Ada the Pink Bard @helyanwe4608 - Tumblr Blog

Day 8 - Part 1 - On the road

A moment in the weave leaves Ada with a storm of emotions.

For the song she sings, check out "Ich bin es nicht" from the German Wicked Soundtrack!

Please mind the Content Warnings for this fic! If you want to start at the very beginning, check here.

Read the full fanfic on AO3 now 🗡️

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The sensation of pressure at her temples and a piercing pain behind her brow greeted Ada as she awoke. The sun had barely begun its climb over the horizon, and yet, when she tried to open her eyes, it felt too bright for her.

No one else in camp stirred yet, so Ada decided she could afford to lie there with her eyes closed for a few more moments. Her head hurt, and her tongue lay in her mouth like a thick pad of cotton. She had not even touched the alcohol at the party. Even without moving, she knew her back would be protesting as soon as she tried to get up.

And there was another thing: a tender and painful pull in her chest. Her thoughts went back to the night before. How he had stood so close to her that she’d been able to feel the warmth radiating off of him. The wonder and excitement in his voice as she had succeeded in channelling the Weave.

The rolled-up sleeves of his wrap shirt had emphasised the definition of his forearms and the graceful elegance of his hands. Then, the burning in her cheeks at the image she had projected into his mind and the cold sensation of shock and embarrassment gripping at her insides.

And yet, as she lay on her bedroll, she could still feel the warmth and comfort of it and how it had made her heart sing.

She had never before felt like this about anyone.

It was almost as if his caring nature and honesty had slowly worn away her defences, like a constant drip slowly hollowing out stone. And as soon as the water had broken through, the other feelings were given free rein.

Scary and loud and exciting; the flood of emotions had overwhelmed her, and she found it impossible to swim against the tide. She felt her tail curl into her side, as if it was trying to comfort her. With a groan that was both due to the pain in her lower back and the exasperation she felt at her untimely spring feelings, Ada sat up.

Karlach and Shadowheart were crouching by the campfire, trying to get the flames started. Ada noticed the faintest smile on the half-elf’s face as Karlach lit the kindling with little more than a simple touch.

Some paces away, Wyll was waving a stick in front of Scratch. “Catch!” he yelled as he hurled the stick over the grassy plane of the inner grove. The dog sprinted off after the stick, barking excitedly.

They all followed their morning procedures, breaking camp and getting ready for the road. Before long, Halsin joined them as they sat in a semicircle on the large stone blocks near the Sacred Pool.

Halsin’s expression was grave as he spoke. “The journey ahead is extremely perilous. The curse around Moonrise shrouds everything in shadow. You will not find life, light, or anything natural there. Any who linger are twisted by the curse; shaped into beings of darkness and torment.”

“How come these cultists can stand it, then?” Astarion asked, unimpressed.

“I do not know. Which is why you will have to choose your approach carefully.” Halsin paused.

“While I would warn you not to enter the Githyanki crèche, it is on the way if you should choose to travel through the mountain pass to the north-west. This path will be easier at first, but you’ll run into the shadow curse eventually.”

Another pause.

“All this is preferable to the alternative, which is going through the Underdark. There is a tunnel somewhere in the ruined temple of Selûne that leads to Moonrise Towers.”

Ada remembered the little information Lae’zel and Gale had shared about this underground realm and found that she had to agree. The thought of the Underdark made her feel claustrophobic. Gale looked up at Halsin. His hands were wrestling in his lap as if to knead out some pain in his joints. “Can you tell us more about this curse that we will be facing?”

Grief and sorrow were on Halsin’s face as he spoke.

“Long ago, a man called Ketheric Thorm built a secret stronghold deep in the Underdark, before rallying a whole army of Dark Justiciars. Worshippers of Shar. Moonrise was the seat of Ketheric’s power.

I helped overthrow him and his Dark Justiciars a century ago. But I failed to prevent him from unleashing darkness across the region before he was defeated. I spent decades researching the curse, trying to put an end to it. Nothing has worked thus far.”

He paused here for a moment, a grim sort of conviction crossing his face, “I’ve long sought to return to Moonrise Towers. It seems our fates have aligned. I have unfinished business there, and a lifetime of regret to repair.”

He too is looking for a cure, Ada thought, studying Halsin for a moment, neither he nor his grove are threatened by this, and he still feels responsible.

“I agree that the crèche is an unnecessary risk,” Shadowheart said with an acidic look towards Lae’zel. Despite a week on the road together, the cleric’s distaste for the warrior had not changed.

