#btw ... the group isn't actually useless ... that's just her own narration ...

[grief-worn]

🔥🔥🔥oh god

Another day, another creepy, old catacomb just teeming with booby traps and artifacts older than Elminster's own beard. The terrain isn't especially challenging. Stale, musty limestone tunnels and the occasional crumbling staircase. No, the real risk lies in the security system. Gale had almost lost both his feet to spikes thrusting up from grates in the floor. Lae'zel was nearly minced to bits from a volley of arrows overhead. Karlach leapt just in the nick of time, before the floor gave way to a pit of venomous, snapping vipers. Whatever this lair is hiding, it must be worth all the labor spent constructing such an elaborate design.

The deeper they venture, the more the architecture shifts and morphs. Symbols etched on the walls illustrate fair and noble maidens, with curls in their manes and coquettish grins upon their faces. There are inlaid frames against the stone on either side, where mirrors once sat, now shattered, the glass grinding beneath their soles with every step. Creeping vines tangle and gnarl across the ceiling, overgrown and unfettered, coated in tiny thorns too sharp for bare skin. Each new room feels less like the foul prison they first discovered and more like an elaborately decorated shrine, perhaps memorializing a notable figure. Of course, it now sits wholly abandoned. It's clear no one has stopped by to do any sort of maintenance in quite a while.

The hallway opens at its mouth, connecting to a vast room of gilded pillars and a deep pit caved at its center. It's some sort of bathing chamber, the pool now hollowed and cracked. The group splits up, tentatively checking each nook and cranny, hoping for treasure, or even something to pawn off at the next town.

Shadowheart stands at the pool's edge, tilting her head up, admiring the ceiling's handiwork. Colored seashells paint a picturesque mosaic, depicting a vivid scene of utter whimsy. Naked ladies giggling around a clear pond, washing their hair and embracing one another in a celebration of pure womanhood. It stirs something in her chest. Something that envies the carefree and the intimate. She doesn't dwell on it. Look at where such foolishness got them, wasting away in a smelly forgotten tomb.

She turns her back on it, eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. Across the room, she can hear Gale and Lae'zel bickering over some unrelated disagreement, sorely unfocused on what should be taking precedent. It's up to Shadowheart to get shit done, as per usual. The rest of her troupe proves entirely useless.

Her tenacity pays off, and there she spots it. An opalescent orb that catches light off its rounded surface. It looks like a pearl. Massive. Easily the size of a ripened peach. Simple enough to stash away, and presumably worth quite the hefty sum of gold. It's nestled in the bowl of a stone fountain, jutting out from the wall's edge. There are more women carved into its design, and of course, they're without clothing. Was this whole labyrinth a memorial to blatant nudity?

It's not wise to blindly wiggle your hand in places unfamiliar, but the day's worn her mind to a strand, and she doesn't think twice about snatching up the gem for her own collection. Dusting off its veneer, she lets her eyes widen in quiet admiration. Ivory swirling with seafoam and dainty pinks. Like the sunset caught in an ocean's tide. In her captivation, she neglects to notice the motion above her head. At the fountain's peak sits a stone swan. Its bill opens, and out puffs a cloud of something purplish and powdery. It sprays Shadowheart, fumes clogging her nose and mouth. She doubles back, swatting the air, coughing and gasping.

Something like putrid rosewater clings to her nostrils, and she hacks a glob of spittle at the ground to rid her tongue of its bizarre profile. That had to of been a trap, or some devised way to ward off buttery fingers. She waits, allows a gap of time to pass, anticipating pain, or blindness. Nothing comes.

"Huh." she remarks, rubbing a finger at her eye to swipe off the remaining bits of dust. "Maybe the effects expired a long time ago." No matter, she'll deal with the consequences as it comes. The pearl is stored away in her pack and she routes back towards the others. Her eyes fall to Astarion. He's crouched to her left, digging through a heap of old junk. Silver chalices and rusted cake stands. Hmm.

Had he always looked so … handsome? Did he style his hair differently? It's difficult to look away. Dashingly quaffed curls of snow, and such an angular quality about his jawline. His back is arched, forming a tempting bow that naturally leads her gaze to his thighs. Long. Strong. Perfectly attuned for both stealth and lethality.

There's a drumming inside her rib cage, and she feels warmth bubbling in her own head. Just the mere sight of him has her gut swarming with butterflies, and she's momentarily afraid her knees might collapse beneath her body.

They have their differences, sure, but maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe this is what destiny had prepared her for. To meet her one true love, in the bowels of this crappy dungeon. Her legs are carrying her on instinct, and she lowers herself to his side, cupping a palm at his shoulder.

"How are you holding up? You look tired. It might be best to take a brief rest. You shouldn't push yourself too hard."