Chapter Text
The apartment hummed quietly around me, my old computer doing its best to keep up. The glow from the monitor washed over a desk piled high with junk food wrappers and empty soda cans. None of it mattered right now. A new patch had just dropped.
PATCH 8.666: NEW WARLOCK SPECIALIZATION - SEX BLADE
The notes scrolled past in dramatic, blood-red font:
"Forge pacts of flesh and mind. Conquer without violence. Dominate through irresistible pleasure."
I couldn't help but laugh. "Someone's having fun in the dev team."
Scrolling down, I spotted the real details:
New Class: Warlock (Sex Blade specialization)
- Primary Damage: Psychic (Inflicts lust, overwhelms senses)
- Signature Ability: La Petite Mort — Instead of killing enemies, attacks overwhelm them with pleasure, leaving them unconscious but alive.
- Passive Trait: Advantage on Charm attempts against female characters.
Absurd. Ridiculous. Absolutely what I wanted to try.
I clicked "Create Character" without hesitation and skipped the cut-scene where I get the brainworm forced in through my eye. Human, male, muscular build. Golden eyes. I hovered over the name field, smirked, and just accepted the default: Tav.
As I hit "Confirm," the screen flickered and a strange message popped up:
"Do you accept the true pact?"
For whatever reason I mumbled "Sure," and instantly the monitor erupted in blinding gold light. I barely had time to flinch before it felt like the chair was yanked out from under me, and I was falling. Down, down into a swirling golden void.
I woke up coughing. My face was pressed against something wet and sticky. My body was slimy, tangled up in what looked like a living cocoon. Around me, everything pulsed like the inside of some huge creature. Tentacles twitched and slithered along the walls. The air smelled metallic and thick.
I instantly recognized the interior of the Nautiloid. An alien mind flayer spaceship traveling through hell, at this moment being attacked by all kinds of hellspawn, Somehow, impossibly, I was in Baldur's Gate 3. And I was Tav, with a newly acquired brainworm working its way around inside my skull. Great.
The pod I was stuck in gave a violent shudder and split open, dumping me onto the floor with a squelch. I pushed myself up, trying not to gag.
A shimmering HUD popped into my vision.
CLASS: Warlock (Sex Blade)
PATRON: Unknown (Connection Established)
Before I could even blink, a voice spoke directly into my mind. Smooth, rich, and lazy, like silk sliding across bare skin.
"Welcome, my beautiful blade. I am Graz'zt, and you are mine. You have been chosen as a true connoisseur of perversion, a rare vessel worthy of my gifts. You will spread my influence in this world, from which I have been unjustifiably barred. Together, we shall bring ecstasy and ruin to this pitiful world."
I rubbed my temples. Great. Voices in my head already. But even as I thought it, a low, thrumming power vibrated through my veins. It was real. All of it was real.
A grunt from across the room snapped me back to the present. A pod, just like mine, hung split open. A woman stumbled out, tall and lean, her body taut with wiry strength honed for battle. Her skin was a pale greenish-gray, stretched over sharp, angular features that made her look almost sculpted rather than born. Messy greenish hair clung wetly to her face, framing piercing yellow eyes that burned with feral intensity. She wore exotic alien armor, crude but functional, wrapped tightly around her lanky frame. Every movement she made crackled with tension, like a drawn bowstring, and her expression was a mask of barely restrained violence.
Lae'zel.
Seeing her up close was something else. She was all sharp angles and tightly wound violence, like a blade given form. She caught sight of me immediately. Her eyes narrowed, and her hand hovered over the sword strapped to her back.
We locked eyes.
I lifted my hands slowly in what I hoped looked like a peaceful gesture. "Easy. We're both stuck here. Better to work together, right?"
For a second, I thought she might attack anyway. But she grunted, lips curling in disgust, and looked away.
[Approval: Neutral - Slightly Negative: 42] [Corruption: 4%]
The strange overlays pulsed faintly in the corner of my vision. I blinked, and they faded just a little — still there, still tracking.
Lae'zel wiped slime from her face and straightened up. "You are infected. So am I. We are no better than mind flayer larvae."
"Which means we either find a cure," I said, "or we get turned into one of those tentacle-faced things."
She studied me for a moment longer, then nodded sharply. "You will follow my commands until we are free."
I shrugged. "Sure. Lead the way, fearless leader."
Another explosion rocked the ship, this one closer. A sharp, metallic screech tore through the air. The Nautiloid was falling apart.
Lae'zel growled low in her throat and stomped off toward the door, sword in hand.
I smiled to myself and followed.
The game had changed.
And I intended to use it to my advantage.
The halls of the Nautiloid were chaos.
Organic walls pulsed and oozed, fires breaking out in patches along the fleshy floor, while the distant screams of combat echoed through the corridors. Whatever controlled this ship was losing, and chaos reigned supreme. Lae'zel moved ahead with sharp, purposeful strides, her hand never straying far from her blade. I kept pace behind her, still adjusting to the weight of my new body, the hum of magic curling lazily in my veins as we pressed deeper into the heart of the crumbling Nautiloid.
We turned a corner — and were immediately set upon by three imps.
They were hideous things: leathery wings, jagged fangs. They shrieked and dove toward us, eager for blood.
Lae'zel was a blur. Her sword flashed out, severing the wing of the first imp before it could even land. It hit the ground with a wet splat, screeching in fury.
The second imp darted at me, and instinct seized control. I raised my hand, feeling the charged power—and with a thought, I unleashed it. Eldritch Blast, the bread-and-butter of any Warlock, surged forward—but unlike the familiar one I knew from the game, this crackling bolt shimmered with pink psychic energy. It slammed into the imp mid-flight, and instead of a typical death scream, it let out a wail of twisted pleasure that caught me completely off guard.
