Chapter Text
Kravitz wakes up covered in blood, his whole body aching. The room he’s in is dark and he’s lying on a cold, hard floor. It smells like blood too—the scent of it hanging thick and metallic in the air. Kravitz is dizzy and feels sick to his stomach, so disoriented by the rude awakening that it takes him a long moment to realize that everything feels off because he shouldn’t be awake at all—that something has gone truly, deeply wrong because Kravitz is dead and once someone is dead, they should stay that way.
Once he realizes he’s alive and he shouldn’t be, it’s easier to force himself to sit up. It’s hard to concentrate. It’s hard to keep his eyes open. The room keeps spinning, in the low light, and he doesn’t know how he got here. The last thing he remembers is—he and Taako, fighting against a powerful necromancer. Kravitz’s calloused fingers bleeding from playing the violin so long and so furiously. Fighting to control the tidal wave of undead surrounding them. Taako, beside him, burning through spell slot after spell slot, conserving his high-level attacks for when they got close enough. It was a job they shouldn’t have taken without Barry and Lup, but Kravitz had been cocky.
He was the best bard in all of Faerun. He was infamous for his ability to control the undead with his music, for his dedication to the Raven Queen’s laws despite his penchant for necromancy. He’d underestimated their opponent and he—
Kravitz winces as he’s hit with the sense memory of the curse that killed him, the echo of a deep gash across his chest, flaying him open. The spell had been aimed at Taako, but Kravitz couldn’t let him die. He’d jumped in front of it. Better him than Taako.
Taako, in his fury, had taken out the necromancer and then tried to stop the bleeding, tried to get Kravitz help in time to save him, but it—
Kravitz sucks a deep breath into unfamiliar lungs and looks down at his hands, which are… definitely not his hands. Thin wrists and long, skinny fingers, only faintly calloused. These hands aren’t his hands and that’s fucked up beyond belief because Kravitz is supposed to be dead and he’s awake now and in someone else’s body. He’s in a strange place and there’s no one else here with him and the lights are off and what happened to bring him here?
Kravitz tamps down on the panic rising in his throat and deliberately drops his hands, looking instead at the room around him for some indication of whathappened and why the fuck he’s here.
The room is covered in blood. Unsurprising, except the placement of the blood is deliberate—it’s been used to draw arcane symbols on the floor around him. Kravitz takes a moment to parse the remnants of the ritual—the remnants of a summoning, if he’s reading them right—meant to pull an evil spirit out of the astral plane and cut a deal: the summoner’s body in exchange for fulfilling the terms set out by the summoner before the end of the next lunar cycle.
The terms aren’t part of the ritual, but when Kravitz looks up from the sigil, at the rest of the dimly lit room, he sees that the person whose body he’s in—who for some reason thought Kravitz counted as an evil spirit—left him a helpful note to make up for that in the form of a note, scrawled in blood, on the white washed wall.
REVENGE, it says, in shaky four-inch lettering, ON THOSE WHO KILLED MY BROTHER AND SISTER - KEATS
Kravitz stares at the words for a long moment, then rubs his new hands over his face. He doesn’t know who this kid was or why he thought Kravitz was the appropriate soul for this, but he’s not going to do it—this kind of resurrection is antithetical to his beliefs.
His hands, when he pulls them away from his face, are shaking. It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed going from dead to suddenly alive and in someone else’s body, He breathes through the panic gripping at his throat. If the spell will kill him for not fulfilling this contract he had no say in making, then he doesn’t have to have a crisis about being forced to break the Raven Queen’s laws. He’s got a deadline. He’ll let it pass without fulfilling the curse’s wishes.
Which means he has a month. A month of being alive again. A month, some amount of years in the future, in this body, living who knows where.
Kravitz looks himself over again for injuries, then slowly, carefully rises to his feet. He’s still sore all over, and freezing cold, but his limbs obey him like this body has always been his. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he died, but Taako is an elf and too smart to get himself killed like Kravitz did. If Kravitz has a month here, he’s going to use that month to do what’s important—he’s going to check in on his husband.
#
Taako comes back from buying provisions to keep them from starving to death on the road to find Magnus and Merle getting buddy-buddy with some rando half-elf who’s made himself comfortable in Taako’s usual spot. The dude’s got bags under his eyes and his cheeks are sunken in, like he’s missed a few too many meals too fast, but his clothes are meticulously put together—an embroidered shirt peeking out from beneath a black and red jacket, a gold skull earring flashing from one ear. His hair is brown and longish, pulled back into a neat bun and pinned in place. He looks like he’s maybe twenty, twenty-five at a push, and he’s got a goth vibe Taako would normally appreciate, but there’s a violin case propped up on the bench beside him and Taako is not gonna let this happen.
