Though I mostly drew some of my favourite minor characters, mostly by appearance and stuff. and some suggested ones. Charlie SNPP suggested by anon and Ian (very tall man) by @mr-owen-burnett.
I will be posting Mr Burns in a separate post since he doesn't exactly belong here.
It's not the best, but it doesn't really matter, I just wanted to draw them somehow anyway... OKAYOKAY I'll shut up and get to the fanart now
You can see where I kind of gave up lol. Sadly I could'nt draw the rest from my little collage. but again, I don't really wanna burn myself out. I am looking forward to draw Fernando, Kostas, Hank Scorpio etc. though.
While I'm at it here's some unshared doodles and stuf.. optional
OC ONES BUT MOSTLY LUCA AND THE TWO LONG HAIRED DUDES ARE MY SCIENTIST AND HIS HOMUNCULI SON OCS IN THE STYLE OF THE SIMPSONS BECAUSE I WANT TO
Caught in the battle between Lorroakan and the party, Rolan must face not only his master but the doubts haunting him all this time. Once and for all.
[AO3 Link]
Notes:
I am very, VERY sorry for this chapter taking so long. I have no excuse for being this slow, consider it a mix of work-induced burnout / my dissatisfaction with how it was coming together. HOWEVER, I can safely say: after rewrites, I think it finally reaches the emotional/action points I needed from the Lorroakan fight.
Technote: I highlighted the spells in cursive for this chapter, it doesn’t bear any significance, just eases the readability, I feel like (˶˃⤙˂˶)
+++
Worthy
Part 3 | Chapter 19
Whole once more
Anxiety had become Rolan’s despised consort every time he would go to the top floor of the Tower. Today, it was even worse. The tiefling couldn’t stop biting at his lower lip, brushing off the blood with irate fingers every so often. Anything to silence the myriads of thoughts roaming inside. Still, they persisted:
What were Nim and Lorroakan talking about? Why was he so shaken after? What happens tomorrow?
At times like these, Rolan wished he weren’t burdened with a sound mind. To be an ambitionless half-wit seemed like a perfect idea right now. Or even, to disappear from the realm entirely, leaving not even a whisper of his presence.
The wizard bit his lip once more before entering the chambers. Lorroakan’s book throne stood empty, uncharacteristically so. The master was instead pacing the vast room, looking over four Myrmidons he conjured. He didn’t notice his apprentice until the tiefling halted, nearly within an arm’s reach.
“Hasteless as always,” Lorroakan scoffed, looking Rolan over. However, his tone didn’t pack the usual condescending punch, “Are you aware who visited me just now?”
The tiefling clenched his fist to mask any suspicious expression, “No, I don’t.” Lying to the master of Ramazith’s Tower was unwise. Still, Rolan trusted his gut feeling.
Lorroakan simply rolled his eyes, “Naïve of me to expect this from you. The man was Gale of Waterdeep. Have you heard of him at least?”
“Yes, I have. Although it is hard to differentiate between the truth and the rumors.”
“Ha,” Lorroakan shook his head, “Accurate. He is not of much importance,” – Rolan’s fist clenched once more – “But he does have godly acquaintances. He made a deal with me – to bring the Night Song here, tomorrow.”
The mage paused, chewing at the nail of his thumb. The gesture was so atypical that Rolan did a double-take. Everything about Lorroakan seemed wrong: the way he stood, tense and lost, his brows arched in almost an aching frown.
For the first time in weeks, the tiefling smirked in front of his master. The unease Gale’s presence has put Lorroakan into was wildly entertaining. Even if Rolan is to get hit for it, “You don’t trust that he will fulfill his promise?”
“Only a fool would trust another wizard blindly,” Lorroakan jeered, “especially the Fraud of Waterdeep!” he fixed his hair, annoyed, “I can’t be sure of him. And the price he’d request.”
Rolan swayed, contemplating what it all meant. Come to think of it, Gale looked weirdly distracted today, going around, inquiring about books. Was it perhaps information, some hidden knowledge the party sought in exchange for the Night Song?
