Tav, Astarion and Nyx PoV, starting with Tav.
The crooked plaque remained attached to the wall by the sheer will of its last bolt. It creaked, swaying back-and-forth even though no wind rustled the leaves of the cursed trees overhead.
'The Waning Moon - Distillery', it read.
Halsin indicated Oliver may have fled to this place, traces of his magic leading them here. The building sat across Reithwin town square, opposite the tollhouse. In contrast, the tavern didn't seem as menacing, although it was in the same crumbling state. Age has stained several windows and tree branches have grown through. Holes had fallen into the roof above. Tables and chairs waited for patrons who'd never come, enclosed by small courtyards in the front and along the side overlooking the river and the towers. Decay and rot remained a unifying theme. And yet, amidst this desolation, there was a flicker of life? Or something like it from inside.
Oliver perhaps?, Tav hoped.
Tav took a deep breath and regarded the open doorways. Their doorless frames were almost inviting, as though she could already hear laughter and conversation from within.
Astarion announced ominously, "I can hear people, or rather things talking, inside."
Wyll's brows knit, and he queried, "Talking shadows?"
Gale mused, "Ghosts more like."
Tav quipped, "Well, let's go find out," and marched through the large doorway.
Snorts, snickers and the sound of readying mettle followed her.
They had entered onto the second floor, like a balcony it overlooked the first. It was dimly lit inside, but brighter than the cursed town. They froze when a humming intonation greeted them, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, "Sing wit' me, stranger…"
The zombie patron reeked of decay and alcohol. He hiccupped through putrid lips and chipped yellow teeth, "Drink's warm… an’ voices are long gone. Hick. Why don't you… sing along…"
They relaxed when he mindlessly swung his beer in the air to a tavern song, "The payday gold in my pouch is Hick-a-clinkin'. Say, hey, for the pub! A single Hick-en-thought is what I'm thinkin'. Say, hey, for the pub!" His glowing ale sloshed from the pitcher as he made his swaying way to one of the nearby tables.
Gale mused and gestured, "Hm, not ghosts then. More below."
Tav's gaze followed the others. Another zombie patron stood on a raised platform to the right, trying to remember lines from plays Tav doesn't recognize. Steam gushed from pipes above the undead actors' head and a gurgling sound ran through them. Another set shaking pipes delivered glowing blue liquid to a windowed vat attached to distilling machinery behind, which were surprisingly gleaming and spotless.
The performer's head snapped up to their position and he called, "New faces! What fun."
A clamour in the backroom produced yet another zombie, missing his nose and one eye.
Astarion made a disgusted noise and Shadowheart's forehead wrinkled, "How many are there?"
The barman shambled to stand next to a chalk board, he gestured at the barely legible menu, "Haul yourself up chum, and let the old whiskey jug b-b-bite you. So be what?"
Lae'zel remarked with distaste, "Not much grey matter left in that one."
Karlach and Gale gasped; Wyll, Shadowheart and Astarion's eyebrows rose into their hairlines. Tav quipped smiling, "Don't say it to his face though."
Lae'zel grunted in confirmation, "Noted."
Another voice bellowed out of sight, both distorted and cheerful, "Customers! Finally." It continued to drawl in a deep, strained rasp, "Come. Not drink alone. Alone too long. Sit. SIT."
The owner of the voice audibly stomped around somewhere. Tav and the other's shared a concerned glance, but made their way down regardless, especially after it bellowed again with more insistence - desperation even.
--- --- ---
They gingerly made their way to the main bar. Astarion noticed several more counters scattered around the top floor along with what looked to be shipment crates. Stools and furniture were broken, overturned and in a general state of disrepair like much of the rest of Reithwin. However, the teal ambience provided by the galls that grew from gnarly roots and branches between the tavern's wooden floorboards made it seem strangely homely.
The vile rot from the other patrons, not so much, Astarion made another disgusted noise, At least, I don't need to breathe. I pity the others. Almost.
The cursed glow from the distillery vats pulsated rhythmically, casting long shadows among the warped beams and broken furniture. The undead figures carried on the charade of their previous lives. The would-be actor's words faltered and became garbled, caught up in plays that have been dead as long as it has been. A perpetual loop of mismatched words and sentences spilled from the barkeep's lips while he cleaned the counters with jerky, repetitive motions. More footsteps shook the ground, and their group reflexively snapped into fighting stances, hands over their weapons. The owner, and clearly the distiller, made his presence known.
