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mimetoist · 14 days

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Honey Webbing

Part VIII

After Minthara’s harsh speech at the rooftop, Halsin occupied himself in the kitchen for the rest of the morning. But the drow’s parting words still ring in his ears throughout his work. He couldn't deny the disquiet that her critique had stirred within him, the troubling doubt that had taken root in the back of his mind. As a druid, Halsin prided himself on his connection to the land and his newfound ability to guide his community with wisdom and compassion. But Minthara's sharp observations had laid bare the vulnerabilities he had, until now, chosen to overlook. They did occasionally have some issues with bandits, but they did not face any sizable armies of raiders. Yet. What if she was right? What if some of the nearby cities decided that they were nothing but a source of resources ready for the ripe, or even yet, to absorb into their own domains? Would Thaniel's protection be enough to stop an army? Did Minthara underestimate the power of nature, or did he underestimate the hunger for conquest? Was the village's lack of defenses because it didn't need it, or was it a false sense of security that had lulled them into complacency?

Halsin's brow furrowed with concern as he considered her words, the harsh reality they conveyed. The more he thinks about it, the more clear it becomes that the potential for disaster could indeed lurk on the horizon, instead of being merely fruits from the drow's paranoia. Minthara's callous demeanor and uncompromising views had often rubbed him the wrong way, but in this instance, he couldn't deny the merit of her concerns. The safety and well-being of his people were his responsibility, and he could no longer afford to ignore the risks that may lay ahead.

The sudden sound of someone clearing their throat drew Halsin's attention away from his work. "I see you've been busy," Minthara remarked, her tone carefully guarded, though the slightest hint of curiosity crept into her words. Halsin was so engrossed in his culinary preparations and his silent rumblings that he nearly jumped when he saw Minthara at the doorway. Quickly regaining his composure, he turned to face the drow, trying his best to spread a smile across his features, in order to conceal the worried frown he wore for the last hours of the morning.

"Ah, I didn't hear you come in," he said, wiping his hands on a nearby towel. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better.” He pauses, noticing a faint hint of curiosity in the way she observed his continued culinary ministrations. "I'm just getting ready for a special meal - it's Mera's first birthday with us, and I wanted to surprise her. You’re more than welcome to the celebration tonight, if you’d like." The druid's eyes sparkled with pride as he spoke of his family, though as he observes Minthara long enough he can’t help but feel a twinge of concern, recalling their previous conversation. Still, he had dwelled over it enough, and right now he was determined not to let that cloud the joyous occasion, at least for a little while.

Halsin gestured to a nearby chair, and with a silent nod, Minthara settled, her posture still guarded. “Can I interest you in a taste?" He offered, holding out a spoonful of the rich, aromatic stew he had been tending.

Minthara eyed the spoon he had offered, her brow furrowing slightly with hesitation. For a moment, he wondered if she would refuse the taste, half-expecting a dismissive wave or a needle retort, but to his surprise, she leaned forward and tentatively sampled the savory broth.

"It's... good," Minthara conceded, her tone measured, yet Halsin caught a fleeting spark of approval in her crimson gaze. "Though it could use a bit more spice to truly elevate the dish."

Halsin fought back a smile. Her feedback was not entirely unexpected – Halsin knew his cooking style tended towards the more subtly seasoned end of the spectrum, far away from the spicy tastes of the Underdark culinary.

Minthara's gaze shifted away as she reached for a cup, filling it with fresh water from a nearby jar. Her tone was coolly detached as she spoke, "How many children are under your care again?"

Halsin's brow arched as Minthara's question caught him off guard. "Well, I had quite a full house lately," he said, glancing around the kitchen as if to collect his thoughts. "Let's see… At the moment, I have only nine of them living with me here in the house."

Minthara's eyes widened in surprise, nearly choking on the sip of water she had taken, the information seeming to catch her off guard. However, the drow composed herself quickly, her features settling back into their usual stoic expression.

"Nine?" she murmured, a hint of incredulity in her tone. Clearing her throat, Minthara continued, "I see." She paused, finally drinking the rest of her water. She takes a while to speak again. "I might accept your invitation and take the opportunity to meet them tonight, during the celebration."

The druid couldn't help but feel a twinge of bewilderment at Minthara's sudden interest. When he had first offered to introduce them, the drow had seemed outright dismissive of the idea. Yet now, she was requesting a proper meeting, her tone almost matter-of-fact.

"I must admit, I'm a bit surprised," Halsin said cautiously, casting a curious glance in Minthara's direction. "When I mentioned them lately, you didn't seem particularly interested. What's changed?"

Minthara's expression remained impassive, her crimson gaze steady. "I will not be staying much longer," she said, her gaze meeting his own. "And as you mentioned, today is your daughter's birthday. I may as well indulge myself and see the substantial flock you've gathered under your roof."

Halsin blinked, processing her words. There was an underlying pragmatism to her reasoning, but he couldn't help but sense there might be more to it than she was willing to let on, as always. Was this a genuine gesture of interest, or merely a fleeting whim?

"Well, then, I'd be honored to introduce you to my family," he said, already making mental preparations to gather them all together. Halsin felt a swell of fatherly pride at the prospect of introducing his children to Minthara, a former ally (although merely circumstantial at the time) and one of the saviors of Baldur's Gate. Particularly for his daughters Mera and Fren, who faced so much prejudice due to their drow heritage, this could be a valuable opportunity to show them that a drow had been among the heroes who saved not only the city, but the entire realm. Although Halsin knew all too well that Minthara might not be the ideal role model he would choose for his girls, that was a conversation to be had another time. For now, a boost in his daughters' self-esteem and sense of belonging was the priority.

< Part VII || Part IX >

#emeraldweb #minthara x halsin #bg3 minthara x halsin #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #fanfic writing #current wip #minthara baenre #halsin

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mimetoist · 15 days

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IMAGES FORBIDDEN IN 236 COUNTRIES (part 2)

#there is something so wrong yet so right with this #emeraldweb #minthara x halsin #crackship #I'll watch it wreck #i'm totally normal about those two #bg3 minthara x halsin #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #screenshots

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mimetoist · 16 days

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Honey Webbing

Part VII

The warm, golden light of the sun stabbed at Minthara's eyes, causing her to wince and raise a hand to shield her sensitive gaze. Yet, even in her discomfort, she was able to appreciate the vantage point afforded by an elevated terrain while on the rooftop. From there, she had a clear view of the winding river below, its gentle current catching the shimmer of sunlight.

While she was sweeping her gaze across the landscape, a particular feature on the northern bank drew her attention – a small cave, its dark maw beckoning the water, a current coming from within. Minthara's brow furrowed as she recalled the area, the memories stirring a well of unease within her. Somewhere nearby, she knew, lay the entrance to the vast network of Underdark tunnels, a massive subterranean expanse that stretched all the way back to a ruined temple of Selune – a former stronghold of the Absolute's army.

The thought of that place, and her own role as an enthralled Absolutist, sent a sickening wave of nausea through her, bile rising in her throat. Minthara shook her head sharply, forcing the unwelcome recollections back into the depths of her mind. She could not afford to dwell on the past, not now, when the future was so shrouded in uncertainty. With a steadying breath, she turned her gaze back to the river and the mysterious cave. Wherever there is one known entrance to the Underdark, it stands to reason that there may be many more hidden from view, and that cave could be one of them.

Minthara's mind raced as she pieced together the puzzling details. The fact that Halsin had been able to revive her suggested she had not been submerged for long – which meant there must be a nearby cave, perhaps linking the Underdark to this very riverbank. It was possible her would-be killers had intended to dispose of her body there, rather than finishing the job in the Underdark itself. This line of inquiry, while not without its unanswered questions, presented a potential lead worth pursuing, even if it did not fully explain why her enemies had not simply killed her outright in the Underdark. Minthara knew she had to grasp at any clue that could shed light on the circumstances of her near-demise.

When Minthara left Halsin behind at the rooftop, she swept across the village with squared shoulders and chin held high, the weight of countless curious stares prickling against her skin. Everywhere she turned, whispers and sidelong glances seemed to follow, as if she were some exotic, dangerous creature to be observed from a wary distance. The drow gritted her teeth, her fingers twitching with the impulse to unleash a scathing retort upon the scurrying villagers. And yet, beneath the irritation, Minthara couldn't help but feel a faint flicker of satisfaction. To be the subject of such cautious fascination, to be regarded with a mixture of fear and awe – it was a familiar sensation, one that stroked her ego even as it grated on her nerves. After all, was it not better to be feared than underestimated? Or worse yet, to be pitied? With stern severity she marched towards the riverbank, as if daring anyone to get in her way in each step she took.

As she neared the riverbank, the tweeting of birds up ahead made Minthara's ears prick. Slowing her pace, she spied a narrow crevice between towering boulders - the concealed cave entrance. The dim cavern offered a welcome respite from the sunlight. Suddenly, the dull plucking of a lyre's strings reached her ears, the discordant notes sending a shiver down her spine. Pressing herself against the cave wall, Minthara crept forward, her movements silent and measured as she sought the source of the unwelcome melody. And then she saw it – a teenage girl, her fingers clumsily fumbling across the strings of a battered lyre. Minthara's eyes narrowed as she recognized the instrument, its distinctive, spider-motif frame and deep, reddish-brown hue unmistakable. It was her own prized possession, the Spider's Lyre, a weapon as much as it was a musical instrument.

Minthara tensed, preparing to immobilize the girl from behind and reclaim her stolen property. But just as she was about to pounce, the teenager suddenly cut her finger on a sharp chord, the melody halting with a jarring abruptness. The girl's head snapped up, and she caught a glimpse of Minthara's movement, leaping away from the drow's reach with a startled cry.

"W-who are you?" the girl stammered, clutching the battered lyre protectively against her chest.