“Uh-uh,” he says, frowning at his two chucklefuck traveling companions. “We are not letting a bard tag along.”
Magnus turns and looks at him with big eyes. “Taako, you haven’t even met him,” he says. “Keats is cool.”
“He’s a bard, Magnus,” Taako says. “There’s no such thing as a cool bard.” When he glances at Keats again, Keats is smiling at him. Weirdo.
“Magnus was telling me your party could use a healer,” Keats says. He has an accent—one that has Taako squinting at the kid because it kind of sounds Fantasy Cockney, but not quite. “I’m looking for a party to join.”
“We have a cleric,” Taako says, gesturing towards Merle.
“Yeah, like I said,” says Magnus. “We need a healer.”
“Hey!” Merle frowns at Magnus and for a moment Taako thinks Magnus is going to be safely out voted, but then Merle looks up at him and says, “I like this kid. We could use some entertainment.”
Merle doesn’t like anyone they meet on the road. Merle is always looking for excuses to dump extra weight, even when it’s Angus, who only joins every once in a while and who’s Taako’s apprentice. Merle liking Keats is suspicious enough to have Taako casting Detect Magic on everyone to see if Keats is charming them, but no—there’s some kind of lingering something on Keats, but it’s not enchantment magic.
“I leave for half an hour and you adopt a mascot? What gives?” Taako drops onto the bench across from Keats, firmly ignoring him. “You didn’t want to wait for me to come back before you decided to keep him?”
“I’m very good,” Keats says, all easy confidence. His accent, Taako notes, goes more refined when he’s bragging. Definitely fake.
“I don’t like bards,” Taako says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t trust ‘em. Flaky as fuck and full of themselves. There’s room for one star in this party, kemosabe, and it’s Taako.”
“Taako,” Magnus says, leaning closer to him. “Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?”
“I don’t see why you two are so into this idea. Since when have we needed a fourth party member?” Taako glances at Keats. He looks… not hurt, exactly, but kind of confused. Sad. Must not be used to rejection. Taako pushes away the small amount of guilt he feels about saying no. This kid is a stranger. He’s gonna have to get used to rejection. Taako’s got no responsibility to be nice to him.
The rings Taako wears on a chain around his neck sit heavy against his chest. They’re hidden under layers of adventure-appropriate attire, but he’s hyper-aware of them now. A goth violinist bard hits too close to home.
Taako rolls his eyes and reaches across the table, palms up. “Hands,” he says, to Keats.
Keats quirks an eyebrow as he obeys Taako’s demand, laying his hands on top of Taako’s. Taako tries not to think about how the expression is familiar. It’s been twenty years. Taako’s projecting shit that isn’t there.
He looks down, turning Keats’s hands over so he can examine his fingertips, then shakes his head. “Barely calloused,” he says. “I think we’re a little too high-level for you to be messing around with, kid. Go find someone who’s cool with leaving the training wheels on.”
Taako’s expecting annoyance or anger in response—something that will make Keats take the hint and fuck off. Instead, he gets exasperation. “Do you have a lot of experience judging the callouses on all these bards you don’t like?” Keats asks. “I can handle myself.”
“I know enough about bards to know you need more practice,” says Taako. “You’re just gonna get hurt if you try and play with the big boys.”
“I can handle big,” says Keats. He leans forward, tapping his fingers against the table. “Why don’t we make a deal? I’m a little short on funds right now. I need the job. If I can meet whatever challenge you set and prove to you that I’m as good as I know I am, you let me join your party on a trial basis.”
“Short term,” Taako says, narrowing his eyes. Keats talks a big game. “If you prove yourself. And you have to drop the fake accent.”
Keats blinks, apparently blindsided by that, even though the accent is very bad, and then laughs, ducking his head as he sits back on the bench. “Okay, deal,” he agrees, in much more mundane sounding common—with maybe the faintest hint of a Waterdeep twang. “What’s your challenge?”
Taako has to pause and think. They’re in Goldcliff—it’s no Neverwinter, but it’s still a big city. One where Faerun’s wealthy elite like to vacation. He and Magnus and Merle are just passing through on a supply run, but that doesn’t mean they can’t pick up a little bit of extra cash and simultaneously work out whether or not Keats is a narc.
