#khyta

[antialiadventures]

“Followers of Khyta are murderers” factoid actualy just statistical error. Average Khyta follower murdered no one. Khytist Georg, who runs a rogue sect and allegedly burns 10,000 temples a day, is an outlier adn should not have been counted.

Flora (Riswynn)

[antialiart]

Ruby being Khyta, now with more accurately sized boobs (they’re plot-relevant, okay).

[qwertyfinger]

Jaze and Khyta, One Man Band

[please excuse the formatting, i wrote it in an app and can’t be fucked changing the formatting on the phone.]

It had been some weeks since Jaze had procured that wretched amulet from the ruins. Still that embarrassingly feminine pendant fell to his newly plump chest, glittering a most foul blue.

They sat by the fire, Jaze and the goddess of light, hard eyes tracing the flames as the party spoke light-heartedly. Riswynn and Ruby spoke softly, tender words coated haphazardly in the slime of uncertainty and restrained yearning. Most of the rest were listening with dull interest to Larry as he told a tale of dragons and flame to his dog for some reason, their faces glazed with the apathy known only to those who simply had nothing better to do.

/I hate that damned lizard,/ Khyta hissed to Jaze.

/Hm,/ Jaze responded mentally. /That seems a bit unfair. What’s he ever done to you?/

/Uh, threatened to kill me?/

/Tsk. Khyta, Khyta. A goddess who can’t handle death threats? No wonder you’re stuck in a shitty necklace./

/Why, you—/

Larry finished his story at last. “Awhruuu!” Gizmo applauded excitedly, tail flailing madly. The rest of the crowd looked about ready to fall out of their seats and just die, their shitty lives coming to a shitty end at the close of the shitty story, their waning will to live at last polished off.

“Well told,” Jaze said, clapping softly. He was lying, of course, but the story was of interest. What better place to learn of Bahamut than through reverent stories passed by his own kin? He made a mental note to record it later, wondering momentarily if Khyta could also read his mental notes.

His eyes flashed gold as if on cue. “Well, I thought it was terrible,” Khyta huffed. “Just like you and your shitty rat.”

Larry glowered daggers. “Yeah? Well maybe I think /you/ suck, you… necklace… ghost…” His rage faded into a look of self-directed despair.

“Necklace ghost? Fucking nice. I knew from the inn that you could lay down sick burns, but I was not ready for that one.”

“You know what?” Larry seethed. “I’m really sick of getting shit from all of you assholes. You try to be a nice, fun guy by telling stories and burning shit down. I mean who doesn’t like both of those things. What the fuck. And what do I get for it? Nothing. You’re all just a bunch of pricks to me. So you know what? Fuck you, Khyta. I don’t care if touching you will dissolve me into ash or whatever the fuck. Have at thee, you bitchy poltergeist.”

Khyta stood with a dramatic flourish. “Very well, mortal,” she said acidically. She raised Jaze’s hands menacingly. “Do your worst.”

/Uh, Khyta,/ Jaze said. /I really hate to butt into your weird tantrum but what are you even trying to do right now./

“I’m about to blast this fool into smithereens with my light magicks, what’s it fucking look like?”

/Yeah you can’t do that./

“You dare—“

/I can’t just cast magic like that. I have to be playing an instrument./

“Perhaps /you/ are bound by such limitations, puny mortal, but /I/—“

/No. No no. My house, my rules. It doesn’t work like that. Go ahead, try it./

Khyta redoubled her arcane arm extension and let out an exerted grunt. Nothing happened.

/Yeah see./

“I… No, this can’t be…”

/I could teach you to play, if you’d like./

“Well… Why don’t you just do it? /You/ blow him up. As your god, I command you.”

/Hm. As your host, i don’t really think so. See, i don’t really mind Larry. Plus, all my spells are pretty harmless. I think the worst thing i can do is, like, magically insult you./

“What… So you have been cursing me all this time… What profane magic is this…”

/No. I just don’t really like you. Anyway, i’m happy to teach you the lute, if you’d like. However the fuck that would work./

“I… Hmph. I will grant you this, mortal.”