As Minthara caught her first glimpse of the girl, she noticed the subtle signs that betrayed the teenager's mixed heritage. The girl's features bore the telltale marks of drow ancestry - the high, prominent cheekbones, the slender, angular brow, and the large, expressive eyes that seemed to shift between shades of violet and crimson.

Yet, there was an undeniable softness to her countenance, a warmth that was often absent in the pure-blooded drow. Her skin, while equally dark as the ones of her kin, held a hint of warmth that suggested the influence of her sun-dwelling parent's lineage.

Minthara's gaze narrowed, her voice low and menacing. "That lyre belongs to me, girl. I suggest you hand it over, before this ends badly for you."

The teenager's grip on the instrument tightened, her chin lifted defiantly. "I found it fair and square. It's mine now," she retorted, a tremor of fear underlying her words.

"That lyre is mine,” Minthara hissed, taking a step forward. “and I will not ask again."

The girl backed away, her eyes darting from the instrument to Minthara as her face paled, but she refused to back down. "Then come and take it, you hag!" she cried, her voice laced with a desperate defiance.

“Insolent little-”

The moment Minthara made her threatening advance, the girl sprang into action, clutching the lyre tightly as she turned and fled deeper into the cavern. Cursing under her breath, Minthara rushed to follow, but her weakened body protested with each step, the dull ache of her wounds slowing her pursuit. As she pressed onward, the cavern opened up into a labyrinth of tunnels, branching off in multiple directions.

Minthara's sharp eyes scanned the darkness, searching for any sign of the fleeing girl, but the teenager had vanished, swallowed up by the winding passages. Frustration welled within the drow as she realized the girl had managed to evade her entirely. A part of Minthara bristled at the thought of letting her quarry escape, the urge to pursue the teen and punish her insolence was a persistent tug at the back of her mind. More than that, she would also have answers about where in the Nine Hells that girl got the Spider’s Lyre, possibly leading Minthara closer to unveiling the mystery of her drowning.

But as she considered the situation more carefully, a more pragmatic approach began to take shape. The girl was likely a local, perhaps even one of Halsin's ever-growing bunch of orphans. Thinking of which, Halsin did mention that the little half-drow girl, Fren, had an older sister… What were the chances? It would be a delightful coincidence. Tracking her through this maze of tunnels would be a risky and time-consuming endeavor, one that could further drain her already weakened state. It was the wiser course of action to return to the relative safety of Halsin's home and wait. Sooner or later, the girl would have to emerge from her hiding place, and when she did, Minthara would be there to greet her.

Exhaling a frustrated and tired sigh, the drow trailed her way back towards the concealed entrance she had discovered earlier, out into the blinding sunlight. Squinting against the painful glare, she made her way back towards the village, the familiar path leading her once more to Halsin's modest dwelling.

As she approached the house, a tantalizing aroma wafted through the air, enticing her senses. Curiosity piqued, Minthara followed the scent, her steps quickening until she found herself standing in the doorway of the kitchen. There, Halsin was bustling about, tending to an array of culinary endeavors. A cake rose in the oven, its sweet scent mingling with the fragrant steam rising from a simmering brew on the stove. Scattered across a tray were an assortment of animal-shaped biscuits, freshly baked and ready to be sampled. Amidst the organized chaos, the druid methodically worked, carving meat on the counter and deftly removing the bones.

For a fleeting moment, the drow felt a curious sense of displacement, unsure of how to navigate this territory. Something akin to longing stirred inside her – a faint, half-forgotten memory of the time when they used to travel together in the road to Baldur’s Gate, when the druid and the wizard shared the culinary tasks at camp. A time of so much uncertainty that such simple pleasures as a fresh-cooked meal had held meaning for her. But just as quickly as the emotion surfaced, she pushed it back, unwilling to linger on potentially dangerous sentiments such as petty nostalgia. < Part VI || Part VIII >

#bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 minthara x halsin #emeraldweb #minthara x halsin #fanfic writing #current wip

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mimetoist · 22 days

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Honey Webbing

Part III

Minthara found herself back in the Underdark, the familiar darkness pressing in around her. The soothing scent of fungus and damp earth filled her nostrils, but deep beneath lingered the scent of blood and rotten meat that triggered a visceral sense of unease. As she moved forward, the shadows seemed to shift and coil, as if the very air was alive and watching her every step. Minthara quickened her pace, heart pounding, desperate to reach the faint glimmer of light in the distance.

But just as she neared the exit, a pale figure materialized before her - Orin the Red, her bloodied frame blocking her path. Minthara froze, her breath catching in her throat as their eyes met. Her gaze was feral, brimming with malice, and she felt as if she could see directly into her soul.

"Going somewhere, my dear?" Orin rumbled, her voice like the low growl of a predator. She took a menacing step forward, and Minthara instinctively retreated, her back hitting the rough cave wall.

"You can't escape me, Minthara," Orin taunted, her lips twisting into a cruel smile. "I know all your secrets, all your weaknesses. You can't hide from me."

The air crackled with raw power as Orin's body began to quiver and convulse, her features twisting and rippling in a grotesque display. Minthara watched in horror as Orin's flesh seemed to melt and reform, the drow's stomach churning at the sight. Orin's body swelled to monstrous proportions, her limbs elongating and sprouting wicked claws. A deep, earth-shaking roar burst from her lips, the sound reverberating through Minthara's very bones.

Minthara's heart thundered in her ears as Orin's eyes bled into an inhuman, glowing crimson. The pupils narrowed to malevolent slits, radiant with a savage, primal hunger. Orin's mouth stretched and contorted, her lips peeling back to reveal a maw filled with jagged, serrated fangs. Thick black veins pulsed beneath the surface of her charcoal-scaled flesh, and a long, barbed tail lashed behind her, radiating an aura of pure, unbridled danger.

The wall gave in like sand in the wind, and Minthara scrambled backward, her breath catching in her throat as she stared up at the towering monstrosity that had once been Orin. The Bhaal's Slayer loomed over her, its gaze boring into her very soul, and a rumbling growl built deep in its chest - a sound that sent a tremor of pure, paralytic terror coursing through Minthara's body.

In a desperate bid for survival, Minthara's hand flew to the hilt of her sword, but Orin's massive paw shot out with blinding speed, seizing Minthara's wrist in an iron grip. Minthara cried out as the bones ground together, her weapon clattering uselessly to the ground.

"Tsk, tsk. Did you really think you could best me?" Orin leered, her hot, fetid breath washing over Minthara's face. "You're nothing but a pawn, Minthara. A tool to be used and discarded."

Panic rose in Minthara's throat as Orin's free hand shot out, her razor-sharp talons closing around the drow's delicate neck in a vice-like stranglehold. Minthara clawed desperately at the Slayer's arm, her vision darkening as she fought for each agonizing breath.

"No one can save you, oathbreaker" Orin growled, her malevolent gaze gleaming with triumph. "No one wants to save you. NOT EVEN THE GODS."

Minthara's world began to fade, the edges of her vision tunneling as the inexorable darkness of unconsciousness threatened to consume her. In her final moments, she heard Orin's haunting laughter echoing through the Underdark, a cruel and relentless refrain that would haunt her until the end.

And then, silence.

Minthara awoke with a strangled gasp, sweat soaking her skin. The nightmare had felt so painfully real, Orin's monstrous presence a tangible thing that had crawled into the deepest recesses of her mind. She shuddered, the phantom sensation of her hand around her throat still lingering. She hugged her knees to her chest, fingers trembling as she struggled to ground herself in the present - the soft, plush bedding beneath her, the warmth of the blankets draped over her, the faint scent of healing herbs in the air, the moonlight that entered through the window. She gingerly ran her fingers along her arms and torso, feeling the deft stitching of bandages and the smooth, tender skin where deep gashes marred her flesh. Minthara's brow furrowed in confusion and no small measure of suspicion. Someone had not only tended to her grievous wounds, but had also seen to her comfort, changing her clothes and making sure she was resting in a proper bed, rather than the cold, hard ground she had expected. The drow's eyes narrowed as she scanned the unfamiliar room, her mind racing with questions.

Minthara's brow furrowed as Halsin's image crossed her thoughts, a flicker of recognition sparking in her mind. Were these fleeting memories real, or feverish dreams? If real, why had he aided her? How did she come to be here, in the first place? Her head ached with those unanswerable questions.

Minthara bolted upright as the door at the corner of the room suddenly creaked open. She whirled towards the sound, heart pounding, every muscle tensed for a fight. But instead of the monstrous Slayer, it was Halsin who stepped through the doorway, a tray laden with various vials and salves in his hands.

"You're awake. Good," the druid said, his voice calm and measured as he approached her bedside. Minthara's wide, wild eyes darted between Halsin and the doorway, half-expecting Orin to come barreling through at any moment. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, the lingering terror of the nightmare still gripping her in its icy claws.

Minthara could still feel the sting of Orin's claws piercing her flesh, but she knew the Bhaal's Slayer was nothing but a pile of gore rotting beneath the streets of Baldur's Gate, a fitting end for her and her pathetic excuse of a cult. In fact, it shamed her that such visions still haunted her mind after so much time she had her well-deserved vengeance. Forcing herself to take a deep, shuddering breath, Minthara willed her racing heart to slow, steeling her nerves against the lingering tremors.

Halsin set the tray down on a nearby table, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were approaching a cornered animal. "How are you feeling?"

Squaring her shoulders, Minthara forced herself to meet Halsin's gaze, her expression hardening into a mask of steely resolve. She was Minthara Baenre, a veteran of countless battles, a survivor who had faced horrors beyond imagining. This nightmare, no matter how vivid, would not break her. She would recompose herself, gather her wits, and find a way to uncover how she had ended up here.

