At each other's throats

I was still damp when the shouting broke out. My shirt clung half to my chest, boots half-laced, Karlach’s toothy grin still warm on my mind as I tore across the camp toward the edge of camp. This wasn’t just another spat between them—it was a pivotal scene I recognized from the game, one of those branching moments where a single choice determined if Shadowheart and Lae’zel found common ground or one of them was lost forever. And I was determined to keep them [both.

By the time I shoved the tent flap aside, they were already circling each other. Lae’zel’s hand was on her hilt, golden eyes lit with fury, her entire body was aching for this fight. Shadowheart clutched the Githyanki artifact to her side with one hand, her other wrapped around her dagger.

“..It belongs to my people.” Lae’zel snarled

Shadowheart sneered. “Don’t stick your gith nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Lae’zel’s nostrils flared. "That relic is Githyanki legacy. You profane it simply by laying your hands upon it.”

The artifact vibrated faintly in Shadowheart’s grip in tandem with the tension.

I interfered, stepping between them, “Calm down—both of you. This is about Shadowheart's trinket?”

Lae’zel’s hand clenched on her sword, teeth bared. “What is it? Why does a half-breed of Shar carry a relic of Vlaakith’s chosen? Speak!”

Shadowheart’s smile was all venom. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“It’s important to us,” I cut in, voice firm. “We need it. Doesn’t matter who carries it.”

“It belongs to my people,” Lae’zel said almost apologetically, her eyes flicking to me.

Shadowheart barked a bitter laugh. “Then maybe your people should’ve kept a closer watch on it.”

“You’re not helping, Shadowheart,” I warned.

[Shadowheart: Approval -5]

Her eyes flashed to me, her voice sharpening. “Of course I’m not. Why would I? I have stood by you from the beginning. She challenges you once and now she’s glued to your side like some lap dog.” The jealousy bled through her tone, raw and unguarded.

Lae’zel’s mouth curled into a cruel smile. “So that is it. You envy me. I frighten you in ways you dare not admit.”

The words cut deep. Shadowheart stiffened, color blooming in her cheeks. She shoved the artifact aside and drew her dagger, girlish defiance and embarrassment twisting her movements. The blade trembled faintly in her grip, but she held it high.

Lae’zel finally drew her sword, stance ready and eager. “At last—I will taste you on my Blade.”

Shadowheart raised her dagger, voice sharp. “Try me.” Her words were steady, but her eyes betrayed the storm beneath—hurt, anger, and eagerness to kill.

This was bad. Too bad. The air between them was razor-thin, every twitch of muscle promising blood. Shadowheart’s dagger gleamed as her knuckles whitened, Lae’zel’s blade angled forward like she was already seeing the strike land. I could feel it—one more breath, one more insult, and they’d be past stopping. My heart hammered. This was it, the kind of moment that broke parties apart forever.

I lunged forward before either struck, arms outstretched. “SIT!”

The command tore through the tent like the crack of a whip. It wasn’t magic or carefully planned dialogue choices—just raw instinct, and to my shock, they obeyed. Both women sank to their knees, eyes wide, blades still in hand, staring up at me in equal parts bewilderment and expectation.

The tent fell silent save for their sharp breaths and the low hum of the artifact. Sweat glistened at their temples, muscles still taut as bowstrings. But they were waiting. Watching me.

I exhaled slowly, letting my gaze sweep between them. “Now,” I said as steady as I could manage, “we’re going to work this out. Together.”