The third one hesitated at that — and Lae'zel took advantage, carving it neatly in two.
The fight was over almost as soon as it had begun. Lae'zel sneered, wiping her blade clean on the nearest fleshy wall, shooting me a raised eyebrow at the imp's bizarre reaction to my spell.
I grinned, shaking my hand out as Eldritch Blast still tingled along my fingers. It was good to know that, despite everything else, the classics hadn't changed too much.
We pressed on, navigating the twisted, pulsating corridors of the dying ship, until a few turns later we stumbled upon something unexpected: a massive tank of glass and fleshy tubing embedded into the wall, with a woman floating inside.
She was pounding on the glass with frantic fists, her mouth moving in desperate screams for help. Her dark hair was bound in a long, neat ponytail, whipping around her in the fluid-filled tank. She was lithe and athletic, her body shaped by a life of discipline rather than brute strength. Her clerical armor, sleek and practical, hugged her form without any showy embellishments or clear symbols of allegiance. A glowing artifact pulsed faintly against her chest, casting eerie light across the tank, highlighting the tense lines of her slender frame.
Shadowheart.
Lae'zel scoffed. "Another infected weakling. Leave her."
I rolled my eyes, feeling a sharp spike of irritation; she felt way more annoying than when safely contained behind a screen.
"If she can walk, she can fight," I said simply. "Better numbers if we run into more trouble."
Lae'zel grunted noncommittally and moved on. I lingered, studying the tank. There had to be a release mechanism around here somewhere.
While searching, I noticed something else: a small chest, grown from the same alien organic material as the walls. It blended into the environment enough to seem unimportant to a casual glance. But to someone who knew what to look for, it screamed of a debug container modders used to stash gear. I couldn't afford Lae'zel to become suspicious of my familiarity with the Nautiloid, so casually, pretending to just be rummaging through debris, I flipped the lid.
Most of the contents inside were completely unusable — a result of the new patch's overhaul, which had rendered much of the modded gear incompatible. Weapons and armor flickered with error glyphs, inert and useless. Only one item stood out: a pair of sleek purple gloves, humming with magic.
I quickly opened the HUD to look at the stats. The gloves granted the wielder the ability to shoot an additional projectile when casting a simple spell — essentially doubling basic offensive capability. It wasn't flashy legendary loot, but for a Warlock just starting out, it was invaluable. Enough to tip smaller fights in my favor, and maybe even swing the odds if I played it smart.
I smiled to myself, pocketing the goods quickly before Lae'zel could double back and start asking questions.
After pocketing the gloves and silently closing the chest behind me, I turned my attention back to the floating cleric. A quick scan of the nearby console revealed a simple release rune that I quickly activated. The tank hissed violently as the fluid drained away, and with a wet thud, Shadowheart tumbled out, coughing and gasping for air. She looked up, our eyes locking for just a second — distrust and a flicker of gratitude flashing in her vivid green gaze.
[Approval: Neutral: 45] [Corruption: 5%]
Before I could deliver a clever one-liner, Lae'zel's sharp voice cut through the corridor, calling from down the hall, "Move, or die with the ship!"
I offered Shadowheart a hand. She hesitated, then took it, pulling herself up with surprising strength.
"Thanks," she rasped.
"No problem," I said, already turning to follow Lae'zel. As I did, I noticed Shadowheart quickly snatching up the curious artifact she had worn in the tank, slipping it under her armor with a furtive glance. I knew better than to ask any questions at the moment. "Come on. We've got a ship to escape."
Shadowheart fell into step behind me, shaking the water from her hair.
The ship shook around us, but all I could feel was the steady, patient hum of power thrumming under my skin.
I couldn't help but smile.
The game was about to start in earnest.
The Nautiloid shuddered violently under assault as we continued through its twisted, organic corridors, pressing forward.
Lae'zel led with relentless focus, sword gripped tight, her greenish skin gleaming with sweat. Shadowheart followed, clutching her relic with quiet worry. I kept pace, feeling the hum of raw energy coiling in my hands, the gloves I'd found crackling with potential.
The passage opened into a massive chamber—the bridge. At its center loomed a disturbing figure: smooth, pale-gray skin, a bald head, and instead of a mouth, a mass of slimy, twisting tentacles. Its black, empty eyes pulsed with psychic power. It was a Mind Flayer—one of the same nightmarish creatures that had infected us with the brainworms, believing we were already theirs to command.
The Mind Flayer battled desperately against grotesque creatures — small bat-winged monsters and a towering, flaming demon — but it was clear it couldn't hold for long. Its mind reached out to us with a sharp command.
"The transponder—there! Activate it! Now!"
It pointed toward a glowing teleporter at the far end of the chaotic bridge.
Lae'zel didn't even glance back. She sprinted toward the device with ruthless speed, her sword flashing as she cleared the way. I followed close behind, adrenaline roaring in my ears, while Shadowheart clutched her relic and ran just behind us.
The battlefield blurred into a chaotic mess—demons roaring, imps shrieking, the Mind Flayer struggling for its life—but none of it slowed us down. We raced toward the teleporter, leaving the Mind Flayer to fend for itself. Just as we reached the final stretch, I caught sight of the towering demon, its flaming sword arcing down for the finishing blow against the flailing creature.