“Everyone finished with their food?” Taako asks, looking at Magnus and Merle. “Ready to hit the road?”
“I thought we were gonna stay for the night?” Magnus asks. “Seriously, Taako—we’re about to go on a cave crawl. What’s wrong with just taking Keats with us?”
“No, we made a deal,” Taako says. “He’s a bard. He’s used to auditions.” He turns back to Keats. “You’re gonna play a song. Maybe a few songs. Your job is to keep everyone distracted while I pick a few pockets. If you can manage that, you’re in, but if you have qualms—”
“I don’t.” Keats reaches for his violin case, setting it on the table and snapping the clasps open. “As long as you’re a good enough pick-pocket not to get caught, it’s fast cash.”
Taako frowns, but there’s no heat to Keats’s statement. He’s not rising to the bait and Taako doesn’t know what to do with that. Bards aren’t reasonable, in his experience. Keats is acting weirdly okay with Taako’s criticism.
“I’ve got this,” Taako says, rolling up his sleeves. “Focus on you.”
Keats flashes Taako a smile as he plucks his violin and bow out of the case. They’re okay quality—not great, not like what Taako’s used to… used to be used to hearing played, but serviceable. Keats plucks the strings, checking it’s in tune, and then rises to his feet as he puts it under his chin, moving away from the table and Taako as he plays a few clear, high notes. The sound cuts through the roar of conversation in the tavern, drawing eyes to Keats in his black and red suit and fancy shirt.
He doesn’t speak, doesn’t try to make a big deal out of the fact that he just stood up and started playing—just strolls across the room towards the fireplace, the first few notes resolving into a fast song—some kind of jig that has the people near him turning to watch him walk through the tavern, tapping their toes to the beat. Taako finds himself swaying in place as he listens to it too, enjoying the lilting melody because it’s good. Catchy. It’s—
Taako stops, shaking himself out of it. The song is fine. Old fashioned, but fine. It’s not Taako’s steeze at all, though, and when he glances around the tavern he sees that it’s not just that Keats is playing a song lively enough to distract the masses—he’s charming them. All eyes are on him as he stands by the fireplace, easy as anything, apparently unconcerned by the effort of keeping a tavern full of people enchanted.
Keats is good. Keats is powerful, if he almost got Taako. Taako’s only met one bard capable of doing that before and that was—
Taako frowns. This is why he doesn’t want to bring Keats. Only they are about to plumb the depths of a fucking cave, which is going to be the worst, and they could use another healer.
Taako was planning on picking a few pockets and then skipping out on Keats before Keats realized what was happening. Instead, he sighs, raising a hand to call an end to the whole thing.
“Okay, okay—no need to show off,” he says, raising his voice so Keats can hear him above the sound of his violin. “You can come, but it’s still a trial basis—nothing is set in stone yet.”
Keats smiles widely, looking genuinely delighted by Taako’s acceptance, and brings his song to a close with an actual bow. “Perfect,” he says, over the smattering of confused applause that erupts from his audience. “I’m happy with just the trial run. You won’t regret this, Taako.”
Taako snorts. Keats has no idea the kind of memories he’s dragging kicking and screaming out of Taako’s past. “Too late for that,” he says, as Magnus and Merle and everyone else in the tavern shake off the thrall of Keats’s magic. “I already do.”
#
Kravitz trails behind Magnus, Merle and Taako as they make their way through the cave. When he set out looking for Taako, he didn’t know what to expect, but finding him traveling with strangers isn’t it. He doesn’t know where Lup and Barry are, and dropping hints about family just got him Magnus waxing on about his wife holding down the fort in Raven’s Roost while Taako and Merle roll their eyes. He knows Taako doesn’t open up to people easily, but he and Taako had just clicked the first time they met. Kravitz isn’t used to getting the cold shoulder from him.
It’s so fucking good to see him though—even if Taako doesn’t recognize Kravitz in Keats’s body, even if Kravitz can’t say anything because he’s going to be gone again in a few weeks, when the ritual goes unfulfilled. Kravitz is glad he gets to spend time with Taako again.
It’s been twenty years since he died. Taako’s hair has changed and he doesn’t wear his wedding ring anymore, but other than that and some new lines around his eyes, he hasn’t changed. Not in the ways that matter.