/I mean, i don’t really want to, particularly…/

“No. Yes you do. /I grant you this, mortal./“ She turned to Larry. “And our, ah, duel… will be postponed. But your penance shall come. And your death shall be swift. And musical.”

[antialiadventures]

Ruby Makes Dave a Gift and Other Magical Tales

By DarkstarHuntsman (Ruby’s player), posted with permission because it is great.

Ruby had many colors of yarn set up in neat little collections around her as she sat cross-legged in her bedroll. Her dwarven girlfriend’s knitting needles were in her hands as she knitted furiously. Eventually Riswynn returned to their tent and reclined beside Ruby. “Well I dropped off the collar. I hope Gizmo likes it!” She chirped happily. Ruby said nothing, smiling and staring at her project. Riswynn sat slowly. “Ruby? Hello? Aeddan to Ruby!” She waved her hand in front of the elven Aphrodite’s eyes and got zero response. Her eyes remained vacant, her hands remained steadfast in their work, and her smile never wavered. Riswynn shook her head. “I wish I knew what goes on in that pretty little head of hers.” With that, Riswynn reclined once more to get some well-earned rest.

The landscape of Ruby’s mind was vast and lush, filled with colorful plants and big, bright flowers. Butterflies danced through the sky and birds sang in the trees. The only unnatural part of her mindscape was a golden dais beneath a gleaming golden canopy, with Khyta’s shining manifestation reclining in the shade. “Honestly, dear Ruby,” Khyta cooed. “Why are you even bothering with this silly gift exchange? He couldn’t care less for you, why waste your energy on a gift for him!” Ruby giggled from her place on the grass a short distance away. This Ruby was greatly different from the Ruby everyone else saw. She wore tattered robes, she was shorter, her hair was poofy and wild, and freckles dotted her face beneath thick glasses. The only constant were her shining green eyes. This was the real Ruby, before Khyta moved in.

“Aw come on, Khytie!” Ruby laughed in the Southern Aeddan drawl that Khyta had quickly pushed out of her head. “Wynnie had the idea for us to exchange gifts as a means of showcasing goodwill amongst people. And besides I don’t think Dave dislikes me. Heck, I’m sure he wouldn’t have a problem with anyone if you hadn’t stuck your high-fallutin nose in everyone’s business and difficulted everythin’ up!” Ruby’s slender hands were busy at work knitting, just as they were in the real world. Khyta rolled her eyes at the wood elf.

“Don’t you dare blame me for his issues. His problems are his own, they’ve not a damn thing to do with me. And even if my followers were to blame, such pithy mortals certainly don’t speak for me.” Ruby giggled as she continued knitting.

“You talk funny, Khytie,” she laughed. Khyta shook her head.

“You sweet summer child, I worry for you… what are you working on anyway?” Khyta asked, craning her neck to get a glimpse of Ruby’s project without leaving the safety of her shaded dais. Ruby giggled again.

“You’ll see! Now quit bein nosy and git! I’ve got work to do, I gotta make it just right!” She replied with a smile.

It took almost an hour for Ruby’s skilled hands to finish her project. Once the job was done, she finished communing with Khyta and snapped out of her trance. Riswynn was fast asleep beside her, snoring away. After penning a quick letter, Ruby planted a subtle kiss on her beloved’s forehead before sneaking out of the tent and laying her gift outside Wizard Dave’s tent, where he’d find it the next morning. When he awoke he’d find a letter that read as follows:

“Dear Dave,

I know you don’t really care much for Khyta and I (and who can honestly blame you, she’s a royal bitch), but here’s hoping you’ll accept this token of affection as an olive branch. Hopefully going forward we can get along. I’d certainly enjoy that! Sincerely yours, Ruby Rosered.”

The letter was signed with a heart and sealed with a red wax rose before being attached to the gift. The gift itself was a royal purple cloak hand-knit by Ruby with yarn magically spun into a silken consistency. The cloak was made to Dave’s measurements (well, she eyeballed them) and the purple hooded cloak was finished with a gold trim. On the back of the cloak three letters stood out proudly for the world to see. FYG: Fuck Your God.

