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“I have to ask,” the snarky elf said, “do all the cults praying to dark gods have their temples down here?”
Enver glared at him. “You tell me.”
He did not feel quite well about any of this. He had not been to the temple since his defeat, and some part of him had been almost certain that he would not be able to get there again in the first place. And yet, the hidden door was still where it had been three years ago, and opening it still worked in the same way.
“The air does not smell too stale,” Tav muttered. He looked at Enver. “Do you think someone has…”
“I don’t know,” Enver growled.
He was not sure why he had even agreed to it. Some as they walked along the rather narrow tunnel, he expected Bane to smite him. While Bane could not touch him on the surface world, even a weakened Bane should have powers within his own temple.
Tav was right though. The air did not smell as one would assume a hidden underground temple to smell if it had been abandoned for three years.
Enver was not fully sure if it was just old spells keeping the air moving, or…
Their steps sounded dangerously loud as they echoed in the tunnel. Especially Enver’s cane clanked sharply on the ground whenever he moved it forward.
Some part of him expected a trap. An ambush. It would not be unusual for the Banites, no?
But so far there was none. No trap. No ambush. Just a dark tunnel being lit by a spell that the elven woman had summoned. The one Enver barely knew.
There was a silent tension between them as they stepped ahead. And then the tunnel widened into the main hall of the temple.
It was exactly as Enver remembered it. Stone benches lined one after the other, leading towards the rather rough altar, the symbol of Bane shifting above it.
The walls had been evened out, though most of them were hidden away behind banners. The torches between those banners were cold and dead. The magic was the only thing lighting the room, and even those magic balls of light seemed to be dimmed by something in here.
Enver shivered. The shadows of their group seemed too dark, and too deep, as if Bane’s darkness was eating at their very essence.
“Well, I cannot say I share the sense of aesthetic of your divine patron, Gortash,” Astarion said.
“Former,” Enver grumbled. “Former divine patron.” Though those words too felt dangerous here.
He was expecting something. Because it could not be that easy. It could not be…
“You said there was a dungeon, too,” Tav said, looking around.
“Yes. There is a hidden switch.” He lifted his cane, pointing to what he knew to be the eastern wall.
Deep inside of him something was writhing at the simple thought of being here.
The fat dragonborn was the one who dared to go over to the wall, pulling up the banner to look for that switch.
Enver meanwhile just stood at the end of that tunnel, watching as Tav, Astarion and the other elf were carefully walking through the room.
Enver’s legs were tired, and his exhaustion beckoned him to sit down, but at the same time the thought of sitting – of being vulnerable – inside this space felt too dangerous. Because some part of him still expected… something. Bane’s wrath, maybe. Or just someone waiting to pounce on them like a cat on a hamster in the field.
The elven woman’s voice made him turn his head. “Is that blood?”
It was Tav who went over to the altar, running his hand over it and then jolting back. “It is.”
“It seems that cleaning up after themselves never was a high priority with the Dead Three, was it?” Astarion noted.
“It is still somewhat… fresh,” Tav said.
And then a grinding sound made the lot of them jerk around, as the hidden door on the wall was slowly sliding open.
“I would have thought it was quieter.” The dragonborn looked almost apologetic.
Tav was the one to look around the room, and then hesitate. He hummed a melody, summoning some lights of his own, before walking over to the dragonborn. He peered into the tunnel that had now opened up, before turning to Enver. “Three is a staircase.”
“Yes,” Enver said. “It will lead down. There is three rooms down there. If the blood here is fresh…”
“How lovely,” Astarion muttered. He seemed to be generally unable to say anything in Enver’s presence without his voice being tinged with sarcasm.
It was Tav, though, who moved past the red dragonborn, his steps on the stairs once again echoing through the emptiness.
For two and a half years Enver had refused to tell Ravengard and his people where the temple was. For the first year it had been his pride. While Bane had abandoned him the moment he had fallen, Enver had held onto this idea of his pride.
And even after the pride had been broken down, the fear of Bane’s punishment had remained. It was there even now. Some part of him really was expecting Bane to do something. While even the evil gods were not supposed to meddle actively with the events of the physical realm, the ground of temples and sacred places dedicated to them were arguably not considered part of the physical realm by Ao.