First came the bloated bowl, barely contained by what remained of rotted hessian sack, his skin blotched and stretched over his twisted frame. The grotesque appearance was sickening and disturbing. Pipes and tubes crisscross his chest, leading to a huge barrel strapped to his back. The tap pipe, that served drinks, was like an extension of his very body. His face was entirely obscured by the rotted sack, and the same glowing teal emanated from eyeholes cut into it. The tavern owner was an horrific, cursed beast standing on four thick stumpy legs. He ambled over to the bar, gesturing for them to sit, a limp tail swishing after him in unison with the motion of his bulk.
No, absolutely not! I refuse, Astarion crossed his arms and firmly planted his feet ready to glare anyone down who would ask otherwise.
--- --- ---
Tav promptly closed her gaping mouth when the creature as large as the bar itself beckoned to them again.
His voice boomed in a slow intonation, "Drink! Gulp it down. Wet your whistle... Tell me your story. I’ve waited. Waited for you to come... Not alone anymore."
Tav relaxed, There’s something pitiable about him, a lonely soul trapped in the same twisted eternity as the rest of Reithwin.
He beckoned eagerly, the prospect of company the only thing that seemed to bring him life in this moment - or what remained of it. She set her jaw in determination and took a seat at the bar. The others kept their distance, but she was more than willing to converse with the creature on their behalf.
An opportunity for some answers.
She asked carefully, "Master Distiller, I take it? May I ask your name?"
His body jiggles alarmingly with something akin to a chuckle and he drawls, "Thisobald Thorm. Acclaimed Alchemist, Dazzling Distiller and Ketheric Kin."
He placed two tankards on the bar with remarkable genteel for his stature. A smaller, person-sized tankard for her, and another at least four times larger for him. Tav jumped in her seat when he suddenly slammed his elbow into the cask on his back, the tap pipe spewing a stream of glowing liquid into each tankard.
Tav holds her breath peering into the tankard, Tymora's luck be true. How much alcohol is in that brew?
She regarded the suspicious liquid through watery eyes and steeled herself for the conversation to follow. Her throat croaked a question, “What is it you're serving?”
“Only the best… Oblivion… And beyond. Cheers. Bottoms up.”
Karlach commented in a low tone from behind, "This guy looks like he had a long, long, long night. Might be best to keep him happy for now."
Gale's voice shuddered, "Look at the thing... A few more tastes of its own medicine and it'll burst."
Tav gave them a glance over her shoulder and mouthed, 'Not helping.'
They returned sheepish apologetic smiles, and she shifted her attention back to Thisobald.
She grasped the tankard and raised it to her lips pretending to drink. Once Thisobald mimicked her motion covering his whole face with the huge tankard, she subtly cast the liquid from hers onto the floor.
His large hand slammed the tankard onto the bar, making her jump again, and he wiped his thick arm across his masked mouth. Those glowing eyes lit up with delight at her empty tankard, "Ah. Elixir. You quaff as I do. Now tell me a story, a fable, a saga. Delight me."
Her eyes lit up in return, Now that, I can do.
She answered enthusiastically, a hand to her chest, "Master Distiller, you find yourself in the company of a bard."
"A Maestro." Gale corrected from behind and there was a mixture of amused scoffs and snorts.
Thisobald watched with growing interest as Tav retrieved her lyre admit the sounds of scraping chairs while the others took their seats for the subsequent performance.
--- --- ---
None of them had noticed her. Unable to stay away, but keeping her distance, she had cloaked herself in enough shadow to blend into the curse's background magic. Nyx had followed them to the tavern and snuck into one of the top floor windows.
Worry and concern gripping at her stomach when another cursed kin of Ketheric made his appearance. However, true-to-form, Tav had it all in hand. Nyx too settled then, taking a seat on one of the branches that had grown in through a window. She swung her legs while she dangled them over the edge, waiting patiently for Tav to start her song.
What a strange situation we find ourselves. And yet, so familiar.
The drunk patron joined as an onlooker, draping himself precariously over the top floor banister. He raised his mug in Nyx's direction, and she inclined her head in return, unconcerned about him being aware of her presence.
He is far gone enough, both by way of drink and curse, 'to see' things.
Tav strummed her lyre below.
Her contralto voice projected, "Flight of the Damned: A daring escape from the hells themselves.", and the others whooped and whistled. The opening verse carried a deep, steady tone, matched by soft, melodic strumming on the lyre. Notes strummed with light, but deliberate movements set a mystical and foreboding mood. The lyrical recitation started:
"A daring escape from hell,
Is a story to surely tell,
A song that starts in Baldur's Gate,
Are hallmarks many an adventure first rate.
Evading devils and mind flayers alike,
Swashbuckling adventurers set sail through flight,
Upon a Nautiloid opposed by red dragon,
It fled to other planes for it had no canon."
Tension rose in the melody, Tav's words become more assertive and matched by plucking her lyre at increasing speed. Forceful strings announced urgency of the battle, and her deepening cadence captured the gravity of the moment.