"What...what happened?" she rasped, her voice quivering slightly, betraying her fragile state despite her efforts to hide it. "Where is...?" Minthara's voice trailed off as her gaze flicked to the tray of medicines, her instinct to fight-or-flight warring with the pragmatic need to regain her strength. She knew she was in no condition to escape, much less fight, not without Halsin's aid. As much as it pained her to acknowledge, she was still at his mercy.

Halsin's tone was light-hearted, but his eyes were worried and his muscles were tense. "You tell me," he said, carefully gauging her reaction. "The last time we saw each other, you were gathering an army to raid Menzoberranzan and kill your family."

Minthara's brow furrowed as she searched her memories, the pieces struggling to fall into place. She remembered only fragments of a battle, a mess of blood, steel and magic brazing the Underdark… But besides that, the details grew hazy and uncertain, as if a huge chunk of her memory was sliced away. The drow's gaze narrowed, a flicker of mistrust and suspicion igniting within her.

"I...I don't know," she admitted, cursing the vulnerability in her own voice. "The last thing I remember is..." Minthara paused, not entirely sure about what she in fact remembered. "I was in the Underdark…”

Minthara met Halsin's gaze, her own eyes hardening with a silent determination. She would not – could not – allow herself to be seen as weak, not by this man. But the uncertainty gnawing at her, the fear that she had somehow been manipulated or betrayed, was a constant, unsettling presence in the back of her mind.

"I intend to find out what happened to me," she said, her voice low and measured. "And I'll start by getting some answers from you, druid."

"I'm afraid I can't be of much help to you in this case." Halsin answered, shrugging. "As I said, it has been more than a year since I had news from you. When I found you washed up on the riverbank, you were barely clinging to life. I brought you here to tend to your wounds, but beyond that, I know little of what has transpired."

Minthara's eyes carefully studied the druid, searching for any hint of deception in his expression. Finding none, her expression softens ever so slightly. "A year..." she murmured, the gaps in her memory making the words feel foreign on her tongue. "Tell me, Halsin, why did you not leave me to my fate?"

The druid's brow furrowed, a flicker of sorrow passing across his features. "Perhaps once we were foes, Minthara, but I could not in good conscience abandon you to die. Despite our history, you are still a living, breathing soul, and I am sworn to protect the sanctity of all life."

Minthara scoffed, a hint of derision in her voice. "How convenient." Her gaze narrowed, a glimmer of both sarcasm and suspicion flickering in her eyes. This clearly didn't stop him from slaughtering his enemies when he saw fit in the past. "And what exactly do you expect in return for your...benevolence?”

Halsin raised a placating hand, his expression earnest. "I understand your skepticism, but I didn’t save you to get advantage over you, Minthara, if that’s what you’re implying. Once you're fully recovered, you're free to go.”

The drow's gaze narrowed as she considered his words, searching again for any sign of deception or half-truths. After a long, tense moment, she gave a curt nod. "Very well. Then I suppose I must accept your assistance, for now."

“I'm glad to hear it.” - Halsin's lips quirked in a small, wry smile. “Let me change your bandages.”

Minthara watched warily as Halsin approached with the tray of medicines and salves, her body tensing reflexively despite her weakened state. As the druid began to carefully unwrap the bandages around her arms and torso, she hissed involuntarily at the sting of the wounds. Halsin's movements were steady and practiced, his brow furrowed in concentration as he inspected the progress of her healing. Minthara found herself oddly transfixed, observing the nimble grace of his hands as he worked.

When he was satisfied with his examination, Halsin selected a glass vial filled with a viscous, amber-colored liquid. Uncorking it, he gently applied the salve to the angry, inflamed gashes, his touch surprisingly gentle. Minthara fought the urge to flinch away as the coolness of the ointment stings her searing flesh. Halsin then placed his palms over the wounds, murmuring a soft incantation. A warm, tingling sensation spread through her limbs as the druid's magic knitted her skin back together, the pain and stiffness melting away. Minthara stared at him, her expression equal parts bewilderment and reluctant gratitude. Despite her mistrust, she couldn't deny the effectiveness of his ministrations. For now, despite being told otherwise, she was in his debt – a realization that unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

“Now, you just need to rest. You should be fully recovered soon enough.” Halsin's words hung in the air as he turned away, gathering the tray and soiled bandages. Minthara watched him in silence, an unreadable expression on her face. As the druid left, she lay back against the plush pillows, her gaze drifting to the window and the vast expanse of night sky beyond.

Despite her determination to remain alert, to resist the pull of sleep and the vulnerability it would bring, Minthara could feel her body betraying her. The exhaustion, both physical and mental, bore down on her like a tangible weight. Try as she might to fight it, her eyelids grew heavy, the world around her fading into darkness. Gone were the typical elven meditations, the keen vigilance that kept her senses attuned even in slumber. In their place, Minthara succumbed to a deep sleep. < Part II || Part IV >

#baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 minthara x halsin #emeraldweb #minthara x halsin #fanfic writing #fanfiction #bg3 #current wip

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mimetoist · 2 days

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Honey Webbing

Part XII

[About Minthara’s too many faints: I tried to depict D&D’s rules for the Exhaustion condition. I tried to depict what a level of Exhaustion that floats between lvl 3 and lvl 5 without proper recovery would look like, although I’m not sure if I got it right (never used that rule in my games, sorry).]

Minthara's eyes fluttered open, her senses assaulted by an acrid, bitter taste in her mouth. She grimaced, the movement sending a sharp lance of pain through her neck and shoulder. As her vision cleared, she found herself being dragged along the dimly lit tunnel, her body half-suspended in some kind of crude leather hammock.

"What...?" she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The hammock jerked to a stop, and Mera's worried face came into view, her features pinched with strain. "You're awake," the girl breathed, relief evident in her tone. "Here, drink more of this. It should help with the poison."

Minthara eyed the murky concoction warily. She cursed under her breath at the disastrous battle - the cloaker's venomous sting, her desperate push forward, and the final, agonizing collapse. The drow begrudgingly accepted the proffered cup, ignoring the way her hands shook as she raised it to her lips. The liquid was vile, burning her throat, but she forced herself to swallow it down, determined not to show weakness in front of the child.

"How long?" she demanded, her gaze searching their surroundings. They seemed to be in some kind of abandoned passage, not far beyond their previous spot, the air thick with dust and the faint scent of decay. Mera anxiously fidgets, picking on her own cuticles.

"Not long," The girl replied, her expression tense.

"And your ankle?" Minthara glanced down, her face etched with a grimace.

"It's… Slow going."

Minthara's eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation flaring within her. Of course the girl was still injured - it was a miracle she'd managed to drag Minthara this far at all. The drow started to push herself up, hissing in pain as her vision blurred with the effort. Still, she got to her feet, cursing her own vulnerability.

"You should have left me," she rasped, her voice rough with accusation. "Made your way to the surface, found help.”

“And just let you die down here?" Mera's eyes widened, her expression shifting from relief to a mix of disbelief and indignation.

Minthara scoffed, the sound grating against her sore throat. "Foolish girl. Your concern was misplaced. I would have survived."

"Misplaced?" Mera repeated, her voice rising. "I saved your life, you could at least say thank you." She gestured sharply to the crude antidote Minthara had reluctantly drank.

Minthara let out something akin to a genuine, if pained, laugh, provoking a cough. "Saved me?" She fixed Mera with a pointed stare. "Must I remind you, girl, that you were the one who needed to be rescued, to begin with?"

Mera's jaw tightened, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Well I wouldn’t need to be rescued if you didn’t corner me in the first place!"

Minthara's eyes burned with hatred and fury as she glared at the girl. She could almost see her hand flying, the desire to slap the insolent child's face overwhelmingly tempting. Mera flinched, fear flickering in her eyes as if she could sense the drow’s intentions. Minthara paused. The girl's words, as much as she loathed to admit it, were true. She knew it from the moment the search party had entered the cavern - this was her own folly, her own recklessness that had put them in this precarious situation. Minthara's lips thinned into a tight line, her pride stinging at the realization. Gritting her teeth, she pushed back the impulse to strike the girl and moved past Mera, towards the darkened tunnels of the temple, recollecting what she could from the last time she had traveled this path.

Along the way, she could hear Mera's hesitant limping steps trailing behind her, the girl's trepidation palpable. Minthara refused to acknowledge it, her focus solely on putting as much distance between them and the Cloaker's lair as possible. The sooner they reached the surface, the sooner she could be rid of this petulant child, and the debt she had with Halsin alongside it.

The tense silence between Minthara and Mera grew increasingly palpable. Mera's steps faltered occasionally, her injured ankle slowing their progress, but the drow continued on without a word, her focus unwavering.

Mera chewed on her lower lip, her brow furrowing as she mustered the courage to speak up. "Look, I... I'm sorry, about what I said earlier," she began tentatively, her eyes downcast.

Minthara remained silent, not casting the girl a single glance as she continued navigating the dimly lit tunnels. Undeterred, Mera pressed on. "I shouldn't have casted all the blame on you. That was... unfair of me." She glanced up at the drow's back, her gaze hesitant. "You came to rescue me, even though you didn't have to. And I’m grateful."

Minthara's steps faltered momentarily, but she did not turn to face the girl. "I owed a debt to your father," she stated, her voice cool and detached. "Halsin saved my life. I merely repaid the favor."

Mera blinked, a flicker of hurt crossing her features. Minthara paused, her severe gaze finally sweeping over the girl's half-drow features. "Though... I suppose I should commend you for being capable of maintaining enough composure in such a dire situation. Not many younglings are as… resilient." Minthara's brow furrowed as she glared at Mera, her crimson eyes showing a mixture of frustration and begrudging respect while watching the subtle play of emotions across Mera's features. Discomfort, trepidation, and yet... a hint of pride.

"I, uh... thank you," Mera answered, her fingers fidgeting, picking on her cuticles again. Minthara could sense the girl's unease, but there was a sincerity in her words.