Perfect timing. Mid-sprint, I twisted my body, raised my hand, and unleashed twin Eldritch Blasts that crackled from my palms. The bolts struck the Mind Flayer just as the demon's flaming sword was about to connect. Instead of being cleaved in two, the Mind Flayer shuddered violently, its tentacles spasming in overwhelming ecstasy before it crumpled to the ground, twitching and unconscious.
[Experience Gained]
"Jackpot!" I thought with a grin, skidding to the transponder and slamming my hands onto the controls.
The transponder pulsed with energy. The ship lurched. Fire and blood rained from above. The last thing I saw was a flash of light—and then, nothing.
I awoke sprawled on damp sand, the sun warm above and the gentle sound of waves lapping nearby. The wreckage of the Nautiloid was scattered along the shoreline, pieces of alien metal and organic matter jutting out of the sands. Blinking up at the midday sky, my heart thudding in my chest, I instinctively patted myself down—no wounds, no broken bones.
I exhaled, letting the surreal calm of the familiar coastline sink in. I'd stood on this very beach dozens of times before—well, in the game. It should have felt nostalgic, almost comforting. But now that I was actually here, the gentle waves and sunlit wreckage felt far more ominous. Would I find a way out? Would I even want to find a way out? Then, like clockwork, a familiar chime echoed in my mind as a glowing window floated into view:
LEVEL UP!
Taking out the Mind Flayer—no matter how questionably— was key to getting a head start. I opened my character sheet in anticipation. This was going to be so much fun!
The character sheet looked mostly the same, but there were a few upgrades. My health bar was a bit bigger now. I felt it, too—a little tougher, like I wouldn't crumple into a heap the first time a goblin poked me a bit too hard.
Scrolling down, a new section blinked at me: Invocations. Two shiny choices. There were a handful of options. Obviously the classics. "Beast Whisperer"—talk to animals. Cute, if I wanted to start a conversation with dogs or cows, but I was on the prowl for some other prey. "Armor of Shadows"—summon magical armor. Handy, but honestly, if it got to the point where I needed magical armor, I’d probably already screwed up.
Nah. I had my eye on two very special ones, these I had not seen before.
Alluring Blast: Channel your Eldritch Blast into a non-damaging psychic touch at melee range. Inflicts intense pleasure without knocking the target unconscious.
Compelling Blast: Your Eldritch Blast pulls creatures toward you instead of pushing them away.
Instead of blasting enemies across the field, I’d be reeling them in nice and close—and then the fun really started. It was perfect, and I picked both without hesitation. As soon as I confirmed the choices, a warm buzz ran down my arms. I flexed my fingers, the sensation of new magic coiling through them electric and enticing, already begging to be used irresponsibly. But before I could think on how to test it out, a familiar voice oozed into my mind.
"My beautiful blade... You see it now, don't you?"
I sighed. Of course he couldn't just leave me alone for five minutes.
"This world has long resisted my touch. Locked away behind petty gods and stubborn mortals with silly morals. They deny me, all because they find my appetites 'unsavory'."
There was a flash of something almost like a pout in his voice.
"But you, my dear Tav, you are the fracture in the firmament. Not of this world, and thus unshackled by its petty logics and rigid moralities. Where others are chained by the rules set before them and their silly alignments, you are free—and Bound to me. You are the vessel by which my will shall spill into this very land, turn all that is pure into what is only perverse. Not by the crude cries of war but through uncontrollable moans of pleasure. Through hunger, lust and need. Through the sweet, inevitable unraveling of resistance. Go now, little blade, and with every whispered gasp and broken will, reshape this world in my image."
The voice faded, leaving only a lingering sense of theatrical self-importance behind.
Honestly? It could have been worse. Becoming the avatar of "unsavory appetites" sounded like a hell of a job description, but at least it came with perks—power, freedom, and, perhaps best of all, the tantalizing promise of an elusive harem route. Dangerous? Absolutely. Yet, in a world where vengeful gods were practically a tradition, it almost seemed fitting that I would ascend as the patron saint of corruption.
I dusted the sand off my pants and got moving. Big cosmic plans or not, I was still only just at the start of the adventure, literally. As I picked my way through the scattered debris, my eyes weren't searching aimlessly—I was looking for a very specific someone. The beach was a graveyard of shattered Nautiloid wreckage, glittering under the sun, but it was the figure lying a little farther down the shore that caught my full attention. She was lying a little ways down the beach, armor scuffed and stained. I strolled over, hands on my hips sauntering over to my fist victim, Shadowheart. Up close, she looked almost angelic, her face was relaxed in sleep, her breathing steady.
Poor girl. She had no idea what she'd signed up for by being in my general vicinity.
I crouched beside her, doing a quick once-over. Battered, bruised, and thoroughly unconscious. A perfect test subject. I flexed my fingers, letting a tiny pulse of the new magic build between them. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to… say hello. Carefully, I hovered my hands over her, allowing a gentle buzz of psychic energy to roll off my fingertips and wash across her exposed skin.
Her body shivered almost immediately. A soft noise slipped from her lips—something between a sigh and a whimper. With the gloves amplifying the flow, I split the magic—one hand tracing along her jawline, the other drifting lazily down the curve of her thigh. No real touching. Just... suggestions.
Shadowheart twitched, her breath hitching. Her hands clenched weakly in the sand. I leaned back on my heels, satisfied. No need to push my luck. I wasn’t looking to break her, or for her to wake up and break me. Lets just keep it friendly for now. A few seeds planted here and there. The sweetest fruits took time to ripen.
I stood up, stretching lazily, and made my way over as she began to stir.
"Morning, sunshine. Rough night?" I offered with a half-smirk.
Shadowheart groaned and pressed a hand to her temple. "How are we still alive?"