“What do you intend to do then, master Lorroakan?” the tiefling finally asked, his stomach sinking.
“I’ll get what’s mine,” the wizard snapped. “One way or another.” He turned to the Earth Myrmidon. “Stay here tonight and keep watch. Summon me if anything suspicious happens.”
As he glared at Lorroakan’s back, the hidden urges began taking over Rolan again. The contempt he felt for this joke of a person threatened to spill over into action with each passing second. “You expect he will appear unannounced, in the middle of the night?” the tiefling questioned, taking a step closer, the irritation unmistakable in his tone.
But Lorroakan didn’t notice, “He’s a desperate, discarded dog of Mystra, I won’t exclude this possibility,” he shrugged, “Vagabonding across the lands, seeking power in the company of undesirables, truly a pathetic downfall. If he tries anything, I will dispose of him with half a spell.”
Rolan’s hands surged up, coming dangerously close to locking around his master’s neck.
Is it time? One snap, and his troubles vanish. Lorroakan could kill him just as easily, but Rolan no longer cared.
Whatever happens, he would finally be free.
But then…
Hesitation.
No, rather a voice of common sense he so desperately wished to silence. Rolan has been drowning in humiliation far too long to act on impulse.
The desire to rid himself of Lorroakan was unbearable. But what comes after instant gratification? What if Nimriel, Gale, and the party still need the aid of Ramazith’s Tower’s master?
Let the party’s visit play out. Then he could decide. If Lorroakan is useless to them, he’s useless to the realm, too.
Rolan took a step back, leaving the mage unsuspecting of his intentions, “Understood,” was the only word he could squeeze out.
And once Lorroakan left the room, locking the door behind him, the tiefling rolled his eyes in contempt.
Without much care, he went out to the balcony. As the sun bathed his face in kind warmth, the tiefling looked down. Covered by thin clouds, the whole city of Baldur’s Gate lay beneath him. Unmoving, seemingly so peaceful. No sound of commotion, laughter, or panic. A vacuum of tranquil beauty at his feet, underneath a vast blue sky.
Suddenly, Rolan felt it, too: his face relaxed, eyes closed in deep relief. And as he spread his arms, the wizard exhaled slowly, letting himself go. He murmured a spell and soared off his feet in one fluid motion.
Rolan flew over the balcony, eyes still closed as he hovered in the air. At that moment, he was no longer Rolan. Someone, something else, indescribable. A gust of wind, or, perhaps, the sky itself – transparent, all-present. Free.
His eyes opened, studying how one of his hands roamed smoothly in the nothingness of the air. It felt so natural, as if it was meant to be. The weave was everywhere, and Rolan was a rightful part of it. Has been. Always will be. But it was only now that the wizard finally accepted it deep within him.
Breathing in and out, taking all the air he craved with his mouth, the tiefling looked down again. The city remained the same, but something within him stirred.
Is there a place for doubts, if tomorrow may never come?
+++
Just as Rolan expected, Gale Dekarios did not sneak into the Tower in the middle of the night. He wouldn’t need to, the tiefling knew as much. Still, to him, the party’s plans remained uncertain.
Until tomorrow inevitably came.
Lorroakan returned early, Myrmidons in tow. His pretense began: reading, corresponding, overseeing the elementals. But he couldn’t fool Rolan: the mage was restless, awaiting the party.
Finally, right before noon, three figures emerged from the portal, compelling the attention of both wizards. One look, and Rolan knew – Lorroakan was right to be nervous. Walking nonchalantly, Nim, Gale, and Lae’zel brought in the air of quiet confidence into the Ramazith’s Tower. New, immaculate armor, weapons that could cut a dragon in half. Everything about the trio screamed that whatever happened in the Shadow-Cursed Lands has weathered them irreversibly.