The journey to the surface, although not long, was sufficiently arduous, giving the state that both of them were left after everything that trespassed, Minthara's injuries and Mera's aching ankle significantly slowing their progress. But as they finally emerged from the dark confines of the sharran temple, the drow could not suppress a quiet sense of relief.

Minthara paused, her eyes sweeping over the familiar landscape, taking in the expanse of the open sky above. Though she would never openly admit it, the drow had grown weary of the claustrophobic tunnels of that area and the ever-present threat of danger that lurked within the ruins of what one day was the Thorm mausoleum.

Beside her, Mera stumbled slightly, her injured ankle protesting the strain. Minthara's brow furrowed as she observed the girl, an emotion akin to concern flickering across her features - an expression she was still unaccustomed to wearing. Suddenly, in the woods nearby, a brilliant flare of dancing lights burst into the sky, casting an ethereal glow over the shadowed ruins around them. Minthara immediately tensed, her hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her sword, her eyes scanning their surroundings with sharp vigilance.

Someone was signaling, but to what end? Wary of any potential movement in the dark bushes before them, Minthara stood ready, even as her battered body betrayed her, the exhaustion and reopened wounds taking a heavy toll. The wind whispered through the old ruins, the bushes shifting ominously in the darkness of the surrounding woods. Minthara remained alert, her senses primed for any sign of danger, until she caught sight of shadowed silhouettes emerging from the treeline.

Minthara unsheathed her sword, the familiar weight of the blade a comforting presence in her hand, despite all the pain her body bore. But to her surprise, Mera's expression brightened with recognition, the girl's features softening as the figures drew closer.

Halsin stepped into the dancing lights' glow, his features etched with a mixture of relief and concern. A small entourage of companions followed closely behind him, their expressions mirroring the druid's.

"Halsin!" the girl exclaimed, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and trepidation.

Minthara watches, her gaze unwavering, as Halsin sweeps Mera into a tight embrace, the girl's tense posture melting into the comfort of her father's arms. As the druid's companions approached, offering their aid to her, the drow initially bristled at the unwanted attention, her natural inclination towards suspicion rising to the surface. But as Halsin's gaze met her own, a silent understanding seemed to pass between them, and Minthara found herself begrudgingly accepting the aid offered. A flicker of an emotion she couldn't quite identify passed through her features, her grip on the sword tightening momentarily before she forced herself to relax.

As they made their way towards Halsin's home, Minthara's steps grew increasingly unsteady, the weight of her injuries and sheer exhaustion finally taking its toll. The drow's stoic façade began to crumble, her usual air of confident control slipping away. Minthara's vision blurred, the edges darkening as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Struggling to remain upright, she felt her knees buckle, her grip on her sword loosening as she began to fall. Minthara fought against the encroaching darkness, desperate to maintain her composure, but her battered body had reached its limit. At a distance, she could hear the faint echo of both Halsin’s and Mera’s voices calling her name. With a soft, barely audible gasp, the drow warrior succumbed to the overwhelming fatigue, her consciousness slipping away as she crumpled to the ground in a heap, the world around her fading to black.

< Part XI ||

#emeraldweb #fanfic writing #current wip #minthara x halsin #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 minthara x halsin #minthara baenre #bg3 minthara

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mimetoist · 6 days

Text

Honey Webbing

Part XI

TW: BLOOD, VIOLENCE, GORE, INJURY.

Minthara's boots splashed through the shallow pools of water that dotted the narrow, winding tunnel. The damp air clung to her skin, and the sound of her footsteps echoed eerily in the oppressive gloom. As she rounded a bend, her steps slowed, her crimson gaze narrowing. The path ahead had become particularly treacherous, the smooth stone slick with moisture, becoming increasingly slippery underfoot. Minthara paused, carefully surveying the diverging tunnels before her – one leading up, where faint rays of moonlight shined through, and the other angling sharply downward towards the darkness.

Her attention was immediately drawn to the lower passage, its surfaces scarred and marred, as if something had recently slipped down its slippery incline with great force. Curiosity piqued, Minthara leaned forward, peering cautiously into the gloom, but the tunnel took a sharp turn a few meters ahead, obscuring her view beyond the wet, glistening rocks and shallow flow of water. Minthara hesitated only a moment, weighing the risks. Reaching a gloved hand out, she tested the traction of the lower passage, her eyes narrowing in consideration. Whatever had traversed, it had likely been not in a subtle way. Minthara surmised that if Mera had indeed passed this way, the child had likely intended to take the upward path to safety. However, the perilous, slippery terrain had clearly sent the girl careening down the treacherous descent before her in a violent slide. Carefully, she began to make her way down the treacherous incline, her hands braced against the slick walls as she moved with cautious steps.

The descent proved to be more difficult than Minthara anticipated, and soon she found herself fighting to maintain her footing on the uneven terrain. More than once, she felt her balance falter, her heart pounding as she caught herself before taking a devastating tumble. The air grew colder, the darkness more oppressive, and the familiar echoes went to her encounter, reminding her of home; she was in the unmistakable atmosphere of the Underdark.

Despite her caution, Minthara's boots suddenly lost their purchase on the slick stone, sending her pitching forward. The drow’s heart leapt into her throat as she slid uncontrollably down the incline, her armor scraping against the wet rocks with a jarring cacophony, her fingers scrabbling uselessly for purchase, until finally, she plunged into a waist-deep pond at the bottom of the tunnel. Stunned, she emerged from the water, sputtering and shivering, her eyes narrowed with frustration. Minthara couldn't suppress a wince as a sharp pain shot through her lower back, a lingering reminder of her tumble down the treacherous incline. Cursing under her breath, she reached back to gingerly touch the sore spot, her fingers failing in probing the tender flesh through the layers of her armor.

Wincing again, she bent down, carefully retrieving her sword from where it had fallen in the shallow pond. The familiar weight of the blade in her hand was a small comfort as she rose. Doing her best to ignore the ache in her back, Minthara waded through the shallow pond, her keen gaze taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. While the environment was unmistakably characteristic of the Underdark, with its ominous bioluminescent mushrooms and shadowed walls, the specific location was not one she recognized. She scanned the muddy ground around the pond, and to her relief, she spotted a series of distinct footprints leading away from the water's edge. Her heart quickened – these had to be Mera's. Without hesitation, she followed the trail, her steps swift and purposeful as she tracked the girl's path through the immense subterranean cave hall, her brows furrowing as she studied the footprints more closely. They were erratic, uneven – as if Mera had been limping, the girl's desperation evident in the unsteady stride.

The footprints led Minthara deeper into the vast, cavernous chamber, her steps cautious and deliberate as she navigated the uneven terrain. Towering natural columns of jagged stone rose up from the ground, casting long, distorted shadows across the cave floor. Gaps and crevices pockmarked the surrounding walls, from which emerged large, gnarled mushrooms, the pale bioluminescence of their caps casting an eerie glow in the large cavern. Minthara crossed the entirety of the cavern, approaching the far wall to inspect its gaps. To her surprise, the seemingly impassable dead-end opened up into a deep, yawning chasm. She approached the edge of the precipice, peering down into the inky darkness below. The walls of the precipice were lined with a risky, mushroom-encrusted descent.

Her keen gaze swept over the precarious "ladder" of fungal outcroppings, her mind already calculating the risks and potential benefits of using this unexpected route. As she scanned the shadowed depths, a faint glimmer caught her eye – a Sharran symbol on the bottom, barely visible among the scattered remains of a long-dead cleric. Minthara's shoulders sagged ever-so-slightly as a flicker of relief crossed her features. That was an area Minthara recognized from the time she traveled along the ones who would be saviors of Baldur’s Gate: She was close to the Gauntlet of Shar. With its traps disarmed and its doors unlocked, it would be an easy route to return to the surface.

Minthara's head snapped up at the faint sound of movement, her senses immediately on high alert. Gripping the hilt of her sword, she cautiously turned towards a shadowed alcove nearby, her crimson eyes narrowing as she scanned the craggy recess. For a heartbeat, there was only silence - then, another hustle sound in the shadows. Minthara tensed, her muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike. As Minthara cautiously approached the alcove, her gaze fell upon the huddled figure wedged deep within one of the craggy gaps in the wall. There, cowering in the shadows, was Mera, the half-drow girl's features etched with a mix of fear and pain.

"Finally," the drow woman growled, her tone sharp with impatience.

“Y-you’re…” The girl’s eyes were wide in surprise as she recognized Minthara.

"The ‘hag’, yes.” Minthara sharply mocked, the impatience still lingering in her words. “Come out, now. I’ll get you back to the surface." When the girl made no move to obey, Minthara's jaw tightened, her free hand pointing a threatening finger towards the alcove. "Don't make me come in there and get you, child. Your father is waiting."

Minthara's eyes narrowed as she watched Mera shrink back into the alcove, the girl's features etched with pure terror. Frustration bubbled within the drow - why couldn't the child just come along?

"Petulant child, this is no time for games," she growled. "We need to-"

But Minthara’s words died in her mouth as she noticed the shift in Mera's gaze, the girl's wide eyes fixed not directly on her, but on something behind her. A chill ran down her spine, and she whirled around, her sword raised and ready. There, silently descending from the cavernous ceiling above, was a monstrous sight to behold. A vast, shroud-like form unfurled, a gaping maw of needle-sharp teeth emerging from within the undulating folds of its leathery bat-like wings. Once spotted, with a guttural snarl, the Cloaker surged forward, its cavernous maw gaping wide.

Instinctively, Minthara reached within, calling upon the paladin power that had always answered her in times of need. But to her horror, she felt nothing - no warm glow of radiance, no surge of holy energy to bolster her attacks.

"No..." the drow woman breathed, her crimson eyes widening as the realization dawned on her. The voices in her nightmare didn’t lie: she had broken her sacred oath, and with it, gone were the blessings of a paladin. She was on her own.