"We must've been saved for a reason," I said, playing it up with a dramatic shrug. "Maybe fate, maybe divine intervention..?" I reached out my hand, carefully playing into her strong faith, a very usable tool for later schemes.
She eyed it warily, then sighed and took it. I pulled her up, steadying her as she found her footing.
Grinning, I brushed my hands off and glanced down the beach. I'd survived the crash, leveled up, tested out a few new magical toys, and gained a dazed party member. Not a bad morning’s work, all things considered.
Shadowheart winced as she brushed sand from her armor, still looking a little shaky on her feet. I hovered nearby, keeping an eye on her until she finally glanced my way, her expression somewhere between guarded and exhausted.
"We need to work together if we're going to have any hope of removing these parasites," she said bluntly.
I smiled brightly. "I was thinking you'd say something like that."
Shadowheart gave me a look that suggested she was already reconsidering her offer, but after a moment she nodded. "Fine. For now."
As she moved to gather a small pile of gear half-buried nearby, muttering under her breath while sorting through the wreckage, I took the opportunity to discreetly open the UI. Might as well check out the new toys. A faint shimmer opened in my mind's eye, and there it was—Shadowheart’s profile:
[Approval - Neutral: 49] [Corruption: 8%]
I raised an eyebrow, a slow grin creeping across my face. Well, well, well. Looked like my little "field test" earlier had worked better than expected. The numbers didn’t lie, and if Shadowheart’s subconscious reaction was any indication, the groundwork was already being laid. I closed the window before she caught me gawking at an invisible menu like some mad Bhaal-spawn mid-vision. Oblivious to my scheming, Shadowheart secured her relic to her hip and turned back to me.
"You seem... disturbingly cheerful for someone infected with a mind flayer tadpole."
I shrugged with an easy grin. "Hey, it's all about attitude. If we're going to mutate into monsters, might as well have some fun first."
She didn’t look amused.
"Joking. Mostly," I added quickly.
She sighed and started trudging up the beach, and I fell into step beside her, casually sneaking a glance at her as we walked. Her armor hugged her athletic figure snugly, the sleek curves not lost on my very appreciative eyes—strictly professional curiosity, of course. The beach gradually gave way to a rise littered with twisted Nautiloid wreckage, strange organic remains jutting out from the sand like the bones of some ancient beast. Shadowheart glanced around, visibly wary.
"Any idea where to start?" she asked.
I tapped my chin thoughtfully. "Well, how about looking for a pissed-off, sword-happy alien warrior with trust issues? She's probably somewhere nearby still trying to kill things."
Shadowheart crossed her arms. "You mean the githyanki? I remember her. Loud. Arrogant. Tried to abandon me on the Nautiloid."
I chuckled. "Sounds about right."
"Bad idea. I don't trust her," Shadowheart said flatly.
"You don't have to trust her," I replied cheerfully. "You just have to help me get her out of whatever mess she's gotten herself into."
Shadowheart shot me a very skeptical look but said nothing as we began to move inland, pushing forward into the woods past fallen branches and the remains of shattered alien architecture.
After some time, faint voices reached our ears—not growls or shrieks, which was a promising change. Creeping closer, we spotted the source: two tieflings—horned, reddish-skinned humanoids—arguing heatedly below a crude wooden cage suspended between bent trees. Inside the cage, scowling so fiercely I half-expected her to ignite the wooden bars with sheer hatred, was Lae'zel.
Shadowheart stiffened beside me. "HER?" she said, practically snarling the word.
"Her!" I replied, maybe a bit too content. I didn’t need to look to know her expression was pure venom. Shadowheart loathed githyanki on a good day, and Lae'zel in this mood—half-deranged with fury and rattling her cage like a wild beast—was tailor-made to trigger her deepest contempt. Still, I couldn't help the smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth.
"Yep," I said with a shrug. "Still loud. Still furious. Still very much Lae'zel."
The tieflings below the cage were locked in a heated debate about what to do with her, while Lae'zel herself looked about ready to chew through the bars out of spite.
Shadowheart turned to me, disbelief written across her face. "You're not seriously thinking about helping her?"
I flashed a grin. "Not helping. Recruiting. Big difference. Come on, we both know she’ll be less of a problem inside the party than outside trying to decapitate us."
"She'll be a problem either way," Shadowheart hissed in a sharp whisper, grabbing my arm and nearly yanking me back. "You can't be serious! She's gith! She's unstable, dangerous—and she'd gut you in your sleep the first chance she got." Her voice, though hushed, edged dangerously close to drawing attention.
I held up both hands in a calming gesture, quickly stepping in front of her with a disarming smile. Her pupils were sharp, but I saw the flicker of doubt. Time to use Charm.
"Shadowheart, listen. I know exactly what she is. But that rage? That fire? That's the very thing we can use. Would you rather have her in front of us with a blade, or beside us with that blade pointed at someone else?" I let just enough warmth slip into my voice to soften the edge, leaning into the peculiar perk Graz'zt had gifted me: advantage when dealing with the females.
Her glare didn’t drop entirely, but her posture eased. Slowly.
"You’re too confident," she muttered.
"And you're too smart not to see the opportunity," I countered, letting the silence work for me.
She exhaled through her nose and stepped back. "Fine. But if she tries anything, I'm putting a dagger in her throat myself."
"Deal," I said, already turning toward the tieflings. Time to make some introductions.
The tieflings spotted us before we could call out. The male wielding his axe, ready if Lae’zel should manage to burst the cage in a ball of blades and bile. The female stood just ahead of him, one hand raised to cast or call out—hard to tell which.