[antialiart]

So Khyta sure is absorbing some magic portal energy right now in the surprise temple

[antialiadventures]

Fucking Gods (Obligatory Khyta!Dave AU), Part VI

This kind of should have been two parts, but oh well.

Dave is shaking as he ducks into the alley by the pub. He staggers, supporting himself against the wall with his hand, then heaves and retches, leaving a puddle of alcohol vomit on the street before he stumbles to the other side of the building, out of view, into another narrow, empty alley.

Sterling. Fucking Sterling.

"For what it's worth," says Khyta's voice in his head, "I do not condone the temple-burnings performed in my name."

"Fuck you," he says, and he means it more than ever before, but he still can't muster the force he wants to put into the words. They come out shaky and pathetic.

"I do not deny there are extremists among my followers. But it sounded like your friend was not one of them."

Dave's using every ounce of willpower he has to slow down his breathing, but his body refuses, hyperventilating uselessly by the wall like the air is running out of oxygen. "Yeah," he manages to spit out, his voice wavering. "Fat load of fucking good that did him. You could've fucking stopped me but you didn't care." More shivering, strained breaths. "You don't fucking care if your worshippers get killed. Lhira didn't fucking care either. Fucking--fucking gods."

Khyta is silent. Dave sets off walking aimlessly in a random direction as the alarm blares from the pub. He's swaying on his feet, Sterling's fucking wide-eyed frost-covered face staring at him any time his eyes close. Fucking Sterling, fucking Sterling, can't he leave him the fuck alone?

He's not sure why he's even trying to run. Run towards what? Continuing to serve the fucking monster in his head, the same one that inspired the temple-burners? It'd be better if they did arrest him, throw him in jail where she can't force him to do anything because there's nothing he can do.

And then they'll probably hang him for murder. Isn't it better that way, too, really?

He's stopped, swallowing the bile in his throat, knot in his stomach. He grits his teeth, closing his eyes; he sees Sterling again, dead-eyed and staring, and snaps them open to stare at the wall opposite him instead. He draws more shuddering breaths.

Why isn't Khyta forcing him to keep running, choking him into submission? Why the fuck is she silent?

"You don't truly wish to go to the gallows," she says.

And it's true. It's stupid, stupid and irrational when he's already jumped into a fucking lake, but somehow, right now, the thought of turning back and letting them arrest him is suffocating, paralyzing, terrifying.

He's not sure how, but that clears his head a little, allows him to take a few deep, slower breaths and keep going. He changes the color of his robe and adds a design to it with a couple of Prestidigitations, then starts to make his way back towards the inn. Get his things. And then... he's not sure what then. Still Sterling's glassy-eyed face assaults him any time he blinks.

He enters the Serpent's Wheel still shaking, breathing hard. As he steps through the door his traveling companions, sitting at one of the tables, turn around questioningly. He ignores them and heads straight for his room, hurriedly stuffs his belongings into his bag. Then he stands there for a second, in the empty room, breathing. He's still lightheaded and off-balance, his heart pounding hard in his chest. He leans against the wall for balance, then presses his forehead against the wood. It occurs to him he wants to just stay here, curl up on the bed and sleep off the drink and think in the morning.

He closes his eyes, and there's Sterling, falling, dead before he hits the floor. The image has lost some of its impact by sheer repetition, and he keeps his eyes closed, even as a flash of nausea makes him start to retch again. He punches the wall, then punches it again.

There's a knock on the door. "Dave? You okay? Need anything?" It sounds like the gnome they picked up in the forest.

He takes a deep breath and forcibly opens his eyes. He has to go. The city guards are probably on the way. He changes his robe again for good measure, then opens the door, ignoring the small crowd that's formed in front of it.

The drink's really caught up with him, though, and where earlier some fight-or-flight response kept him reasonably alert, it's started to run out and give way to exhaustion and dizziness. He's stumbling, still shivering, and almost falls by the bar. He grabs the counter and supports himself by it as he grimaces.