But, to Rolan, Nimriel stood out the most. Uncharacteristically, she donned sharp, silver armor, her tried-and-true bow accompanied by two golden swords behind her back. Even Nim’s hair has grown out: gone were the messy streaks of hair, her face now framed in longer, wavy strands.
The drow now resembled a knight of the royal guard far more than the mysterious ranger from the Forest of Mir. Yet, it was still the Nim he knew, the Nim he would always remember. The small, knowing smile she gave him was all the reassurance Rolan needed.
Lorroakan was far less excited to see the visitors, as they bore not what he needed. Feigning disinterest, he rose slowly from his throne. And once they stopped, he shrugged, looking around theatrically, “Well, Gale, it seems you came to me empty-handed.”
“Trust me, we are not,” Nimriel responded casually, looking straight at him, “Any minute now.”
The master of Ramazith’s Tower tsked, “I was not addressing you, how rude of-”
“Nimriel speaks for all of us,” Gale interrupted calmly, a pleased smile spreading across his face, “It will serve you well to listen to what she has to say.”
Letting his irritation be known, the mage nodded towards the drow.
Nim shrugged, making a couple of relaxed steps towards the throne, “So impatient, aren’t you? If you need the Nightsong this much, why didn’t you rush to retrieve her yourself?” She lifted her index finger, interrupting Lorroakan before he could respond, “Wait, I know this one. You are just a helpless coward, aren’t you? As incompetent as they c-”
The drow’s final words were shuddered with the sound of a breaking window. A second later, the Aasimar flew in, landing mightily next to the trio.
Rolan was still petrified by Nim’s harsh words towards Lorroakan when he heard her say, “Here she is, in the flesh, just as you wanted.” The realization dawned on him quickly, as the tiefling mumbled, “My gods. The Night Song is a person.”
“What have we here?” Aylin’s voice roared through the room, “A magician in the tower, hiding away from the frightening world. What are you so scared of, magus? Not the Nightsong, surely – why, she’s nothing but a relic to be purchased and pursued.”
Trying to keep an unbothered composure, Lorroakan exclaimed, “At last! There you are, my dear.”
“You will address me with due deference. I am Dame Aylin. And you are a whelp without honor, without pride, with nothing but a tower full of trinkets.”
“My apologies, Dame Aylin,” Lorroakan replied, his tone full of mock-innocence, “I meant no disrespect. I asked our mutual friend here to make an introduction so that I might get to meet the famed daughter of Selune. Forgive me for impudence,” he gave Nimriel a scorching glare, “Perhaps our friend can bridge the gap, and do what I believe they came here to do.”
Nim shook her head theatrically, looking him dead in the eyes, “You are either perfect at pretending, or a true imbecile. You think we would let a scum like you use the Nightsong to achieve godhood?”
The revelation struck Rolan hard: knowing Lorroakan, he should have expected such recklessness. The wizard braced for what that meant next.
Nimriel continued, “What makes you think you will succeed where Ketheric Thorm failed? Besides,” her voice dropped, whispering a secret armed with a dangerous grin, “We killed Ketheric Thorm. Disposed of Bhaal’s chosen, too. And will pay a visit to the archduke soon. Pity you won’t be able to warn your friend, Lorroakan. Because you are never leaving this tower alive.”
The master of Ramazith’s Tower, for all his years of polished veneer, couldn’t keep the tremor from his voice, “I’d hoped you’d keep an open mind, but it seems you’re determined to make this as difficult as possible,” he turned to Rolan, “Boy! At the ready. Once I’ve taken control of the Aasimar...”
“No,” the tiefling replied confidently, fury boiling underneath, “I would never have assisted you if I knew you planned such horrors.”
Determined, Rolan moved across the room, stopping only as he reached the place where the party stood, “You lied to get the Nightsong here. Made us all believe she was nothing but a relic,” his gaze darted off to Nim, “I have seen what true leadership can accomplish - but never under your tutelage.”
“Watch your tongue, you child! I could make it such that no wizard in the realm will touch you,” Lorroakan hissed.