His hand on the knob of the cane was tense, his knuckles showing.
Some part of his mind really was expecting the punish, was expecting, well… something.
Then steps on the stairs again. “There is two bodies down there,” Tav said. “One of them has not been dead for long.”
“I gotta say, that the least those Banites could do was clean up after themselves,” Astarion replied.
“We probably should take them outside before we destroy this place,” the elven woman said. “Maybe at least their families…”
One of the shadows flickered, and moved. And then there was a blade sparkling in the darkness.
Instinctively Enver tried to bring his cane between himself and the blade. But he was neither strong, nor especially agile, and a moment later a scream escaped him as the blade pushed into his flesh.
Eyes filled with hatred glared at him. “Traitor.”
He lost his balance, the back of his head hitting the ground hard. His vision went dark. He was not sure for how long. When it cleared again, there was some light flashing. Magic. There was also the sound of blades colliding.
Enver tried to roll over and push himself up, but a moment later a foot hit his side.
He coughed, though his attacker was pulled away from him again.
He was bleeding. He could feel it. There was a sad familiarity to how well he knew the sensation of blood soaking through fabric.
He grabbed his shoulder, trying to get himself up – or at least away from the fight.
Vaguely he realized that there was more than one attacker. Though his mind was fogged up from the pain, making it hard to follow what was happening.
Someone grabbed him by the shoulder, making want to pull himself away.
“I’m trying to protect you, asshole,” the woman hissed.
Enver was not sure what was happening. Just another bitter reminder of his uselessness.
Someone came close, as the elven woman cast a spell. He could sense it more than he could see it. An attack colliding with magic.
She was grunting as she tried to keep the spell upright.
Still disoriented, Enver tried to make sense of his surroundings. He was not much help in battle. Especially not today. Especially not as he was already injured. Between his joint pain and general weakness, and the fact he barely could access any magic right now, it was better for him to get out of that battle.
Somehow he managed to get himself onto all fours. While his wrists and knees protested against it, he tried to crawl at least to the side of the room. And hope that Tav and his companions somehow…
Another hand on his shoulder. This one strong, and clad in a sort of clawed armor. “You should never have come back here.”
He knew that voice. Vaguely. He did remember it. Though his mind could not make the connection as he was grabbed back the back of his neck, and his head was slammed against something. He was not sure what.
His vision was blurring once more, spots starting to appear in it. And his head was slammed against the hard stone once more. And then again. And again.
Some part of him wanted to fight back. But his body was useless.
He could feel blood on his face. The pain was exploding through his skull. That cracking sound was likely not quite healthy.
He tried to fight back. But he knew how useless it was.
His nose hit the stone next. He could feel the blood rush out of it.
Another hit. Another. And then his consciousness finally gave out.
He did not die though. Though by now he was not even quite surprised about it. He was surprisingly good at not-dying. Even though he also was not sure if it was a blessing or a curse. For the moment though, he would take it.
The first thing as he came to was the somewhat familiar sensation of healing magic flowing into his magic. The magic in question was surprisingly hot, and felt somewhat fizzy. After a moment, when his vision started to clear, he could see the origin of it though. The dragonborn.
Enver was still struggling with believing that this was the legendary Themberchaud, the dragon smith of Gracklstugh. Sure, he had heard the story of how this had come to be, but it did somewhat feel wrong never the less.
“Are you alright?” the voice asking belonged to Tav. Even though Enver could not make him out quite.
Blood was still clogging up Enver’s nose and he could sense the rough texture of it on his face. Though it felt like the wounds themselves had largely been healed, even though he felt weak and dizzy still. And his joints were still hurting.
He squinted, before trying to rub some of the dried blood of his face.
“You really are a bad fighter,” Astarion’s snarky voice commented. “How did you ever even…”
“Astarion,” Tav cut in.
“What?” the elf snapped back. “I am just saying that it is hard to believe that…”
Enver grunted, trying to push himself up. His body protested against the strain though.
“You can take a moment,” Tav said.
“Are you sure about that?” That was the woman. “There might be…”
“Then we will deal with them,” Tav replied. “It’s fine.”
“You remain too optimistic,” Astarion said.
“What in the nine hells happened,” Enver finally managed.