He already knows he's not going to make it out of town like this, but he still makes a last effort to head for the door. Immediately he's back at the Witch's Tombstone, heading out the door there, Sterling's dead body behind him, and again he stumbles. He supports himself on a table, sucking in a breath. The dwarf cleric is there, hand on his shoulder, offering help. He tries to muster the motivation to push her away and stand up again, but it's gone. The police are on their way, but even that has begun to seem dully inevitable.

Cold, empty dread congeals in his stomach. He closes his eyes again and takes a deep breath as Sterling stares at him. "Fuck off," he mutters as he straightens himself. The cleric backs off, her smile fading, and he returns to the bar and settles onto a barstool to wait.

"No!" Khyta hisses in his head. "Why!"

He ignores her, looking at the barkeep. "Get me a..." He pulls out his bag of money, realizes it won't make any difference, and just puts the whole thing on the counter. "...something strong."

The hunter elf wrinkles her nose as she sniffs the air around him. Dave turns towards the cleric, who's standing back, hesitating. "Did you know," he says, "Lhira can go fuck herself."

She blinks at him. "...What?"

"Fucking gods. Fuck all of them." An Unseen Servant places a glass of whisky in front of Dave, and he chugs it down. "Hey. Did you know I've got this fucking... this cursed necklace, and it's got a fucking goddess living in it." He pulls his robe apart to reveal the amulet as he speaks, his heart pounding, and he expects any second now the band is going to start to tighten, but it doesn't happen. "She's... she's making me fucking help her ascend back to godhood or whatever the fuck, and she can puppet me around, and if I try to take it off, or don't fucking bow to her every whim, she tries to fucking strangle me with it. Gods are fucking great, aren't they?" He feels Khyta's boiling rage, and the necklace tingles, but he's still in control of himself, still breathing. Almost like... like she can't do it now, for some reason. He looks down sharply in realization and motions to grab the necklace, but the moment his fingers touch it, a jolt of pain shoots through him, and he stifles a yell. "Fuck! See?"

"Fine," Khyta snarls. "I can only use my power so much in a given day, and controlling you at the library this morning took too much out of me. You will pay for this when I've recovered my strength tomorrow, mortal."

Dave shudders despite himself, glaring daggers at the cleric, who's staring at him, eyes wide, before taking a step closer. "No, don't... don't do that." He waves her away with an unsteady hand before taking a sip of the next glass of whisky placed in front of him. "Just go the fuck away and pretend you don't know me before the cops get here."

"Cops?" the cleric repeats, eyes wide.

The hunter elf rubs her temples. "Okay. Can you just start from the beginning?"

"I said go the fuck away," Dave hisses between clenched teeth.

And that's when the guard appears at the door. Dave turns back towards the bar and downs the rest of his drink, staring at the array of bottles behind the counter.

"Barkeep?" he hears the guard say. "Kendall Security Force, need to inspect the premises. We've got reports of a wizard who murdered a man in a pub up the road. Witnesses say he answered to the name of Dave. We're checking the lodging records of every place in town to catch this guy."

He can't see them, but he can hear the cleric give a little gasp. The barkeep glances at him for a fraction of a second, only to pull out a key and say, "I'm afraid we don't keep records by name, but here's our skeleton key. I can show you to each room."

What. She's covering for him? He blinks at the barkeep. Why?

"Follow my lead," the hunter elf hisses suddenly, sitting down beside him. "Hey, uh, Daniel! Good to see you here!"

And somehow, they all band together to help him. The hunter improvises an animated conversation and steals one of his drinks, until the barkeep's led the guard into the west wing. Then, suddenly, the inn is on fire. Dave has no idea what's going on anymore, his brain turned into uncomprehending sludge, but the hunter pulls him up and they run for it in the chaos. When he's stumbling trying to keep up, the clown picks him up and carries him.

"Why are you people fucking helping me?" he mutters, but he passes out before can hear an answer.