"Easy," I said, both palms open and raised. "Not here to cause trouble. Though judging by the cage-shaking, I assume she already did plenty of that on her own."
The female’s eyes narrowed, but something in my tone—more likely the soft afterglow of the charm spell still clinging to me—eased her stance. Her gaze flicked to the cage, then back to me, testing.
"You know her?" she asked.
"Unfortunately. And more importantly, I know how to handle githyanki." I leaned in slightly, voice lowering with just enough confidence to make it sound like a secret worth trusting.
She blinked, her tension visibly relaxing. The male tiefling didn’t look convinced, his knuckles still white on the axe handle.
"You serious?" he asked. "That thing’s been screaming and threatening to rip out our spines for the past twenty minutes."
"That’s the greeting ritual. She only tries to kill you if she likes you," I replied smoothly. The female snorted. The male didn’t, but her elbow nudged him with the universal sign of ‘play along.’
"Fine," he muttered as they hurried away. "Your problem now." They needed no more convincing, and were already halfway down the path before the cage was even halfway down.
As we got the cage open, Lae’zel immediatly took a fighting stance, eyes sharp and hostile— Her breathing was tight, jaw locked, but she didn’t lash out. Progress.
I stepped forward slowly, giving her space—but not too much. Her fists were clenched, jaw tight, every muscle in her body tense like she was still locked in battle. But she didn’t strike. Didn’t snarl. Just... stood there. She was holding it together. Barely.
Shadowheart watched in silence, arms crossed so tightly it looked like she might snap her own bones. Judging. Constantly.
Lae’zel looked at her. Then at me. And straightened.
"How did you survive the crash... Pfft, Not important. We waste time. There is a gith stronghold not far from here. They will know how to rid us of the tadpo-"
The charm spell still clung, faint and soon ending, every second counted. I decided to ruin the moment interrupting her.
"You’re welcome, by the way!"
She blinked. "WHAT!? how dare y-"
"..For freeing you!, some gratitude from the great warrior would’ve been nice."
The muscle in her cheek twitched. She looked like she was about to bite me. Then something in her faltered. The charm spell pushed—just a bit more.
"....Th-thank you..” She looked more surprised to hear the words come out of her own mouth than both Shadowheart and me. It was as if the syllables had escaped her before she could stop them, leaving her staring in quiet horror at the sound of her own gratitude.
[Lae’zel: Approval -2. Corruption +3]
Shadowheart arched an eyebrow, clearly cataloguing every second. Lae’zel’s eyes narrowed—suspicious, calculating—but the words had been said. I gave her a grin that was probably more smug than it needed to be.
"See? That wasn’t so hard."
Lae’zel growled under her breath and turned sharply toward the path.
"We move. Now."
And just like that, our little dysfunctional family grew by one sword-happy alien with a rapidly eroding worldview. As she turned to move, I quickly flicked open her profile window
[Approval: Neutral - Slightly Negative: 40] [Corruption: 7%]
Not bad, considering I’d just wrung a thank you out of a githyanki warrior, basically squeezing blood from a stone. I did not need her approval as much, that could always come later. Things were looking up.
Lae'zel had been silent since we'd left the tiefling encounter behind, and by "silent" I mean fuming. She walked ahead of us, back rigid, pace unrelenting. Every few steps, she grumbled something in Gith under her breath. I could practically see the steam coming off her. The charm spell had long since faded, and from the way her knuckles whitened on the hilt of her blade, I wasn't going to get a second chance today.
Which brought me to an unfortunate realization: the charm only worked once per day. Maybe a few minutes, if I was lucky. I'd have to be smart about when to use it. Timing would be everything—and there was a long way up to 100 corruption.
Shadowheart, thankfully, was less of a brooding force of pure aggression. We walked side by side as the forest thickened around us, the morning sun slanting through the trees. I figured a little idle conversation wouldn't hurt.
"So," I said, as casually as possible, "we’ve got a warrior, a cleric, and a guy who shoots powered mind bolts. Classic setup."
She gave me a sidelong glance but didn’t smirk. That was fine—I hadn’t worn her down yet, bu I could start softening the edges.
"You're a cleric, right? What’s your domain?" I asked.
Shadowheart hesitated, her grip tightening just slightly on her basic mace. "I'm... devout," she said carefully. "But I don't claim a public domain. It's complicated."
"You heal, you hit things, and you throw fire. That’s a hell of a combination for someone undefined."
She actually allowed a smile at that. "I make do."
I didn’t press. She didn’t offer. That suited both of us just fine. There was a quiet understanding: I didn’t pry, and in return, she let me keep my own secrets. I could respect that. The fact that I strategically stopped asking questions actually netted me a very small amount of Approval.
[Approval: Shadowheart +1]
Lae’zel, apparently wouldn't let our mutual understood silence linger.
"Idle talk wastes time," she snapped. "If you must speak, speak of something useful."
"Fine," I replied, undeterred. "Tell me what a gith actually is. Pretend I’ve never heard of your glorious empire."
She took the bait. Head held high, voice full of pride, she launched into a crash course on githyanki history. Enslaved by mind flayers for generations. Broke free under the warrior Gith. Now ruled by Vlaakith, immortal queen and devourer of traitors. Githyanki lived to purge the multiverse of the mind flayer taint, traveling the astral plane aboard their great red dragons. I listened without interrupting, nodding once or twice, letting her pace and posture do the work of persuasion. For someone who hated talking, she was awfully good at lecturing.
"Impressive," I said softly when she finished. "You clawed your way out of chains and built a warrior people. Sounds like survival forged into strength."
She glanced at me, surprised by the compliment—and though she didn’t smile, something in her stance relaxed ever so slightly.
