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The sun was at its peak when Tav and her party of reluctant allies found their way to the Blighted Village, and by the gods was their morale at an all-time low! Which is saying something since they managed to survive…checking her journal…crashing into gods-know-where Faerun after fleeing a nautiloid ship with tadpoles that hitched a ride in their skulls. After barely surviving that ordeal and picking up her co-afflicted companions for a journey to cure themselves, they stumbled upon a goblin horde attempting to invade a camp of Elturel refugees-actually a druid’s grove that REALLY hated outsiders. Only to find out that the little wrigglers inside their brains could not be healed by their healer, but MAYBE by a druid that got captured by-drum roll please-MORE GOBLINS.
According to Gale, these mindflayer tadpoles had a significantly short incubation period before consuming their host from the inside out-turning them into soulless husks of their former selves and slaves to an elder brain.
It was a morning full of surprises!
Now, after just barely surviving the surprise attack from the goblins, ogres, and worgs (oh my!) that took over the village, Tav and her compatriots took a moment to get their bearings. She set down her bloodied chainmail armor and took care to wrap up her wrists, knees, and ankles that had withstood the worst of the blasted goblin flaming arrows. Nothing a little bit of survival skills and a moment to pray to her deity couldn’t fix. Laezel and Shadowheart bristled due to the very necessary delay.
“A monster forms inside us, and you think to be idle?” Laezel crosses her arms, lip curling upward. Despite their nonstop bickering since leaving the grove, Shadowheart also expressed her distaste for the quick detour.
“We finally make it to the outer edges of the goblin camp, and you want to rest already? There is more work to be done, and we are running out of time!” Shadowheart huffed, half turning away to gaze at the smoke stacks peaking into the horizon north of the village.
She had that faraway stare again-the same one Tav clocked as they viewed the murals in the Emerald Enclave sanctuary. The same one when she clutched her hand and uttered a pained whimper as they rescued Arabella from Kagha, acting First Druid while Halsin, their real leader, went missing. No amount of questioning or gentle prying would make the secretive half-elf open up.
“Draw a portrait of me, it will last longer,” quipped the cleric in question, who caught on to her staring, which caused an embarrassing amount of color to flood her cheeks.
Tav threw back one of their precious few healing potions to allow herself a moment to come up with a reasonable retort. To prove to them, but Shadowheart especially, that their faith and trust in her as their de facto leader was well-placed.
“Relax! No tentacles will sprout out of our mouths just yet. You heard what happened to Halsin. It would not bode well for us if we rushed in without a plan! Besides, look around you. This place is now goblin-free thanks to us; our friends back at the grove can rest easy at least knowing we are clearing a path. We may find answers to what happened to Halsin here, or at least supplies.”
This earned a begrudging sigh from Shadowheart and only an eyeroll and one githyanki curse, who began to set up camp and sharpen their weapons respectively. Astarion appeared to be the most unbothered as he stretched out on his camp roll to sunbathe. Gale perked up after finding a delectable pair of magic boots to satiate his unique appetite and began inspecting himself after conjuring up a magic reflection to which Astarion muttered, “One magic-eating wizard is enough for me, thanks”. Wyll set off to look for Karlach after one gobbo coughed up about something about a nasty skirmish North of the village between Tyr paladins and a tiefling they were hunting.
Feeling her strength finally begin to return, Tav decided to search the village for clues about who lived here, if Halsin had left any personal effects they could use to track him down, and if she could restock on potions at the apothecary, which appeared to be mostly intact.
Tav wound her way between the sagging cottages, the boards still smelling of smoke and splintered by boot heels. Every doorway she passed was a snapshot of lives suddenly abandoned: a half-mended cloak still pinned to a tailor’s form, a stew pot gone cold mid-bubble, a child’s ragdoll slumped against the hearth as if waiting for small arms to claim it.
It wasn’t until she passed the well and stopped short of the ruined schoolhouse where the three ogre corpses they dispatched were left to rot that she noticed the lines.
Faint, but still clinging to the stone. Chalk, in neat rectangles and looping curves, scuffed but not yet erased by rain. The sun picked them out in pale glints between the dirt and ash: a hopscotch grid.
She crouched without thinking, fingers brushing the marks. There were numbers still legible in the boxes, crooked in the way children’s hands make them. Someone had played here—laughed here—while the adults argued over market prices or the coming winter.
The thought made her throat tight. In this moment, it wasn’t about Halsin or goblins or the parasite ticking away inside her skull. It was about the way Shadowheart’s gaze always lingered on beauty with a kind of… hunger, like she wanted to remember something she couldn’t.
Tav straightened, brushing chalk dust from her fingertips, and let a grin creep over her face. It was a ridiculous idea. Lae’zel would scoff, Astarion would find some way to make it salacious, and Gale would launch into a lecture on the game’s philosophical origins.
But Shadowheart…
If she could get her to play, even for a minute, Tav might see that guarded scowl break. Just once. And maybe—just maybe—she’d hear her laugh.
Tav found her first willing participant in Astarion, who, upon seeing the chalk grid, smirked like she’d just asked him to juggle eels.
“Oh, darling,” he drawled, lounging against the nearest wall, “if you think I’m going to hop about like an over-caffeinated squirrel, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“That’s fine,” Tav said, already turning away. “Wasn’t asking you anyway.”
