Chapter Text
Raishan liked to think she was good at, if nothing else, being responsible for her own actions. After all, had she not spent the last decades searching, albeit desperately, for a cure to her disease? A disease bestowed upon her by that accursed follower of Melora.
She did not regret desecrating that temple or massacring those Druids - it was a simple matter of survival, you see; how is an ancient dragon to survive if she turns away from any ample opportunity for a nice meal? Maybe she regretted not killing everyone faster or not going about it in a more tactful way, just a little, but there was nothing to be done about that now. So at the beginning, she had just searched.
For any magical artifact to rid her of the blight, for anyone who claimed to be a great healer, for a cure. She plotted, deceived, threatened, killed - she searched. She searched for all those things but never for something to alleviate the pain. She was good at being responsible for her own actions, after all, a little reminder for an undoubtedly temporary compromise; she was sure of it.
Until she became less sure and more agitated. Days, weeks, months passed, then years. Dragons such as herself had little regard for time and the puny humans' obsession with counting cycles of the moon, but she was getting restless, agitated.
Raishan dreamed, too frequently, of a lifetime of disease, the curse wearing her down to her very bones and smothering out her strength. The once almost pearlescent green scales rotten to putrid flesh. And she woke to the bleak reality of the very same curse eating away at her form.
So she formed alliances, first with the treacherous Cinder King who dared to deceive the Deceiver, who, for a time, convinced her that he held the key to lifting her curse and held her allegiance.
Once that went as well as she could have hoped, she turned to enemies of the Cinder King, grasping onto their desperation to slay the insurmountable foe and maybe what was growing to be her own desperation for a cure as well. A group of adventurers, marching their dragon-slaying vestiges around like toddlers with newly found toys, with no hint of intelligence in their actions or any self-preservation for that matter.
Well, if there was one thing that Raishan fucking regretted in her long, eventful life, it was even considering allying herself that band of stupid adventurers.
Who mixed up a Dimension Door incantation with a Dominate Monster and, for their gods' sake, a Banishment spell while drunk on ale? Was that even physically - magically - possible?
And, oh, did she regret being their ally so that bard running through the dining room aisle could (very unintentionally, mind you) cast it on her. Raishan would sooner have expected being stabbed three times in the back; at least she had made plans regarding the unfortunate but very possible altercation. Not an accident.
On a very late second thought, she should probably have made plans for an accident given the humans' history.
So here she was.
In what seemed to be a vast, empty chamber hewn from the very marrow of the earth itself. She stood on ancient stones, worn smooth by the centuries. The air within this solemn sanctuary - she quickly deduced - hung heavy with the weight of a bygone era. Shafts of pale, almost ethereal light flickered from the blue-white dragonhead torches mounted on the wall. There stood to the side ridiculous statues of what seemed to be the same human, the etchings on the plaques long since become illegible from the relentless caress of time. Raishan could sense the unfamiliar presence of magic in the air. She had not been here or in the vicinity of this area before. Was this some reclusive human establishment on another continent perchance?
She carefully moved through the chamber, wary of any possible traps. Dust motes, suspended in the tranquil air, performed a timeless dance in perpetual motion. There was a magically sealed doorway to her side, and in all directions, paths led to four separate chambers. As she approached the sealed door, the statues spoke to her, demanding her to complete some "heroic trials” to open. Some sorts of tests; there was no use waiting here pointlessly.
Justice, strategy, insight, and courage. How typical of humans to set these standards in stone for a supposed hero.
She got through the four chambers practically without breaking a sweat. Raishan's understanding of common human laws was proficient enough to pass as just. She had to know them if she decided to pretend to be one, obviously. A game of lanceboard, another simple skill she had picked up in her years as a human. The chamber of insight provided some interesting read, a pity that she had to shoot a bolt of lightning through the specter of the one author she found to be a little agreeable. In the chamber of courage, Raishan decided to practice her skills at creating illusions instead of actually displaying any courage. And the deceiver stood there, idly passing the required time, watching the clueless elementals claw at her conjured forms.
And the statue commended her on her "worthiness" to be a hero of this Baldur's Gate, revealing to her an entrance to -
The resting place of a great wyrm? Raishan hummed to herself, almost amused by the idea. Another ancient dragon, hidden here all these centuries, sealed away by time. With something as presumptuous as "The Heart of the Gate" as its title, this wyrm might be more amenable to humans. Was it not aware of the incoming storm the Cinder King sought to wreak upon the world? A potent ally, maybe.
She held that thought until she strode past the now thrown-open door to a lair stinking of death. For a moment, the putrid essence of death and decay choked her as she stared at the corpse of the great wyrm before her. The once-magnificent form reduced to rotten flesh, broken green scales, and glistening white bones.
Raishan cursed under her breath, the hope for another asset in getting to the Cinder King diminishing into a mixture of pity, disgust, and … fear. Was this what would become of her if she did not find a cure fast?
Somewhat distracted, she approached the corpse and laid a hand on the broken wings, catching a glimpse of something silver stuck in the mess of bones and scales - was that a sword? Raishan immediately regretted her actions as she sensed a tremor under her palm.
And the large, unmoving corpse of the great wyrm was suddenly imbued with waves of magic. Undoubtedly necrotic energy. Raishan swallowed - such a human movement - perhaps she had spent too long in her guise as the Fire Ashari girl - pondering if she should take a step back. Confident of her strength as she was, she knew how to recognize a tough battle for which she was in no shape.
But that was apparently too late; the undead wyrm had been stirred by her presence. She felt a powerful presence seep into her mind, searching for something in her soul. The presence sensed her wariness and the, however fleeting, panic. Raishan was quick to action; deception was natural to her like breathing. She wove together a seamless false memory of a lost young green dragon, seeking help for her disease in the most probable of places: the lair of the Heart of the Gate.
As it - as he - rose from the ground and turned to face her, the undead wyrm seemed to have settled for finding nothing and spoke in her mind. The powerful but surprisingly unmalicious sound reverberated in her skull, forcing her to focus on answering it and nothing else by its sheer strength. The wyrm almost sounded apologetic if not bitter:
"You will find no cure here, sihe."