“The Underdark sounds no more dangerous than a nest of fanatics. Or are you really just afraid of the dark, like children?”

Lae’zel was on her feet at once. “I will not tolerate any more delay! The parasite stirs in us, magically induced stasis or no. If you know what is good for you, you will come with me to get purified, istiki!”

Shadowheart bit back immediately. “Even if the crèche held a cure, aren’t you worried your kind will punish you for consorting with us, gith?”

“My name is Lae’zel. And my people will understand my need for servants.”

“See?” Shadowheart looked to the group, her voice raised. “You know she sees none of us as equals. We can not trust her or her kind. Let us go through the Underdark. With or without her.”

It was clear Shadowheart preferred the latter option.

Ada met Lae’zel’s gaze and felt a strange camaraderie behind the gith’s impatient words. In her own brusque way, she was offering to share a cure with them. One she genuinely believed in. And that meant something, coming from her.

Ada sighed, weighing the options once more. “You know… we could try the crèche. If it doesn’t work, we can always continue on the mountain pass and reach Moonrise Towers eventually.”

Lae’zel’s expression hardened into something resolute. As she took on a more relaxed stance, Ada saw a hint of gratitude in her sharp eyes.

“The way through the Underdark would get us past most of the shadow curse,” Halsin admitted “and yet I would rather not venture from one dark into the next. The choice, ultimately is yours, though I fear it is like choosing between the plague and famine.”

Ada looked back to Lae’zel, as she remembered how the woman had offered her protection to them and proven that commitment in many situations. Lae’zel was bossy, arrogant and violent. If that was any indication how the rest of her people behaved, then they were in for a rough ride.

“The mountain pass feels like the best choice.” Ada said, trying to hide the lingering doubt. “I suggest we take that route.”

“Aye.” Wyll agreed. “Aye.” Karlach and Gale echoed.

And with Halsin inclining his head in Ada’s direction, the decision was made.

***

Gale and Ada caught up with the rest of the group shortly afterwards. They had reached a plateau, which would give them a short reprieve before the actual march across the mountains.

Ada saw most of her companions resting on the side of the road. Even Halsin, who had been able to keep up with the group well, dabbed his brows with a rough piece of cloth.

As she and Gale settled beside him, Ada noticed Wyll and Lae’zel standing together and watching the group with amused glances. They looked like they had hardly broken a sweat on their way up here. “And here I thought the tadpole was getting to me.“ Wyll said to Lae’zel, grinning smugly. “But it seems the Blade of Frontiers is not so easily subdued.”

Ada groaned with what little breath she had been able to recover since sitting down.

“I know where you sleep.” Astarion hissed between his teeth.

“Do not pride yourself on surpassing them, warlock. It shows considerable lack of ambition.” Lae’zel regarded her companions with a disapproving look on her face. “Pathetic is far too kind a word for this disgrace.”

Ada felt something nudge her shoulder and found Scratch, almost on eye level with her. Instinctively she raised a hand in an attempt to pet him, but something stopped her.

“Do you smell that, friend?” His ears were flat against his head, his tail was raised. “There is fire.”

Ada’s eyes flicked towards Karlach. Scratch pawed at her arm to get her attention back. “No. Not Happy Giant. This is bigger.”

The dog turned his back to Ada and walked a couple dozen yards ahead, toward the next bend of the road westward. There he stood, his right front paw bent, his body and tail a straight line, like an arrow pointing them in the right direction.

This was such a confident and practised move, he was clearly expecting them to follow him.

“What is it?” Karlach asked Ada; she had noticed them looking at her. “He smells fire.” Ada explained, getting to her feet with a groan. “We better see what that is.”

Sure enough, when they had rounded the next edge of the cliff, they saw dark clouds of smoke rising from a small estate nearby.

“Good job, Scratch!” Karlach said. The large woman turned and looked at her companions. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”

Wyll nodded, but Shadowheart was hesitant. “Maybe we should proceed with caution? You know… with cultists on the loose…”

Ada had to agree. They were exhausted and would be slowed by it in a fight, if it came to that. But still, she followed Karlach down the road.

A few moments later, they stood before a grey wall, topped with terracotta roof tiles. Pink and purple leather flowers covered the entire length of the wall. The black iron gate in the middle stood open; the doors were decorated with climbing flowers made of metal and looked inviting.

