Charming Company

I found myself alone—after Kagha seized the chance to bond with Shadowheart and drifted off for a bit of diplomacy thinly veiled as a wine‑tasting—leaving me to breathe in the quieter outskirts of the celebration, where the noise softened just enough for my thoughts to catch up. It felt like a brief, welcome breath of peace, from the laughing tieflings, singing druids, crackling bonfires, and the faint thump of improvised drums still filling the Grove while my little orbit of companions did their own thing

Lae’zel surrounded by new "fans", her arms folded as the tieflings hung tight to every word. Karlach still dancing up a storm on her boulder-stage, hips rolling and legs kicking in wild, joyful rhythms. Wyll’s cooking fire glowed steadily as he worked his magic—heroically caramelizing onions to perfection.

And me? I drifted through camp, taking in the sights.

Everywhere I looked, tieflings and druids mingled, the space between them shrinking with every shared sip and lingering glance. Firewine loosened shoulders and widened smiles, but this… this was more than drink alone. A hand lingering here, a slow lean-in there. A male druid stood half in the shadows, speaking softly to a tiefling woman with curled horns and a bright smile. His gaze held hers, steady and unblinking, and when she hesitated, his fingers twitched in a familiar pattern. The faintest shimmer crossed his eyes.

[Charm Person]

Ah. It clicked.

They didn’t just have Eldritch Blast. They had charm, too. The same basic little bundle Graz’zt had given Kagha—now replicated across twenty-odd half-feral druids who were rapidly discovering what fun they could have with it.

Interesting.

The party wasn’t rowdy yet. But it would be soon.

I watched as the tiefling woman’s posture softened, her laugh turned more genuine, her body angled unconsciously toward her druid companion. For now, it was harmless. But the potential hung in the air like a caressing mist.

“Reveling in the consequences of your deeds, art thou?” came a dry voice at my side.

I didn’t jump. Barely. I turned to find Withers standing there as if he’d simply grown out of the ground—his eye sockets glowing with a faint, wry amusement.

“Withers.” I said. “Glad you decided to join the party.”

“As am I. Celebration is no stranger to me,” he rasped, voice dry as old parchment. “Yet this revel drifts toward paths I cannot walk—nor would I choose to invite upon myself.”

He turned his skull toward the crowd. “You have done… much. The threads of fate twist and unravel, know that new paths are woven from the frayed knots that you tie. This Grove—another divine humiliation added to your growing roster.”

I grimaced. “So I guess Sylvanus is offended, as well now?”

“Most assuredly,” Withers intoned, “You collect affronts to higher powers as if it were sport.”

I crossed my arms, “Yeah well, we’re getting stronger too. It sort of balances out, right?”

“Hmm.” The sound scraped like bone against stone. “You grow, yes. Your companions grow. Even those bound to you by curse or circumstance flourish in their own warped fashion. As the fabric of fate weakens, so too does the rules of this world. Your path is no longer the only one that diverges.”

I paused a moment. “You're talking about Kagha?”

He tilted his head, looking into the distance. “Names are unimportant. Merely know this: You rewrite the rules… and others are learning to do the same.”

A sudden chill ran down my spine despite the heat of the fires.

“Someone else? Can you at least give me a hint?”

“No.”

His teeth showed in something that might have been a grin. He turned to me fully then, voice softening. “Still, take heart. You are… unpredictable. For now, that tips the scales in your favor.”

“Comforting,” I muttered.

“Indeed,” he replied. “Do enjoy your little festival of temptations. The bill always arrives… but for you, not tonight.”

I glanced away to blink—and when I looked back, he was gone.

Of course he was.

His words stuck—if the rules were shifting, were there others who had slipped out of place along with them? Anyone missing from where they should be? I rubbed my face, exhaled slowly, and let my gaze roam the camp again. The bonfires cast long, dancing shadows across the clearing, and something... someone was missing.

Before I could follow the thought, a handful of druids approached—faces flushed from firewine and more. One raised a mug.

“Brave hero!” he called. “To our liberator!”

The others echoed him. “To our liberator!”

The druids, well technically cultists of pleasure now, handed me a mug filled to the brim.

I eased into a smile and accepted it. “To new beginnings” I said, lifting it.

“You gave us freedom,” one declared fervently. “No more reciting old, tired scrolls. No more sleeping on the ground beside boars or wolves, under a creed of stagnant balance. Indulgence and passion—this is life now.”

“I’m glad it worked out for you,” I said, taking a sip—then pausing as an unfamiliar sweetness slid across my tongue, a little too pleasant to be natural.

Another druid leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Ah—so you noticed. Good.” His grin widened as the others closed in around him. “We added a few herbs to the firewine. A little something to show our gratitude. Druidic aphrodisiac, mild but effective. Enough to lighten up our spirit—and our loins!”

He lifted his mug and chugged it, as the others bursting into laughter at his crude joke.

“And we made sure everyone here had a taste—this is a shared victory after all.” He proclaimed, their eyes shone violet, not malicious—just eager, reckless, and far too delighted with their own handiwork.

They then drifted back into the celebration, humming with mischief, already spreading Graz’zt’s influence even if they didn’t fully grasp it themselves.

The drums deepened into a pulsing heartbeat, the toasts became numerous, and a chant somewhere melted into a wild, laughing chorus as I moved through the crowd, soaking in the warmth of bodies, music, and drink; tieflings and druids were no longer just flirting—they were touching, hands planted on waists, fingers caressing thighs, open hunger simmering in their eyes as the atmosphere thickened with something unmistakably lustful… the charms hang in the air, the herbs were kicking in, my blood began to pump faster, when a familiar hand seized my wrist.

“You.”

Lae’zel’s voice.

I turned as she stepped into my space, close enough for the heat of her body to register through my clothes. Her pupils were blown wide, her breath coming fast and deep, a vivid flush burning across her face.

“You,” she repeated. “Me. Now.”

I opened my mouth. “So you also tried—”

“Later,” she snapped. “Talk later. We need to go. Now."

She tightened her grip and pulled me away from the camp entirely, urgently dragging me past the bonfires and into the treeline—seeking distance with a sharp, urgent purpose; her breaths came hot and uneven, her normal discipline gone and an unmistakable heat shimmering beneath her skin as she hunted for any scrap of privacy the woods could offer.