"Gith set chase, their dragons roared,
Over the hellscape the battle soared,
Bearing witness to the great devil hoard,
Tearing into demon with fire, tooth, and sword.
The mind flayer vessel was not a welcome sight,
Devils boarded to deliver the parting smite,
Killing the invaders was their hell-given right,
To rip the adventurers' souls from the light."
The music and her retelling swelled, filling the room with long forgotten resonance, it carried the impending doom that would be visited upon the adventurers. The lyre’s strumming grew more rhythmic, akin to a racing heart.
"Through flames and smouldering sky, they ran,
Chased by claws of an infernal clan.
A pact for freedom, their only prayer,
Their hearts entwined in desperate fare.
The fiends grow closer, whispering dread,
Each step could tear them, leave them dead.
Yet still, the stars of Toril gleamed,
A distant hope, by dreamers dreamed.
Time running out to secure their freedom,
They must return to Faerûn and her kingdom,
At the helm, the ship's controls were course corrected,
Yet worn and torn, the descent was neglected."
After the peak, her voice softens, returning to a lower, more reflective tone. The lyre’s notes become sparse, almost echoing, allowing her contralto voice to take centre stage in the quieter, introspective moments.
"Their tentacle steed had taken all it could bear,
Crash-landing near the salty River Chionthar,
Breaking free from the fiery nightmare,
Revealed the road back home a winding fare.
A story of strange beginnings,
But does it end here?"
Tav's voice had dropped to its lowest, richest register, delivering the final phrase slowly, allowing each word to resonate with weight once again. She caressed the final word 'here' letting it fade slowly, posing the unanswered question to a knowing audience.
Nyx could feel a shift in the tavern's magic, reverberating along with the last single vibrato, a soft and delicate lingering. The sound carried through the tavern, long after the lyre's string had stopped quivering. Leaving a haunting silence - a story incomplete. The magic, sighed, as though remembering something lost so long ago.
Thisobald's protracted, jarring applause drowned out the rest. He had drunk three tankards during the recital. He heaved, his body straining at laughing and he panted, "Delightful! Delicious! Ask, ask. Then drink!"
Tav was more than happy to oblige, "Who placed the curse on this land?”, proceeding with the same ritual as before. Not a drop of that disconcerting liquid passing her lips.
His grotesque body shuddered, eyes flaring with cursed light, "Father Ketheric… created… sustains. Drink it in. Lap it up."
Tav tries her luck with another, more personal, question, “How did you become… what you are now?”
There was a long pause. Thisobald’s chest visibly rose and fell under strained breaths, "Father Ketheric’s laughter… not joy… never joy. Only… laughter. Not enough. Not enough drink. Not enough company." He fills her tankard again and the drink disappears discreetly once more. Nyx noticed Gale's magic drain the pooling liquid into the ground below, seeping it away between the rotting planks.
The behemoth bellowed, "More stories... Tell me of foes felled, villains vanquished, beasts bested."
Tav set the tankard down and gathered her lyre.
"Come friends, lend and ear for the Mountain Menace and our unwavering bravery despite our fear."
Lae'zel groused loudly, her armour clinking at the fisted protest, "I was not afraid!"
Karlach guffawed in agreement, "Yeah, they had it coming."
"Here, here!", Wyll and Gale cheered.
Nyx rolled her eyes and smiled shaking her head.
Graces, it is good to be in their company again.
She stole a quick glance at Astarion. He was leaning lazily onto the table with one arm, propping his head up. No matter the lighting, it always danced on his handsome features and her cheeks warmed in response. It was a decidedly poor idea on her part. His nostrils flared, and he straightened. Shadowheart gave him a curious frown. He caught himself, and eased back into his chair, but he subtly scanned his eyes across the room trying to pinpoint the direction of her scent.
Stupid blush, she wanted to smack herself, but Tav's strumming mercifully distracted them all again.
The music became darker and more ominous. Her voice complementing the tune, beginning low and foreboding - A foreshadowing of sorts?
"Beware the manticore’s cruel, dark flight,
In the mountain’s chill and the falling night,
Poisoned quill and wing a silent sigh,
The beasts will hunt where the shadows lie.
High in the crags where darkness did creep,
The manticores waited for the sun to sleep,
A party of adventurers took their stand,
Unknowing of the danger close at hand."
The rhythm became more insistent, creeping in tension. Tav's voice rose slightly in pitch, hinting at the unseen threat about to emerge.
"Hear the wings beat in the dead of night,
Shadows rise where there’s no light.
With poisoned quills and piercing gaze,
None can escape the manticore’s maze.
