Chapter Text
When Rolan woke this morning, groggily, he might add, it was thanks to shouting coming from the direction of the inner sanctum. Probably another argument between his fellow refugees and the druids of the grove. A smaller voice, though loud with conviction, sounded above all the others - one of the children, maybe Arabella or Meli. It was way too early to differentiate between the distant voices having a shouting match just as dawn was rising.
Rolan tried to tune out the voices by dragging his pillow from underneath his head and placing it on top of it, trying as he might to concentrate on the way the pressure of his palm made the bloodstream in his head.
Refugees. Rolan had been many a humiliating thing in his life, this just added to the various things others could look down upon him.
Certainly, the druids never made the Elturian tieflings feel very welcome, having extended them the grace to stay in the Hollow of the Grove without any further protection, without any help in easing their further travels to Baldurs Gate. If only there weren’t those stupid goblins on their tracks. If only Zevlor did not order them all to stay together, something about strength in masses. If only Rolan was strong enough to protect Cal and Lia on his own, then he would have tried to convince them to travel in a smaller group so they could move faster.
Not having to drag children and the elderly, the oxen, and all of their baggage would ensure faster travels, he was sure.
And once they reached Baldurs Gate they would be safe. His siblings could live with him, in Ramazith’s Tower, Loroakkan surely had plenty of room for him and his siblings to share one.
Would Rolan have his way, he and his siblings would already be halfway to the Gate, and he could finally start his apprenticeship. Surely any day he arrives later than necessary would not leave a good impression on the master of Ramazith’s Tower, and the apprentice wizard planned to leave the best impression on Loroakkan. After all, he was entirely self-learned in his acquired skills, and incredibly ambitious - what more could a master wizard want in an apprentice?
Of course, Rolan applied for an apprentice position to plenty of different wizards in Faerûn, not just Loroakkan. He also had tried for Blackstaff Academy.
Only Loroakkan had replied.
No matter, Rolan would make sure that his future master would be most pleased with his magical prowess, his intellect, and his curiosity for all things concerning the weave. In his letter, he had said that ‘he would not suffer weakness in his own student’.
Rolan was determined to prove himself to be more than amenable as a student.
When the shouting match escalated and more booming voices partook, followed by a loud noise resembling a slap, he finally got up. Sleep would not come to him anymore either way, and it wouldn’t do to not at least offer his help to de-escalate the situation, should it be required.
Beside him, Lia started to stir to full consciousness. Rolan would never understand how his sister managed to sleep like the dead no matter the circ*mstances.
When they were younger, Rolan often had to carry Lia out of bed and place her at their small, circular dining table, plates of fresh-cut fruit and eggs on toast waiting in front of her. It was only after he placed a steaming cup of tea in front of her that the smell slowly rouse his sister from her slumber.
Both of them, Lia and Cal, were so endearing when they were younger.
Cal being the youngest often tried to help his older brother by setting the table or washing the fruits.
And sometimes he offered to wake Lia.
Those were Rolan’s favorite moments, because whenever he entered their shared bedroom again to see what took Cal so long, he found both of them curled together, tails and limbs tangled so that it was unclear where one ended and the other began. Small snores indicated Cal’s failed attempt to wake Lia. Those were his favorite moments, because Rolan sometimes postponed breakfast and instead joined his siblings, curled his arms tight around both of them, and slept some more.
Rolan felt most loved and at home then.
When he came back to reality he realized that he could not see Cal around, and a small panic started to rise within his chest.
What if the sound of skin hitting skin had been Cal, and now he was injured? What if his younger brother, in his good-hearted nature, attempted to mediate another argument between the tieflings and the druids, and in his endeavor got hurt instead?
But before Rolan could get the second boot over his ankles, hastily trying to go find Cal and, if necessary, come to his aid, Cal appeared, looking distressed.
“One of the druids - Maggran I think his name was? - he slapped Asharak. Apparently, Meli tried to sneak into their sacred pool, and Asharak was there to get him out and defend him. The poor little guy is getting a lecture as we speak. Zevlor arrived just in time to defuse the situation before anything worse could happen. I think they have it under control, for now.”
He grunted as he let himself fall on his bedroll beside Rolan, who visibly relaxed now that he knew Cal was uninjured.
Slowly Cal produced a flask of water from the pack he had slung over his shoulders, taking a few sips. “Everybody's temper is getting worse from day to day. We have been here less than a tenday and already it feels like we are stuck. Zevlor and his scouts also have no idea how to progress further on the journey without risking all of our lives. I wish we could do more to help.”