Gritting her teeth, Minthara steeled her nerves and met the Cloaker's charge head-on, her sword flashing in the dim luminescence of the mushrooms as she unleashed a flurry of vicious strikes. But the creature was fast, impossibly so, its undulating form evading her blows with a fluid grace that bordered on the supernatural. Minthara's breath came in ragged gasps as she was forced to continually dance out of the way of the Cloaker's gaping maw, its needle-sharp teeth snapping at her with unrelenting ferocity. A misstep, a momentary lapse in focus, and those jaws would close around her, rending her flesh with agonizing ease. Desperately, she sought an opening, a weakness she could exploit. But the Cloaker seemed to anticipate her every move, its shadowy form shifting and undulating in a way that defied rational comprehension. Minthara felt her muscles growing weary, her movements beginning to slow, sending a sinking feeling of dread settled in the pit of her stomach.

A sharp pain lanced through Minthara's shoulder as the Cloaker's jagged teeth found their mark, and she let out a hiss of pain, her sword slashing wildly in retaliation. Finally, her blade landed a hit, slicing through the Cloaker's leathery "wing" with a spray of viscous ichor. The creature let out an exasperated screech, its form rippling and distorting, until with a final shudder, it vanished into the gloom. A duplicate.

Minthara stared, panting, at the empty space where the Cloaker had been. Her heart pounded in her ears, and a growing sense of unease crept up her spine. If that had been a mere duplicate, then where was the real creature? Her gaze snapped towards the alcove, where Mera still cowered. "Get down!" the drow shouted, her voice sharp with urgency. "Stay away from the walls!" Mera flinched at the order, but to Minthara's relief, the girl obeyed, her movements jerky and reluctant as she left the relative safety of her hiding place. Keeping her own sword drawn and ready, Minthara quickly positioned herself between Mera and the vast cavernous chamber, her keen eyes scanning every shadow for any sign of the true Cloaker.

"Put your back against mine, and keep watch!" she commanded, and Mera complied, the trembling girl pressing her back against Minthara's as they stood, braced for the creature's return.

"There's no way out," Mera protested, her voice barely above a whisper. "The tunnel is too slippery to climb back, I tried!"

“Silence!” Minthara urged, all of her senses heightened as she tried to catch any glimpse or sound that could reveal the creature’s whereabouts.

After several moments of silent vigilance, the real Cloaker had given no signs of its presence. Either it was not immediately present, which was unlikely, or at least (and more probably) it was taking time to recover after using the duplicate, its most energy-consuming ability. Either way, it meant they had just enough time to make the perilous descent. Minthara turned to face Mera, her expression grave. The child was bruised, her clothing tattered, but Minthara could see no serious injuries – just the remnants of a harrowing fall, the cost of her desperate flight through these treacherous passages. Mera's wide eyes darted between the drow and the dead-end around her, her body tensing.

"Listen to me, girl," Minthara said, her tone brooking no argument. "We must move, and move quickly. The only known and safe way out lies in reaching that temple below. Stay close to me, and do exactly as I say. Understood?"

Without another word, Minthara turned and began to make her way towards the edge of the precipice, the mushroom-encrusted "ladder" their only means of escape. She could only pray that their gamble would pay off, and that the Cloaker would not catch them before they reached the ancient Sharran shrine. Minthara risked a quick glance over her shoulder, her gaze falling upon Mera's trembling form. The girl's movements were labored and agonizingly slow, her steps halting and unsteady.

"M-my ankle..." Mera's voice wavered, thick with the threat of tears. Tentatively, she reached down, pulling up the hem of her trousers to reveal a swollen, angry-red joint. The skin was inflamed and discolored, the girl's delicate features twisted in a pained grimace.

Without a word, Minthara moved to Mera's side, her brow furrowing as she examined the injured ankle. The joint was clearly sprained, if not outright broken.

“It happened when I slipped…” The girl begins to explain, but her words met only silence in response. Minthara's jaw tightened, her mind racing as she weighed their options. They were so close to the temple, so close to potential safety. But with Mera's injury, their progress would be painfully slow, leaving them vulnerable to the Cloaker's return. The drow glanced back towards the way they had come, her grip tightening on her sword. Time was of the essence, and she could not afford to be slowed down. Exhaling a heavy sigh, Minthara made her decision.

"Hold on to me," she commanded, "and don't let go, no matter what." The girl nodded, climbing onto Minthara’s back, tightly embracing her waist with her legs. The drow carefully inched her way down, crumbling mushroom protrusions, her own footing sure and steady as she leaped forth, landing firmly to the relative safety of the temple grounds below. Once at the bottom, just a few meters ahead, a wooden door stood half-open, a glimpse of a dimly lit dining room visible beyond.

Minthara's already battered body protested after carrying Mera's lanky teenage frame into her back. The drow’s muscles strained with the additional weight, the ache in her back flaring to life once more. Though the girl was small, the sheer effort of carrying her took a heavy toll on Minthara's half-recovered form.

With shaking legs, Mera carefully slid down from Minthara's back, both hands gripping tightly Minthara's free hand as she scanned the temple grounds with wide, fearful eyes. Minthara fought the instinct to pull away from the girl's touch, instead giving her a firm tug towards the open doorway.

"Come," the drow woman murmured, her voice low and urgent.

Mera hesitated for a heartbeat, her gaze darting back towards the shadows, as if the Cloaker might materialize from the gloom. But Minthara's grip on her hand was unyielding, and with a trembling nod, the girl allowed herself to be led towards the open door, her limping painful steps quickening to small one-foot jumps as they neared the relative safety of the adjoining chamber.

Just as they reached the threshold of the dining room, suddenly, before she could react, a monumental force slammed into Minthara from behind, knocking the breath from her lungs as she was sent hurtling through the open doorway. Minthara barely had time to register Mera's terrified scream before she hit the ground in a tumble, her vision momentarily blacking out from the impact. Shaking her head to clear the daze, she whirled around, only to find the Cloaker's gaping maw descending upon her, its razor-sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light as it let out a bone-chilling shriek.

Minthara parries, feeling the creature's fetid breath on her face, gagging on the noxious fumes that seemed to seep from its very pores. She pushes the creature back, her blade tingling when in touch with the creature's teeth, pushing it back enough for her to get back on her feet. The creature's fluid, ethereal movements had already proven a formidable challenge, and without her paladin abilities, she knew she would need to rely solely on her wits and combat prowess to overcome this foe.

When the Cloaker lunged again, Minthara pivoted, her blade flashing as she delivered a series of rapid strikes to the creature's flank. To her satisfaction, the Cloaker let out a pained roar, taking flight, disappearing between the ceiling’s uneven stones. Luckily enough, that was the real Cloaker this time.

Minthara knew Cloakers all too well; their ability of becoming invisible made them dangerous predators in the Underdark, even for the most seasoned of the warriors. Right now, she was its prey, and the creature could be anywhere. A sudden, shrill whisper brushed the edge of her hearing, sending a chill down her spine. Minthara whirled, her blade darting out only to be met with empty air. Her chest tightened with unease. She was being watched.

Slowly, Minthara continued to scan the darkness, every step cautious, senses hyper-alert. That's when she saw it again – a massive, transparent shape clinging to a column nearby, high above. The Cloaker unfurled its immense body, its long, whip-like tail lashing out with a sickening crack. Minthara barely managed to dodge the blow, the air whistling as the tail sliced through the space where she had just stood.

Lashing out with her blade, Minthara scored a deep gash along the Cloaker's flank, eliciting a shrill, agonized screech from the creature. But the monster was undeterred, its tail coiling around her leg in a vise-like grip. Minthara hissed in pain as the corrosive mucus on the appendage began to burn through her armor, searing her flesh. Yet she refused to relinquish her grip on her sword, bringing the blade down in a savage arc against the tail's thick hide.

The Cloaker let out another shriek, its hold momentarily loosening. But before Minthara could make another move, the creature set flight again, its powerful wings propelling it upwards as it dragged the drow woman painfully across the stone floor, making her lose her sword in the process.

Suddenly, a sizable rock came hurtling through the air, striking the Cloaker's hide. The creature let out a cry of pain, halting on its track. Minthara's gaze snapped towards Mera, her eyes widening as she witnessed the girl's desperate gambit.

She wanted to shout at the girl about the stupidity of drawing the monster's attention to herself, but the words caught in her throat as Mera ducks behind one of the crumbling statues and broken columns that dotted the area, grabbing another sharp-edged stone, her arm cocking back to throw.

The Cloaker's attention shifted, its cavernous maw gaping open in a ferocious roar as it let go of Minthara's leg and surged towards the girl. The drow surged to her feet, her wounded leg protesting, but she paid it no heed. She had to end this quickly.

Mera's aim was true once more, the jagged shard of rock plummeting towards the Cloaker's head. The monster let out a furious hiss as the projectile struck, preparing to leash out at the girl. Seizing the opportunity, Minthara unsheathed a dagger from her leg armor and surged forward, her gaze fixed on the monster. Ducking low, she slid past the advancing creature, her blade arcing in a vicious slash in the creature’s underbelly. But to Minthara's surprise, the monster, instead of reeling back from the blow, simply flew past her, its cavernous maw gaping open as it lunged towards the terrified Mera.

Without hesitation, Minthara leaped forward and violently pushed the girl aside, taking her place as the Cloaker’s target as the creature's jagged teeth sank into her shoulder. The drow let out a guttural cry of pain, but she refused to buckle, her dagger lashing out in a savage strike. The creature’s grip was relentless, and its tail and wings were now wrapped around her torso in a deadly embrace.

Desperately, she braced herself, driving her blade deep into the Cloaker's hide. The monster thrashed and shrieked, its tail tightening further, until Minthara felt a rib begin to crack. Gritting her teeth against the searing agony, she brought her blade down again and again, her vision blurring as the Cloaker's venomous secretions seared her skin.