Kravitz wishes he could reach out and touch Taako’s hand, wishes he could kiss him. It would take some getting used to—Kravitz is now several inches shorter than Taako, thanks Keats—but they’d make it work. Taako hasn’t mentioned having a dead husband, but bards are apparently a touchy subject for him, so that’s not surprising.
He’s taking the fact that Taako absolutely didn’t want him tagging along on this quest as a sign that Taako’s still upset over his death. It’s been twenty years, but that’s not as long for an elf as it would be for a human. And there are less traumatic ways to lose a spouse than to have them die in your arms.
Ahead of him, Magnus stops walking, raising a hand to silence Taako and Merle’s low-grade bickering—some in-joke about plants Kravitz is not yet privy to.
“Do you hear that?” Magnus asks, frowning as he glances back at them. Kravitz does, now that Magnus mentions it—a low roaring sound building up in the distance, growing gradually louder. “It sounds like—”
“Water,” says Taako. “Shit.”
Taako spins around and starts running, grabbing Kravitz’s wrist as he does. “Move it or lose it, bard boy! Someone’s flooding the cave!”
Kravitz lets himself be pulled. It’s the most attention Taako’s paid to him since he joined the party and Keats isn’t used to running. The insistent tugging on his arm keeps Kravitz moving as the sound of rushing water gets louder behind them. Magnus has Merle practically under his arm as he runs, pulling ahead of Kravitz and Taako because Kravitz’s breathing is starting to hitch—lungs burning as he tries to suck in a breath deep enough to keep him from getting annihilated by the water.
This is going to be an embarrassing way to die a second time.
Kravitz feels like he’s trying to inhale through a straw—the pressure on his lungs and throat make it impossible to breathe without coughing. Keats has zero breath control—not a singer the way Kravitz was—and Kravitz is starting to suspect maybe he’s got asthma or scarring or something wrong with his lungs because Kravitz is going to suffocate before he even gets damp if he doesn’t stop pushing it.
He wrenches his hand free from Taako’s grasp, bending over and gasping as he tries to inhale, coughing in between short, desperate breaths.
“Motherfucker,” Taako says, still inexplicably beside him. “Are you asthmatic? You should’ve warned us, my dude. Okay, sorry but this is gonna suck.”
Kravitz looks up to tell Taako to forget about him and go, but before he can get a word out a bubble appears around him, and a moment later around Taako too. It’s been a while since Kravitz saw anyone cast Otiluke’s Resilient Sphere, but he still recognizes it—Taako used to like to use it bother enemies he was pretty sure weren’t a serious threat, bubbling them up and taunting them because Taako is a little bit awful—awful enough to be interesting.
“Th-thank you.” Kravitz slumps down inside the sphere, pressing a hand to his chest and trying to slow his heart rate, to regain control of his breathing. Maybe he should have done a bit more research into Keats before setting out adventuring in a stranger’s body.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Taako says, grim-faced as he stares down the tunnel, towards where the sound of the water is coming from. “The water hasn’t—”
He’s cut off mid-sentence by a tidal wave of filthy cave water—murky with sediment and carrying rocks and boulders. It crashes against the sphere Kravitz is in and envelopes him—picking up his bubble and sending Kravitz tumbling inside of it as the bubble is propelled back the way they came, bouncing off the cave walls and Taako’s sphere, behind and beside him. Kravitz tries to brace himself against the sides of the bubble, afraid of breaking his violin, but it’s impossible to get friction against its smooth sides.
Taako’s right. It sucks. He’s thrown around like a rag doll as he gives up on staying upright and wraps himself around his violin instead, concentrating on protecting it instead.
The sudden rush of water dies down before he can pass out or be pushed out of the cave entirely, though, and their bubbles sink to the ground and then pop. Kravitz is dizzy and bruised, but still breathing—too disoriented to do more than check to make sure that Taako is okay and his violin is still in one piece.
“Someone doesn’t want us finding what we came here for,” Taako says, picking himself up off the floor. His pointed hat is askew and he looks truly, deeply annoyed. “Must be a good fuckin’ treasure.”
Kravitz frowns. There’s an implication in that statement that doesn’t track with what he was told at the pub. “You don’t know what you’re looking for?”
“Did I say that?” Taako glances down at him. “We know enough about what we’re looking for—got a hot tip from a couple of necromancers whose asses we kicked.”
“And you trusted them?” Kravitz picks himself up, glancing around for any sign of Magnus and Merle. Taako doesn’t seem concerned and things have changed, but not so much that Kravitz can’t read him anymore—it’s not a front.
