The Drow

The northern corridor was colder, quieter. The oppressive chatter of the goblins fell away as we advanced into a narrower hall, the stone growing darker with soot and damp. Goblin guards flanked the entrance to a chamber ahead, but they didn’t stop us. They merely stepped back and averted their eyes.

That was our first clue.

We stepped into what must have once been a meditation hall. A vaulted chamber, its central stone altar now covered in maps, blood-stained parchment. Torches guttered low on the walls. And in the middle of it stood her.

Minthara.

Even in this twisted ruin, she looked composed. Deadly. Her armor was fitted like it had been poured onto her body—tight leather and sharp metal plates that mirrored the harsh grace of her frame. Long, white hair pulled back from a face cut from ice. Her eyes were molten red. Beautiful in a way that demanded obedience, not admiration.

And she was livid.

A goblin scout was cowering in front of her, stammering excuses.

"We searched, mistress. I swear! No sign of the grove."

Minthara stared him down like he was already dead. "Then you weren’t searching hard enough."

She took a step forward, slow, measured.

"For every hour you have not found it, I will take a limb. One by one. Starting with the one that brought you here."

The goblin blanched and scrambled back, nearly falling over himself. Minthara didn’t move. She just stood, sharp and still, then slowly turned her gaze toward us.

Our eyes locked.

There was a spark, a pull. She saw what had marked me. The tadpole. The same one inside her. Recognizing me as a true, True Soul.

Her expression barely shifted.

"Such grotesque weakness." Her voice was iron and venom. "The Absolute has room in her heart for everyone. She is more merciful than me."

She approached.

"You will join me in my hunt for the grove. They worship false gods. Their faith is heresy."

Shadowheart shifted beside me, tense. I could feel her discomfort radiate off her.

Minthara’s eyes flicked to her briefly, then back to me. "I also suspect that they harbor something. A weapon. Sacred. I want it. For the Absolute."

Shadowheart flinched. Her hand closed around the relic in her bag. Her mind recoiled, tried to shield itself.

Minthara felt that. Her gaze narrowed.

"We will slaughter them all either way..."

I nodded slowly. "We already know where they are"—I pointed to a crude sketch on her map, circling a notch near a wooded ridge. "There. That’s the grove. Meet us there in five days. They are running out of supplies and will be at their weakest by then."

Karlach’s head turned, jaw tight. She didn’t speak.

[Karlach: Approval -2]

Minthara studied me. Her mind pressed against mine, a cold invasion that slithered deeper than it should have.

She was looking for lies.

And I was sweating.

My wisdom score too low to pose a real challenge.

I felt her peeling back thoughts, prying at motives. She was close. Too close.

Then, I felt it. Soft smoke coiling up my spine.

Lust. Moans. Lips. Pleasure. Pure carnality exploded into my mind.

Minthara jerked back as if struck. Her face flushed, eyes wide.

"Get out!" she snapped. "Do not show yourself until the attack."

[Minthara: Corruption +5]

I heard a familiar whisper in my mind, velvet and smug. "You're welcome, my little Blade."

The girls said nothing. Shocked by her sudden reaction and burst of anger.

"Go." I said, turning on my heel.

And we left, quick and quiet, the drow’s eyes burning into our backs.