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Wyll is screaming bloody agony, a pseudo-psychic sound. It rips through Weaver's body as he rushes to the other end of camp. Karlach is watching on in horror as a winged devil woman looms over the Blade of Frontiers, a cruel smirk coming into view as she whirls away from the flames to face the cleric. Her lips move too fast for Weaver to parse. She looks to him expectantly, and he points to his ears and signs:
“What is wrong? What have you done to Wyll? ” Wyll's sign is a simple 'W' fisted over the tiefling's heart, as he had introduced himself. Realizing Wyll spoke sign had been a pleasant surprise.
“She doesn't speak it, soldier,” Karlach's voice comes into his mind, its usual fizz now a hum of worry. Aloud, she says “I'll translate, Mizora, if only so that he can tell you to fuck off himself.”
“What, who is she? What does she want with Wyll? ” Weaver asks, reaching for his needles.
“Ease up, mate. She's got something to say, and I think she wants me too.” A flash of a dinner party, discomfort, Karlach had been forced to attend, the devil woman at the side of a flaming angel-- Weaver blinks, then nods slowly.
“How do you want me to proceed?”
“Cautiously, Mizora's not to be trusted. But she has Wyll, she's- ”
Another shriek of pain. Wyll’s head breaches the wall of fire, horned, his eye glowing ruby in a pool of black.
“-done something. ”
The devil, Mizora, steps imperiously between a crumpled Wyll and the two tieflings. She turns her spine-shivering gaze to Weaver.
“You're- -Adora’s brood. I’ll be- -an eye on you .” She waves her hand and vanishes in a puff of pungent lilac smoke.
They blink at each other. Just for a moment. Karlach laughs nervously.
“Well that’s not as bad as it could have gone, all things considered.” She coughs up a bit of hissing steam, and Weaver raises an eyebrow.
“Is that something that requires immediate attention? ” He asks, gesturing to the other tiefling.
“No, I'll be fine for now,” she says, rolling her shoulders with a deep breath. “Wyll, buddy, you doin’ alright?”
“No,” he coughs. “Shit.”
“Do you need a hand? ” Weaver asks, offering his own to the man. Wyll grabs it firmly and pulls himself up.
“My head. It’s too heavy,” he says, trying to keep his neck straightened, “and I have the most splitting headache.”
Weaver lets him lean on him as they walk him to his tent. Karlach grabs for a hand mirror and passes it to Wyll.
“... Why? ” Weaver says, starting to shake off his own disbelief.
“Mizora… is my patron. She and I are participants in a contract, of sorts. She gives me boons, favors, and in exchange I find and either bring back or kill who she sets me on. I thought I was being clever, made it a stipulation I’d only hunt those who would seek to hurt others, but now-” He sighs. “Now I am not so sure that’s been held to. Shit.” Weaver sighs.
“I meant why a pact at all. I heard you were formidable in your own right, why the deal? ”
“I can’t tell you, it’s in the terms of the pact. Know this, though: it is the proudest moment of my life, and I would not trade it for anything.”
Wyll absently runs a finger up the ridges of his horn as he glances down at the compact. Karlach and Weaver both flush and turn away. The air grows warmer as a flame licks out of one of Karlach’s vents.
“Don’t- that’s, uh.”
“Sensitive,” he says, “noted.”
“Let’s just say that’s best left to lovers.The tail too, if you have one. ”
“Not your fault, mate,” says Karlach. “You didn’t know.”
“Karlach. ” Weaver changes the subject quickly. ” How do you know a devil? I realize now as I’m saying this that I never asked to know anything about you, and for that I am sorry. ”
“Well, I used to be a bodyguard for some bigwig back in Baldur’s Gate. Eventually, though, my apparent usefulness dried up. Got traded to Zariel and conscripted into the demon war. I fought the buggers as long as I could, and kept my eye open for a way out.” She shrugs. “And, well. Now I’ve got an engine in my chest. Souped me up nice and right after a particularly nasty scrape. I appreciate it, other than the fact it’s way too hot. Not many places to tune up around here, though.”
“Well shit. That explains a lot. I’m sorry, both of you. That’s awful. ”
“I believe there might be an infernal mechanic amongst the tieflings from Elturel, Karlach,” Wyll interjects. ”Dammon, I believe. We could go talk with him the next time we’re near there.”
“Aw, well,” Karlach waffles, rubbing her head. “Mighty thoughtful of you, soldier.”
“And what about you?” Wyll asks, his interest leaving the taste of brass on Weaver’s tongue. “Any juicy tales of woe and drama to share with the audience?”
“I’m a linen weaver. What’s to tell? I live in the lower city with my two sisters and my adopted father. ”
Wyll frowns. Maybe he senses Weaver’s hesitation, maybe he misses it entirely. A rush of sympathy, memories of familial love, a fireplace, a training ground all surge to Weaver across their connection.
“That’s a lot to lose in such a short time. A family, a home-”
“A job that doesn’t involve washing blood out of my hair. ” Wyll and Karlach both laugh at that, and Weaver can’t help but grin along. “In all seriousness, I think my death is the biggest thing that has ever happened to me, present worms excluded. My mother-”
Adora, he doesn’t say. Doesn’t care to name her. Doesn’t think about her. Won’t think about her.
“-left when I was thirteen. We spent a bit of time at the Elfsong with me bussing tables before Folson adopted us. The twins don’t remember much of it, they were about five. ” His face falls even further. “ I don’t think I can go back like this. Undead, or life-stopped, or whatever. ”
“Doesn’t seem like there’s much to be done as of now,” Karlach says, shivering (though Weaver does not know from what). “We could always talk to Gale about it, or- is that the skeleton man from earlier?”
Weaver and Wyll turn. At the shore of the river, next to an upturned boat, is the undead priest from the catacombs. He mutters something to himself and checks a book over with his quill, scratching out a line with a muffled frustration.
“It is,” Wyll says. “You could ask him, perhaps. With all this weight on my head, I might not survive the trip without looking like a newborn faun.”
Weaver shrugs.
“I’d rather leave him alone. He said there was no undoing it, when I first mentioned it. ”
The other two nod, solemn. Weaver wonders if his apprehension shows on his face.
“Wonder if he knows what happened to the village here,” Karlach asks. “I've been curious as to why it's abandoned. Gives me the creeps, to be honest.”
“It was probably the spiders. ” Wyll shakes his head.
"I scouted out the alchemist's hut while you were gone. There's a secret cave in the cellar with some coffins and a mirror. Stinks of necromancy, but that's all I could see without the gobs catching me."
“We'll check it out, ” Weaver promises. “ Tomorrow, though. We had a rough one with those spiders, and Astarion said he saw another few through the cave. I have a feeling we might find the Underdark around as well, given the smith's notes we found. Until then, let's rest. Gale said he’d make baked potatoes and I'm getting hungry. ” He feels twin hums of approval from the other two as he stands and makes his way to the fire at the center of camp.