[Approval: Lae’zel +1]
"Anyway," I went on, "we should talk about the tadpoles."
That caught both of their attention.
"I know what they are. I mean—really know," I said, slowing my pace a bit. "The process is called ceremorphosis. The parasite eats your brain, hollowing it out, replacing it with itself. You don’t die. You become something else. A mind flayer."
Shadowheart frowned. Lae’zel narrowed her eyes, "That is not news," Lae’zel said flatly. "It is known."
I hesitated for only a second—just long enough to make it look like I was deciding whether to trust them. Then I nodded solemnly. "Because I’m not just guessing," I said. "I’ve studied them. Mind flayer larvae, ceremorphosis, infection thresholds. I know how this works. I’ve got a method—something to keep the parasites dormant, to slow the change. Possibly stop it."
They stared.
"How do you know any of that?" Shadowheart asked, skeptical.
I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice as if revealing some forbidden truth. "I learned everything under a master— Volo, a true specialist in removing Brain eating tadpoles, his methods rather crass, but my work I assure you is much less painful. You might’ve heard of him. Bit dramatic, but brilliant when it comes to rare creatures"
Lae’zel narrowed her eyes, still clearly unconvinced, but now... curious. That was enough. I knew how the parasite progressed. It wouldn’t trigger any events for the first few days, and hopefully I would be able to wing it when the plot inevitably would thicken. That gave me just enough of a window to find a way to lure them into my grasp as long as they would believe that I was keeping the larvae calm.
The sun hadn’t fully crested the canopy when we reached the ruins.
Half-buried in the hill like a decaying tooth, the place was watched over by a small band of scavengers—four of them, by the looks of it—talking loudly, kicking rocks around, and generally just being in the way. I’d seen this scene a quite a few times. Literally. The ruins near the crash site were staple XP in the early game.
And I wasn’t about to leave that XP on the table.
"See the one elevated on the first floor?" I murmured, motioning to Shadowheart. "You flank right, use the stairs. Quietly. When you’re in range, mace to the back of the head, then push him over the edge"
She didn’t even blink, just nodded and slinked off into the brush. Good girl.
"Lae’zel," I said next."The other side. Wait for my signal. The one without armor, spellcaster. Clean strike."
"Understood," she said, already stalking into position, a predator in her element.
Above the third and fourth bandits was a rope-slung rock, swaying just slightly, suspended in a loop like a clumsy trap waiting for the right fool to walk beneath. I raised both hands, focused, and let loose. Twin bolts of crackling energy surged from my palms, flying through the air and slicing clean through the rope in one smooth stroke.
The rock didn’t fall. It slammed. The impact crushed them instantly, At that exact moment, the other two dropped cleanly under synchronized strikes. No shouting. No warning. Just four dead bandits who never even knew they were being hunted.
[Experience Gained]
Lae’zel wiped her blade without ceremony. "Efficient."
Shadowheart didn’t say anything, but her eyes lingered on me a little longer than usual. Maybe it was respect. Or suspicion. I’d take either.
We moved deeper into the ruins, slipping through the crumbling doorway and down a flight of moss-choked stairs. Inside, we found the next batch. One man—alone, bent over a chest. Easy pickings. Before he even had a chance to register what happened, Lae’zel was on him, her blade flashing in a blur, cleaving the man in half in one clean motion. He died without a sound.
In the adjacent room, we hit the rest of the gang. Four bandits—two laughing near a barrel of flammable oil, the other two distracted with rubble deeper inside. I motioned for silence and pointed at the barrel, already knowing how this would play out. Twin Compelling Blasts crackled from my palms, reeling the back pair toward the barrel like they were being yanked by invisible strings. Shadowheart, ever the professional, didn’t hesitate, her firebolt flew, striking the barrel dead center. The explosion was instant. Fire rolled out in a searing wave, swallowing all four. One tried to scream but never got the chance. Lae’zel stormed through the flames, blade already in motion, driving her blade straight into the throat of the last survivor, silencing him before his weapon could even hit the floor.
[Experience Gained]
"You're getting good at this," I said casually as we regrouped.
"It is battle," Lae’zel said. "Gith are born for it."
"Still," I added with a grin. "The coordination was tight. Clean. They never knew what was coming."
Shadowheart adjusted her armor with a grunt. "You’ve planned that before."
"I’ve had practice," I said. Not a lie.
We descended further into the ruins, stepping through a cracked arch into a vast chamber. The walls rose like cathedral pillars, carved with worn reliefs and faint sunlight reaching down through a small opening in the middle of the room. At the far end stood an ancient altar, a place of worship to some old forgotten god, long erased from prayer but not from power.
Around it, unmoving but ominously arranged, were several skeletal figures. Armor still clung to some, brittle with rust. Weapons rested beside the dead. But none of them had dust.
I didn’t mention it, but I knew exactly what lay ahead.
Withers.
The chamber was quiet—too quiet. I scanned the walls, the altar, the skeletons frozen in permanent vigilance. All very familiar.
"Weapons off," I muttered, moving toward the dead. One by one, we pried the rusting blades and bent spears from skeletal hands putting them aside for later. Shadowheart once again raised an eyebrow.
"Precautions." I said, gesturing for her and Lae’zel to take up positions behind the stone columns flanking the altar. In nearby range of the skeletons.
Lae’zel grunted but complied, her greatsword already in hand. Shadowheart followed with a quick nod, mace and firebolt ready. I stepped next to the altar. On the left wall was a small, weathered panel, it was tucked just low enough, and aged just well enough, that someone else might have spent a long time searching for it.