But his apprentice didn’t care for what his master had to say anymore, “If they’re all like you, I think it sounds like an excellent bargain.”
“Face us, charlatan,” Aylin challenged, “We who detest you so.”
With a thundering shout, Dame Aylin flew forward, needing no one to command her. She heard none of the warnings uttered by Rolan or Nimriel’s cries to wait.
One swing of a great sword.
A flash of blinding lights.
A faint howl as the Aasimar fell to the ground, stricken by Lorroakan’s spell.
“Damnation,” Gale muttered, using telekinesis to transport Aylin’s unconscious body closer to the group. Rolan thought fast as well, creating a fog cloud around the group.
“We don’t have time,” he hissed, keeping his voice down, “He syphons the powers of off Myrmidons. You can’t hit him directly, unless you want to end up like this,” the wizard pointed at Lae’zel, treating Aylin with a potion of healing.
Nimriel drew Phalar Aluve from the sheath, plunging it promptly into the floor like a beacon of gold surrounded by thunderous magic. “Lae, engage the two on the left, drive them here, stay within the circle until Aylin recovers.”
The gith nodded with no hesitation, the lust for a glorious battle barely contained.
The drow’s eyes drifted towards two wizards, “Distract the bastard,” Nim whispered hastily, “Keep your distance until we finish the Myrmidons. No heroics until then.”
She paused, her tone serious yet shaking, her gaze fixed on Rolan alone, “If you get hurt, I will never forgive you.”
The tiefling’s breath hitched. For a brief moment, silence stretched between them. Yet their eyes confessed tenderness and fears only the two could decipher. And once the silent part was spoken, Rolan could only say “Likewise.”
Nimriel gave him the warmest smirk before drawing her other sword and dashing into battle. Determined, she dodged a spell Lorroakan sent her way, ignoring the magus completely. Relentless, she engaged the earth Myrmidon, pummeling him with a number of heavy strikes.
“Remove the cloud and move!” Lae’zel commanded, readying to shoot an arrow of many targets.
As soon as Rolan dispelled the fog, Gale yanked him off the floor using the dimension door. They landed under one of the balconies to the left, standing across from Lorroakan.
The weave enveloped Gale as he unleashed chain lightning from his staff. The bolts swirled and crackled through the air, aiming directly at the master of Ramazith’s Tower. However, at the very last moment, Lorroakan countered the spell, instantly sending an identical attack back toward Gale and Rolan.
Gale deflected it with ease, challenge burning in his eyes as he faced the red-haired wizard.
“Don’t waste powerful spells now,” Rolan rattled quietly, observing Lorroakan, “Until he’s more exhausted, he will counter them all.”
“So will I,” Gale replied, “Be ready.”
“You’ve grown so weak, Gale of Waterdeep,” Lorroakan threw, paying no mind to their conversation, “You are nothing without Mystra’s favoritism,” he glared, shouting out another spell immediately after.
“Careful!” the tiefling exclaimed as the gloving sigil appeared beneath their feet, “Detono!”
A thunderwave he promptly cast on the ground pushed Gale and him out of the circle before it erupted into flames, fire leaving small burns on their flesh.
But Lorroakan didn’t intend to stop. Another spell and 8 suits of animated armor came to life around the room – all directed to attack the two wizards.
Rolan cursed under his breath, “He enhanced the spell.”
“Not ideal,” Gale agreed, calling upon the weave to attack them.
Suddenly, a whistling sound pierced the air. Seconds later, the space in front of them was covered in smoke. Using the opportunity, Gale grabbed the tiefling’s hand and teleported them atop the balcony on the opposite side of the room.
Rolan looked down, assessing the situation: the center of the room was filled with dense, swirling smoke, Lorroakan barely visible within it. Lae’zel remained under the protective shriek of Phalar Aluve, fending off two Myrmidons with a fierce only githyanki possesses. Nearby, the Night Song was slowly regaining consciousness.