There was a wooden sign post next to the gate, beckoning travellers to come in and have a meal at ‘Waukeen’s Rest’. But the view into the courtyard gave a less inviting impression.

Most of the façade was black with soot, and not a single window appeared to be intact. Between the dried-up fountain and the smouldering remains of what must once have been a pergola, a person in armour crouched over a lifeless body.

When Ada looked around, she realised the entire courtyard was littered with injured people and charred corpses that were unrecognisable.

“The inn,” Ada stammered out as her eyes darted around the scene. “It’s under attack.”

“No,” Halsin corrected, his eyes darkening as he looked around. “It was under attack. This is the aftermath of a goblin raid.” He pointed toward smaller bodies among the humans and elves: goblins in crude armour, some of them still smouldering, while others bore the mark of the

Absolute, painted onto their chests and faces.

Ada shuddered to think that is could have been the fate of the grove, if the cult had ever found out its whereabouts.

Lae’zel growled. “More of the cult’s filth.”

Ada stepped forward, her eyes scanning the wreckage. On the other side of the courtyard, more soldiers stood at a large wooden door. They were yelling and grunting as they tried to enter the burning inn.

“What are the Flaming Fist doing here?” Wyll murmured as he started toward the struggling soldiers.

Ada was right behind him, Karlach beside her. With each step, she could feel the heat of the raging fire around her get closer to her skin. The smell of fire, blood and burnt flesh brought back gruesome images from the goblin camp.

A torturer with a glowing iron bar. The blood on Ada’s hands and clothes. The screams of the goblins as the spiders descended upon them.

“Keep pushing!” one of the soldiers yelled. It was her voice that brought Ada back from the deep waters. The soldier was a dark-skinned woman with neatly braided cornrows. Sweat was pouring from her face and she wiped it off with the sleeve of her uniform.

A detailed coat of arms was embroidered on the red tunic that covered the chainmail she wore. The bust of a knight's armour with wings on the visor and below it, on a blue background, a red triangle with a burning fist emblazoned on it.

“The Grand Duke and Counsellor Florrick are inside! Hurry,” she commanded her fellow soldiers. That made Wyll tense immediately. He looked at the woman, then to his companions and finally, at the wooden door to the burning inn.

Wyll lowered his head, exhaled sharply as if steeling himself. Slowly, he took a step back, just to rush toward the door and deliver one decisive kick to its centre. The men and women beside him yelled in surprise as the wood splintered and the door fell apart.

Immediately, smoke and heat poured out at them as the fire reached for the newly added oxygen. Ada’s eyes burned and the smoke scratched at her throat as she hesitantly stepped closer.

The smoke had already enveloped the warlock, while Ada was still unsure if she should follow him or not. There might be other survivors needing help in there after all.

Karlach was beside her, looking her over with her head tilted to the side. “Seems like you’re more bothered by the fire than most tieflings, Sparkles. Stay here, Momma K will take care.” And with that, she disappeared into the fire.

Still blinking against the heat, Ada stood there for a moment. The exhaustion of the past days slowed her brain as she tried to figure out what to do with herself. In the end, she decided to walk back to where the others were standing.

“The raiders came in the darkness.” A young woman, also wearing the armour of a Flaming Fist soldier, said to Shadowheart. “Set the inn aflame and yelled for the Grand Duke to come out. Of course, he did not; too stubborn to submit to any ill-doer's intentions.”

“The Grand Duke of Baldur’s Gate?” Astarion seemed surprised. “What in the Hells could he want in a place like this? I am sure the city’s coffers could have bought him something… less pungent?”

“And what did they want with him?” Shadowheart cut in, before the soldier had time to decide wether to reply to Astarion.

The woman shrugged, looking over her shoulder to the inn. “No idea,” she admitted, “just heard the Counsellor and the Commander yell for the Grand Duke to get to safety. No idea what happened next.”

Lae'zel had moved away from the group to survey the inn's courtyard. Every few steps, she glanced impassively at a corpse, presumably with the aim of finding out if there were any surviving attackers she could question.

Halsin had settled down in the shadow of the wall separating the property from the street. A pale-looking Gale was at his side, holding a brown drinking tube in his hand. As she approached, Ada saw that the wizard's hands were still shaking. His eyes took a moment to focus on her as she stepped in front of them.

Ada crouched before Gale, touching his upper arm lightly with her fingers. She found nothing to say for a moment.

I am worried about you, Ada thought, and I know you’re not being truthful. I wish you’d let me in when I reach for you.