“I told you”, Rolan huffed, taking off his boots again to lie down on top of his bedroll. “We should have left the group and continued on our own, just the three of us. There was an opportunity after we had passed the Woods of Sharp Teeth. We could’ve made it on our own without all the extra weight, we would’ve been faster. Maybe we would even have reached Baldur’s Gate by now. Alas, we are stuck.”
A loud yawn interrupted the brothers in their conversation. Lia rose, taking the flask from Cal and gulping down half the bottle. Cal let out a small sound of protest.
“And I told you that leaving them would be cowardly. Many of them are not battle-ready, and we are at least a little more efficient with weapons.” She glanced at him with a smirk playing around her lips.
“Especially with a wizard at our side, the probability of survival rises greatly. I am sure Loroakkan would be very impressed with you if you’d tell him you helped most of your kin reach Baldurs Gate safely, protecting them along the road!”
Zurgan!
Of course, Lia was right, and it is not like Rolan likes knowing that their fellow refugees would struggle to survive the roads to reach the city, especially the children.
But his first and foremost priority are and always will be his siblings. And right now, here in this druid grove, behind walls of stone and wood and ivy, he felt not even remotely safer than behind the walls groveling in the shadows of the road to hide from monsters worse than goblins.
Sometimes monsters hide behind sheepskin in walled engroves, and fear that slowly morphs into prejudice. It is easier to cast out those in need if they are seen as the monsters under the bed, their extended hand in search for help misinterpreted as the claws that drag you down to hell.
Surely, this could not be worse than anything they had survived so far since Elturel and its descent to Avernus.
Surely they deserved better than this.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Around lunchtime, most tieflings gathered around in the Hollow, near Okta’s cooking pot and Auntie Ethel’s potions, for a portion of gruel to fill their belly until the next day arrived. Rations were slowly decreasing day by day, so food was limited to one warm meal a day. Ingredients had to be cheap and easily accessible - from wheat and carrots and potatoes to fish from the nearby shore, and milk from the oxen - Oktra tried to cook from the very limited food supply, mostly stews because they wouldn’t lose fat or necessary nutrients.
Some days, when food ran out quickly, he would rather eat his shoe than eat another slimy bowl of gruel. Rolan had never been a good eater, provisions in Elturel were short after its descent and before his time with Cal and Lia… well, he had gone hungry plenty of times in his life. Somehow still, he managed to acquire a more refined palate, a hunger he could only fill after he would finally make it to his apprenticeship.
It did not help the churning of his stomach whenever he glanced at the way the gruel fell from the ladle into his bowl. Or whenever he felt the texture of it on his tongue.
On the good days, Ethel brought some fresh vegetables or maybe even some berries for them. She proclaimed them to be freshly grown in her own garden, or picked on her way to the grove.
Rolan always felt there was some strange magic around Ethel though, like even the weave was uncomfortable being around Ethel and instead something more ancient, something almost fey surrounded her. It was incredibly unsettling and he tried to not think too hard about the way even light sometimes breaks into strange flickers around her, making it almost seem like it too felt uneasy touching her. Like she was an apparition of sorts, or the facade of the old lady with a kind smile, that looked too wide when barely anyone looked, was a trickery.
Whatever it was that was wrong with Ethel, Rolan did not want to be there to find out what might hide behind the kind old lady with her sales pitch for her potions and lotions, their sickly-sweet smell wafting over from the gentle breeze in the Hollow, making Rolan feel nauseous.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
When Rolan was young, just shortly before he met Cal and Lia, and their mother, he tried to earn his living in the biggest market of Elturel, Shiarra’s Market. The bustling streets offered enough shelter for Rolan to escape quickly should the need arise, but enough exposition for him to perform small magic tricks in exchange for coin.
He procured dancing lights in all the colors of the Elturian flora and created illusionary animals of flame and light which danced between stalls of the marketplace, sometimes frightening an unsuspecting patron when a cat of fire and smoke ran right between their legs. It had been mostly children who had been interested in his display of magic, children who looked on in awe at Rolan’s self-taught manipulations of the weave. Children, who often came with parents who were not as impressed with Rolan, pulled their kids along to the next stall to procure foods, and clothes, and sheets of linen to endure the Elturian summer heat.
Rolan left with little earned coin to buy bread from a tavern cook who took pity on Rolan’s meager form, and who sometimes even secretly packed him dried meats or vegetables with the bread he bought.