His eyes darted to the other corner of the room. There, completely forgotten by Lorroakan, stood Nimriel, the bow still in hand. Of course, it was her – his huntress, his savior. Even now, she was watching over him. Heat prickled Rolan’s skin, gratitude warring with a sharp edge of embarrassment. The drow nodded at him briefly before being forced to engage the water Myrmidon.
“If we separate, we won’t be such easy targets,” Gale noted quickly after looking over the battlefield, “Can you fly, Rolan?”
The tiefling nodded.
“Good, listen then. We fly around the room, I distract Lorroakan while you take out as many animated armors as you can. Sounds like a plan?”
Rolan opened his mouth to agree, but a thought that had lingered inside his skull since the fight had begun persisted. At this point, he knew his master all too well – for better or worse.
Finally, the tiefling shook his head, “It’s only half of it. Lorroakan is a coward. A coward with unlimited access to the resources of the Tower. Once he realizes the Myrmidons are gone, he will be ruthless, utilizing every opportunity to take us out with the most powerful spells. We can’t let him feel threatened. We must do something he doesn’t expect.”
Gale considered his words, “True, he is a man who has everything to lose. What do you suggest?”
+++
Unaware of the wizards’ plan, Nimriel finished off the earth Myrmidon with the heavy sway of her golden blade. There was still another Myrmidon trailing every step of the agile drow, but her priorities swayed.
Nim looked into the distance, checking on the others. The center of the room was engulfed in complete chaos. Searing above, Gale and Rolan circled Lorroakan, casting spells at him and the animated armor the mage conjured.
Time to time, the two wizards would briefly fly by each other - battered, wounded, exhausted. Their gazes, however, were filled with scorching anticipation, like dragons hunting under water, holding in their last breath.
The huntress from the Forest of Mir saw it, felt it, and decided it was time to get closer: the time for a final strike was approaching fast.
+++
As soon as Lorroakan cast the globe of invulnerability around himself, Gale readied himself – Rolan was right. It was time.
+++
Gale Dekarios. One of the few men in the world that Lorroakan despised with every fiber of his being. Still alive – flying shamelessly, going around him in tight circles. The master of Ramazith’s tower could not stand another moment of it.
Lorroakan, trembling like a rat near a blazing fire, began hurling every spell he could recall at Gale, while keeping himself protected behind his shimmering sphere.
One hit – deflection.
Second hit – the bastard weaseled away from it.
Third hit.
FINALLY.
Gale fell to the floor with a rumbling thud.
The victorious laugh LEFT Lorroakan’s mouth. But it was rudely interrupted by none other than his apprentice.
“Such cowardice.”
The master of Ramazith’s tower swiveled to face Rolan. The tiefling stood at the far corner of the room, his posture as controlled as his words. Countless bruises and cuts didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He wore them shamelessly, eyes burning into his master’s hateful grimace. Far too confident, far too comfortable for Lorroakan’s liking.
“You ungrateful wretch!” he screamed, spitting poison, catching his breath after the barrage of spells he’s just sent Gale’s way, “You could have had it all, but chose to ally with weaklings. I will obliterate you.”
Rolan remained still, his composure mocking the very essence of Lorroakan’s anger, “Curious how you decided to do so only once inside the globe,” the tiefling threw condescendingly, “I wonder if you’d try killing me sooner if you figured I was working for Mister Dekarios all this time?” he smirked through lies, agitating the magus. Rolan needed all of Lorroakan’s attention on him.
Lorroakan’s eyes narrowed, rage gathering in the corners of his lips, “Worthless breed,” he hissed, wincing his staff at Rolan.
The motion of the accursed thing made him flinch, but Rolan stood his ground nonetheless.
Now or never - he either does what he must or dies.
“Do it,” the tiefling replied, stretching his arms in front of him, “It doesn’t matter what you throw at me, I will remain standing.” Rolan closed his eyes, readying himself, whispering something under his breath.
Blinded by fury, Lorroakan conjured a sunbeam, guiding it steadily towards his apprentice. The master of Ramazith’s Tower paid no mind to his surroundings. At that moment, he only cared to burn the insolent tiefling from the face of the realm.
