the ruined and the tarnished

Chapter 2

See the end of the work for more notes.

The beauty and tranquillity of the druid grove stood in stark contrast to the grim scene unfolding within the First Druid’s den. A little tiefling girl stood in their midst, trembling in fear while the Acting First Druid and her death viper threatened to take her life. All for the petty crime of thievery. A memory flickered in his mind: mini-Wyll slyly pocketing a peach from a cart in the Wide, a fleeting act of mischief. He remembered the heat of his flushed cheeks when the Fist caught up to him, his crime promptly dealt with by a blithe reprimand from his father the Marshal. But here in the grove, the consequences were far graver.

How many children like Arabella were condemned to such harsh fates? Not only in this grove, but throughout the Sword Coast?

“Explain this cruelty,” he demanded.

“Not cruelty. Justice,” said Kagha. “She eats our food, drinks our water. Then steals our most holy idol in thanks! Tell me, Blade. Is the healer cruel for ridding the sick of disease?”

“She’s not a disease — she’s a child!”

“They are a blight, each and all. If I cannot choke it out, I will burn it away.” Kagha turned to another druid next to her. “Rath — lock her up. She remains here until the rite is complete.” She circled Arabella, glaring at her with cold, serpentine hatred. “And keep still, devil. Teela is restless.”

“Come, Kagha,” said Rath, pleading. “We took back the idol. Surely…”

“Do it.”

Fury coursed through Wyll’s veins. Fury at the world, fury at those like Kagha who wielded their authority callously, who lost sight of their duty to protect. Innocent or not, children should never be on the sharp end of the gallows. Rage boiled within him, but he swallowed it down, determined to remain calm. Throughout his many years of monster hunting, humans proved consistent in exemplifying true monstrosity. And those who would stand idly by were no better.

But clearly, this false druid wouldn’t deign to heed his words. The Blade’s voice was useless here — and it would not be the first time. Those like Kagha only listened to ones who wielded power greater than their own.

Before him, Ajax stood transfixed on the slithering viper.

Wyll laid a hand on his shoulder. Despite his reservations with their cerebral parasites, he tapped into the tadpole and bespoke Ajax: Don’t let them hurt the child. He nodded in assent and stepped forward.

“You speak of justice, First Druid,” said Ajax, “but what manner of justice is dispensed without hearing the accused? Let the child speak her case.”

Kagha measured Ajax with narrowed eyes. He was no taller than her, but clad in full plate armour and the typical paladin scowl, he radiated an aura of imposing hostility. “Get on with it.”

Arabella spoke with a tremor in her voice: “I — I was scared. They said when the rite is over, we’d have to leave. But there’s goblins out there, and worse. And it’s nice here, so I — I took the idol. I thought maybe then we could stay. Please, let me go. I’ll be good, I swear.”

“Please?” said Kagha, mocking. “We gave you devils shelter from the storm! We nourished your bellies! And in return, you lured in a horde of goblins and—”

“Enough,” said Ajax.

Kagha turned to him. “You dare—”

“She’s made amends and you have taken back your relic,” he said, advancing and crowding against her. “And frankly, it is an embarrassment for a so-called leader like you to have such an important relic stolen by a hapless child.”

“Hey! I’m not a—” Arabella began to protest, but Wyll hushed her and swiftly positioned himself between her and the viper. Ajax followed his lead and stood between them and the druid, creating a barrier of bodies. Wyll felt the tug of Arabella clinging to his outercoat.

Kagha seethed at their boldness. “Teela, to me. And you, thief, out of my sight. My grace has its limits.”

Wyll glanced at Arabella behind him and nodded towards the exit. “Go on, you’re safe.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” said Arabella, and as she rushed out of the den, Wyll sighed in relief and released his white-knuckled grip on his rapier.

In truth, he had gambled on the druids’ trust in the paladin. He had certain reservations with him, too; Ajax fought with a particular unbridled ferocity, one that relished perhaps overmuch in the goblin slaughter, though now he stood composed, carrying his steel helmet on his right arm. If Wyll disregarded his manners and looked closer, he would recognise traces of suppressed rage in Ajax’s rigid posture — flared nostrils, squared shoulders, and the subtle twitch of a vein on his temple. Not to mention the gruesome tadpole vision he’d seen during their first encounter. Nevertheless, he wasn’t one quick to judge from first impressions, especially not after what Ajax just did for Arabella.

“Go on. Say it,” Kagha said. “You think I’m a monster.”

Indignant fury simmered beneath Wyll’s surface. “Monster? Too kind. A demon, more like.”