Her eyes found Shadowheart where she was leaning against a half-toppled fence, inspecting the artifact attached to her hip at all times as though it might reveal the secrets of the universe. The cleric glanced up, eyebrow arched.
“What now?”
“Come here,” Tav beckoned, tone light but pointed. “I want to teach you something.”
“I’m not in the mood for a sermon.”
“Not a sermon. A game.”
That earned a soft snort. “We’re surrounded by hostile territory, Halsin’s still missing, and the little monster in my head is apparently on a timer. What game could be worth our time?”
Tav gestured at the faded chalk grid. “This one. It’s called hopscotch. Do you remember playing this?”
Shadowheart’s gaze slid to the markings, then away again—too quickly for it to be indifference. “No,” she said after a beat, voice clipped. “And I’m fine keeping it that way.”
But Tav had caught the flicker. That unguarded, almost imperceptible pause.
“Humor me,” she pressed, already stooping to pick up a small stone. “You toss this into the first square, like so—” She demonstrated, the pebble landing neatly inside the faded ‘1.’ “Then you hop through the rest, skip the square with the stone, and back again. Easy.”
Shadowheart’s lips twitched. “You look ridiculous.”
“That’s half the point.” Tav grinned, motioning for her to try. “Come on. I’ll even go first so you can laugh at me without feeling bad about it.”
She exaggerated her hops, arms flailing just enough to draw a quiet huff of air that might have been the start of a laugh. When she turned back, Shadowheart was shaking her head, but stepping forward anyway.
Her first hop was stiff, controlled, as if she were disarming a trap instead of playing a children’s game. She landed neatly in each square, barely lifting her feet.
“That was… technically correct,” Tav said, smiling. “But you’re supposed to have fun with it.”
“Fun,” Shadowheart repeated, deadpan, though her eyes had lost some of their usual shadowed weight. She tried again, and this time, her landing jarred her balance just enough to make her stumble into Tav’s shoulder.
Tav caught her, steadying her with both hands. “There it is,” she said softly.
And there it was—just for a heartbeat—a real smile, unguarded and warm enough to make the whole wretched village seem less grey.
A flurry of emotions raced across Shadowheart’s face and every one Tav committed to memory: joy, confusion, pain, annoyance.
The rest of the world blurred into something distant and weightless the instant Shadowheart stumbled. Tav’s hands found her without thinking — one at her elbow, the other firm against the small of her back. Suddenly, there was nothing else.
Not the crumbling village.
Not Lae’zel’s derisive mutter or Astarion’s purring commentary.
Not even the ache in Tav’s knees from the skirmish hours ago.
Only the sharp, startled gasp that left as Shadowheart tipped into Tav’s hold. Only the breathy, almost unwilling giggle that broke free a heartbeat later — like sunlight through a shuttered window — before it caught on the edge of a whimper when the wound on her hand glowed an unforgiving purple. Tav’s grip tightened, instinct overriding reason, holding her just long enough to steady her. The space between them seemed impossibly small, and for a moment, it was the only thing she could see — the sweep of Shadowheart’s lashes lowered in discomfort, the faint flush rising at her cheeks, the warmth of her in Tav’s arms.
Everything else — the knowing chuckles, the pointed remarks from their companions — fell away like background noise, irrelevant against the gravity pulling her into this brief, fragile closeness.
All too soon, the reality of their impending doom crept back in, shoving away the fragile reprieve. Not even the gorgeous glow of sunset could hold a candle to the hard-won victory of that smile. Or the music of that giggle — brief, bright, and wholly hers.
As the last rays of Lathander’s light dipped below the horizon and the others bickered over who would take first watch, Shadowheart drifted close. When no one was looking, she pressed a glass into Tav’s hand. The wine within was deep as garnet, catching the firelight.
“I found some rare vintages the goblins hadn’t touched,” Shadowheart said, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. “Seemed only fair to offer something in return for… that lesson earlier.”
Tav’s fingers brushed hers in the exchange, and for one dangerous heartbeat, she swore the cleric had cast shocking grasp . Oh. So that’s what her mother had meant when describing how she met her father — that fluttering in the stomach, like a tether pulling you off balance.
“It wasn’t that big a deal,” Tav lied easily, lifting the glass. “I just figured we’d earned a little whimsy among all the doom and gloom. And maybe, just maybe, I couldn’t pass up a chance to make the most elusive member of our merry little band lighten up.” She winked and took a long pull of the wine, savoring the way it coaxed another melodic chuckle from Shadowheart.
“Oh no,” the cleric replied, one brow arching, “that tadpole must have swelled your head even bigger than it already is. I was only humoring you with that childish display.”
Tav smirked and stepped closer, setting her empty glass on the low stool beside them. “Then I’ll just have to keep finding new ways to… amuse you.”
For the barest flicker, Shadowheart’s guarded gaze softened. “Perhaps,” she said lightly, as though it cost her nothing, “travelling with company has its perks.” She turned away before the admission could settle too heavily between them, but Tav caught the faint curve of her mouth, and right there she made a vow. Tav promised to herself and the moon goddess she’d take down the entire army of the Absolute and see her party of adventurers through to the other side — if it meant earning the next one.