Just when she felt her strength beginning to wane, Minthara summoned a final, desperate burst of energy. With a painful howl, she plunged her blade into the Cloaker's skull, piercing the creature's brain, twisting it just to be sure. The monster's thrashing grew wild and frenzied, then suddenly, it went limp, its coils loosening around Minthara's body.

"We must... keep moving," she rasped, her voice rough with exertion. Without waiting for a response, she pushed herself away from the Cloaker's corpse, determined to press onward despite her body's protests.

But the adrenaline that had fueled her could no longer sustain her. Minthara's steps faltered, and suddenly, she found herself collapsing to the ground, her vision blurring as the searing pain in her shoulder overwhelmed her. With a monumental effort, the drow woman turned her head, her eyes locking onto Mera's terror-stricken face. She wanted to offer the girl directions, to tell her how she could get to the surface from here, but the words caught in her throat, drowned out by the ragged sound of her own labored breathing. She cursed herself inwardly, berating her own weakness even as darkness began to creep at the edges of her vision. She had come so far, fought so hard, all to find this damn child - and now, when she finally did it, her strength was failing her in the last steps of the way.

“You failed us, Minthara…”

… again.

< Part X || Part XII >

#baldur’s gate 3 #tried to depict a cloaker dnd 5e encounter #bg3 #emeraldweb #bg3 minthara x halsin #minthara x halsin #fanfic writing #current wip #minthara baenre #minthara #bg3 minthara

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mimetoist · 12 days

Text

Honey Webbing

Part X

As the search party ventured forth towards the river, Halsin called for them to split up, covering a wider area in their hunt for any sign of Mera. The group quickly organized, each member grabbing a lamp or crossbow as they fanned out along the riverbank. Clad in her ebony armor, a sword gripped firmly in her hand, Minthara appeared every bit the formidable warrior of the stories, making every effort to hide the fact that she wasn't entirely healed yet.

As they navigated the darkened outskirts, she felt a familiar stirring of annoyance. Halsin's inability to properly control his brood was, in her mind, a glaring display of irresponsibility. The drow's lips parted, a biting remark on the tip of her tongue, ready to lecture the druid on the importance of discipline and oversight. But as she glanced at Halsin, the words died in her throat. Halsin's normally calm and even playful demeanor had been completely stripped away, replaced by a furrowed brow with deep concern, his eyes filled with desperate fear. This was a father consumed by the anguish of a missing child, a feeling that Minthara witnessed many times, but never really from this close.

Minthara swallowed the criticism that had been poised to spill forth, her grip on her weapon loosening ever so slightly. Instead, she fell silent, her crimson gaze scanning the surrounding area with a focused intensity, her senses hyper-alert for any sign of the lost girl. As the search party scoured the riverbank, Minthara's keen senses suddenly picked up on a familiar sight in short distance – the entrance to the very cave where she had confronted Mera just hours earlier.

Halsin's words were laced with a desperation that cut through the tense silence as he guided the search party towards the ominous cave entrance. "She... she likes to spend time there," he murmured, his voice strained and hollow, betraying the depth of his anguish. The druid's steps were halting, his gaze fixed ahead, as if the mere act of moving forward required an immense effort. "Perhaps... she just fell asleep?" Halsin's voice trembled with a fragile hope as he spoke, his gaze pleading with Minthara to latch onto the possibility. Minthara's expression remained impassive as the druid's words hung heavily in the air. She knew better than to cling to such empty reassurances – were that the case, a search party wouldn't be necessary at all. But deep within her, a twinge of empathy stirred, so she remained silent.

A dark realization slowly dawned on Minthara as she walked down the cave with Halsin, her footsteps slowing. It was her fault, wasn't it? Her brow furrowed with the weight of her actions as she recalled the frightened look on the girl's face when she had confronted her in the cave. Had her actions inadvertently set these events in motion, leading to the child's disappearance? As Minthara followed the twisting paths of the cave, a chill ran down her spine, unbidden memories of her last nightmare flooding her mind: the twisted, lifeless forms of her fallen comrades, their empty eyes accusing her.

“You only bring death in your way…”

The spectral words danced in her mind, as vivid as if the very nightmare was repeating itself right before her eyes. Minthara's grip on her weapon tightened until her knuckles turned white, her jaw clenching as she fought the visions. She had only meant to find answers, to uncover the truth about her predicament – but now, the possibility that her own recklessness had endangered the life of the daughter of the man who had saved her life left her with a debt she could never repay. She stops in her tracks for a moment, pushing the haunting images aside, gritting her teeth.

“Put down the damn light.” She hissed to one of the men who accompanied them. “I can barely see with all this… brightness.” The villager looked at Halsin for a confirmation, but the druid silently shifted into a wolf and put his nostrils at work, sniffing around for any sign of Mera. Having no other choice, the man twists the knob that controls the lamp's gas flow, reducing the flame until it is extinguished.

Minthara scanned the darkness with doubled attention as they ventured forth, recognizing the terrain immediately – these were the same winding paths where she had given up the chase to the young half-drow just hours earlier. Minthara followed in the wolf's footsteps way past the point she last saw the girl, her steps quickening as they reached a fork in the path. Halsin, in his transformed state, paused, his nose to the ground as he searched for Mera's scent. But the shallow pools of water that had collected in the low-lying areas had muddied the trail, obscuring the girl's tracks.

Minthara came to a halt beside the wolf, her expression grim. "The trail is lost," she announced, her commanding tone cutting through the tense silence. "We'll have to split up. I'll take the left corridor – the rest of you, fan out and search the other paths."

Without waiting for a response, Minthara strode forward, her grip tight on the sword as she plunged into the shadowed passage. She had to find the damn girl. Failure was not an option – not this time. If the girl was alive, Minthara would ensure her safe return, if only to atone for the part she may have played in her disappearance.

< Part IX || Part XI >

#emeraldweb #bg3 minthara x halsin #minthara x halsin #baldur’s gate 3 #current wip #fanfic writing #bg3

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mimetoist · 17 days

Text

Honey Webbing

Part VI

“Daddyyyy!" Fren's high-pitched voice rang out, the pitter-patter of her tiny feet echoing as she rushed to Halsin's side. The druid paused, the broom he had been wielding against the wooden floor clattering to the ground as he bent down and scooped the little girl into his arms.

"Up so early this morning, are we?" Halsin gave her a gentle smile, although his exhaustion was evident in the lines around his eyes. He loved his children more than anything, but sometimes he longed for just a moment to tidy the house, to eat a full meal, or to simply rest.

Fren's brow furrowed, her small lips turning down in a worried pout. "The pwetty lady got out," she blurted out with a blend of sadness and impatience, as if yearning for her father to be as attentive to the matter as herself.

Halsin's expression shifted to one of puzzlement. "Hm?" he hummed, shifting Fren in his arms as he made his way towards Minthara's room.

Halsin paused outside the door, a soft knock echoing against the wood. "Minthara?" he called out. When no response came, his brow knitted with a hint of concern. The druid cautiously eased the door open, his gaze sweeping over the room.

The bed was neatly made, and for a moment Halsin felt a pang of disappointment, his mind immediately jumping to the conclusion that Minthara had simply abandoned this place, returning to the Underdark without so much as a word. After all, her attitude had been nothing if not aloof and dismissive towards his attempts to aid her.

But as he surveyed the scene more closely, his expression shifted. Minthara's armor remained, carefully arranged in a manner that suggested she had not simply fled in haste. In fact, the room had an almost meticulous order to it - more so than when he had last seen it. Intrigued, Halsin stepped further into the room, his eyes scanning for any clues as to Minthara's whereabouts. She could not have gone far, he reasoned, not in her current condition. Perhaps she had simply stepped out for some fresh air, or to explore the village.

A spike of worry surged through him, the thought of a person wandering off in a weakened state setting his nerves on edge. But then he paused, reminding himself of Minthara's resilience – the drow was no fragile flower, and he knew she was most likely doing alright, even in her current condition. With a quiet sigh, Halsin turned and made his way out of the room, pausing only to close the door behind him. As he stepped out into the sunlight, he found himself instinctively searching the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of Minthara. Where could she have gone, he wondered, a faint thread of concern weaving through his thoughts. As formidable a warrior as she was, her wounds were still healing, and he couldn't help but worry about her. Against his better judgment, Halsin set out to find her, at least just for ensure himself of her well-being.

Halsin made his way across the streets, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of Minthara. As he approached the small cluster of children playing nearby, his gaze settled on one of his adopted children, a young tiefling boy named Umi, sitting with his legs crossed on the dirt, tending to a small garden of herbs and flowers.

"Umi," Halsin called out, drawing the boy's attention. "I was wondering if you might have seen the... guest who has been staying with us. The drow woman, Minthara. Did you happen to catch sight of her?"

Umi paused his work, dirt-smudged hands resting on his knees as he looked up at the druid. "The scary lady?" the boy asked, his brow furrowing in thought. "I think I saw her heading that way," he said, pointing towards the building that once served as Reithwin’s Mason Guild hall.

Halsin offered Umi an appreciative nod. "Thank you, Umi. I'll go see if I can find her. Can you look after Fren for a little while?" The boy nods, and Halsin gently sets the girl down, watching as she scampers towards her tiefling brother. As he turned to continue his track, he couldn't help but wonder what exactly had drawn Minthara into the building.

Halsin's steps quickened as he approached the former Mason's Guild, the old building now in the midst of a transformation. Gone were the signs of its former industrial purpose, replaced by the beginnings of a more residential structure, its walls partially rebuilt and windows now framing cozy nooks.

As he drew closer, the druid could hear the faint sounds of laughter and playful bickering echoing from within. Just beneath a wooden ladder, two of his adopted children, a pair of mischievous younglings named Lila and Kiran, were huddled in a corner, their voices hushed yet animated as they gestured excitedly towards the upper level.

