. Earlier in the day, before we had come across Gale, I had asked Astarion what he did in the city in an attempt to strike up idle conversation. He had told me he was a magistrate, which I was pretty sure meant he was some kind of judge.

If he presided over court cases for a living, why was he so damn good at stealing shit? Then again, Lloyd had always been good at picking locks, and he’d disarmed a bomb that one time in Asgard. A steady hand and knowing how to take things apart didn’t necessarily mean you were a criminal.

Still, I couldn’t help but think that there was something about Astarion that really didn’t add up.

I could probably say the same about Shadowheart too, though. She carried that artefact with her and got weirdly defensive when I asked about it. I just placed Astarion under higher scrutiny because he was the one who had held a dagger to my neck.

I kept thinking about that vision I’d had when we met. Those dark streets.

Another thought occurred to me, something else that stuck out as strange.

“Hey, Gale.”

“Yes? What’s on your mind?” The wizard turned to me, lowering the old tome he had been perusing by the light of a small flame in his palm.

“…This parasite. Up until now, whenever I’ve met another infected, our minds sort of… connected,” I explained. “There were visions. Memories, maybe. It didn’t happen with you, though. Why is that?”

“It was no accident, I promise you,” he responded with a self-assured smile. “The refuge of my mind is a fortress not so easily invaded, illithid tadpole or no.”

“So there’s a way to guard against it,” I remarked, thoughtful. “Can you teach me?”

“This is no mere parlor trick,” he said, extinguishing the flame in his hand in favor of holding one finger up for emphasis. “For most, this sort of mental fortitude requires years of study and practice. And time is unfortunately not something we have on our side.”

I sighed. “Figures.”

The weird involuntary connections weren’t the end of the world. But still, it was definitely preferable to not have random strangers see the contents of my mind against my will. The fact that I was from Earth wasn’t exactly incriminating, but I didn’t know what was safe to share. Last time I had been targeted specifically because I was from Earth. How could I know for sure that this time would be any different?

Astarion was signaling that things were all clear. We moved through a huge set of double doors into the final room, which was a vast chamber dimly illuminated with the faint light of dusk through a crumbling hole in the east wall. It was a wonder Astarion had been able to see enough in here to disarm traps; I had noticed that neither he nor Shadowheart seemed to have any trouble in the darkness, and they had often strayed beyond the light of my torch in their exploration.

Gale and I weren’t in that same boat, though, so I moved to begin lighting the first visible brazier I spotted on a nearby wall.

“No need.”  The wizard stopped me, and muttered an incantation under his breath. The brazier burst into flames, along with every other candle and torch in a twenty-foot radius. We were suddenly enveloped in a nice bubble of warm light.

I turned to look at him, and he sent an arch smile my way.

“That,” he said, “was a parlor trick.”

Show off.

Still, I felt the corners of my mouth turning up in response. He was fun. A little levity was more than welcome after such a garbage day.

The room had just enough illumination now that I could make out rows of sarcophagus (sarcophaguses? Sarcophagi?) lined up along each wall to our left and right. Directly before us was a complete skeleton, clothed in rags that were all but disintegrating with age. It clutched a tattered scroll in one hand and a quill in the other.

Shadowheart had descended a set of steps and was now looking up at a massive statue that was clearly the centerpiece of the room. Like the skeleton before us, it also clutched a scroll and writing implement; the scroll was unraveled, flowing all the way to its feet. Beneath the hood of the statue’s robe, I could see the likeness of a human skull grinning back at us.

I felt a chill. I had been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since we came down here, and that creepy statue sure felt like the fucking shoe. Was this the part where we stole the treasure and a ceiling of spikes fell on our heads?

“That’s Jergal, Scribe of the Dead,” Shadowheart remarked after a moment. “I didn’t think anyone still worshipped him.”

“Nobody does, if the state of these ruins is anything to go by,” Astarion responded, casually examining a scroll he had plucked off a skeleton by the stairs. He pocketed it, then let out a deep breath with a contented smile. “I have to say, this is cozy! We should make camp here.”

“You can’t be serious.” I dragged a hand down my face. He really came out with some unhinged shit sometimes.

“What’s wrong, darling? Afraid of a few old bones?”

“I am not sleeping in a fucking crypt.”

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A/N: I still didn't even get to Withers;;;; But he's close! He's right there!

I'm really looking forward to writing their first night at camp, which is coming up in the next part. You know me, character interactions are my bread and butter. And there's lots of fun in-game interactions to play off of on the first long rest - everyone's so fucked up about the situation.