Mother and cubs played with mock and taunt,
Created displays to strike fear and haunt,
The adventurers did not falter or flee,
They did not partake in this game of glee."
The lyre mimicked the suddenness of the attack, quick and sharp. Tav's ballad took on an urgent and powerful tone signalling a bloody battle.
"Darkness fell and they brought their reign,
Quills from the darkened sky did came,
With magic’s light and arrows swift,
The adventurers fought with a grim, fierce lift."
Tav's voice deepens with a sudden slowing of the music. Building suspense and hinting toward something eerie and lurking.
"The manticores retreated, cunning and sly,
Surrounding the party with fearsome cry,
A swift pounce from each,
Brought an adventurer within their reach.
Hear the wings beat in the dead of night,
Shadows rise where there’s no light.
With poisoned quills and piercing gaze,
None can escape the manticore’s maze.
Dragged them off where shadows sway,
The manticores intent for a feast of prey,
Through the darkness, the companions raced,
To save their own from the manticore’s taste."
Cadence picks up when another battle commences, and grows triumphant as the story continues with fast, uplifting notes.
"One by one, the beasts did fall,
As the party fought with courage and call,
With bravery bright and hearts of steel,
They faced the dark and turned the wheel."
The cautionary tone returns and Tav delivers the final warning with a sombre, resonant note and trailed the music into silence once more.
"So, heed this tale of the mountain’s fright,
Where manticores stalk in the dead of night,
Companion and wit your greatest friend,
Will see that the fiend is condemned."
Loud applause concluded the performance and Tav made a flourishing seated bow.
Thisobald was giddy as a child, "You amaze, enthuse, astound me. More to ask? Then DRINK!", he raised his tankard, and Tav clinked it with her empty one. He filled it up, but Tav didn't take it.
She asked instead, "How do the Thorms sustain the shadows?"
His body made an unsettling noise, but he replied, "The spirit of the land. And, no. I can't say more."
"Oliver?", Tav perked, and she looked around, "Is he here?"
Who is Oliver?
Halsin was searching the tavern from his seat too.
Thisobald drawled into his tankard, "Graveyard. Find new family. I can't, play. Only drink."
Tav pressed on, "What can you tell me about Ketheric?"
He pondered and replied as though the answer were obvious, "Father? Father is father. Eternal, invincible, forever, except not. No more. Questions. Drink."
She took the tankard in hand, but didn't drink, "What do you mean? Except not?"
Another unsettling squelch, Nyx made a face at the sound. Thisobald drawled more slowly than before, "No, must not! Can not, will not... Mention her. The customer is always right but also wrong. DRINK!"
Tav went through the motions again.
Thisobald was literally swaying behind the counter. His belly distending downwards.
Nyx straightened, Oh no, Tav get out of there!
Tav remained seated, listening to the increasingly strained utterances from Thisobald. He leaned onto the bar, and it creaked heavily. Thisobald was heaving through his soaked mask, "I - I know you. I knew, I know, I am knowing. You want father's personal mysterious - se - secret." He gulped for air, "No, not, never! Father said, ordered, commanded. Don't say it!" His voice became barely a whisper, "Don't say it..."
Tav leaned in closer, to everyone's alarm, and whispered conspiratorially, "What is a secret between friends?"
Thisobald gurgled like his machinery, "Friend? Friend.", he agreed and continued, "The cage. Her cage. Capture and... perish, die, reborn. Locked away. Thorm tomb. Father told me."
The scarping of Tav's chair cut through the air when she promptly tried to flee. Fortunately, Lae'zel was faster, on her feet and psionically yanking Tav to safety as Thisobald's dying words became drowned in the horrid sounds of his body coming undone, "I can't perish. Too strong, too..."
He held onto his bulging stomach, but a literal gut-wrenching tear pierced into Nyx's being and his body separated straight down the middle. Spilling a wave of curse-tinged gore onto the bar, its stools and the floor. His body collapsed, folding in on itself behind the counter.
"I didn't think he'd actually burst open!", Tav confessed, her hands holding her horrified expression. Eyes wide in disbelief.
Their collective shocked gaping was replaced by choking and coughing when noxious fumes rose from the cursed corpse.
By the Abyss!
"Oh, Gods!", Astarion exclaimed in an exasperated high pitch, both his hands over his mouth and nose. "That has to be the rankest thi-", he was turning green faster than anyone else. "This be damned.", he announced and hurried towards the door. They fled.
Only the undead patrons didn't follow suit. The barman merely remarked on the mess, and the drunkard's singing faded into the background along with the tavern itself.
I wanted to incorporate more of Tav's bardic approach to the scene and work in a few songs again. Also trying some different things description-wise in this chapter...