But she could not say anything like that. Finally, she settled for a safer question. “Need anything?”

Of course the silly man shook his head and Ada huffed, a little frustrated. She wanted to push him, to make him talk to her. But she suspected it would do her little good. As desperate as he was about his condition, he had been hesitant and vague about it from the start.

And after last night, after the image she had projected into his head and how she had made him run from her, she was worried she was making it all awkward for him. Ada cringed at the thought that he might see her as an overprotective mother hen or a doting, lovesick girl.

Still, the sight of him—pale, weakened and trying to hide his pain—made her heart twist with the desire to soothe him. She felt useless and helpless, and she hated every second of it.

But Ada had been friends with Leah long enough to know that some people pulled away when they were hurting and that it was no use to pry. At least not yet and not here. So she turned to Halsin.

The druid knelt in the sparse shade the wall was offering and had lit some kindling in front of him. He added a twig of herbs and some tree bark to the fire, then blew it out, leaving the twig slightly smouldering and emitting smoke. Its intense aroma reminded Ada of frankincense. He mixed the burnt part of the bark with some dirt and water as he began to mutter an incantation.

Ada was about to ask him what he was doing when she felt a deep humming in her bones that gave her goosebumps. It was the sensation she had felt at the Sacred Pool, where the Idol of Silvanus had been at the centre of a ritual.

She could not determine if it was more a physical or acoustic thing; it was neither and both at the same time.

Most of the other magic she had experienced or conjured had been like a chord, a logical structure of emotions turned into sound that she put together to achieve an effect. A song echoing in the Weave.

Halsin's magic was different, just like Shadowheart's. Instead of a triad in the air, this magic was something grounded, almost like a bass rumble. Something that had risen from the earth in response to a call.

Ada's wildshape had felt like that too.

The entire courtyard was now overcast. In no time at all, dark clouds had gathered, hanging heavily in the sky like waterlogged sponges. A large, cool drop hit Ada's forehead and she jumped. Then another followed, then several more.

He has summoned rain to heal this place, Ada realised.

The floodgates in the clouds had opened, and an intense summer rain poured down on the smouldering remains of Waukeen's Rest, soaking the courtyard’s ground in seconds. Soot was washed of walls and steam rose where the sheets of rain met with flames or embers.

Halsin opened his eyes and smiled contentedly. The rain already plastered his hair to his temples, and Ada’s top was sticking to her belly and sides within seconds. She hardly had time to worry about the white fabric turning see-through before a sigh escaped her, as the rain cooled her skin and soothed her nerves.

On the other end of the courtyard, half a dozen coughing figures emerged from the inn’s ruins. Karlach and Wyll were among them, accompanied by three more soldiers and a tall elven woman in an elegant purple robe.

“Counsellor Florrick…are you all right?” Wyll managed after more painful sounding coughs. His clothes were singed in places and the pitch black soot emphasised his demonic red eye.

The elven woman looked up at him in disbelief. Her eyes were reddened from the heat and her ash brown hair was as covered in soot as was that of the others who had just emerged. Yet even beneath that, her authority and grace was radiant.

She considered the Blade of Frontiers for a moment. “Wyll,” she muttered finally, recognition mixing with disbelief in her voice, “by the Maimed God, what’s become of you?” The words had strained her vocal cords, and she began to cough breathlessly.

“A story best left for calmer days,” Wyll replied, unable to fully hide the slight embarrassment on his face. Calmer, he continued, “Now breathe deeply. Are you in pain?”

“A scorched throat, a few hairs singed off. Nothing a bit of time and fresh air can’t cure.” She conjured some water with a twirl of her hand and splashed it across her face. Then she turned to the remaining soldiers around her.

“Gauntlet, a new duty calls. Cultists have taken Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard. Westward, if my eyes and ears can be believed. Report to the sergeant and send for reinforcements. We must find the Duke.” The young woman with the cornrows gave a curt nod and then left, the other following in her wake.

“It can’t be, Counsellor.” Wyll sounded scared all of a sudden. “You mean to tell me—”

“Yes, Wyll. The cultists have your father.”

“Ravengard?” Shadowheart interjected. “Wait, I know that name.”

Florrick straightened as she turned to her. “As well you should. He is the great champion of the Council, commander of the Flaming Fist. The binding force holding Baldur’s Gate together. Without him, the city faces collapse. In fact, I fear that may have been the intention of those who abducted him.”

“They were with the Absolute,” Ada said to Wyll. “The fallen goblins carry her mark on them.”

