1.2 Arrival (Patreon)

1.2 - Arrival

The Emperor

Hidden within the folds of the Astral Prism, the being known to living memory only as ‘The Emperor’ watched the mortals that now made camp, their Tadpoles hidden from the Absolute by his own influence.

The Dragonborn, the Elf, the Half elf and the Wizard were… accountable. Beings that were easily factored into his plans.

They were of Faerun, Baldurian even. Their knowledge and capabilities were not unknown to him and thus could all be factored into his plans.

The other four, however, were Planeswalkers. They were not so simple.

Not all of them, anyway. The weakest of them, Madison and Barnes, he read. He parted the folds of their minds, learned all that they knew, all that they were. Neither had the mental discipline to detect him, let alone fight him. He learned of their world, the city of Brockton Bay, the ‘Capes’ that formed the foundation of their society, the monsters that inhabited it.

None of these were things he could properly factor in or compensate for.

And then, there were the other two.

Two ‘capes’, Hebert and Hess.

Hess was a beast, a rabid animal. He could see that much, and she had even less discipline and control than the other two in some ways. 

But there was something there, something lurking within the depths of her mind. He did not risk discovery by reaching deeper.

Then there was Hebert. Hebert was even worse

The thing that Lurked within Hess was an unknown, but even then it had felt… quantifiable. Limited.

Hebert’s was not such a creature.

There was something vast, unnamable and terrifying hiding within the depths of her mind. Something that, unlike Hess’ creature, had detected him and reacted almost immediately. 

He’d retreated instantly. To be detected was one thing. To be found was entirely another. 

It was something dangerous. Something with the power to disrupt the Tadpole’s network.

There were very, very few things that could do that.

Even Hebert herself was already demonstrating an instinctive, enhanced level of control over other Tadpoles, far more than any of the others.

That was no coincidence. 

As the eight gathered their supplies for the night, as they moved and spoke, oblivious to his presence in each of their minds through the network of the tadpole, The Emperor pondered what to do.

The fatalist in him insisted they be killed. Both of them. Such threats presented a direct danger to his own survival, Hebert’s vast unknown power especially.

The other part of him,  pragmatic, understood that such a power could be, no, was, extremely necessary. Disrupting the psionic connections between tadpoles meant it could disrupt the Hive Mind, a protection not bound to his current circumstances within the prism. 

Another source of potential freedom, or power. 

And so he pondered, contemplating his next course of action. 

Killing them would be simple. Both Hess and Hebert were cauldrons of bubbling rage right now. Hebert had already detected Sophia’s ill intent through her thoughts and was planning to have a scorpion or venomous spider crawl on her while she slept… just in case.

Hess, likewise, had recognized the threat, the danger posed by someone who could disrupt her precious phasing power like Hebert had. Her animal instincts were screaming for her to eliminate the threat.

Egging them on, fueling the worst of their instincts would be so simple.

As would calming them down, de-escalating the tension. Hebert had never taken a life and as angry as she was, she had no true interest in becoming a murderer. Hess likewise fashioned herself a Hero… in her own twisted way. It would take little more than a nudge to remind her conscious mind of that idea and her own, admittedly limited self control would do the rest.

But were they worth the risk?

A part of him said no…

And yet… who was to say they were the only members of their kind to have been brought into Faerun? Or if there were other Nautiloid ships capturing others from their world even now?

If he eliminated them, he would remain ignorant as to the full capabilities of these ‘Capes’ and the creatures lurking within their kind.

It was a dilemma, and one he would need to reach a conclusion on soon.

Night had almost fallen.

— 

Madison

The fire crackled and snapped, its flames casting light and long shadows across the forest.

She huddled close to it, feeling the heat on her feet, legs and arms, contrasting with the cold of the air at her back. 

The meat hanging off a spit spat and sizzled. It was pig, or, well, boar. Gale oversaw its preparation. Shadowheart and Durge were making their actual shelter, bending brambles and branches to form a knit canopy that would serve as a roof over their heads.

“Don’t look so glum.” Gale suddenly said. Madison looked up, only to see him watching her, smiling that strained smile that said nothing was alright, but he was trying to pretend. “I’m not exactly working with prime seasonings here, but it’ll be filling. The boar was a good one.”

“I feel like I’m in a nightmare.” She whispered the words, almost like a confession, hugging her knees, “This… can't be real. This… it doesn’t happen.”