“Nothing much.” That was Astarion again. “Just some more Banites who managed to sneak up on us. You know. A nice thing you could have warned us about.”
“I do not think he knew about it,” the elven woman replied dryly. “Given the fact they nearly killed him.”
“One would assume at the very least someone like him would at least suspect an ambush.”
Well, Enver had expected it. And still…
“It is not as if you had expected it,” the woman said.
“Because I am relying on you people to be careful about this!”
“Maybe we should finish this conversation once we are back under the sky,” Themberchaud said.
“Fine.” Astarion clicked his tongue. “We should drop those guys off with the Fists.”
“And we should take the bodies,” Tav reminded everyone, making his partner sigh.
There was some movement around, even though Enver’s vision had still not fully recovered. He could tell though, that the man crouching in front of him was the dragonborn.
“Can you stand?” he asked.
Enver took a deep breath. Then he exhaled and managed to shift his weight enough to bring himself into a kneeling position. His hands were searching for purchase in his surrounding, and eventually found it. A cold stone surface.
He knew even without looking that it was the altar.
But what choice did he have? He pulled himself up on it, grunting as he slowly managed to get into a standing position.
His head was still buzzing with a faint pain, and his vision still blurry. But he somehow managed to stand.
Then Tav was by his side – mostly recognizable by the red hair – putting the cane back into Enver’s hand. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Even though he should be used to it by now, he hated how weak he felt once more.
He always had been weak, of course. It had just been that he had successfully tricked everyone – including himself – into thinking he was stronger than he was. A tyrant had no weakness, after all. A tyrant was strong. And so he had tried to hide the pain. Had tried to not take the cane to often. To not give in if he could prevent it.
It only made him hate it more now.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. His left eye still did not quite want to open. The wound and bruises had been healed, sure, but the dry blood still crusted up the eyelid.
He rubbed it once more. He hated the feeling of dried blood.
There were people lying on the ground. Three of them. Three attackers. Two of them were human. The last of them a half-orc.
“I know them,” Enver muttered.
“Oh, really?” Astarion asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I would not have guessed.”
“Can you stop being a snarky asshole once?” Enver looked at the elf, who just gave a shrug.
“I could. I just have no interest in it.”
It was the elven woman who sighed at this.
Tav was still hovering at Enver’s side. “Are you sure you can walk?”
“I will manage,” Enver grunted. He looked at the altar next to which he was still standing.
Some of the blood sparkling on the side of it was his now, he assumed. And maybe it was fitting.
He had spilled so much blood on this altar before. He had killed more innocents on it, than he had even cared to count or remember. People whose crime had usually been to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It had not even been clean deaths, like the people sacrificed to Bhaal usually would have. Despite being a sadistic asshole, even the Dark Urge had often killed quite cleanly. At least if he had killed for his father.
The deaths on this altar…
And all of it in the name – under the excuse – of not wanting to die himself. As if he had not somehow enjoyed it. The feeling of power when the people had begged for their lives, and he would still take them. To know that he was the one who could deal out that death. Who could crush their skulls against the stone.
Yes, maybe his own death would have been fitting here.
But he still remained good at it, somehow. At not-dying. Even though he should be dead by now.
“Enver?” Tav put a hand onto his shoulder.
Enver gave a sigh. “Let’s just… bring this place down.” He was under no illusion that it would completely destroy the cult in Baldur’s Gate. There were always people being drawn to Bane and his ilk.
The men on the ground – Remund, Hamish, and Jeckt – were from the Zhentarim. The more constant followers of Bane. But there were others in the city, too. Enver knew there were others. Some of them rich assholes who just wanted to rule over others. Some of them street rats who wanted to avenge themselves onto the world.
Sooner or later another asshole just like him would probably…
“Tei? Can you bring him outside?” Tav asked, turning towards the elven lady.
She gave a disgruntled groan. “Fine.” Then she came over to Enver. “Come on. Let’s get you above ground.”
Enver closed his eyes for a moment, but then he nodded. “I can walk,” he grunted, even though he still felt weak. A bit of pride was left inside of him still.
He looked at the altar one last time.
Hopefully at least this temple would be gone then.
“Good riddance,” he muttered, as he followed the woman back to the tunnel, hoping it would be the last time for him to walk through there.
