With Lae’zel and Shadowheart freed, the revel stretched before us—a day and night to endure until the contest. The judges returned to their pursuits: Hyrsam plucking jagged, chaotic tunes from his lute, each note a thread that tugged at the air; Titania sipping wine that glowed like dawn, her lips leaving faint traces of light on the rim; Oberon tossing scraps to his boar, its grunts echoing like distant thunder; Lliira spinning with fey in a whirlwind of color, her laughter a contagion that spread through the crowd; Verenestra watching us with a calm, unreadable stare, her ivy rustling faintly.
I guided Shadowheart to a mossy bench, her steps faltering. “How are you holding up?,” I asked.
“I’m fine,” she said, brushing hair from her face with a trembling hand.
I kicked myself inwardly for my stupidity. She probably fine – physically, at least, as my magic had seen to that. Psychologically, though?
near-death experiences in as many hours – on three different planes of existence no less – were most likely taking their toll on her sanity. Still, now wasn’t the time to push the matter.
I nodded and turned to Lae’zel, who paced like a predator denied its kill. “How about you, Lae’zel?”
“Disarmed and shamed,” she spat. “We should never have gone into that crypt. I should never have let myself be captured like this.”
I thought this was an amusing sentiment, considering that, in the game, she let herself get captured by a simple trap and a couple of tiefling civilians.
“We’re past that.” I replied flatly. “I don’t blame either of you. And Lae’zel, although you are a formidable warrior, realistically, you couldn’t hope to oppose the forces commanded by even a single archfey – let alone five of them. Let’s focus on the future. Do not worry -- we’ll all get out of here, then get the tadpoles fixed up and you’ll be back with your people in no time.”
Lae’zel glared, but gave a grudging nod.
The party churned around us, relentless. Satyrs thrust goblets of wine at me, their eyes gleaming with sly intent; I waved them off absently. Pixies swooped overhead, trailing glitter that prickled my skin like static. It smelled of dew and something darker, a mystery I couldn’t name – perhaps the real secret behind fey revelry was of a more… pharmaceutical variety?
Gale plopped beside me, his demeanor thoughtful, almost nostalgic. “This place—the magic here is incredible! Sophisticated, but still very… raw. Untamed. I could spend unraveling it.”
“I know what you mean.” I responded – and I really meant that. The Feywild – or whatever derivative demi-plane we found ourselves on – really was a feast for the senses. If we didn’t have more pressing concerns, I wouldn’t have minded exploring the forest -- and maybe a nymph or three -- along the way.
“Perhaps we can return later, after we get the business with the tadpoles sorted out.”
He sighed, wistful. “A shame we can’t stay.”
The chaos of the party was overwhelming, and we needed a respite—a place to regroup and prepare for the contest ahead. I scanned the glade, my gaze settling upon a path leading away from the chaos, nestled between ancient oaks whose gnarled branches intertwined to form a natural canopy overhead. This was a pathway made by design, for the benefit of those present. Did it lead to a suitable resting area? I thought it quite likely – and it was time to find out!
“Come, follow me – I think I know where to go.”
++
The pathway was definitely artificial – much too perfect to come into existence by chance. Large Old Growth trees rose around us, their bark a molten silver, their branches heavy with leaves that glowed faintly—sapphire, amber, and a deep crimson that pulsed like a heartbeat. The ground beneath our boots was a carpet of moss, lush and yielding, exhaling tiny motes of light with every step, as if the earth itself breathed magic into the air. I resisted the urge to take my glass boots off – this moss must feel on bare skin! The scent was intoxicating too—something reminiscent of jasmine braided with the damp richness of soil.
The sounds of the distant revelry spilled through the trees—wild laughter, the skitter of hooves, the clink of goblets—but here, in the relative seclusion of the path, those sounds softened, muffled by the moss and old oaks’ leaves, leaving only faint whispers.
“Well, is looks like we found some of the other… ,” Astarion remarked as we approached what seemed like a cozy clearing-turned-staging-area -- which held quite a few aspiring performers.
Near the edge, a tall human male commanded attention with a dramatic and theatrical demeanor. His doublet blazed with loud crimson and gold colors, and audacious, golden stylized runes – likely signifying gaudy artistic nonsense than actual arcane prowess -- flickered along his cuffs. In his hands rested a lute of polished ebony wood, its curves inlaid with gemstones—rubies, sapphires, emeralds -- all speaking of wealth, success, and sophistication. He strummed a jaunty tune, fingers flickering over strings with confidence and precision. A collection of scantily-clad Nymph “groupies” orbited him in a chorus of giggles and gasps as he tossed his head back and roared with mirth.