At night, when the heat made way for a cold breeze and the sun-warmed stone of the day started to cool, was when he was loneliest. He ate his meal on top of a few crates, all the while practicing his spells over and over, making revisions as he went.
As he went to bed, it was with a still grumbling belly and the verbal components of his practiced spells still on his lips, a small jacket covering his lanky form instead of a blanket.
Trying to find solace in his solitude with the weave and the calm it brought him, he endured those hard months.
It was a rainy day when Cal and Lia came upon Rolan and his illusionary animals. The cold seeped through all the cracks and crevices and bleed into the very marrow of your bones.
His lilac-glowing wolves and bears glimmered every time Rolan’s teeth clattered and his body shook, the rain had drenched him to his smallclothes which now clung to his frame.
Two tiefling children, siblings by the look of them and both younger than Rolan, stopped and watched Rolan’s conjured illusions in awe. It had not been a good day so far, barely anyone stopped to pay mind to the freezing tiefling boy practicing his spells on the corner of the market, most running from stall to stall and into the warm safety of the bordering shops and taverns.
It made him want to show the two children even greater heights of his magical prowess.
So he concentrated his connection to the weave, how the magic tingled in his fingers and tasted on the tip of his tongue, and made them dance around the two children, making them laugh in glee.
It wasn’t a thing of prolonged joy.
“Cal? Lia? Where have you two run off to?”
The voice of a woman ran through the marketplace, strained with worry. The children looked at each other, then made to run towards the sound of what Rolan could only assume was their mother. The girl stopped in the middle of her tracks, opening and rapidly closing her mouth, seemingly wanting to say something to Rolan but without any idea how to. She ran back to Rolan, taking a packaged piece of cheese from her coat pocket and handing it to him, looking apologetic.
Finally, she settled. “Will you be here again tomorrow?”
Rolan simply nodded, watching as the small crease of concern etched between her brows ceased and a toothy grin exposed a missing front tooth.
He couldn’t help giving a small smile back before she ran off to the sound of her family calling out for her.
The weather was not kind to Rolan. Yet again another day in the freezing rain, another day of casting spells for coin, so he could afford to buy a meal to fill his hungry belly.
He would’ve preferred to stay in his little sheltered arrangement underneath the stairs of a bridge, there he would stay as dry as the blowing winds and unpredictable rainfall would allow.
But he could not miss the chance to see the two tiefling children again.
He had not been waiting long. When they arrived, they arrived with their mother in tow, the little boy excitedly running up to the small firework of light Rolan was currently concentrating on. The girl said something to her mother and then turned to run towards Rolan as well.
“Mom agreed to invite you to dinner tonight. She will cook rabbit stew. It is really good, you have to try it!” She was a little breathless, her excitement palpable.
“I am Lia by the way, and that is my younger brother Cal. Can you make the fireworks dance too, like you did with the wolf and the bear yesterday?”
The illusion flickered before it came to a full stop. It wasn’t that he couldn’t.
No, Rolan was very versed in all the spells he showcased in the market square.
It was the fact that he was bewildered by the kindness this little family extended to him. They had never met Rolan before yesterday, Lia had only said a few words to him. And yet they invited him to dinner, offering him warmth and shelter and a home-cooked meal for an evening. For what?
There was nothing Rolan could offer in exchange, he thought, nothing he did that warranted this kindness.
Their mother slowly came to Rolan, dropping in height to her haunches, while the rain wildly poured around them, soaking all of them in the process. She introduced herself to Rolan as Belmeia.
With a careful tone, she explained that Lia and Cal had been utterly smitten by his magic.
“The both of them saw your tricks and loved them, but Lia also told me that you seemed to be lonely. You are performing these tricks to earn some food, don’t you? You must be hungry. I know it must be scary, being alone and without food. Why don’t you come with us, you can have a warm meal. If anything, see it as thanks for making Cal’s and Lia’s day so much brighter with your magic.”
And then, with a fond smile, she exclaimed.
“You must be a very talented mage if you can concentrate on your spells for such long hours! You can be proud of yourself.”
The dam broke. At first, it was a few silent tears as he thankfully accepted the invitation for dinner. But then the words made their way into the very crevices of his heart, and little dribbles of tears turned to full-blown sobs. Small arms made their way around his torso, two pairs of them. Cal, obviously confused by his outburst of emotion, started crying with Rolan.
A gentle hand laid atop his head, between his horns, slowly patting his hair.
Rolan had not been touched with such affection in a long time.