Gale sighed, poking at the fire, urging the flames a little higher before he answered. “You’re young, and this should not have happened to you. At your age, dangers are abstracts, statistics, cautionary tales, figures of the imagination.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry to say, young one, that we are in very real danger now. They’re no longer abstracts. But even with your youth, the Gods would not have placed this trial before you if you did not have the capacity to overcome.”

“The Gods can keep their trials, thanks.” It would have been snark if she didn’t sound so bitter, wiping at her eyes as she sniffled. 

“I understand.” Gale said gently, before changing the subject. “Soon we’ll eat, rest, keep our strength up. And tomorrow we’ll find a healer.”

“What happens if we don’t?” 

The question drew Madison’s gaze to Sophia… Shadow Stalker. It really didn’t merit focusing on that, not if Madison wanted to avoid trouble. 

“Nothing good.” Gale didn’t mince words. “The Gestation period takes roughly a week. But once it’s concluded we, the hosts, for all intents and purposes die, and the Tadpole has metamorphosed into a mind flayer from our matter.

Madison shuddered as the itch behind her eye grew much much more acute for a moment. 

“For all intents and purposes.” It was Taylor’s voice that reached them then. She was staring at Gale, the light from the fire shining in her eyes, giving her an off-putting intensity. “Specific word choice.”

“Hmm.” Gale made an appreciative noise, smiling again and nodding. “You’re a sharp one. And correct,“ he confessed. “Some of the research postulates that the newborn Mindflayer carries your memories. Ergo: that it's less a death and more a transformation.” He paused, his expression becoming serious. ”I can assure you that this is not the case. I’m quite confident that, at best, it’s just mimicry. A creature using your memories as a knowledge base and nothing more. Your soul and being are erased, only… soulless information left behind.” 

Madison shuddered. For a brief moment her mind flashed back into the pod, a tentacled monster standing over her, purple eyes glowing in the dark.

The whimper that escaped her was entirely unavoidable, her head bowed and her body shuddering. 

“And why can’t you heal it?” 

Sophia’s question almost sounded like an accusation. Madison didn’t need to look; she could already guess who it had been directed at.

“I can heal wounds,” Shadowheart answered as if indulging a child. “Such as injuries one would find on a battlefield. Extracting a Mindflayer’s worm is considerably more difficult, especially if one wishes to actually save their victim. It is, in fact, beyond most healers' skills barring specialized knowledge. Mindflayer attacks are not exactly common. They’re a near extinct threat.”

“Clearly…” Taylor muttered bitterly under her breath.

“That should suffice.”  Durge’s declaration cut through the rapidly thickening tension in the air, and this time, Madison did turn to look. The Dragonborn tied the last bit of rapidly made bark rope tight, bundling the loose bed of leaves and sticks that would form the ‘roof’ over their heads tonight. Shadowheart was on the other side, carefully letting go of the construction as if gingerly testing its weight, hoping it wouldn’t all fall apart at the first stiff breeze. 

“Not the most lavish of accommodations, but it should suffice.” Gale said. Then he clapped twice, drawing everyones’ attention.. “Now, I do believe our evening meal is ready to be consumed. Forgive the lack of silverware.”

Knives were what they had to work with. Shadowheart was kind enough to carve a chunk of flesh out for Madison. She took it and quickly began juggling the meat between her hands to try and avoid burning her skin off while she took bites out of it. The meat was tough, unseasoned, and as a result didn’t taste particularly good. But she was hungry and for the moment that was all that mattered.

Durge similarly carved out chunks with his own knife, handing servings first to Sophia and then to Taylor. Gale gave one to Emma before they each began to eat. Astarion, Madison noted, only took a small piece. She began giggling, a bubble of hysteria forming at the thought that the pretty man was watching his figure.

She’s not sure when the laughter became tears.

—

Sophia

They slept in a line underneath the makeshift canopy.

She was on one side. To her right was Emma, then the Lizard, the Healer, Madison, the Twink, the Wizard and Hebert. 

The placements weren’t an accident.

Sophia felt her restlessness like an itch under her skin. Her anger clawing at her ribs, her fury coming and going like the tide.

Hebert was a cape. 

She was a cape that could fuck with Sophia’s own power.

She didn’t know what had happened, how the hell bug control had let Taylor physically pull Sophia out of her breaker state but it had happened. 

And that wasn’t something she could just… accept.