"I dare you to go talk to her," Lila, a young halfling girl, challenged her brother, a human boy with a mop of dark curls.

Kiran's eyes widened, a mix of apprehension and dread flickering across his features. "No way, she's scary! You go do it."

Halsin cleared his throat, drawing the children's attention. "What's going on here?" he asked, his tone gently probing.

Lila and Kiran jumped in surprise, their heads whipping around to face the druid. "N-nothing, daddy Halsin," Kiran stammered, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment at being caught, while Lila averted her gaze.

Halsin raised a brow, his gaze shifting to the upper level, where he could just make out a shadowy figure silhouetted against the sunlight streaming through the gap where soon would be windows. "Were you two perhaps talking about our guest?" he inquired, his voice warm but tinged with a hint of concern.

Lila nodded hesitantly, her hands on her back, faking a daredevil attitude. "The scary lady went up there," she admitted, her eyes darting nervously towards the second floor. "Kiran was gonna go talk to her, but he's too scared."

“No,” The boy protested, “It was Lila who was gonna talk to her, but she's too scared!” "I'm not scared, you're scared!" The girl retorted, igniting a frowned bickering between her and her brother.

Halsin's expression softened, and he placed a reassuring hand on each of the children's shoulders. "Now, now, I'm sure she's not as scary as all that," he soothed. "Why don't we go see if we can't find her and introduce ourselves properly?"

Kiran's eyes widened in alarm, and he shook his head vehemently. "No way! She'll feed us to a giant spider or something!"

Halsin chuckled, gently ruffling the boy's hair. "I don't believe that will happen. But if you're not ready, that's perfectly all right. I'll go see if I can talk to her myself."

With a final encouraging smile, Halsin turned and made his way towards the stairs, his steps steady and his expression open as he approached the figure standing on the rooftop. The moment Minthara's piercing gaze met his, Halsin could see the initial annoyance flash across her features, her lips tightening into a thin line. But to the druid's surprise, the drow's expression quickly settled into a more composed, almost contemplative mien. Minthara's posture remained rigid, her arms folded across her chest, yet there was a thoughtfulness in her bearing that Halsin hadn't quite anticipated.

"Minthara," Halsin greeted cautiously, his tone carrying a touch of concern. "I, ah, I was hoping to find you. What are you doing up here?"

For a long moment, Minthara remained silent, her eyes sweeping across the expanse of the village below. Halsin followed her gaze, taking in the sights - the bustling activity, the cluster of modest buildings, the winding stream that cut through the heart of the settlement.

Halsin had entered into conformity that she would just ignore him. But then, Minthara spoke, her tone almost clinical in its detachment. "This location is quite strategically sound," she remarked, her hand gesturing towards the landscape. "Fresh water, access to trade routes - it has the potential to become a thriving merchant hub."

Halsin blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected observation. "Oh, well, yes, I suppose you're right," he admitted. "The village has certainly grown quickly over time, and we've been working to develop the infrastructure even further."

Minthara's brow arched ever so slightly, and she turned to face him, her expression stern yet composed. "And what of your defenses?” she asked, her gaze unwavering. "Surely you have a contingent of capable warriors to protect this... settlement, should the need arise."

Halsin felt a faint twinge of unease at the question, and he found himself hesitating for a moment before answering. "Well, no, not precisely," he admitted, his tone tinged with a hint of sheepishness.

The drow's lips thinned into a disapproving line, and Halsin could practically see the gears turning in her mind as she surveyed the village once more, her critical gaze sweeping across the unassuming buildings and the people going about their daily lives.

"Our community values harmony and-" Halsin began, only to be silenced by Minthara's sharp retort.

"Harmony?" she scoffed. “Your precious 'harmony' will do little to shield you from those who would seek to destroy this place."

Halsin's expression grew troubled, but he held his ground. "We have our ways of defending ourselves-"

Minthara's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I see no evidence of that," she interrupted, her voice dripping with disdain. "Where are your walls to deter invaders? Where are your watchtowers to provide early warning? All I see is a sprawling, vulnerable settlement, ripe for the taking by any determined foe."

Halsin drew a deep breath, steadying himself in the face of Minthara's withering critique. "I understand your concerns, Minthara, but I assure you, this village is not of such importance that it would draw the attention of any sizable army," he replied, his tone measured yet firm. "We may not have the overt displays of force that you're accustomed to, but we have weathered many storms through the strength of our community and our connections to the land. I believe that our approach of cultivating harmony and understanding will serve us well, even in the face of those who would seek to do us harm."

Minthara's expression darkened with a hint of condescension as she regarded Halsin. "Your naivety is almost endearing, druid," she remarked, her voice dripping with a barely concealed disdain. "This village may be small and insignificant now, but growth and prosperity often draw the eyes of those who would seek to claim it for themselves, and your lack of foresight could very well be your undoing." She turned her back to him, her voice burning with an intensity that made Halsin's skin prickle. "Mark my words, druid: if you do not fortify this place, if you do not prepare your people for the possible trials to come, then all that you have built here will crumble to dust."

With that, Minthara swept past him, her footsteps heavy with purpose as she descended the stairs, leaving Halsin to ponder the weight of her words and the unsettling reality they exposed.

< Part V || Part VII >

#baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 minthara x halsin #emeraldweb #minthara x halsin #fanfic writing #current wip #bg3

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mimetoist · 21 days

Text

Honey Webbing

Part V

Minthara's eyes snapped open, the silence in the room pressing down upon her like a suffocating weight. The usual sounds of life from the village – the laughter of children, the bustle of activity – had been replaced by an eerie, oppressive quiet. Immediately, the drow's senses went on high alert, her gaze darting around the dimly lit room, searching for any sign of intrusion or danger. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, the unsettling sensation of being watched setting her nerves on edge. Minthara strained to listen, but the silence was absolute, save for the faint creaking of the floorboards beneath her.

Gritting her teeth, she pushes herself upright, trying to look outside, only to find the window stubbornly shut, as if barring her escape. Turning her attention to the door, she watched in mounting dread as the old wood groaned and creaked, slowly swinging open of its own accord. And then she saw them coming inside – a procession of lifeless forms of her fallen comrades and subordinates, their eyes hollow and accusing, their blood-stained armor clinking with each agonizing step. Minthara's breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding as she realized she was utterly defenseless, her weapons nowhere to be found.

"You failed us, Minthara," they whispered, their voices laced with bitter recrimination. "Your arrogance, your recklessness - it cost us everything."

She tried to protest, to defend her actions, but the words caught in her throat, strangled by the weight of their condemnation. Around her, the bodies of her soldiers piled higher, their blood-soaked forms a damning indictment of her leadership.

"You led us to our deaths," the spectral voices hissed. "You swore to destroy our enemies, to lead us to victory, and yet you betrayed that trust."

The spectral figures advanced, their rotten fingers reaching towards her, and Minthara braced herself for the onslaught, her mind reeling with the sickening realization that her nightmares had become a terrifying reality.

“You swore to free us, yet you doomed us.”

Minthara thrashed against the phantoms, but they clung to her, their fingers clawing at her flesh. The drow's cries echoed through the silent night, tinged with anguish and self-loathing. In the end, she could do nothing but submit to the relentless torment, her pride and resolve crumbling under the weight of her failure.

“You only bring death in your way.”

Minthara's eyes flew open, her chest heaving with ragged breaths as she was yanked from the clutches of her haunting dreams. Confusion clouded her senses as she blinked rapidly, taking in the now familiar surroundings with a sense of disorientation. How had she drifted off again? The memory of breakfast lingered faintly in her mind... She leapt from the bed, hastening to inspect the now-empty tray on the table, scrutinizing the cup and cautiously running her fingers over the crumbs in a search for any trace of poison. Finding no evidence of foul play, she sank back onto the bed with a heavy sigh, her body tense with lingering apprehension.

Minthara's fingers gripped the bedsheets tightly, the fabric bunching under the strain as she fought to regain her composure. Her heart pounded in her chest, a remnant of the visceral terror that had gripped her in that shadowed realm of her subconscious. Slowly, she forced herself to take deeper breaths, willing her racing pulse to calm as she repeated to herself that it was nothing but a bad dream.

The door creaked open, and Minthara tensed, her heart racing as she steeled herself to face the approaching horde of undead. But to her unexpected relief, it was not the grasping hands of her fallen comrades that appeared, but rather the familiar form of Halsin, the scent of medicinal herbs and salves wafting in with him.

Minthara fought to maintain her composure, her jaw tightening as she willed her trembling hands to still. She refused to show any sign of the fear that had gripped her, her features settling into a mask of cool detachment, even as the lingering remnants of her nightmare threatened to unravel her carefully cultivated façade.

"I spoke to the fishermen who found you," Halsin began, his voice gentle and measured. "They told me that they didn't see any sign of a boat or anything else unusual. Apparently, they just noticed you because your armor had become entangled in one of their fishing nets."

Minthara felt a flicker of surprise at the druid's thoughtfulness, a reluctant sense of gratitude stirring within her. She had been meaning to question the fishermen herself, but the persistent exhaustion that clung to her like a heavy shroud had stilled her in this room. Now, to have Halsin take that initiative on her behalf… A small part of her wanted to express her appreciation, but the words caught in her throat, leaving her mouth set in a tight, dissatisfied line. The mystery of her arrival here, the gap in her memory, it all gnawed at her relentlessly, and this new information - or rather, lack thereof - only served to deepen the growing sense of frustration.

"I know you must be yearning for answers, Minthara," he murmured, his weathered hands moving with a practiced grace as he tended to her bandages. "Believe me, I wish I had more to tell you. But all we know for certain is that the fishermen stumbled upon you by chance, with no signs of how you came to be in the water." Halsin paused, his gaze searching her face, no doubt noting the tension in her features. “If you're feeling up to it, perhaps you can tell me what you do remember. It may help jog your memory and shed some light on how you ended up here."

