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Helena had been to Baldur’s Gate many times over the course of her life. But, she was not familiar with the city like a true Baldurian would be. Just enough to know the way to the Stormshore Tabernacle and how much a room and a hot meal at the Elfsong Tavern would cost her at the end of the day. All-in-all, she deemed the bustling city to be a bit much for her taste. Too much going on, far too much to be able to keep track of.
As she rounded the corner of Sorcerous Sundries, a thundering boom echoed throughout the plaza, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. She glared over her shoulder at the collection of mages who were summoning all manners of arcane projections before quickly making them disappear to the delight of passers-by.
“Showy nonsense,” she glowered before making her way briskly to the entrance of the Tabernacle. Once inside, she gave a nod to the vicar and approached the large statue of the gods towards the back of the small room. She knelt before it and hung her head in prayer to her goddess Eilistraee.
Truth be told, not a lot of clerics of Eilistraee’s church would choose to visit a temple that did not have a dedicated image of their goddess. Most would prefer to worship in bespoke holy spaces, such as the Promenade of the Dark Maiden below Waterdeep. Helena had worshipped in the Promenade before and had even taken part in the Grand Chorus within the Cavern of Song there. It was truly a moving spiritual experience, the song and emotion of a choir of Eilistraee’s faithful intertwining with beams of radiant moonlight.
But, still, Helena’s favorite place to worship was the humble Tabernacle. The noisy streets outside were muffled by its stone walls, allowing her head to clear and focus on the reverence in her heart. She brushed her long white hair behind her shoulders to keep it out of her face as she began to sing softly in adoration. Her thoughts drifted as freely as the clouds in the afternoon sky, coming to rest upon a memory from her childhood.
“Mother, why must we come to this city to worship? They don’t even have a proper temple to Eilistraee.”
She had been so young when they’d first made the trip to Baldur’s Gate together, only eleven years old. But her mother, Cadenza Vrammyr, the Lady’s Living Sword, had judged her old enough to take on the journey. They’d hiked from the depths of the Underdark, camped out beneath the stars (real stars!) in the wilderness, and passed through Wyrm’s Crossing to finally reach Baldur’s Gate. They’d stopped to offer some assistance to the needy in Rivington, passing out a little coin and helping with some tasks to ease the load of some farmers who were in the middle of harvest season. And they’d stopped to pay their respects to the clerics at the Open Hand Temple as well.
Young Helena had found it a bit odd that a temple of Ilmater had a place near Baldur’s Gate, yet the presence of Eilistraee was so notably lacking. In truth, she was a bit disappointed that the Tabernacle was not as ornate as the temple at Rhymanthiin. In fact, it wasn’t even as impressive as the simple temple that served as the center of worship in her home settlement. Tabernacle was such an elegant word and it had completely inflated her expectations for the modest hub of worship in the Gate.
But, Cadenza simply gave her a wizened look and brushed a lock of Helena’s wild, untamed curls behind her ear. The white dotted tattoos across the dark purple skin of her face, symbolic of her long years of faithfulness, crinkled with her smile.
“Because, dear one, our Lady Eilistraee’s presence deserves to be felt across the realms, from the dazzling Promenade to the humblest home’s shrine. Wherever the Dark Maiden shines her light, it is our sacred duty to sing her praises and offer our swords in aid of the weak and oppressed.”
Pulling herself from her reverie, Helena glanced up at the robed stone figure of the statue of the gods, its face shrouded by a long scroll. Tears had gathered in the corner of her eyes and fell freely down her cheeks. She wiped them away with her fingertips, the wetness streaking and making the sprinkling of purple-blue freckles across her cheeks stand out more than they already did. As she attempted to continue singing, she found that her throat had grown tight. So, she offered a quiet prayer instead.
“Oh, Lady Eilistraee, I pray that my mother’s soul continues to bring you pride and glory, even in death.”
For a moment, the only thing that could be heard within the temple was the gentle breeze outside. In fact, it was almost too quiet. Like the calm before a storm.
Then, a whisper.
“Run, child.”
Suddenly, she heard frantic screaming and a groaning roar echoed through the air. Helena stumbled to her feet, rushing to the door of the Tabernacle.
“What is happening?” the vicar gasped.