I pressed it.
A stone wall slid open beside the altar with a low rumble, revealing a narrow doorway. As soon as the grinding sound stopped, the skeletons began to twitch.
Five of them rose, staggering upright with slow, cracking motions. Despite their blank skulls and rigid frames, there was something oddly expressive in the way they turned to each other—as if even they were confused about their ambush gone wrong. Three of them, unarmed and clearly improvising, raised bony fists in a clumsy attempt at melee combat. The other two, robed and focused, lifted their arms, weaving the start of whatever dark spell their brittle fingers remembered.
Before I could start blasting, one of them snapped a quick incantation.
Silence.
My mouth opened but nothing came out. The air around me thickened like static, completely muting every sound. No words. No spells. No commands. Just a mute warlock with no weapon.
I reached down, fumbling for the rusty sword I had taken off one of the skeletons earlier, but before I could lift it, one of the unarmed skeletons barreled into me and socked me in the ribs with a solid bare knuckled, bare-knuckle punch. A literal bag of bones clocked me in the gut.
"Are you kidding me!" I failed to shout.
The pain was very real. I was in no way proficient with the sword, and it felt like trying to fight with a broken table leg. I held it up mostly as a shield trying to bat away the skeletons unrelenting fists. One spellcaster was preparing something, I didn’t know what, but I didn’t like the look of it.
I was taking a beating, my arms ached, my stance faltered, and I could only muster a weak defense. Then, just as I started to consider how embarrassing death by undead knuckle might be, the help arrived.
Lae’zel lunged from her corner and sliced clean through the two closest skeletons, her blade chrushing through ancient bone. Shadowheart followed, blasting a skeleton with a firebolt and crushing another with a heavy strike from the mace.
By the time the last skeleton fell, I was leaning on the sword like a crutch, bruised, panting, and quite thoroughly humiliated. The Silence lifted. I exhaled.
[Experience Gained]
"Well," Shadowheart said, elegantly brushing dust from her armor. "You’re certainly not a fighter."
"But a tactician," Lae’zel added reluctantly. "We shattered their ambush before it ever began. They rose expecting slaughter and found only defeat."
I straightened with a cough. "Exactly. Let’s not confuse the roles," I said, trying to claw back a sliver of dignity.
We stepped into the next chamber. The air was thick and stale, the scent of stone and dust left untouched for ages. Faint glyphs crept along the walls, their meanings lost to time. In the center, silent, undisturbed, and waiting—rested a sealed sarcophagus.
It took all three of us to push the lid.
The sarcophagus let out a low groan, ancient dust hissing through the cracks as we shifted the stone aside. Inside wasn’t bones or treasure, but a skeletal figure wrapped in regal tattered robes, its skull crowned with a weathered circlet.
It sat up.
Lae’zel immediately reached for her sword. Shadowheart took a cautious step back. I just folded my arms. The figure rose, fluid despite the clear lack of muscle or flesh. It tilted its head, studying us, then locked its gaze on me in long, deliberate silence.
"Curious," it finally rasped.
"You are not dead. And yet, you are not alive in the way things are alive. I have seen the spiral of time. Countless endings. Countless beginnings. But you... you have neither."
"Look, I take decent care of my skin, but I wouldn’t say I’m timeless."
It said nothing.
"I’m Tav," I added. "Let’s say I’m... visiting."
"And from whence did you visit?"
"Uh... a different land, with no way of getting back at the moment"
The skeletal head twisted ever so slightly, giving me a curious look. "Elaborate"
"No." I replied, trying to keep my best poker face..
The faintest trace of a smile flickered across his face.
"Very well. You are unwritten. Not lost. Not erased. But un-entered."
"That tracks."
"I am Withers. I tend to the balance between life and death, I have seen empires crumble, gods turn to dust, but I have never seen.. you."
"Guess I’m a true original then," I said.
Another pause. Then he bowed, a slow, scraping motion.
"Very well. I shall walk with you. Observe. You are not in my books. But I am curious to see what your story becomes."
Lae’zel muttered something about skeletons with egos. Shadowheart looked like she didn't know whether to speak or not, but kept silent for now. I just clapped my hands together.
"Great. Welcome to the gang"
The girls were clearly unimpressed, but something in Withers' demeanor—ancient, composed, and utterly unshaken—made it seem wiser to have him with us, rather than against us. And in his own unnerving way, he almost came off as harmless.
We exited the crypt without issue and climbed back into the late daylight just beyond the ruins. The sun hung low, bleeding through the trees. Lae’zel, wasting no time, decided grumbling to pitch her tent right by the campfire in the middle, while Shadowheart lingered a moment longer, casting one last suspicious glance at Withers before slipping away to find a quiet spot on the edge of our little camp.
He waited until we were alone.
"You should not be here," he said.
"You don't like my company?" I replied
"You are unrecorded. I cannot write your fate. I cannot restore you if you fall."
That stopped me cold. "Come again?"
"Should you die, I cannot return you. You are not among these souls. You are not of this place."
That was... not reassuring.
He regarded me with what might have been sympathy—or as much of it as a skull can muster. "I will not interfere. But I will watch."
"Comforting.."
He turned and wandered into the shadowed edge of the trees, humming to himself. Well that was new.
I stood there for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle in. Usually, it would be Withers who brought back fallen companions—for a fee, of course. But for me, there’d be no return. No resurrection. No second chances. The stakes were real now in a way they hadn’t been before..
After a long breath, I squared my shoulders and made my way toward Shadowheart’s tent. I still had work to do.