The spell worked, hitting the spot where Rolan stood with a scorching radiance. But once it faded, Lorroakan could still see the tiefling’s figure standing there. Unmoved, unharmed… shimmering?
And then-
A crackle, searing through the air.
A gust of wind and weave somewhere above his head.
Two coals set ablaze in a yellow flame in front of Lorroakan’s face.
No, not coals. The eyes of his apprentice.
Lorroakan jerked away, but it didn’t help him dodge a devastating headbutt from Rolan. The tiefling hissed at the impact, but had no time to waste on recovery. Not while Lorroakan was dazed.
A deep breath. All his will to be free, all his hatred towards the man – gathered in his fist.
“Unlike you, I need no staff,” Rolan growled out, punching Lorroakan’s face. The ferocious hit landed on the wizard’s jaw, the sound of bones breaking seared the air around them.
But the tiefling didn’t intend to stop, pushing Lorroakan out of the globe punch after punch. All he could see was the color red: the fresh blood on his master’s now dislocated jaw and his own knuckles drenched in it.
“Quick!” Rolan alerted, “Before he can cast ag-”, he couldn’t finish the sentence, too distracted by the flair of steel and a figure appearing near him.
One swing of Nimriel’s golden sword.
Immaculate precision.
Lorroakan’s muffled cries filled the room as he clutched the stump of his right wrist. His severed hand was still twitching in agony on the floor.
All this time, Nim watched as Rolan taunted Lorroakan. The tranquility her wizard displayed made her believe he had a plan all along. Still, she chose to stay close, ready to protect him if necessary. And once Lorroakan unleashed the sunbeam, it all became apparent.
The arrogant magus was too consumed by vengeance. He didn’t hear Gale – alive and well, pretending to be downed – using telekinesis to lift Rolan into the air and teleport him right above the globe of invulnerability. All Rolan had to do was leave behind his projection, the conjuring of which now came as natural to him as breathing.
Once Nim saw Rolan pushing his master out of the globe, she knew - they must make sure Lorroakan could never weave another spell. And so she did.
Standing side by side with her wizard, covered in their enemy’s blood, the drow watched Lorroakan desperately trying to crawl away from them, cradling the remnants of his hand. Gone were his arrogance and posh, his face disfigured by anguish, covered heavily in blood, tears, and snot.
The sight didn’t disturb Nimriel in the slightest, but her eyes inevitably drifted to the side: Rolan breathed heavily, his composure from minutes ago broken, his bruised hands already beginning to shake. Lorroakan’s spell had grazed him still, leaving small radiance burns on his left arm and cheek, dwarfing his other wounds. And yet, pale and exhausted, he stood victorious, watching his former master’s pathetic last moments of a fading life.
Nim took his hand into hers, pulling him out of the trance as Rolan’s gaze met hers. His lips moved slightly, but words never came.
“You did it,” she whispered warmly, squeezing his palm.
He could feel Nim’s gentleness even through her steel gauntlet. But all he could manage was a meek nod, as Rolan’s mind was already miles away. It was just as the wizard thought: a momentous relief swiftly turned to questioning: what comes next?
Nimriel’s ears perked up, hearing the flaps of wings behind them. The smug smile returned to drow’s face as she gave Lorroakan the final look, “Your torment is not over yet,” she snarked, guiding Rolan aside for Aylin to take charge.
The events that followed felt to Rolan like a haze writhen out of fire and blood. The tiefling saw the light leaving Lorroakan’s eyes forever as the Aasimar broke his master’s spine. Dame Aylin then addressed them, even saying something to him personally. Something, he would remember later, when it mattered more.
The wizard stood still, absorbing the scene. Through it all, her hand held his tight. Nimriel’s other hand rested over his heart as they watched Lorroakan fall, anchoring him to the moment, showing it was real.
When the Aasimar left, the drow turned to him. She told him to catch his breath, then moved to check on the others.