Across the way, what looked to be a Seldarine Drow knelt. A flute of white wood – or, perhaps, bone – rested in her palms, its simplicity belying the power of its sound. She pressed it to her lips, coaxing forth a soft and haunting melody, notes rippling outward like rings on a still pond. Definitely an enchanted instrument, I thought. Around the Drow, too, lingered a small band of fey onlookers—watching with hushed reverence. She spared them a curt nod. “The fey crave sorrow,” she muttered to herself, as we passed, her subsequent tune deepening as if to answer her own call.
Deeper into the area, atop a fallen log, a dwarf sprawled with the solidity of stone, his tunic was a deep, earthen brown, with leather and steel rivets glinting at his belt. Before him sat a pair of drums, their hides taut over rune-etched frames, and his thick, meaty fingers beat a rhythm that rolled like thunder across the clearing. The ground quivered faintly, as if answering his call, while his entourage—more bearded and boisterous dwarves, there in support of their idol—raised tankards and roared in time, their stomping boots a heartbeat beneath the song. “Sing or drink, everyone, don’t just stand there!” he bellowed, his demeanor a spark that lit the air with warmth.
In a less confident contrast, I spotted a kobold hunched near the area’s opposite edge. He was quite out of place here. His mottled scales had seen better days, and were further dulled by a tattered cloak stitched with what looked like fungal hides. His undoubtedly self-made lute, if one could even call it that, was a crude thing—mere bone and sinew lashed together in some unholy approximation a proper musical instrument…and yet, he squeaked a tune that was earnest and high, tales of survival hissed out with a jagged accent. A duo of his kin scurried at his heels, rattling pipes and drums, their own yips were a nervous echo. He bobbed his head low, eyes darting, his voice a timid chatter.
“Good song, yes? Please like song!” he pleaded, his smallness a fragile note amid the grandeur of the other aspirants.
As we passed his motley group, I considered that what I saw here was probably impressive for a kobold who grew up in poor conditions. Perhaps he would overcome the odds and win the patronage of one of the spectating fey lords? I inwardly wished the little fellow good luck.
Then, as we walked deeper in, I heard something that gave me a true shock – a song I never expected to hear in this place.
()
No. There was absolutely no way! It was an impossible melody, a tune not of this Universe.
And yet…
The sound came from an all too familiar tiefling woman.
She strummed her lute softly, hesitantly, the impossible melody continuing to drift forth.
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Her voice wavered, tender and raw, each word a fragile offering sung with eyes shut tight. She stood alone, shoulders curled inward, her song a thread of longing that trembled in the air, dwarfed by the polished power of the melody she played.
I stood rooted, the song’s familiarity sinking into me like a stone into still water. How could be here? How could she know song? Did it have anything to do with what brought me to this place? I to ask her – had to find out!
The final note quivered, a single, perfect thread stretched taut before it snapped into silence. Alfira – the iconic tiefling bard from the Druid’s Grove of Act 1 – exhaled sharply, her shoulders slumping as her eyes fluttered open, revealing a flicker of fear and hope in her amber gaze. She clutched her lute closer, her knuckles whitening against the wood, and scanned the clearing with shallow breaths, as if waiting for the weight of judgment to crash down upon her.
“That is tune.” Gale remarked next to me “Though, I can’t say that I’ve ever heard of this Alduin before.”
“It is a story from another time and place,” I replied, shaking my head. “A world far, far away from this one. I wonder where she could have heard such a thing.”
The stillness held for a heartbeat, then two, before it was shattered by a sharp, nasal voice that cut through the grove like a blade through silk.
“Oh , is the best you can do?”
The tall human from earlier blundered his way over to us, his crimson-and-gold tunic clashing garishly with the grove’s subtle beauty.
“A timid little ditty like that won’t impress the fey. You’re wasting your time—and ours, frankly. You should just give up!”
His entourage, two gnomes in equally gaudy outfits – servants, perhaps – snickered behind him, their laughter a grating echo in the stillness. One of them jeered, “Stick ta tavern corners, . This here contest’s fer , not whimpering amateurs.”
Alfira flinched as if struck, her fingers tightening on her lute, the fragile confidence she’d mustered crumbling beneath the weight of their mockery. Her cheeks flushed a deeper red, and her tail curled inward, wrapping around her leg as if to shield herself. She shrank back against the silver oak, her gaze dropping to the moss beneath her feet, her breath hitching in her throat.
