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The things one can accomplish in twenty-four hours. It can be quite overwhelming to think about. And yet, that is all that most of the Mighty Nein can think about as they rest in Caleb’s new bubble spell.
Most of them, as Beau went off with Keg for… reasons. It’s really none of their concern. As far as they’re concerned, she could have the night (morning?) to herself, given what they all went through.
It’s so much to process for Nott. After recently losing Molly to Lorenzo, instead of running away in the opposite direction like sane and rational people, she and the others had pressed forward to Shadycreek Run with two more allies: Nila and the aforementioned Keg. And while Nila had to vacate the Sour Nest with her clan, her absence was filled by the odd-mannered yet sagely cleric Caduceus Clay.
Nott is unsure what to think of the guy. He’s so fucking weird, with his “dead people tea” and all those beetles and… just why would he just stay in his graveyard home if it’s just going to rot? And what was with his weird cryptic-y fate talk shit? Why couldn’t he just talk plainly like a normal person?
Nott shakes her head. He’s so fucking confusing, perhaps the first firbolg she had ever met to not be “normal”. Nila and Pumat had their quirks, yes, but at least they acted like normal people.
She’s not convinced quite yet that he’s that forthright.
In the end, she just pushes all that aside. There were far more pressing matters. One of which was the woman still magically slumbering, placed dead center in the orange-brown dome. The other matters were of Fjord and Jester.
It broke the goblin’s heart, seeing all three of them in such a battered and bloodied state. Even Jester, who had seemed unflappable in her cheerfulness, was shaken. And Nott can’t blame her; anyone would feel despair in such a situation.
And as much as she loved to torment and belittle Fjord for his scrawniness and pretentiousness, the half-orc’s eyes were so wide and darting that it made any of Nott’s usual jabs and barbs turn to ash in her mouth. Those eyes reminded her so much of her own captivity with the goblin horde.
Gods, she missed Yeza and Luc so much. But that was still a lifetime ago, a lifetime that died with Veth Brenatto that day. And yet she still thinks of her husband and son every night.
But Yasha… She was in the worst shape. And she’s shown no sign of waking up.
She can still remember the look on Caleb and Beau’s faces when they came out of the cell, dragging her unconscious body for everyone to see. Fjord wasn’t lying when he said that Yasha took the brunt of the breaking process. She shudders to think of what Lorenzo could’ve done to their minds, let alone what else could’ve happened, if they hadn’t arrived at the Sour Nest sooner.
Nott pulls out her flask and takes a big swig, and another for good measure. No matter what they had done, Yasha just wasn’t waking up. Even when they removed the sleep-inducing manacles, she still didn’t stir. And Nott can only guess that even when the enchantment fades, the trauma from the torture would persist and leave her unconscious for perhaps a few days more. Whether she wakes up or not, that’s up to Yasha.
She takes a look around the dome, seeing Fjord and Jester’s pained faces as they sleep side-by-side, subconsciously holding hands. She sees Caduceus, his brow furrowed in his dreaming, assuming that is what he is doing. And then she sees Caleb, her boy, trembling in his sleep, his wounds still tender and his breathing quick. He must be having a nightmare.
And while she’s not in the dome presently, Nott can only wonder how Beauregard is feeling. She had seemed the most shaken upon the discovery of Yasha’s body. And it wasn’t hard to imagine why; anyone could see that there was something there between them, but they’re too much of a pair of disasters to do anything or even notice.
And yet, she saw the fear in her eyes. And speaking of eyes, Nott couldn’t help but cringe from seeing that gnarly scar across the monk’s left eye. She claimed she was okay after the fact, but it still reminded Nott that they were all a hair’s breadth from dying down there in the basement.
She can’t help but feel guilty for her own actions earlier. In trying to test Caddy’s legitimacy of being a healer, she shot Beau with her own crossbow. It was such a stupid fucking idea. She didn’t think much of it at the time, but in hindsight, those words from before…
“That was a killing blow! You could fucking kill me!”
They rang louder than ever, as was that expression of abject terror. It was then that Nott remembered. Beau was right to be terrified, they had just fucking lost Molly. And in her excitement, it didn’t occur to her. She thought that what she did was cool .
“Fuck,” Nott mutters to herself as she wipes away a tear. Why did she even do that?!
She sighs. She’s so tired. She should apologize to Beau later. Or maybe Beau will just let it slide. Who knows?
Frustrated, Nott puts down her flask and makes her way into Caleb’s space, now nestled between him and Yasha. She reaches out and strokes the sleeping woman’s dark hair, and as she figured, no discernable reaction.
“I’m sorry we weren’t quicker. I’m sorry that Molly was lost. I’m… I’m just sorry…”
Nott pulls back her hand and wraps herself in her tattered cloak. The past twenty-hours were utter hell. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe.
But regardless, she is at least sure of one thing.
They’re alive, even if one of them is not. And she’s not going to let it happen again.