“Of course not,” says Taako, snorting. “They didn’t give us the tip willingly.”
Kravitz should have asked more questions about the cave run—not that it would have changed anything. He’d still be here, probably still on his ass because Keats’s lungs won’t let him run long distances, but he’d be better prepared.
In life, dealing with necromancers had been a specialty of his. Kravitz could turn undead with his music, control them with his magic. That’s not going to be an option now—it’d be a dead giveaway that Keats isn’t who he says he is. No pun intended.
Kravitz can’t stick around in this body that’s not his. It goes against everything he stands for. He’s only got a few weeks left and telling Taako who he is now seems cruel. It’s been twenty years. Taako seems like he’s moved on with his life. He has friends. He’s adventuring again. Kravitz will enjoy his company while he’s got it and then slip away.
“So we’re tripping traps set by dead necromancers?” he asks, picking himself up off the ground and brushing off his clothes. The bubble protected his suit at least. It’s newly acquired with Keats’s money.
“Sure,” says Taako, which isn’t quite a yes.
“Taako!” Magnus’s voice echoes down to them from further down the tunnel. “Keats! You good?”
“We’re good!” Taako calls back. “Next time we need to run you gotta grab Keats too though.”
“Okay!” Magnus’s voice is closer this time. Keats’s half-elf eyes make it easy for Kravitz to spot him and Merle, when they round a corner and step into view. They’re soaked and Kravitz is again grateful for the bubble. He’s not sure Keats’s health is good enough to handle being damp in an already chilly cave. Prestidigitation can only do so much.
“Damn caves,” says Merle, wringing out his beard. “Why doesn’t anyone ever hide their treasure someplace nice?”
“I refuse to rob a bank,” Taako says, voice firm. “Treasure hunting is a nice little grey area we can’t get arrested for.”
Magnus laughs and claps a hand on Kravitz’s shoulder. “We’ve never considered robbing a bank,” he says, in a way that means they definitely have. “You okay?”
“Taako helped me,” Kravitz says. “I should have mentioned the… lung troubles.” He’s not exactly sure what the lung problems are—asthma?—but he really wishes Keats had documented the things Kravitz needed to be aware of better. Or at all. “I didn’t think it would come up.”
“You didn’t think you might have to run on a cave crawl?” Taako gives Kravitz a skeptical look. “Are you sure you’re experienced enough for this?”
Kravitz whistles, sharp and high, and the water soaking Magnus and Merle evaporates. “As kind as it is for you to worry, there’s no need. I can handle myself.”
Taako opens his mouth to respond, clearly annoyed, but Kravitz is spared from whatever he’s going to say by a sudden flash of bright light—one that leaves him momentarily blinded as the ground shifts under his feet, stone grinding against stone, throwing him off balance again and then dropping away under his feet.
Kravitz has the presence of mind to let out a second whistle—casting Feather Fall on the party as they plummet through the cave and into a room with a light up floor and flashing lights. The spell gives him plenty of time to see whose trap they walked into. It’s a pair of elves — tall and thin, wearing skin-tight catsuits in garish colours, similar enough in appearances that they must be related.
“Nice of you to drop in,” says the woman, smiling like a cat. “We’ve been expecting you.”
“You wandered right into our trap. We’ll—” Her brother falters when his eyes meet Kravitz’s. “Oh,” he says, exchanging a look with his sister. “You brought a friend.”
“We’ve got something special planned for you three. We’ll deal with him later,” says the woman. She waves her hand like she’s swatting a fly. Kravitz goes flying. only just managing to hold on to his violin case, clutching it to his chest. He opens his mouth to try something—to whistle or sing or anything to slow himself down, but Feather Fall is working against him. He tumbles through the air and slams into the ground far from Taako, Magnus, and Merle, only just managing to prop himself up on an elbow before the floor opens up beneath him and swallows him whole.
He’s in a box, coffin-sized and pitch black inside. Even with darkvision he can barely see anything—not that there’s anything to see. He’s trapped and alone, not enough room to play his violin, and Taako’s out there, alone, taking on two necromancers. Kravitz kicks at the earth surrounding him to see if the walls have any give, but it’s like kicking solid stone. He’s trapped—alive again, but buried and as good as dead if he can’t get out.
And then a voice—the voice of the woman who trapped him in the box—whispers in his ear, sending a chill down his spine. “Keats,” she says, “what are you doing here with them?”
“Yes,” says the male elf, whispering into his other ear. “Little brother, what have you gotten yourself into?”