The nearby spectators shifted uncomfortably, some averting their eyes, others murmuring under their breath in quiet dissent. The insult hung in the air like a sour note as the man left, his servants’ laughter trailing behind as he strutted away, his crimson cloak swirling dramatically with each step.
What an arsehole.
I took a step forward, the moss exhaling its glowing dust beneath my boots, and crossed the clearing to stand before Alfira. She looked up as I approached, her amber eyes wide with surprise, a faint sheen of unshed tears catching the twilight. “Pay them no mind – they’re just jealous and probably insecure with such strong competition. That was absolutely beautiful!” I said gently, my voice cutting through the lingering tension like a soft breeze.
Her lips parted, a faint blush rising to her cheeks as she ducked her head. “T-thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, fragile and uncertain. “I… I wasn’t sure if it was good enough. Not here, not with them.”
“It’s than good enough,” I replied, offering a reassuring smile. “Where did you learn such a pretty ballad? Did you write it yourself?”
She hesitated, her fingers tracing the worn wood of her lute as if seeking comfort in its familiarity. “I… don’t know,” she said at last, her gaze distant, lost in some inner shadow. “It came to me in a dream—the melody, words, all of it. It was like a memory from another life. I don’t even know why I chose it… it just… felt right?”
I nodded, thoughtfully. “Well, it is a gorgeous song all the same. I’m Harald – and these fine ladies and gentlemen are my companions. Here, we have Gale of Waterdeep – the famous wizard extraordinaire, Astarion of Baldur’s Gate, Shadowheart the Cleric, Great Warrior of the Githyanki, Lae’zel of K’liir, and last – but certainly not least – Karlach, also of Baldur’s Gate. I’m sure we are all very happy to make your acquaintance.”
“Charmed, ,” Astarion purred in confirmation, while Karlach waved at her warmly.
The tiefling bard blushed harder, a cute purplish sheen appearing on her cheeks.
“I’m Alfira. It’s very nice to meet you all! Are…you all here to compete as well? I heard mention of Baldur’s Gate – I… was actually traveling there before Auntie Ethel… well, before I was invited here. It’s been so crazy for the last few days! I’ve tried talking to a couple of the other contestants, but they are all so competitive! Everyone seems to have an entourage, and they all know what’s going on, and I’m here by myself and don’t know anyone…”
She trailed off, the pent up frustrations and excitement both rising to the surface. Then, taking a slower breath and steadying herself, she continued. “I’m sorry for babbling on like this, it’s just… it’s so nice to speak to someone – and some of you are from my region too!”
“Oh, there’s no need to apologize,” I smiled reassuringly, “I understand completely! Us contestants need to stick together – and Baldurians doubly so! We were actually thinking about heading for Baldur’s Gate before getting pulled in here. I’ll tell you what, Alfira… why don’t you camp with us for the day – and, after this whole business with the Revel’s contest is concluded, we could all head out together?”
Alfira looked deeply into my eyes for any sign of deception before smiling warmly. “I… would like that.”
“Indeed, the more the merrier!” Gale interjected with a smile of his own. “Besides, we could use a consultant of the Bardic variety – the thing is, none of us are exactly by profession…”
I chuckled at Alfira’s incredulous look as Gale caught her up on our – utterly unbelievable – adventures so far, my eyes already searching the branching trail ahead for a suitable campsite.
++
We’ve trekked along a side path for a few dozen more minutes before running into something I thought suitable – a secluded but spacious area near a stream.
“Look there -- that might be .”
My new friends shuffled forward, clustering around me to peer where I pointed. There, framed between two ancient trees whose gnarled branches intertwined like lovers’ hands, lay a clearing that seemed to glow with its own soft light, a sanctuary carved from the Revel's chaos. At its heart, a waterfall spilled down a tumble of moss-clad stones, its waters catching the alien sun overhead in a dance of iridescent hues—blues, greens, and silvers that shifted like a living prism. The cascade plunged into a pool so clear that it mirrored the sky’s queer kaleidoscope, its surface rippling gently with each drop. Around the water’s edge, lush moss spread like a velvet carpet, speckled with clusters of exotic flowers that pulsed with bioluminescent light—shades of sapphire, emerald, and amethyst that I was Karlach and Shadowheart would appreciate. The space was generous too, open enough for us all to sprawl out comfortably, yet hemmed in by the trees and the waterfall’s rocky wall, offering a sense of shelter I hadn’t realized I’d been craving.
