Minthara stepped directly into his space.
Not close. Inside it.
The breath that left William hit her cuirass first before it even reached the cool air of the chamber. Her scent enveloped him, something sweet sharpened by cold metal, like crushed petals soaked in moonlit wine. The aroma curled through his senses, warm where it shouldn't have been, distracting where it was least welcome.
Her armor shifted as she moved closer, the dark leather contoured and unforgiving, sculpted to exaggerate threat as much as form. Every subtle motion drew the eye, and William's pulse quickened in a way he immediately regretted.
Heat crept up his throat.
His mind raced, unfurling wild, unbidden thoughts that tangled together faster than he could discipline them. The proximity, the scent, the dominance, it cracked something primal inside him.
Then reality pulsed at the edge of his vision.
A faint chime.
A shimmer.
A blue-tinged pane of light blinked to life beside his face.
Quest Updated:
"The Veiled Grove"
Primary Objective:
• Locate the hidden druid grove.
• Discover how they obscure themselves from the Absolute's sight.
Bonus Objectives:
• Learn the identity of the grove's spiritual leader.
• Acquire knowledge of their ritual defenses.
• Return with their strategy for resisting the Blessing's influence.
Rewards:
• Choice of weapon:
– Uncommon Rapier
– Uncommon Shortbow
Bonus Reward:
• ??? (Mysterious)
The window dissolved like mist.
William drew in a breath, steadying the firestorm inside him, and lifted his head.
Minthara's gaze met his, cutting, deliberate, and knowing exactly what she had just done to him merely by standing close enough to scatter his focus.
Her irises gleamed like polished obsidian.
"You will serve," she said. Not a question. A verdict wrapped in velvet and steel.
William locked his grey eyes onto hers. "I will."
Her smile unfolded slowly, sensuous at the edges but edged with a satisfaction that promised danger and expectation in equal measure. It was the expression of a predator pleased with the obedience of something powerful enough to be worth taming.
Then her attention snapped sideways.
A goblin lingered too near, trembling beneath the weight of her aura.
"You." Her voice cracked like a whip. "Fetch equipment for my True Soul."
The goblin scrambled so fast he nearly tripped over his own toes, returning moments later with an armful of gear:
a set of reinforced leather armor, a pair of serviceable boots, a dagger with a chipped hilt, a short bow strung with questionable workmanship, and two murky vials sloshing unpleasantly.
Health potions, in theory.
Goblin-made, unmistakably.
William raised a brow.
The goblin shrugged. "They… work. Mostly."
Minthara didn't bother hiding her disdain. "If you die to incompetence, it is your own."
William stepped aside to change.
The leather fit well enough, hugging tight where it should and forgiving where it needed. As he buckled the final strap, he felt it:
A gaze.
Not soft.
Not shy.
Something closer to appraisal braided with undeniable interest.
Minthara studied the line of his shoulders, the fit of the armor, the new shape he cut. Her expression remained controlled, but the heat behind her eyes betrayed nothing but hunger, not solely for flesh, but for usefulness, for potential, for someone capable of matching the ferocity she demanded.
William's skin darkened from blue-grey to a faint, embarrassed violet.
Brynna smirked.
Andrick exhaled a long, knowing sigh.
Minthara didn't blink.
Her gaze lingered thoughtfully until there was no longer anything to see and she spun around on her heel and walked back to her desk where plans and messages were scattered, her face going from playfully arrogant to steely and dutiful in a flash.
After fully donning the basic leather armor and boots William tested the edge of the dagger and found it to be acceptable for starters, after all he was a caster class and did not typically need to use a melee weapon, but they were handy to have in a pinch.
Using a cracked but still effective mirror, William looked upon his whole body for the first time since he arrived so... Explosively, in this world.
The mirror's surface was cracked in a spiderweb pattern, but it was enough.
William lifted it, angling the fractured glass until the pieces stitched together a full reflection. For the first time since he had been torn into this world, he saw himself clearly.
He froze.
He had expected the lean, wiry build typical of most Drow men. Instead, the image staring back at him was… different.
