The Morning After

The sun filtered weakly through the ruined timbers of the Blighted Village, light breaking through the shattered rooftops and burned rafters in pale, half-hearted beams. I stirred on my mat with the weight of the night before still heavy in my bones. I sat up slowly, stretching, taking in the early quiet of camp.

Karlach was already awake. She stood near the edge of the camp, face tilted up, soaking in the morning sun with her arms raised and her chest out, taking deep, relaxed breaths like each one fed something new inside her. Her gear fit differently now—less like armor, more like something designed to flaunt. Straps crisscrossed her frame in a way that accentuated her curves, and the cut of her outfit left much of her thighs and stomach exposed. She didn’t seem bothered. If anything, she looked pleased.

I stepped up beside her. She smiled at me, wide and warm.

"Whatever you did," Karlach said, brushing a lock of hair from her face, "I feel... right. Like everything's more sharp. I can breathe better. Like I fit in my skin."

"You like it?"

She chuckled. "I do. I don’t fully understand it, but I don’t need to. I feel alive. And if that’s your doing, then... thanks. Really."

I gave her a look, but she only smirked, then turned away, humming softly under her breath.

Shadowheart was still in her tent. As I approached, I heard her whispering a prayer under her breath. The words were low, reverent, but strained—like something wasn’t clicking into place. The flap was half-drawn. She sat cross-legged inside, her hair loose over one shoulder, eyes distant, hands clasped together over her knees.

She looked up the moment she sensed me.

Her gaze lingered too long. There was something new there—a hesitation, a softness, maybe even something close to adoration. It was subtle, but unmistakable.

I raised an eyebrow. "You alright?"

She hesitated. Looked down at her hands. Then, slowly, back at me.

"I don’t know," she said quietly. "But I think so. Just... give me a moment."

Without waiting for a reply, she leaned forward and pulled the tent flap shut.

I returned to my mat just as Lae’zel stepped out from her tent. Her armor was neatly fastened, her movements crisp. She scanned the camp, then met my gaze with a quiet nod.

Her eyes moved on, landing on Karlach.

Karlach was adjusting one of her boots, bent at the waist, her back arched, the leather straps doing little to hide the lines of her body. She turned as Lae’zel approached, giving a toothy grin.

Lae’zel frowned. “That armor? It protects nothing.”

Karlach laughed. “Didn’t protect much before either. And I like it this way. It breathes.” She stood fully and gave a playful spin. “Makes me feel fast. Like I could do anything. Besides—who’s gonna hit me if they’re staring?”

Lae’zel looked unconvinced but didn’t press the matter.

Shadowheart stepped out of her tent next.

Her new attire a deliberate contradiction of piety and provocation—her silver-plated armor clinging tightly to her chest, shaping a confident swell of cleavage. Beneath it, the bodysuit she once wore had given way to something bolder: black fabric hugging her hips and thighs, parted by daring slits that revealed the smooth skin of her legs. A sharp-cut diamond window framed her navel, drawing the gaze along the elegant curve of her stomach. She stood at ease as her eyes flicked toward me, gauging my reaction.

Lae’zel turned sharply towards me.

“You,” she said. “Is this your doing?”

Karlach stepped forward, voice loud. “Hey, it’s not like that. He didn’t make us do anyth—"

Lae’zel cut her off. “Did you plan to do that to me?”

I met her stare and rushed my Charm, the magic slipping into my voice like honey into tea.

“The ceremorphosis magic works in mysterious ways. You remember that, right? I didn't choose any of this”

Lae’zel looked unconvinced—but she didn’t press. Her eyes flicked once more to Shadowheart, then to Karlach, and she fell quiet. The spell held.

[Lae'zel: Approval -2]

A beat passed. Shadowheart glanced again at Karlach, her lips parting slightly, as if to speak. But instead, she looked down, then brushed her hair back behind one ear, the corner of her mouth twitching. Karlach's grin softened—just a little—and she reached up, tucking a finger under her strap as if to adjust it, but never breaking eye contact.

I turned and left them to enjoy the moment.

I found Withers near the edge of camp, crouched beside a weathered tome. The scribe’s skeletal fingers scratched across parchment in tight, looping strokes, ink seeping in like rot through cloth.

“Strange shifts,” he murmured, not looking up. “Warm blood... reshaped minds. Progress written in flesh.”

I paused, watching the movement of his hand as to flick an invisible quill.

"New pathways.. Some obvious, others unseen.."

I left him to his words.

The others were packing the last backs, Karlach somehow made the cauldron fit in her bag.

“We move soon,” I called back, barely turning. “I just need to see something.”

I slipped past the edge of camp, finding a quiet spot in the village near a crumbled stone wall, sheltered beneath the overhang of a collapsed roof beam where I could focus.

There, beneath the early sunlights fading reach, I called upon my Liege.

Graz’zt.