[antialiadventures]

Fucking Gods (Obligatory Khyta!Dave AU), Part V

This took longer than I expected, since I actually somehow managed to get myself to be slightly more sensible with my time. But not anymore!

As they close in on the city of Kendall, one of the merchants asks what they're planning to do with their time in the city. Dave says he's going to the library - to find out what the tracks were. He's not sure if Khyta actually means to investigate the tracks, or if she named that only as an excuse for him to go to the library. He supposes he'll find out when he gets there.

After a pause, he adds, "Maybe I'll visit the spellcasters' guild. I know someone."

It's evening when they arrive in the city. The guard points them to an inn called the Serpent's Wheel. Dave's amused to find the waitstaff at the bar are Unseen Servants; he's heard the guild is all about 'community service' and imagines they had a hand in this. He considers getting a drink at the bar, but then his traveling companions somehow start a fight over some salad, and he retreats to his room instead.

"Who is this someone you plan to see at the guild?" Khyta asks as he lies awake in his bed. She sounds a little wary.

"None of your fucking business," he mutters.

Khyta pauses. "An old lover, perhaps?"

"What the fuck is your creepy fucking obsession with sex?"

"When you're so evasive, I can only speculate."

"Speculate in your own fucking head."

She's silent for a moment. Then she speaks again, her voice cold and commanding, and the mere sound of it sends shivers down his spine: "Tell me."

"It's a guy who was with me at the fucking academy, okay? I don't know why the fuck you care but it's not whatever you're thinking."

She pauses. "A friend?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

There is a brief silence. "If I find you trying to talk to him, or others in the guild, about my amulet--"

"Yeah, you'll make me fucking regret it. I get it." He clenches his teeth. The amulet is tight and uncomfortable on his neck, makes it harder to sleep.

"Good."

There is a sudden knock on his door, and he starts upright, heart hammering. "Who's there?"

"Hey, who're you talking to?" It's the voice of one of the gnomes, the one with the unruly hair. "Should I come back later?"

"Go away," he says, sinking back down into the bed.

"No later, then? Jeez." He hears footsteps. "I just know a cool secret thing and thought you'd want to know the cool secret thing! But if not, then that's fine!" Their voice, almost singsong-like, isn't getting further away, despite the footsteps.

He lies still and silent, breathing. After several seconds, he hears a dejected sigh, followed by real footsteps receding down the corridor.

In the morning, Dave heads to the library and takes several deep breaths in the main hall. "Do your worst," he mutters, and Khyta's gold floods his eyes.

He has to grudgingly admit she was right - if he's calmer, her breathing for him is almost tolerable. He's going to just zone out and wait, but with her keeping his eyes open, he can't help but pay attention to what she's doing - looking up maps, locations of temples, tearing through book after book with uncanny speed. She looks up the tracks too, as an afterthought; they're quasits, as he'd thought. Finally, she draws a map.

"There," she says as she returns control to him, and he sways momentarily on his feet. "That's where we need to go."

He doesn't answer, grimacing at the acidic taste in his mouth.

"We're going tomorrow. Meet with your friend if you like, but remember, I am listening."

It's not like he has anywhere better to go. Dave heads for the spellcasters' guild, and Khyta and the amulet are silent. There's a vendor selling lamps with extended enchantments; interesting stuff. He'll have to ask Sterling about it, assuming Sterling doesn't decide to be an ass.

He lingers with the lamp vendor longer than he really intended, but eventually he takes a deep breath and asks the woman at the entrance about Sterling. Using a Send spell in a ring on her hand, she tells him he has a visitor. Dave shifts, suddenly aware of the amulet again; he pulls his robe tighter to make sure it's not visible.

And then Sterling appears, and he's... he's smiling, beaming like he's fucking delighted to see him. "Dave! It's been so long!"

He holds out his hand and shakes Dave's eagerly. "Hey," Dave manages.

"Man, you look like a ghost. You okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. Just didn't get a lot of sleep." Dave tries to smile. "Uh, how's the guild?"

"It's great! Come on, let me show you around." He leads him inside. "How about you? What have you been up to since the academy?"