“What a performer you turned out to be. I was halfway to healing you when I figured,” Nimriel chortled, approaching Gale and Lae’zel. The two looked battered but content - fights akin to this have become a regular occurrence for both.
Gale smiled at her, rubbing his elbow, injured in the crossfire of spells, “You enjoyed the little show we came up with? I must admit, it was quite amusing to see Lorroakan go down like this after all the balderdash he spewed.”
“Perhaps for you it was,” Lae’zel gnarled, cleaning her armour, “I expected my first battle after the sewers to be more challenging.”
“Oh come on, Lae,” Nim replied, shrugging, “plenty of “fun” ahead of us in the city. Now, please, shove the bastard into the backpack. We don’t want anyone stumbling onto his corpse here.”
As Lae’zel forced Lorroakan’s body into the enchanted backpack, Nimriel turned, “Rolan, give me any parchment with his handwriting.”
Torn from his catatonia, the tiefling gave her a tired look, “What? What for?”
Nim smiled awkwardly, as if her cheeriness could lighten his mood somehow, “We want to forge a letter from him, in which he writes that he will be investigating the lead on the Night Song in the city sewers. We will dump his body there, cut it up all nicely, so if he is ever found, it could be blamed on the Bhaalists. I doubt the Flaming Fists will be looking into his disappearance, considering they have a Mindflayer invasion on their hands,” the drow came closer, her voice dropping, but happy still, “And you - you can stay here, live here. With Cal and Lia.”
Rolan looked at her as if she’d said something trivial. His face wore a mask of apathy, brows slightly raised. After a pause, he nodded and slowly surveyed the room.
“Of course, you have it aaaaaaaaaall already figured out neatly,” the tiefling drawled. He finally spotted a paper that had flown off the table in the fight.
Nimriel’s breath hitched. She expected Rolan to be shaken by the events, but dealing with it head-on now seemed more intimidating than the fight itself, “Can you wait for me outside, please?” the drow asked of her companions, “And tell Karlach she can go on as planned.”
Lae’zel and Gale exchanged knowing glances and left the two be.
“You did it again,” he mumbled, staring mindlessly at the blood splattered across the floor, “Rushed in to save a helpless tiefling. No warning, no regard for what I think about it.”
“Don’t say that, please,” Nim came closer, “You were the one who caught him off guard. You outsmarted him,” She paused, sighing, “I wanted to tell you. But Rolan, the way you behaved yesterday... the way you do now... I wasn’t sure how you would react.”
The wizard shook his head, glassy eyes chasing a thought as he spoke, “No matter.”
“I’m sorry, but what was I supposed to do? Let him continue beating you?” Nimriel’s voice shook, “You should’ve told me the truth. Better yet, wrote me at once,” her hands flew up, landing against his chest, forcing him to look at her, “Did you expect me to do nothing? To just let it fucking be?” she questioned, looking for an answer in his detached expression, “I don’t want you hurting, Rolan. Why can’t you see it?”
Silence shimmered around them, reflecting in azure particles of the weave. Rolan’s thoughts pounded mercilessly against his skull, tearing at his calm composure with each passing second.
“It is precisely why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to interfere.”
“Why? Did he promise you something? Threatened you? I just-,” she paused, trying to collect herself, “I don’t get why you are regretting the bastard's death.”
“I’m not,” Rolan protested, voice raw with frustration as he got out of Nimriel’s clutches and began circling her, “I wanted him dead for ages. Gods, I-... I could’ve taken him out yesterday. I wanted to. I should have. And now,” the tiefling gestured helplessly towards Nimriel, “YOU.”
Rolan’s pace quickened, clawed hands scratching the air as the unreveling consumed him, “YOU. You just... materialized out of nowhere. Uncontrolled tempest in the middle of summer, hailing me constantly,” he stopped sharply, burning eyes piercing into her face. Not with anger, but a final plea.