Alfira gasped beside me, her breath hitching as she took it in. “It’s… it’s like something out of a song,” she whispered, her fingers tightening on her lute as if she could already hear the melody taking shape.
I nodded, stepping forward to get a better look, my practical mind already assessing the spot even as its beauty sank into me. “Indeed, but it’s more than just pretty,” I replied. “The waterfall’s a natural wall on one side, and these trees give us cover. Plenty of room to spread out, too. I know we all appreciate at least a little privacy.”
The others murmured their assent, each drinking in the scene through their own lenses. The clearing seemed to call to us, its storybook-like tranquility a balm after the literal hell we recently went through. The waterfall’s gentle roar filled the air, its mist kissing my face pleasantly as I drew closer, blending with the floral perfume of those glowing blooms.
“This is it,” I said firmly, turning to face the group. “We’ll camp here.”
They didn’t need coaxing. They fanned out across the clearing, claiming their favorite patches of moss-covered ground with a weary eagerness. For a moment, I stood there, letting the scene settle into my bones: the faint glow of the flora, the cool dampness in the air, the promise of a calm and safe few moments – time enough to think and, hopefully, even solve some of our problems.
But, as I watched the group start to settle in, a thought struck me, sparking a flicker of mischief in my chest. Why settle for when I had so much more to offer? I turned inward, my mind brushing against the vast expanse of my inventory—a hoard that rivaled a small city’s worth of goods, tucked away in a pocket of space only I could reach.
Forget sleeping on ! I had beds, with plush mattresses and carved frames that graced the bedrooms of Skyrim’s wealthiest nobles. Wooden wardrobes, polished to a gleam, ready to hold our gear. Luxurious dishes and cutlery—gold and silver, no less—fit for a royal feast.
And that was just the start.
There were several full sets of crafting gear straight out of a hoarder’s wildest dreams: an Arcane Enchanter; an entire Alchemy lab, well-stocked with distilling equipment, vials and herbs; a complete —forge, tanning rack, grindstone, and all! There was a cooking spit, too, along with food enough to feed a small army, and alcohol enough to drown a tavern of adventurers many times over. And the gods only knew what else was tucked in there – at some point, I’ve honestly stopped keeping track of it all…
I turned to the group, a mischievous grin tugging at my mouth. “You all might want to stand back for this,” I said, waving them off with a casual flick of my hand. Our newer companions blinked at me, curiosity etching their faces, while Karlach just crossed her arms and smirked, clearly in on the joke – though, I doubted even she could anticipate the volume of
I was about to unleash.
I closed my eyes for a heartbeat, focusing, then swept my hand through the air. Immediately, the clearing came alive with
as I summoned my hoard with a surge of telekinesis.
First came the tents—grand, enchanted things I’ve “liberated” from the Altmer Invasion DLC, their fabric shimmering like liquid moonlight as they unfurled into place. Next, the King (and Emperor!) sized beds materialized, their frames settling onto the moss with barely a sound, pillows fluffed and ready. The desks, chairs, and actual wooden followed, the latter’s doors swinging open briefly to reveal their empty depths before snapping decisively shut – I would have to make my camp mates some clothing in their size, or otherwise… liberate some later. Two full-length noble dining tables plopped down next, adorned with gleaming silver and Glass dishes that sparkled in the waterfall’s reflected light. A few seconds of concentration, and I filled both tables to the brim with the most appetizing food and drink base game Skyrim had to offer. Next, the portable cooking spit appeared, complete with its own firepit, pots and spices clinking into place, while my Smithy organized itself in a chosen corner—the forge flaring briefly to life before settling into an idle flicker. The Arcane Enchanter and Potions lab blinked into existence last, their faint magical hum blending with the otherworldly pulse of this place.
Alfira’s jaw , her lute nearly slipping from her grasp as she gaped at the transformation. Astarion, usually composed full of sarcastic wit, stood frozen, the last semblance of his decorum shattered as his eyes darted from the beds to the forge and back again. Even Gale, who has socialized with actual gods – seemed shocked.
Karlach, meanwhile, just chuckled, her smirk widening as she glanced at their stunned faces. “Relax everyone,” she drawled, her voice warm with amusement. “This isn’t even the weirdest thing he’s done . Stick around—you’ll see there’s much more where that came from.”
I laughed under my breath, a swell of satisfaction warming me as I took in their reactions.
“Welcome, friends… to our home away from home,” I said, gesturing theatrically to the now-lavish campsite. “Let’s settle in and make the most of it.”