Minthara's jaw tightened, but she knew Halsin had a point. If she wanted to uncover the truth of what had happened, she would need to work with him, at least for the time being. Steeling herself, she began to recount the last details she could recall from her fateful clash in the Underdark, hoping that speaking them aloud might help unlock the missing pieces of her fragmented memory.

The drow’s attempt to recount the details of her last memories proved far more challenging than she had anticipated. A sudden surge of panic gripped her as she realized the extent of the gaping void in her recollection, the past year reduced to a frustrating blank, except for scraps of disturbing details. Among them, the searing image of an eight-pointed metal star, its points connected by an intricate webbing, burned itself into her mind. Lolth's unholy symbol. The mere thought of the Spider Queen's sigil caused a lancing pain to shoot through Minthara's skull, a visceral reaction that filled her with a growing sense of dread.

She knew, with a sickening certainty, that somehow the Spider Queen's loyalists had infiltrated her own forces, a treacherous betrayal that had allowed them to catch her unawares. Minthara's brow furrowed, a mixture of shame and self-loathing welling up within her. After a lifetime spent navigating the treacherous politics of Menzoberranzan, how could she have been so easily deceived? Her own pride and overconfidence had blinded her to the danger. No. She had it all under control. If she didn’t let her guard down… She was a fool for putting her trust in others, and now she had paid a devastating price for her foolishness.

The realization was a brutal blow to Minthara's sense of self-worth, her carefully constructed facade of strength and superiority crumbling in the face of this humiliating defeat. Lolth's loyalists had emerged victorious, and she ended dead, drifting to Halsin’s shore. Minthara's lips curled down in pain, her brow furrowed in deep contemplation.

Minthara's gaze flickered to Halsin's face as she recounted some of the fragmented details of her memory, and she was struck by the genuine concern and attentiveness reflected in his expression. It was a foreign sensation, this palpable feeling of someone truly listening, of someone who cared about her plight beyond mere obligation or self-interest.

Halsin's weathered hands moved with a practiced grace as he tended to her wounds, his movements unhurried and his words soft, but laced with an unwavering resolve. "Don't push yourself. The priority is that you heal, both in body and in spirit. For that, you may take all the time you need, Minthara," he murmured, his eyes meeting hers with an understanding that she found both unsettling and strangely comforting. “Meanwhile, I can see if someone can scout a wider area, or find a traveler from the Underdark. Perhaps even putting up a sign looking for adventurers at the tavern could do it…”

Minthara eyed Halsin warily, her gaze narrowing as she searched for any hint of condescension or pity in his expression. The druid's words were laced with a gentle concern, his manner almost infuriatingly tender, and she found herself bristling at the implication. Was this true compassion, or merely the hollow sympathy of one who believed her broken and in need of saving? The fury bubbled within her, a bitter resentment towards his presumed superiority, his willingness to coddle her in her perceived weakness. But Minthara held her tongue, her jaw clenching as she forced herself to swallow the venomous retort that threatened to spill forth. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her perturbed.

"I… appreciate your concern," she murmured, the words coming out stilted and unfamiliar on her tongue. "My fractured memories offered some insight into how I found myself in this predicament, and although there are many questions left unanswered, I have at least a lead to follow.”

Halsin nodded, his expression understanding. “Of course. I will be here, should you need any assistance. For now, focus on your recovery. The answers may come in time."

< Part IV || Part VI >

#bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 minthara x halsin #emeraldweb #minthara x halsin #fanfic writing #current wip #the pacing and the transitions are killing me #I can't fucking do smooth transitions #I'll start posting on ao3 soon

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mimetoist · 21 days

Text

Honey Webbing

Part IV

Minthara’s sleep was once more a restless one, the tendrils of a new nightmare still clinging to the edges of her consciousness. Though the details escaped her, the lingering sense of unease and the chill that prickled her spine told her all she needed to know - once more, it had been no pleasant dream.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end with the unsettling feeling of being watched. Instantly alert, the drow's eyes scanned the room, searching for any signs of an intruder. Then, a sudden movement by the window caught her eye.

Ignoring the protests of her still-healing wounds, Minthara surged to her feet and strode towards the window, determined to confront whoever dared to intrude on her rest. Leaning out, she caught a glimpse of small figures scurrying away - a gaggle of children, nothing more.

A flash of annoyance flared within her. How dare these little brats disturb her, prying into her affairs like inquisitive pups? Yet, even as the irritation burned, she felt a measure of relief wash over her. These were no Underdark assassins, no hidden enemies poised to strike. Just innocent, curious children, easily cowed by her presence.

Minthara exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. While she had no patience for such blatant nosiness, at least her fears had been unfounded. Retreating back into the room, she cast one last, lingering glance out the window, her expression hardening once more into her usual cold and composed mask.

A soft knock at the door pulled Minthara from her brooding contemplation. "Are you awake?" Halsin's voice echoed from the other side, pitched low and measured, mindful not to disturb her if she slept.

Minthara did not respond, but instead made her way to the door, cracking it open to reveal the druid standing on the other side. In his hands, he carried a tray laden with bread, milk, and fresh fruit. "I thought you might be hungry," he explained, his tone even and kind. "Nourishment is an important part of the healing process."

Silently, Minthara stepped aside, allowing Halsin to enter and place the tray on a nearby table. As soon as he entered the room, the drow sensed a lingering presence - the curious eyes of children, peeking out from behind the doorframe.

Minthara's gaze hardened as she turned her focus to the hidden observers. A flash of movement caught her eye, and she saw a small girl recoil, trying in vain to hide herself from the drow's piercing stare.

A flicker of irritation flared within Minthara, her instinct to assert her authority over these prying youths. But she quelled the impulse, reminding herself that she was a guest, and an indebted one. Besides, she would not waste energy dealing with children. Still, the drow's expression remained guarded, her eyes narrowed as she regarded the door, silently daring any further eavesdroppers to reveal themselves.

Halsin turned to the doorway, a gentle smile on his face. "Forgive the little one." he said warmly. "She has never seen a drow before." With that, he stooped down, scooping the small girl into his arms.

"Fren, be polite now," he chided softly. "Say hello to Minthara."

The child - Fren, Minthara now knew - raised a tiny hand in a tentative wave, her round eyes fixed upon the drow woman with rapt fascination. At first, Minthara's expression remained unimpressed, her usual stern, disapproving demeanor firmly in place. These prying children were a nuisance, nothing more.

But as Minthara studied the girl more closely, something shifted in her gaze. The child's skin held a faint, subtle gray-purple hue, her irises a vibrant red, and her ears came to delicate, pointed tips. This was no ordinary human child - Fren was half-drow, no more than a toddler, as it seems.

And the awe that shone in her eyes was not one of mistrust or fear, but pure, unabashed wonder. She stared at Minthara as if the drow woman were some otherworldly, mystical being - which, Minthara weighted, to a child raised in such rustic druidic settlement, she very well may have been.

Minthara felt the barest twinge of something that might have been empathy, an unexpected surge of understanding for this small, curious creature. Not exactly knowing why, the drow found her features softening, if only slightly, as she regarded the child. She did not smile, nor did she offer any greeting in return. But the edge of disapproval had lifted from her expression, replaced by a measure of... not quite acceptance, but an acknowledgment of this strange interest the girl picked on her.

Minthara's gaze shifted from the child to Halsin, her expression revealing a hint of curiosity, though carefully devoid of any other emotion. "Who are her parents?" she asked, her tone measured and impartial.

Halsin let out a soft chuckle, the corners of his mouth turning upward in a warm smile. "She is mine," he replied simply.

Minthara's arched one eyebrow ever so slightly, the only outward sign of her surprise at the unexpected answer.

"Fren and her older sister came to live with me a few months ago," Halsin explained, his gaze shifting to the little girl as he put her on solid ground once more. "I've been caring for them since then."

"Go on and tell your sister that breakfast is ready," he said gently, watching as Fren scurried off, her small feet padding against the wooden floor.

Minthara vaguely recalled Halsin mentioning something about adopting a group of children during their previous encounter, but at the time, she had paid little heed to the druid's domestic ramblings. Now, however, she found herself mildly intrigued by this unexpected development.

Halsin's eyes shone with a paternal pride that set Minthara's teeth on edge, his voice dripping with a cloying affection as he offered, "I can introduce you to all of my children, if you'd like." The druid's doting smile and open adoration for the children under his care filled Minthara with a strange, visceral discomfort. She fought the urge to recoil.

As Halsin turned back to her, his expression hopeful, Minthara leveled him with a look that was equal parts reluctance and exasperation. "I hardly require an introduction to your... brood," she said, the faintest hint of disdain coloring her words.

Halsin's smile only widened, undeterred by her tepid response. "The offer stands, should you change your mind," he said lightly, before making his way through the corridor.

Minthara watched him go, her expression unreadable. The druid's role as a father figure was certainly not something she had anticipated. She eyed the tray of food before her with a measure of ambivalence. The bread was dense and the milk slightly watery - a far cry from the rich, spicy fare she was accustomed to in the Underdark. Yet, it was nourishing enough, and she found herself taking small, measured bites, her mind wandering.

As she chewed, she couldn't help but wonder about the half-drow child, Fren, and whether the girl had ever tasted the bold flavors of the Underdark. The thought stirred an unfamiliar pang of... what, exactly? Curiosity? Empathy, perhaps? Minthara brushed the feeling aside, unsettled by the mere fact that she had allowed her mind to drift towards the child at all.

Refocusing on the task at hand, the drow continued her solitary meal, the silence of the room weighing heavily upon her. Though the food was not to her refined palate, it would sustain her, and that was all that mattered.

< Part III || Part V >

#bg3 #bg3 minthara x halsin #emeraldweb #minthara x halsin #baldur’s gate 3 #fanfic writing #current wip

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