Helena rushed down the stone steps and surveyed the scene. People were running. Fleeing. They flooded the streets as if a dam had broken. A warning bell rang out from a watch tower. Helena looked towards it only to see something enormous, terrifying floating in the air beside it. The thing, the air ship, had a body like a large shell, curling in on itself, and several twisting tentacles sprouting from its front. One tentacle wrapped itself around the watch tower, suddenly constricting, causing the tower to crumble and plummet to the ground.
Over the din, she heard a child wailing in the alley next to the Tabernacle. Drawing her mace, she whipped around the corner to see that the child, a little blond human boy, stood face to face with an illithid, a mindflayer. The mindflayer lurched forward, grasping wildly. It looked uncoordinated, as if it had been taken very much by surprise.
“Mummy?” the boy cried. “Mummy, what’s happened to you?”
The mindflayer reached out for the boy again, its terrible clawed hands stretching and writhing. Helena quickly rushed forward, placing herself between the boy and the monster.
“Behind me!” she commanded him, brandishing her mace at the mindflayer. “That’s not your mother anymore!” She swung her mace, forcing the illithid backwards. “Run! Go! Find shelter!”
“But Mummy!” he sobbed.
“Go!” Helena shouted, taking another swing at the mindflayer. Its eyes radiated with hot, hateful fire. She heard the boy’s footsteps as he ran out of the alley. “My Lady! Protect your faithful servant!”
The noise around her dulled and it felt like time itself had slowed to a crawl. She felt the hair on her arms prickle to attention as the air around her became charged. She held her mace above her head, ready to bring down another blow. The air crackled for a moment before a bolt of lightning careened from the sky, flowing through her mace. Her arms quivered as she struggled against the immense power vibrating in her hands. With a guttural scream, she lowered the mace to point directly at the mindflayer. Lightning erupted from the mace’s head and struck the mindflayer in the chest, splitting it in half.
As the creature slumped to the ground, her vision clouded. She blinked the feeling away and ran out of the alley, eyes scanning the crowds for any sign of the child. She was quick to find him. He had fallen in the road and screamed as fleeing feet trampled him. Helena ran to him, shouting as she elbowed people out of the way.
“There’s a child! There’s a child on the ground! Watch for the child!” When she finally reached him, he stretched his arms out towards her, his shrieking voice growing raw. Helena grabbed him by the arm and hoisted him back into a standing position. “Can you run?” she cried over the screaming crowd. The boy nodded, wiping his tears with his sleeve. The flying ship gave another groan and flew lower to the ground, its tentacles snaking their way through the streets. Helena saw a citizen trip on a loose paving stone and disappear into a cloud of black smoke as one of the tentacles touched him. She turned her attention quickly back to the boy. “Then, run!”
She began sprinting up the street, hauling the boy along by his arm. She could hear the ship gaining ground, the cries of its victims cut short as they vanished. The pair rounded the corner and Helena looked around wildly for some form of shelter.
“Here!” called a voice. “Young lady, in here!” She snapped her attention to the fine house on the corner. An elderly halfling couple waved at her frantically from just inside the doorway. Helena steered the boy up the stone steps towards the house and pushed him inside. “Please!” the woman said. “It’s not safe out there!” Helena shook her head quickly.
“There are others who need help. Take care of the boy. His mother is gone.” And with that, she turned and ran back down the stone steps and into the crowd.
But the surging tide of people was too swift and she was knocked off her feet and carried along to the middle of the road. She shouted and flailed, but she was still buffeted along with the crowd, unable to regain her balance. She looked up and saw a tentacle swimming through the air directly towards her. Her heart pounded in her ears, her body filling with pressure from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She screamed, throwing her arms wide and releasing a wave of thunder, which repelled the tentacle away from her by a few feet.
Her ears rang. Her tongue tingled and tasted of iron. She was suddenly overcome with dizziness. Her vision swam in front of her, a sea of shadows and movement. She attempted to stand, but fell to her knees, bracing herself with her arms.
“Help!” she screamed, squeezing her eyes shut, her voice now hoarse.
When she opened her eyes again, she was utterly disoriented. She looked around wildly to try to make sense of the chaos unfolding around her. But all she saw was the shape of the horrible tentacle from the floating terror in the sky surging directly towards her before everything went dark.