“Do you expect pity for threatening a child?” said Ajax.

Kagha rolled her eyes. “That parasite made her choice. A viper bares her fangs, defending her brood. Is that not a mother’s nature? And yet, the esteemed Blade of Frontiers and his lackeys have deigned to meddle in affairs that aren’t their own.”

“Does a mother’s nature also entail executing children in the name of Silvanus?”

She shot Ajax a withering glare. “No matter. The rite will resume. We will seal the grove. And you valorous heroes would do well to guide the outsiders out of our home. For their safety, of course. I’m sure their leader Zevlor will reward you well.”

“We are not your dogs to do your bidding,” said Ajax. “In fact, you may soon find your viper fangs blunted.”

“I will not tolerate any threats from the likes of you. Out, now.”

“We still have business with Nettie,” said Wyll.

“No, you don’t.”

Ajax’s scowl deepened as he took another step forward. The other two druid guards immediately stood on guard, coiled to strike. Their companions mirrored the tension: Astarion brandished his daggers, while Shadowheart looked ready to bash someone on the head with her shield. Ajax glanced back at them and caught Wyll’s gaze, as if waiting for his cue. Wyll’s mind reached for the tadpole, but found no response from the parasite within. Instead, he shook his head imperceptibly, a wordless plea passing between them: Anger Kagha, and the whole grove could suffer.

“Luck smiles upon you today, Kagha,” said Ajax, turning away.

Rath offered to escort them out, and they acquiesced without resistance. As they stepped out of the viper’s lair, Rath took him aside by the elbow and said, frantic and hushed: “Blade of Frontiers, you must help us.”

“Of course. How can I help?”

“Only Master Halsin can stop the rite,” said Rath, “but those damned adventurers left him behind with the goblins. You were valiant to defend the grove today. Perhaps, if you could—”

“What’s this?” Astarion sidled up to them. “Didn’t you hear what the paladin said? We aren’t your lapdogs.”

Wyll cleared his throat and looked at Rath intently. “I heard this druid Halsin is also an accomplished healer.”

“Yes,” he said, uncertain, then with understanding, “I wish I could offer more assistance with Nettie. But whatever it is that ails you, Master Halsin can remedy it.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes, but Wyll caught his elven ears perking up ever so slightly. Heavy footfalls of steel stepped to his blind right; he didn’t need to turn his head to know it was Ajax: “Do you know where the adventurers had encountered the goblins?”

“They were headed west. Our scouts mentioned a goblin encampment not far from here.”

Wyll nodded. “We’ll find him.”

Rath exhaled a sigh of relief. “Silvanus’ blessings upon you. And my deepest gratitude as well. For now, I will keep a close watch on Kagha.”

“Really?” hissed Astarion after Rath left. “What happened to not being their lapdogs?”

Ajax ignored him and strode away. Wyll followed suit, and they made their way back to Arabella’s parents near the den’s entrance. He found Arabella reunited with them, receiving a mild scolding that spoke more of relief than true rebuke. A weight lifted off his shoulders at the sight, the vestiges of fury dissipating.

“Blade of Frontiers, thank you for saving our girl,” Arabella’s father spoke, seeing them approach. “Don’t know what we’d do without her.”

“It’s not much, but here—” the mother extended a locket toward Wyll, “—if you call, we’ll come running. No matter what.”

“Keep it, please. Your daughter’s safety is reward enough.” His gaze shifted to Ajax standing to his left. “Ajax here is the real hero. He defended Arabella’s innocence from Kagha.”

Ajax’s lips, usually set in a firm line, softened into a slight smile. “It was a team effort.”

The mother pressed the locket into Ajax’s gauntleted hand. “Take our token of gratitude, please. We almost lost our daughter today, if it weren’t for you. This is the least we can do.”

His rigid stance melted away as he accepted the locket, his steel-gloved fingers cradling it with a sense of reverence. “I… thank you,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

“Arabella?” said the mother, nudging the child on the shoulder.

“Yeah. I mean,” said Arabella, averting her gaze, and with a stern look from her mother, she amended, “Thank you. For helping me.”

As they exchanged farewells and departed, Wyll noted Ajax’s shoulders tensing anew, his pauldrons punctuating the interminable tension in his muscles.

In an elevated, remote section of the grove, a cliff overlooked the River Chionthar to the north. With Wyll in the lead, they ascended to the vantage point, freshwater breeze filling their lungs. The wreckage of the Nautiloid lay to the east, and the settlement Rath spoke of to the west — a narrow plume of campfire smoke signalling the goblin civilisation. Possibly a day’s journey to reach, perhaps less if they didn’t take any detours, though that seemed unlikely.