“Can’t you see it? The grove, the Shadow-Cursed Lands. And now, you are serving me Lorroakan’s corpse on a silver platter, telling me to live here, as if it is nothing special. What gives, Nimriel? You expect me to take it as if it is mine by right?”
“Yes, I do.” Nimriel replied confidently, “So what? Why are you so embarrassed by me helping you? Not like anyone would know what happened here.”
“I will know,” Rolan interrupted, “You are fighting my battles for me ever since we’ve met. I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you.”
The tiefling paused, reality dawning on him, making his voice small and desperate, “I haven’t been a master of my own life for a long while. An apprentice still, with no extraordinary claims to my name. I have not earned all of this, not even close.”
Nimriel remained silent, studying his face. Her expression softened as she began removing her gauntlets.
"Who decides? Who is to judge your worth?” she asked calmly, as her hand reached his, her warmth breaking through the vacuum of Rolan’s misery, “Do you think Lorroakan earned it? Even if he did, was he worthy of it?”
Finding no words to retort, Rolan lowered his gaze, brushing his thumb across her knuckles, looking for a way to borrow her confidence.
“It doesn’t matter what led you to this moment. Now, you are the only master of your future, the one to live with the choices you make,” She slowly pulled her wizard into a tender hug.
Rolan surrendered into Nim’s embrace, her crown - a pillow of silk for his heavy head. And as their bodies moved, breathing in unison, clothes and armor mixing the blood of their fallen enemy, the world was forgotten.
“Whatever you choose, it will be the right decision. But, if it matters... to me, you are worthy. Always will be," she whispered, resting her head against his thudding heart.
“Worthy...” Rolan murmured, as if trying to understand the word’s meaning, ”A high praise from you.”
Nim looked up, finding his face painted in doubt, “Your judgment is clouded.” She brushed his cheek, gentle strokes removing blood and soot of the battle, “I wish you could take a look at yourself through my eyes for once.”
“...Nimriel,” he managed on a breath he’d nearly forgotten to draw.
“What?” she asked, bathing him in the warmth of her smile. So radiant and sincere, it made Rolan’s whole body ache.
Frozen in time, he lost all sense of direction, caught between the need to dismiss Nim’s words altogether or drag her into a hazeful kiss. Still, neither would let him feel at peace with himself. Slowly, Rolan pressed his hand to hers, taking it away from his cheek.
“I need to think,” the tiefling responded firmly, still letting his eyes show Nim he cared for her kindness, “All this... I need time.”
“I understand,” she nodded, trying to conceal her worry. But Nimriel knew - in the end, it would be his decision, no matter what she wanted.
The drow took one of the Lorroakan-written letters Rolan handed her and slowly approached the portal.
“See you soon?” Nimriel asked quietly, moments before disappearing in the silver shimmer.
The wizard shrugged, unable to hide a small smirk, “One way or the other, our paths always seem to cross.”
She chuckled helplessly, nodding to him, “We are staying at the Elfsong Tavern. Write me when you need me.”
Left one-on-one with bloody mess and silence, Rolan exhaled. He didn’t know how much time he spent mindlessly cleaning the room, picking up the shattered glass, and placing the tomes back in place. In truth, it was just a distraction from the responsibility of a choice bestowed upon him. Each passing moment, he was devoured by it, unsure and restless.
Until the portal vibrated again, letting in unexpected guests. He heard Cal and Lia before he could see them. And seconds later, Rolan felt their ferocious embrace. For a moment, he glimpsed Karlach in the portal, waving before she disappeared.
His siblings were saying something to him, hugging him, scolding him, but Rolan couldn’t hear a word. Seeing their faces for the first time in a while was the only thing the wizard needed.
And then, Rolan smiled, feeling the tears of relief running down his face. Still silent, he took them by the hands and led them out to the balcony.
As Rolan watched Cal and Lia marvel at the busy streets from the top of Ramazith Tower, the weave made him whole once more. The Rolan he always was, the self that knew what to choose all along. Is there a place for doubts, if tomorrow may never come?