“You don’t have to be alone Rolan. Why don’t you come to our house, it is not much but what we can offer we can share.”
It had been Cal’s and Lia’s mother who gave Rolan his first tome, a book about Beginners Evocation Magic.
To this day Rolan holds his very first tome dearly, taking it with him wherever he goes, trying to advance the spells to fit his needs and further train his spellcasting.
It had been that book that lit the very flame of passion within him to further pursue magic. To enhance what he has learned, and to be studious and continue picking up every piece of information about the weave and how to master it.
And it had also been that act of kindness of Belmeia, and her usually fond and compassionate eyes that suddenly were hollow pools of black and orange that gazed upon Rolan when he found her body being feasted upon by Imps, coating everything around her rapidly cooling body in red blood. Beside Rolan, Cal and Lia were choking up tears and urging screams of terror to subside, as they hid in a closet to hide from the murderous Imp.
It had been that thunderwave, cast not out of concentration but anguish for his yet again bleeding family, that had made him promise to become a wizard so great none would dare lay a finger on his family ever again.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Rolan was meticulously studying somatic components of a spell he modified by himself, a mage armor that was supposed to protect the person that the spell was being cast upon even if they were wearing armor. He had perched his bedroll on top of a flat-top rock, beside him his leftovers from lunch had succumbed to mass so sticky and thick Rolan could swear there now was very little difference to eating an actual boot.
Across from him, Lakrissa was training Lia with a bow, showing her how to properly aim to land a precise shot on a target that moves erratically. The same way a worg would move while hunting its prey.
She had insisted on learning from the very few battle-ready kin they were traveling with, repeatedly proclaiming to Rolan how he was not the only one bored out of his mind while waiting for progress about their further trail to be announced. Rolan suspected Lia also liked the way she could take everything off of her mind whenever she was training with her bow. He could not fault her for finding a way to deal with the inner turmoil and the anticipation making their bodies wary.
Beside him, Cal was having a heated discussion with Dammon, the content of their conversation eluding him. Rolan had honestly not paid much attention after the blacksmith had explained the differences between smithing a claive’s edge compared to a sword.
Shouting outside the Groves Gates attracted everyone's attention. The few military forces and fighters the tieflings brought with them on their way from Elturel stood atop the Gate and were having a loud yelling match. Concern creased Rolan’s brows. There were more voices heard than usual, and it sounded more like a discussion of sorts than the bark of commands. Who was standing in front of the gate?
Was it the strange bunch of adventurers who went out some days ago, the Archdruid Halsin in tow?
Tempers amongst the druids of the grove rose rapidly after Halsin had left, their new leader in command blaming the tiefling refugees for the repeated attacks of goblins and the like. If Halsin was back, maybe he could sway the opinion of the other druids, maybe he could talk some sense into them. At least that way they would not have to concern themselves with two sources of danger that could slit their throats in the night.
“We have to check it out! Lakrissa already went to the wall, maybe we can help too. If not, at least we can see what all the commotion is about.” Lia’s eyes gleamed, gaze inquisitive.
Rolan knew this look on his sister's face meant trouble, but his own curiosity prohibited him from trying to stop her.
Cursing silently, Rolan trudged behind his siblings as they got up on the wall, hiding behind foliage and shadows provided by the midday sun. Why did they insist on checking out what was happening? They had scouts and fighters and rangers for that. None of them would be useful in the frontlines of an attack against the grove. Especially not since Rolan, who had worked to hone the somatic components for an advanced version of mage armor, was almost out of mana.
As curious as he was about the happenings at the wall, he was also grimly aware of how easily they could be spotted and how dangerous their endeavors were.
He was about to argue with Lia to turn around lest they burden the patrolling guard when he froze.
On his right, on top of the wall, laid Kanon. Unmoving. His side coated in blood, arrows sticking out like grotesque monoliths. Arka was crouching above him, howling louder than the sound of battle.
The place before the gate was crowded with goblins and the vermin they like to keep around, and by people who fought against the goblin assault.
The group of people was a strange mix, but even stranger was the frankly gigantic wolf in the middle, its maw bloodied, coating the whole ensemble in blood and gore while it shook its head furiously.
Zurgan!
Quickly, faster than he thought his reflexes would allow, and with more strength than he was aware he possessed, Rolan pulled Lia and Cal back and away from the frontlines. An arrow barely missed Lia’s right side, and Rolan felt his blood freeze at the sight.
No, no no no no no no! Not like this, not now.