Dave shudders. The amulet is heavy around his neck. "Just... small jobs. Wizard for hire. Came here on a job guarding a trading caravan."

Sterling glances at him. "Huh. Well, if you ever get tired of it, I can always put in a good word for you here."

Dave blinks, then looks away. "Once they get a look at my academy record I'm betting that doesn't count for much."

Sterling winces. "Well, you never know. The bosses here are pretty open-minded. Andolyn didn't even go to an academy! If they like what's in Column A, then what's in Column B from years ago isn't quite so important. And hey, I bet you've seen all sorts of things in your travels. That's 90% of innovation, and this guild's all about innovation." He gives him an encouraging smile. Dave feels a little sick.

"Hey, about those lamps they were selling outside," he says. "How does that work? The guy was talking about special alloys?"

They talk about magic for a bit. There's something pleasant and familiar about it, nostalgia for the academy days, before everything went to shit. Sterling used to be constantly trying to one-up and outdo him at everything, but now he's just happy to share what he's learned, to ask eager questions about what Dave's learned in his time doing the down and dirty sort of magic work. Eventually Sterling invites him out for drinks at his favorite pub, the Witch's Tombstone.

The place is packed when they get there. Sterling expertly leads him to an alcove that's a little quieter and fetches them drinks. They sit and talk and sip the house special, and by the time Sterling stands up to get them another round, Dave's feeling pretty good, pleasantly buzzed, even vaguely starting to think maybe he can give joining the guild a shot after all.

That's when he hears commotion coming from across the room. He stands up to see what's going on; it's a couple of people in golden robes, surrounded by six drunk guys shouting unintelligibly. He's about to sit back down. And then the chatter starts to quiet down, and he hears what they're shouting: "Khytist scum!"

Dave freezes where he stands, his blood running cold as the amulet tingles on his neck. And then Sterling reappears through the crowd, fists glowing. "You want to beat up on some Khytist scum?" he shouts. "Come get it!"

The amulet's unchanged, but Dave still can't breathe. His lungs are full of lead; he's shivering, even though his skin feels hot. His fists clench, his throat burns, his vision swims. "Sterling," he manages to say. "The fuck's going on?"

"Are you going to help or not?" Sterling says as the six drunk men advance on him. "Dave, I know you've got issues, but they're trying to beat up on us just for being here!"

Him. Fucking him.

He's hot and cold and paralyzed and nauseous, and fucking Sterling's just standing there like it's nothing as the amulet claws at his throat, Khyta's cold, contemptuous voice echoing in his head. "You," Dave chokes out. "You're a fucking Khytist."

Sterling turns back towards him, his expression darkening. "Seriously, Dave? I didn't take you for one of them."

Dave's snarling a spell before he can think much of anything. The Ray of Frost hits Sterling in the back and throws him forward in a burst of sleet; he lands on his hands and knees in front of the drunkards, and one of them grabs the chance to kick him in the face. Sterling is thrown back and crawls back to his feet, shuffling back and signaling that he's out of the fight, glaring at Dave as blood rushes from his nose. "What the fuck, Dave," he says, wiping at his nosebleed.

"You don't fucking get it," Dave says, shaking, his pulse pounding against the band of the amulet, tightening or maybe not. "Fucking Khyta. I... fuck. Fuck your fucking god, Sterling."

"This is about your temple, isn't it?" Sterling says, lifting a hand. "Look, that was before I even converted. It's just some extremists who--"

And then Dave can't hear anymore as his ears ring with static. Everything seems to slow down, buried memories rising from the sludge. Khyta. Fucking Khyta. Fucking Khyta. It was her, it was fucking her too.

And then he's screaming, and another Ray of Frost flies from his fingertips, right into Sterling's face. His eyes are wide as a flurry of snow and frost throws him backwards, ice building on his forehead and shattering as his head hits the floor with a crack. And they remain wide open and glazed over as Dave stares at him, breathing rapidly, clenching his fists until they hurt.

