The Urge || Baldur's Gate 3 Fanfic||

To Moonrise Towers

In the days following my chaotic surge of wild magic, our journey took an even more extraordinary turn. We braved the treacherous paths of a githyanki crèche, with Lae'zel at the helm, her warrior prowess guiding us through the perilous skirmishes. It was there we unraveled the enigma of The Mysterious Artifact, an ominous iron box etched with runes that throbbed like a living heartbeat, which Shadowheart had safeguarded since our paths first crossed. Within its confines, we discovered our enigmatic savior, The Dream Guardian, a sentinel encased in armor who had thwarted our transformation into mind flayers, now imprisoned within the artifact, acting as our shield against the Absolute's malevolent grasp. Amidst this revelation, Lae'zel was inexplicably drawn to a Githyanki egg, dormant yet brimming with potential, a silent promise of her people's legacy cradled in her hands.

There I was, amidst the whirlwind of our adventures, when Gale and I found ourselves wrapped in a moment as serene as it was profound. To me, magic is a part of my very essence, as effortless as the air I breathe. Yet, for Gale, it's an art that demands dedication and study to master the intricate dance of the weave.

In that shared silence, our minds touched through the mystical weave, and I laid bare my deepest yearning—to share a passionate kiss with him. Initially taken aback, Gale's embarrassment soon gave way to a tender acknowledgment of shared desire.

As the night deepened, Gale confided in me about his tumultuous quest for the favor of Mystea, the goddess of magic. His journey to present her with potent spells had led him to a haunting revelation—the Netherese magic he had been tapping into was laced with a darkness that shook him to his core.

There we were, two souls entwined by fate and magic, standing at the crossroads of vulnerability and discovery. It was a night that I will forever remember.

Emerging from my tent in the soft light of dawn, still draped in my nightgown, I caught the comforting scent of breakfast sizzling over the fire, courtesy of Halsin's culinary week. The familiar faces gathered around the flames, joined by Lae'zel, who seemed to be thawing after her recent, arduous betrayal of her kin and queen. It was heartwarming to witness her mingling, especially with Shadowheart shedding her usual cold demeanor towards the Gith, offering a rare glimpse of camaraderie.

Approaching the mirror, I noticed how my hair had flourished, cascading from my chin to gently brush my shoulders in snowy waves, the ends curling like delicate tendrils. With a smile, I gathered the unruly bangs, securing them away from my face, and the reflection that peered back at me held a stranger's visage. A burn traced its path from my right shoulder, snaking up my neck, partially veiling the tattoo beneath, and dissipated across my cheek, a memento from a time possibly before the mind flayer's grasp. It was a mark, but not one that marred; it was a testament to survival, a subtle reminder of a past that still remained a mystery.

As I joined my crew, settling on a log beside Karlach, her usual searing warmth became surprisingly pleasant in the face of the approaching season's chill. With the cold, crisp air embracing us, the comforting heat emanating from the infernal engine within her chest provided a welcome respite. Being the only two humans in our camp, Gale and I had a tendency to sleep in a bit later than the others. Yawning, Gale emerged from his tent and took his seat beside me. A blush crept across my cheeks as I looked at him, momentarily overwhelmed by a surge of unsettling thoughts.  i only picture killing him ripping his arms from his body beating him with it. I quickly shook my head, banishing those dark and intrusive musings that had plagued my mind in recent weeks.

After savoring Halsin's breakfast, we packed up, ready to brave the Shadow Cursed lands. My fragmented memory teased me with fleeting images of Moonrise Towers, the place Halsin had spoken of. As we ventured into the shadow-draped realm, a lantern-bearing goblin approached us. "Are you the true soul?" she queried with a deft tilt of her head. I nodded in affirmation. "Good, grab a torch, and follow the Drider," she instructed. Instead, I conjured a light blue flame in my palm, casting 'Light' to ward off the encroaching darkness. The spell's glow bathed us in a protective aura. Gale and Shadowheart followed suit, their hands aglow, as our collective magic pierced through the shadows.

As our group of six treaded the well-worn path, the goblin's words soon took form before us. There, shrouded in the half-light, was the Drider, a grotesque fusion of drow and arachnid. The sight of its spider's abdomen and the multitude of skittering legs where once there might have been the grace of elven limbs sent a shiver down my spine. Driders were once drow, transformed as a cruel punishment for failing Lolth's rigorous tests. Astarion, his face drained of color, recoiled in disgust. "Gods... I abhor spiders," he muttered, his voice a mix of fear and revulsion as he instinctively stepped behind me, seeking a shield from his eight-legged dread. I gave a solemn nod, a silent pact to find a new path to Moonrise Towers. My own memories, though fragmented, echoed his sentiment with a visceral loathing for spiders, a fear deeply rooted in a past life I scarcely remembered.

As we followed the twisting path, the dilapidated signs, barely clinging to their posts, pointed us toward the ominous silhouette of Moonrise Towers. Our quest was as perilous as it was clear: to stand against the Absolute's dark designs and to extract the mind flayer's insidious spawn from the recesses of our skulls. Moreover, we bore the weight of Halsin's hopes, the Emerald Grove's protector, trusting us to banish the creeping shadows that had begun to choke the life from these lands.

Lifting my gaze to the towering spires piercing the horizon, a flood of memories threatened to overwhelm me. This place, steeped in my own history, was where I was once revered as a deity, an avatar of fear and awe. As the scion of Bhaal, the Lord of Murder, my very existence was a testament to his terrifying legacy. My blood, a direct conduit to his divine might, marked me as an object of reverence and terror alike—a being forged from his unholy essence, and here at Moonrise, my name was once whispered in hushed tones, a prayer to appease, a chant to ward off doom.