He could not endanger their lives like this. They needed to go, now.
With great effort he managed to drag the both of them, Cal more willing than Lia, into the Hollow. As they passed the halfling trader Arron he looked at them sympathetically.
“No! No, no, no. This cannot be happening. We simply cannot stay any longer. Cal, Lia, take your bags. We should leave for Baldur’s Gate, at once.”
He made a promise to their mother, and he was not about to break it now.
Rolan walked in anxious circles, gnawing on his lower lip while recounting all the preparations they had to skip in order to leave immediately. He had never been this happy to have as little personal possessions as he had been at that moment.
His train of thought could barely stay at one task, at one place, they were swirling around in his head like noodles in a soup. A tight feeling in his chest constricted his breathing. Shallow breaths only enforced his
“Rolan! Hey, Rolan. Stop! Look at me!” Lia’s tone brought him from his state of near panic. She looked at him with concern, slowly raising a hand to lay it atop his shoulders in a firm grasp.
No. He cannot have them worry about him like this now when they should worry for their lives.
He cannot have them suffer the same fate Kanon did.
“I am fine. I promise.” A deep exhale. “But my point stands. I cannot have you shot down like Kanon because we decided to stay here. I have told you countless times, we are better off just leaving on our own. We can protect each other, and we travel faster when it’s just the three of us.”
The shouting at the front of the gates seemed to recede in the background. Rolan could see Zevlor from his periphery, talking to the obnoxious adventurer leader whose name Rolan never bothered to learn.
“Rolan, please calm down. I know what we just saw was harrowing but we cannot make a hasty decision like right now. Let us recuperate first.” Cal, bless his kind heart, tried to find a middle ground both his hot-headed siblings would agree to. In the heat of having seen one of their own lie dead beside them, body not yet cold, it would be all too rash to make a decision.
Unfortunately, neither Rolan nor Lia had ever been graced with keeping their cool in heated situations.
“This is not a hasty decision. We have talked about this, and I have explained to you, time and again how it is a mistake to stay here. We are not wanted. The druids are actively trying to cast us out as we speak, their collaboration is capricious. If we take incentive and leave now, then maybe we have the element of surprise on our side.” Rolan growled, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation.
The answering snarl of Lia’s was merely background noise as Rolan’s eyes locked upon a Tiefling woman heading in their direction, her own eyes holding his gaze fiercely. Following here was a strange assembly of people whom he recognized from the hushed glance from the fight in front of the gate. But the woman leading them he had not seen.
Rolan knew because he was sure he would never forget those eyes again.
“Rolan? Do you hear me?” Lia waved a hand in front of his face, seemingly having said something, which only served to annoy Rolan even more.
“I’ll not gamble our lives, our futures, on people who are as good as dead. As I have said already, we could have been in Baldur’s Gate by now. Instead, we’re just sitting here - practically begging to be attacked. Damnation!”
“Can we all just take a moment, please? Making rash decisions won’t help anyone.” Desperation colored Cal’s tone. They have had this conversation countless times before in these past few days, and it seemed the waiting and the longing took its toll on all of them.
“What’s the point in blades and spells if we don’t bloody use them? These people aren’t fighters, we should stay and help!”
At Lia’s rising voice, Cal let out a defeated sigh, uncrossing his arms. “Or yell louder. That’s fine too.”
“Why the rush to leave anyway? I am sure the others could use your help. A single blade could make all the difference between who gets to life and who has to die.” The melodious voice sounded from between the stranger woman’s lips, like birdsong in the eerie hours of dusk.
Rolan had to fight hard to keep his gaze from fixing on the captivating woman in front of him.
“Just like I was saying! I don’t want all of these lives on my conscience.” It was not necessarily that Rolan agreed with having to help every Elturian tiefling in existence, but the fact that Lia was so clearly distressed about not helping when they were more than capable of extending a helping hand. How could he, a person who once had relied heavily on the kindness bestowed upon him by his sibling's family, be so cold not to help when his magical prowess surely would be a great asset in defending these people?
“Zurgan. Fine, we’ll stay! If we survive, it’ll make for a good story I suppose…”
Lia thanked him meekly, but it was not her reaction he was focused on.
Who was this breathtaking woman, and why was her gaze both unnerving and deeply captivating?
When she smiled at him, he felt weirdly warm. Like he had been granted high praise that he had subconsciously been craving, and she was there to lavish him with it while simultaneously undoing his armor, piece by piece.
Rolan decided then and there that he could not stand her.