Shadowheart’s tent sat on the far edge of camp, half-covered by low trees and the sliver of moonlight catching on her pale skin. She didn’t flinch when I approached—just glanced up from where she sat, legs tucked underneath her, polishing her shiny metal armor.
"You walk loudly. I could hear you coming from the other side of camp," she said, not even looking up.
"Maybe you’re just a little too focused on me," I countered, letting the words hang between us.
She didn’t smirk, but the edge in her voice softened. She looked up, her bright green eyes lingered longer than usual.
"I’ve been thinking," she said slowly."You knew your way around those ruins. The ambush didn’t surprise you. The skeletons? You called the whole thing like you’d seen it play out before."
I tilted my head. "Lucky guesses."
"And Withers called you something strange. Said you had no beginning. No place in his books. What did he mean by that?"
I let silence settle for a breath, then sighed as if weighing a burden. I knew her story—the fierce devotion, the cloaked loyalties, the fragments of her own identity buried beneath a lifetime of indoctrination. She was raised in darkness, her past carved and erased by Shar’s will, forced to have her memories stolen time and time again. Her story was pain wrapped in obedience. And if I wanted to get close enough to twist her loyalties, I’d have to start by pretending to share her pain. I steeled myself and tried play the part, as melancholic as possible.
"I’ve lost parts of my memory," I lied, letting my voice drop just enough. "Not everything, but enough. What I know, I’m not supposed to share. I’m bound to secrecy by... forces bigger than me. Even if I wanted to tell you more, I couldn’t."
Shadowheart blinked slowly, her posture easing.
"You can’t talk about your past... and you’re not sure who you are," she murmured.
"Exactly."
She looked away, swallowing something unspoken.
[Shadowheart: Approval +10]
"Then I suppose we have something in common," she said quietly. The moment lingered, the air heavy with a shared silence that hinted at something tender and unspoken—something like understanding, possibly for the first time she could remember. Delightfully devilish, Graz'zt must be grinning in approval.
"Alright. Show me this parasite-calming technique." She relented
"You trust me?"
"For tonight."
I stepped closer, lowering myself to sit beside her. "Close your eyes. This works best when you’re not overthinking it."
She did. I brought one hand up behind her ear, and with a focused pulse of Alluring Blast, let the softest ripple of psionic energy trace down the side of her face. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away.
"That’s... pleasant," she whispered.
I shifted my other hand gently to her back, just above her clothing. Another slow, subtle wave of energy followed the line of her spine. She exhaled through her nose, body relaxing in small degrees.
Then she flinched—just barely—and a soft sound escaped her lips. She opened her eyes, flushed.
"That’s... enough. Thank you."
"Anytime," I said.
[Corruption: Shadowheart +2]
I left her tent without another word and made my way back to the fire. Lae’zel sat nearby, hunched over a whetstone, her blade already gleaming in the firelight.
"You claim to delay ceremorphosis," she said without looking up. "Is that true?"
"Would you like to find out?"
She scowled, but nodded once. "Try anything foolish and I will take your fingers."
"Understood."
She remained seated. I stepped behind her, resting one hand gently atop her head. She stiffened immediately.
"Stay still now." I said
I pulsed the energy downward—slow and deliberate, tuned to soothe rather than overwhelm. She grunted once, then again, and I felt her posture shift just slightly—her body easing under the unfamiliar sensation.
"What is this sorcery..."
I continued the rhythm, the Alluring Blast tuned low and intimate. Strategic Head pats—gentle, rhythmic, and enhanced with psionic pleasure. It was a foreign sensation to her. Intimacy.
For the first time in her life, Lae’zel let herself feel something soft, and it nearly undid her.
A low moan—deep, involuntary—escaped her before she could stop it. Lae’zel froze, then jolted to her feet in one swift motion, her face flushed deep with fury and embarrassment.
"You dare—!"
"I think we are good for tonight." I blurted out.
She snarled something in Gith and basically lunged into her tent without another word.
[Lae’zel: Corruption +2]
I stretched out by the campfire, folding my hands behind my head, the flames casting flickers of light across the tents.
Two points each. Many more to go.
Character stats - Day 1
Tav
Race: Human - level 3
Class: Warlock (Sex Blade) - Patron: Graz’zt
Magic:
- Eldritch Blast: Psychic damage magic projectile
- Compelling Blast: When hit moves target closer to the caster
- Alluring Blast: Pleasure-infused psychic contact with no damage
- La Petite Mort: If damage would kill an enemy it is instead knock out in pleasure.
- Charm: Advantage female characters (Cooldown: Once per day)
Equipment:
- Safeguard Shield: Gives the wielder a slight edge on blocking attacks
- Gemini Gloves: Allows dual targets for spells
- Traveler’s outfit
Stats
- Strength: 9
- Dexterity: 14
- Constitution: 14
- Intelligence: 12
- Wisdom: 12
- Charisma: 17
Next
LAE’ZEL
Race: Githyanki - Level 3
Class: Fighter
Equipment:
- Githyanki Half-Plate
- Two-Handed Longsword (Gith Craftsmanship)
Abilities:
- Double Attack (Once per fight)
Stats:
- [Approval: Neutral 43]
- [Corruption: 9%]
Next
SHADOWHEART
Race: Half-Elf - Level 3
Class: Cleric
Equipment:
- Scavenged Iron Mace
- Cleric Iron Armor
- Mysterious Relic
Magic:
- Healing Word
- Firebolt
- Fireball (twice per day)
Stats:
- [Approval: Positive 62]
- [Corruption: 10%]
Thank you so much to all of you who are reading, commenting, and giving kudos, it honestly means the most. This is my first real story so the feedback is really motivating.