A few paces to his left, two squirrels suffered the bardic musings of a young tiefling. The creatures scurried away, unimpressed, their tiny claws shielding tiny ears.

“What’s that tune you’re singing?” asked Wyll.

The bard heaved an exasperated sigh. “More like butchering. Don’t know why I bother.” Her fingers plucked at the lute’s strings, an absentminded motion, but Wyll picked up a nascent melody in the succession of notes. Still, the bard’s mouth slanted in an angle only a frustrated artist could have.

“Are you all right?”

She stared at him. “No. I’m moments away from a grisly death… at the hands of this bloody song! I can’t— nothing fits, you know?”

A sharp voice emerges from his right: Shadowheart. “Why are you songwriting now? Hardly the best time.”

“I…” Her face fell as she averted her gaze towards the Chionthar. “We lost people on the way here.” She screwed her eyes shut, gripping the lute’s neck as though it were the hilt of a sword. “And the dead deserved to be remembered. That’s what my teacher always said.”

Wyll took a step forward. “Can I help you finish the song?”

When she glanced up at him, her eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, you’re— you’re the Blade of Frontiers! I can’t possibly impose— I’m sure you have innocents to save, and I’m just a bard—”

“A bard moments away from a grisly death, as I recall you were saying,” he said, smiling. “Shall I save you from this killer song?”

She snorted, her lips failing to suppress a smile. “Fine, it can’t hurt. I have her…” Her voice faltered as she offered another lute from her side. “I have an extra lute, if you want?”

“But of course.”

Wyll carried the lute in his hands and strummed to the tune of her singing voice. His calloused yet nimble fingers caressed the strings, following the chordal sequence he’d heard earlier. He surprised himself with the familiarity with which he played, an instinct he believed long forgotten. A wave of nostalgia washed over him, as if it were but yesterday when he’d showed off a newly mastered piece to his tutor.

The lute’s melodic notes intertwined with the bard’s voice, their combined harmony resonating through the air. Slowly, her voice swelled to a crescendo as she sang, sending a thrilling shiver down Wyll’s spine. Their spontaneous performance drew to a close, and a film of tears welled up in his eyes, moved by the moment, the grief in her lyricism, the beauty of her voice. Dancing was more his forte, his art, but here, in this shared moment, he felt a parallel sense of satisfaction. He longed for his stolen youth, to dance in court once more, accompanied by a troupe of bards performing a ditty as he set records for the most sarabandes danced in a single evening. His lips tightened as he fought to regain his composure, brushing away the tears. When his attention returned to the bard, she’d been dabbing away a few tears of her own, and in his periphery, Shadowheart discreetly did the same.

“That was beautiful,” said he. “Worthy of a few tears.”

The bard smiled. “Thanks. That’s—” her shoulders slumped, looking away once again, “that’s the first time I’ve played since Lihala died. My teacher. She was playing her lute. We… didn’t hear the gnolls coming.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I couldn’t look at a lute without hearing her — screaming.”

“I’m sure she would be proud to see you now. You’ve come up with a fine tribute to her.”

“Lihala said that’s why eulogies are important. They were for the living as well as the dead.” With a short laugh, she continued, “I’d forgotten what it was like: the itch to perfect a song. I’ve a long way to finishing it, but thank you. I… I needed this.”

Wyll handed the lute back to her, but the bard only shook her head. “Keep the lute. Please. You’ve earned it.”

“Isn’t this yours?”

“I have mine,” she said, gesturing to the lute sitting on her lap. “That’s Lihala’s.”

“All the more reason I can’t take your late tutor’s prized possession.”

“Please,” she insisted. “She would be honoured to leave her lute in the hands of the Blade. You’ve saved us once already. And me, twice, from this song.”

“If you’re certain.”

The bard smiled. “I am.”

“Then it would be my honour. Thank you,” said Wyll, cradling the lute back in his arms.

“No, thank you.”

As they left the bard behind, distant voices sung a haunting new melody, carried towards them by the breeze. Wyll glanced at his companions to ask if they’d heard the same, but Ajax had already begun to lope off, following the song’s alluring call.

NOTES

I headcanon Wyll had musical lessons as a kid, hence how he knows how to play a lute in the first place. And it just makes more sense for Wyll to lead the scene with Alfira, character- and narrative-wise. (I love you dramatic irony!)

I also love writing NPCs recognising Wyll as the Blade of Frontiers. It’s what he deserves and I wish we had more of that in the game.

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