"He's dead!" shouts a man who kneels down to check his pulse. Dave tries to swallow, but his mouth's dry and he's nauseous. Sterling. Fucking Sterling. He was... He was...

And then Dave turns and walks out, the patrons' eyes still on him.

[antialiadventures]

Fucking Gods (Obligatory Khyta!Dave AU), Part IV

Another closer-to-canon episode, covering the journey to Kendall, but with a bit more traumatized Dave.

I have been having this problem where I write this instead of doing productive things, and that is definitely not stopping now because next episode is where they get to Kendall, which is where things started to get really fun in canon. Hint: that one part with the murder is (presumably) next episode god how am I going to get ANYTHING done ever again.

They head off the next morning. Dave's head is splitting open; he pulls his hood over his head to shield his eyes from the sun, avoids conversation as best he can as the merchants finish the preparations, then tries to sleep in the wagon as the caravan sets off, with little success. Eventually he gives up and takes to staring out the window, arms folded. As they pass the lake, the amulet seems to prickle at his neck again, and his stomach twists, but this time he probably is imagining it. He looks down as his heart pounds and keeps breathing. Nobody appears to notice.

They camp before entering the forest. The cleric and the redheaded elf are flirting relentlessly, and Dave grits his teeth, wishing they and everyone would just be quiet for the rest of the journey. The cleric's persistent, beaming smile irritates him every time he sees it out of the corner of his eye, scraping against his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Fucking Lhira.

"Oh?" asks Khyta in his head. "What about Lhira?"

He ignores her and continues practicing his Prestidigitation by the campfire.

In the night, they're joined by a forest gnome who wants to see the bandits brought to justice. In the morning, a traveling circus rolls by and their dragonborn clown and his dog somehow end up on the caravan too, where the clown reveals he's a fighter. Dave stays sitting in a corner of the wagon, hating the interruptions, hating this bizarre assortment of people accumulating around him.

In the morning, there are strange tracks on the ground near the camp - shapeshifter tracks, deduces one of the elves. Suddenly, without warning, Khyta takes him over, and his voice comes out of his mouth, asking the merchants for a quill and parchment and saying he'll look into its origins at the Kendall library.

Everyone looks surprised to hear him speak. He's nauseous and tries to move, but he can't - he's a prisoner in his own body, locked into looking out through gold-filtered eyes, and as he tries to take a breath and realizes he can't, an all-too-familiar blind terror bubbles up in his chest. His heart beats furiously until Khyta inhales air into his lungs, and even after that, knowing she's not actually depriving him of oxygen, the urgent primal instinct that says he can't breathe because he can't control his lungs doesn't let up. The quill and parchment are handed to him, Khyta sketches the tracks onto it, and then at last the gold fades from his eyes and he's free again. He shudders, rolling up the scroll with the tracks and hurriedly stuffing it into his bag.

"It wouldn't be so bad if you didn't fly into a panic at the slightest provocation," Khyta says coldly.

"Fuck off," Dave snarls in response, before he realizes he said it out loud. He turns around; the cleric's looking at him, smiling curiously. He curses under his breath and returns to the wagon without words. The cleric, at least, doesn't comment.

In the afternoon they're attacked by a band of gnolls. Dave is on edge during the fight, but Khyta keeps her word and lets him handle it, and it goes all right; he gets away with a mild injury, and she never tries to take over again. Afterwards, he's breathing a little easier.

In the night, they're attacked again, by quasits, and the cleric nearly dies. She's quieter after that, huddling close to the redhead in the wagon, still halfheartedly smiling but obviously haunted as the elf quietly tries to comfort her, placing an arm around her, stroking her hair. Dave thought he'd prefer the silence, but somehow this is worse.

"What's your interest in this cleric?" asks Khyta, amused. "Do you like her? She is cute."

An intense wave of revulsion hits him out of nowhere. Stay the fuck away from her, he thinks before he's even processed exactly what he's reacting to.

"I only asked," she responds.

Whenever he manages to drift off to sleep on the last part of the journey to Kendall, he sees gold taking over his vision and starts awake with a jolt, shivering. Eventually, he stops trying.