The Counsellor looked at Wyll as if she were piecing something together in her head about him, like something was finally clicking into place.

“Wyll, you must hold little love for your father. But please, find him and return him to the city.”

Wyll did not miss a beat before his reply. “Trust us to see it through, Counsellor. The Absolute’s cult is based at Moonrise Towers. That’s where they’ll have taken him.”

“Moonrise Towers?” For the first time, there was something like fear in Florrick’s eyes. “Along the old road? That place is cursed. Few could survive there… Unless…”

She broke off and no one dared disturb the silence she left hanging in the air.

“This was no random attack. The Grand Duke was their target,” the Counsellor concluded finally.

Again, Ada was aware of what a strange sight their group must be to anyone who encountered them. And Counsellor Florrick too seemed a little perplexed by the dissimilarity of the eight companions before her.

“Approach the Towers with the utmost care. The land itself has been swallowed in shadow. I will seek reinforcements and join you when I can.” Florrick looked at Wyll again. “Remember this: ‘Courage is found in the battle against fear, not in the defeat of it.’”

“So Father said. I won’t soon forget.” Wyll said solemnly and Florrick squeezed his arm before she returned to her soldiers, commanding them to take care of the dead and get ready to be on the road as soon as possible.

With a big sigh, Wyll took his eyes off the elven woman and looked to his companions again. They all looked at him in various stages of disbelief.

“Shit.” Wyll visibly blushed, then exhaled slowly. “You can put distance between you and yesterday, but you’ll never leave it fully behind. Father’s words. Hard to argue with them right now. Florrick spoke the truth. I’m a Grand Duke’s son.”

Karlach huffed. “Well, he’s not just any Grand Duke. He’s Ulder Ravengard! The most influential duke in the city.”

“His absence alone will sow chaos in the city. If they were to infect him…he could lead Baldur’s Gate to ruin. All the more reason to find him. The Absolute has seized not just my father, but the future of the Sword Coast.” It was clear he had not noticed Karlach’s comment; he was deep in his own monologue now.

“My story is one of two men. The Blade of Frontiers. A man hunting the fiends who prey on the weak and claw at the Coast. And Wyll Ravengard. A memory of a memory. A man who belongs to the past. I wanted you to know the Blade, not the shadow he left behind.”

“You said your father came from humble beginnings. And that he became nobility.” Ada stepped closer to him, to make it harder for him to avoid her eyes. “You speak of him with respect and yet, there is some sort of break. Can you please tell us a bit more, Wyll?”

Once again, the young man’s brows were furrowed as he fought the decision he was struggling to make. Instinctively, he raised a hand to feel across his carefully coiled dreadlocks, some bound on the back of his head, pulled back just enough to keep his vision clear in combat. The intricate golden jewellery pieces, that usually glinted from some of the locks, looked dull in this light.

His hand was stopped as his fingers hit against the base of his horns. He was still not fully used to them, and this sudden reminder seemed to jolt him back to the present again. He let out a deep sigh.

“Father’s the son of a blacksmith, born with barely two coins to rub together. He made a name for himself among the Flaming Fist. Brave as Balduran, stubborn as a deep rothé. Daring, outspoken… but hardly posh.”

There was a humourless laugh before he continued.

“As a youth, I spent more time duelling with Father than I did rubbing elbows with lords. Not to say I didn’t develop a taste for good wine and a talent for courtly dance. Father taught me the four pillars of power, qualities that make an honourable man: Courage. Insight. Strategy. Justice. He reckoned I’d follow in his footsteps, that I would vanquish evil, maintain order, save the world.” There was a slight shake of his head.

“But a duke makes bedfellows with more monsters than he slays. Father called it ‘diplomacy.’ I called it ‘hypocrisy.’ In the frontiers, there is no posturing, no diplomacy. I slay monsters, I don’t consort with them. At least… I didn’t…”

There was a heavy silence in which Ada could not help but think how far removed her idea of a duke’s son was from this tadpole-infected warlock and monster hunter who was travelling with a vampire, an alien with violent tendencies and a woman who sometimes turned into a giant bird of prey.

And yet, if she squinted just a little, she could see him fill in the role of Prince Charming at a ball, surrounded by blushing admirers. Or him making tough decisions at a council table, never losing sight of the fact that he was affecting real subjects.

It seemed like Wyll was finding it just as hard as she did to reconcile one with the other, or to entirely separate one from the other.

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