Fucking Grue hadn’t screwed with her power that hard and she fucking hated that piece of shit!

And this, this was worse.

Because it was Hebert.

Fucking weak, pathetic, miserable little Hebert. The Girl who would never amount to anything more than a shitstain that Sophia would scrape off her boot heel.

And now she was a threat?

Just like that!?

Sophia’s mind roared in defiance at the thought. Anger and rage were familiar and comforting, the knife in her hand centered her, grounded her.

But every time she moved to stand up, to walk over to the pathetic little shit and solve the problem, she stopped.

Because the memories came flooding in.

The time she kicked Hebert down the stairs, another where she slammed her into the wall, stole homework, tore up books, even that stupid fucking flute.

It all came to her, months and years of it screaming at the back of her mind, reminding her, carrying the emotions right along with it.

It gnawed at her insides and Sophia wondered if these emotions were even hers at all, or if they were just Hebert’s weak bullshit coming in and muddying her thoughts like an infection.

Her grip tightened on her knife. 

Solve the problem, came the thought. Insisting. ‘Solve it… and you’ll fix your head.’

She tried to convince herself that the reasoning made sense. That it would be so simple.

She moved to stand, not sure if she was going to walk over, or just walk, try to make sense of the jumbled mess that was her head.

Before she could even fully sit up however, a clawed, pale hand gripped her shoulder tight. She twisted around to look into Durge’s red eye, glaring in the gloom. 

“Get your hand off me or lose it lizard,” she sneered, Someone was going to find out why it was a bad idea to piss her off, and he was practically volunteering.' . 

Durge just stared. “I suggest,” he whispered with a calm that set the hairs on the back of her neck standing, “that you reconsider standing, and go back to trying to sleep.”

“Or what?” She snarled.

“Or that Wolf Scorpion resting on your thigh will be making your sleep far more permanent than you’d like.”

She froze, her gaze reluctantly wandering down to find large, chitinous body laying there. Pincers and mandibles and barbed tail all cast long shadows in the dimming firelight.

Sophia carefully turned her head to look across the line of sleeping bodies.

Hebert was staring back at her out of the corner of her eye. Glaring at Sophia with a quiet menace.

Sophia snarled, smacking the scorpion off of her leg with one quick movement, now truly ready to stand up-

Durge snapped his fingers.

And just like Hebert at the beach, Sophia fell dead asleep in an instant.

—

Durge

The Dragonborn sighed, feeling his barely recovered magic reserves once again dipping below what he was comfortable with. Sophia’s body hit the bed of leaves under her with a none too gentle thud, Emma barely stirring beside her.

The sleep spell could be resisted, if not outright nullified by those with a strong will. Luckily, the girls were too unfamiliar with such, but that would very likely change before long. Especially with repeated exposure. 

So, now, he sat up, quietly, gingerly, taking care to not wake the others. If he wasn’t going to be at full strength because of exhaustion tomorrow, best that they be capable in his stead.

He marched over, reaching the other side of the ‘pile’ and kneeling at Hebert’s side.

Her dark eyes followed him, her expression unreadable. 

“You must know that this is untenable,” he noted.

She didn’t answer. 

That was fine, he had gleaned that she was one to listen, at least more than Hess. 

“By tomorrow we will hopefully reach a healer, and our immediate survival concerns will be addressed.” In truth, from all he’d read of Ceremorphosis, yes the full process took days but the first of the symptoms should have already begun. Cold sweats, hot flashes, and fever started within an hour of infection. 

By his count, it had been fourteen hours, and not even a single headache. By now, the rather excruciating process of bone micro-fracturing under their skin should have begun.

Good news wreathed in a very real uncertainty.

“But returning you to your plane of origin will take significantly longer,” he continued. “If you two do not ‘bury the hatchet’ soon, one of you likely will not be making it back.”

“I have self control,” she said. “She’s the one fingering a knife looking for an opportunity."

“And you direct a Scorpion looking for an excuse.” He pointed out, and her narrowed eyes told him he’d struck a nerve. 

He shook his head. “We will move when the sun rises. I would suggest some action be taken during the march.”

“And what would that be?” she sneered.

Perhaps it was his own exhaustion, perhaps it was exasperation at the stubbornness of youth.

Or perhaps he just liked the little spitfire, in his own way. 

Regardless, he couldn’t help but snark back.

“This rather revolutionary idea. Quite novel really. I’ve heard it’s called Talking.”