Training the Tieflings

The walk to the tiefling encampment was strangely quiet. Only the faint echo of training grunts and the clangs of metal drifted through the air. I followed the sounds until I saw Shadowheart crouched among her pupils, her hands guiding theirs with lazy precision through healing cantrips. A volunteer screeched nearby, flailing dramatically while another lay still, fake blood pooling beneath them. Her tone was as dry as her taste in wine. “Screaming doesn’t mean dying. I’ve tortured countless of loud mouths—most were fine by dawn. Heal the bleeders, not the bawlers.” I had never seen more attentive students; no-one dared to even blink.

When she noticed me, a teasing smile curved her lips. “You look like you’ve had quite the day,” she said softly, her tone carrying that familiar coyness again—she seemed calmer now, the teasing warmth back in her voice. “Whatever you’ve been up to… I expect a full report tonight.”

I smirked. “Oh I have plenty to tell,” Our eyes held contact for a few wonderful moments. Then she turned back to her pupils, explaining something about burn pain tresholds.

From farther off came a steady thump, thump, thump—the unmistakable rhythm of Lae’zel’s blade hitting wood. The sound was clean, precise, meditative. As I neared, I saw Wyll standing at the center of a small crowd of tieflings, his voice warm and commanding as he demonstrated elaborate sword flourishes. It was all very theatrical, but the onlookers seemed like they enjoyed the show.

When he saw me, he beamed. “You’re just in time,” he said, gesturing to the clearing. “Look there—Lae’zel’s a born teacher with the patience of a saint. Who knew?”

“She’s a what now?” I asked, blinking, unable to quite believe what I was hearing.

Lae’zel stood a short distance away, a long line of tieflings to each side, each one mimicking her movements with rapt focus. She didn’t speak a word. Every swing of her sword was perfect, measured, and they followed her rhythm as if she were conducting a symphony.

I caught snippets of their chatter between strikes:

“I thought Githyanki were supposed to be cruel!” one whispered.

“Me too,” said another, panting. “But this one hasn’t said a single mean thing all day.”

I nearly burst out laughing; if only they knew. The poor girl was still mortified by our little rendezvous last night, I would have to make it up to her sometime soon.

As I turned to leave Lae’zel’s blade whistled through the air, splitting the training dummy clean in two. She didn’t even glance up as the tieflings cheered. Yet I catched the ghost of a smirk at the corner of her mouth. Maybe she wasn’t as lost in shame as she wanted to be, not that she'd ever admit otherwise.

Satisfied, I left them to their strange little cultural exchange and headed deeper toward the caverns. The echo of laughter drew me onward, bright and familiar—Karlach.

She was crouched among a group of children, each armed with a small rock, all of them taking turns pelting something in the shadows. When I stepped closer, I realized to my horror that it was the strange ox. The one Arabella had mentioned prior. The animal stood perfectly still, unblinking, watching Karlach and the kids with unnerving calm. The other oxen had moved far away from it, huddling together utterly afraid.

A chill ran down my spine. I remembered enough, this creature wasn’t what it seemed. A shapeshifting ooze, steeped in chaos and ****, capable of unspeakable slaughter—yet content to masquerade as an ox, for now.

“Karlach,” I called out, forcing my tone firm. “You really shouldn’t be doing that.”

She glanced over, feigning innocence. “Aww, come on, soldier. That bovine ain’t right—you can feel it. Look at those eyes. He's hiding something, I just know it.”

I looked at the ox and **** a grin. “He’s a fine specimen of an ox. Nothing strange about him at all.”

Karlach laughed. “You’re such a bad liar.”

Changing the subject, I asked, “How did it go with the traps?”

Her grin widened, pride lighting her face. “Better than good. The firewine barrels are lined up just outside the gate—light one, and the whole field’ll go up like a bonfire. The smokepowder kegs are set just inside the gate. First wave through gets the surprise, second one gets clean up duty” She leaned in conspiratorially. “And for the rocks and stones? We've filled every tunnel with ammunition. A proper ambush waiting to happen.”

I nodded, genuinely impressed. “That’s actually perfect!”

Karlach puffed up proudly. “Told ya! We’ve been practicing aim, too.” She lifted a rock in mock preparation.

“Don’t,” I said flatly.

She froze mid-motion, then hid the rock behind her back with an exaggerated whistle. “Wasn’t gonna actually throw it, I promise.” she said innocently.

“Uh-huh.”

Her grin turned mischievous, and she bounced her shoulders just enough to make her impressive chest jiggle. “Distraction successful?”

I sighed with a smile. “I'll allow it—the defendant is free to go."

“Not entirely, I hope. Could use a proper spanking tonight,” she teased with a wink

[Karlach: Corruption +1]

The kids giggled at the silly adults, oblivious to the teasing tone, and Karlach’s laughter joined theirs—loud, full of life, and so warm it almost chased away the gloom pressing in. The question lingered in my mind—Could I risk taking Ethel at her word, or should take her out before she decided to trick me again? And what would become of the children afterward? The Grove wasn’t exactly going to stay child-friendly for long now that Graz’zt had laid claim to it.

As the sun began to dip, I was the first to head back to camp, the quiet paths giving me space to think. The tieflings actually started to look battle-ready. And so was our party. Ethel should also be on our side, at least during the battle. We also had a dozen or so corrupted druids, but I had no idea what kind of magic they could use, if any at all.

My thoughts circled back and forth on how the hell I would tell my party that i kinda ruined the magic of the Grove. Maybe I should just come clean?