He was tall, noticeably so for a dark elf, but not unnaturally tall. More the kind of height that made others glance twice, unsure if they were looking at someone touched by good breeding, good fortune, or something more arcane. His shoulders were broad, his torso sculpted with the clean, efficient muscle of someone who moved often and fought when he had to. Not bulky, not brutish… but honed.
His skin was a cool grey-blue, deepening into shadowed undertones that shifted subtly with the candlelight. It wasn't the uniform obsidian hue of many Underdark-born; it carried gradients, currents, faint glimmers of something not entirely elven. Almost like moonlight sinking into deep water.
He turned slightly, letting the cracked mirror catch the line of his jaw, the curve of his upper back, the taper of his waist. Every angle felt familiar and foreign at once.
Then he found his eyes.
Grey.
But not ordinary grey.
At first glance, they seemed soft and stormy, the neutral shade of rainclouds drifting over a moonlit sea. Yet, as he leaned closer, a subtle radiance pulsed beneath the iris, a muted purple glow like a candle behind frosted glass.
It flickered with each breath he took.
Alive.
Dormant.
Watching.
The kind of glow that should have been impossible unless his blood carried more than elven magic.
A trace of the other half of his heritage whispered through that light, the side he had not yet met, the side he could not name. Something psionic. Something old. Something that resonated faintly with the Blessing when it writhed in his skull.
He blinked.
The glow dimmed to nothing… but only because the shadows had reclaimed it.
Outside the gloom, no one would notice. But here, in Minthara's private chamber, with only candlelight and broken glass to witness it, the truth shimmered beneath the surface.
He lowered the mirror slightly, eyes drifting down his form again. His posture shifted instinctively, straighter, more aware of how he filled the space. The armor clung to him with the snugness of fresh leather, outlining every angle.
Behind him, someone exhaled sharply.
Brynna.
She looked from him to the mirror, then to him again, her brows lifting in reluctant appreciation.
Andrick muttered, "Well. The Absolute gave you the fancy model."
William ignored them.
He wasn't looking for compliments. He was searching for answers.
And in his reflection, fractured though it was, he found only new questions.
The purple glow flared once, soft but unmistakable, then faded as footsteps approached from behind.
Minthara.
He didn't turn yet. For the first time, he met her eyes not through dominance or intimidation…
…but through glass.
Her expression in the reflection was unreadable, her face a sculpted mask of icy command. But her gaze… her gaze locked onto that faint amethyst spark in his eyes, and her lips curved just slightly.
Not mockery.
Recognition.
Interest.
Possibility.
William let out a slow breath, lowering the mirror at last.
"I'm ready," he said quietly.
Minthara stepped fully into the fractured reflection, her posture regal, predatory, and very aware of what she had just observed.
"Yes," she murmured. "You are."
William wasn't even fully clear of Minthara's desk before one of her lieutenants pressed something small and weighty into his palm.
A rune.
Palm-sized. Bone-white. Etched with a jagged symbol that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat made of ink.
"Show this to any goblin patrols," the lieutenant grunted. "They'll know you serve the Absolute's will."
Serve.
Right.
William closed his fingers around the rune and nodded. Then Minthara's claws — verbal, emotional, whatever they were — scraped down the length of his spine again.
No sound announced her stare.
No breath.
Just the molten drag of attention burning into the back of his armor.
Hungry.
Assessing.
Possessive in a way that made his pulse leap directly into his throat.
William swallowed hard.
He stepped forward.
Her gaze followed.
He stepped faster.
A soft, amused exhale almost caught him at the door.
Almost.
Then the moment shattered as he pushed through the monastery's threshold.
The goblins saw everything.
He didn't have a chance.
A chorus of howls, whistles, cackles, and crude commentary exploded around him like fireworks made of spite and enthusiasm.
"Lookit 'im run!"
"Boss got 'er eyes on ya, prettyboy!"
"Drow's purple! Drow's turnin' purple!"
"Minthara gonna eat 'im alive!"
William could feel himself dying of secondhand embarrassment with every step.
He strode faster.
Then faster still.
As if speed alone could outrun goblin gossip.
Only when he reached the massive front doors of the crumbling monastery did he find a sliver of mercy. The old wood groaned as he shoved it open, stepped through, and pulled it shut behind him.
Silence.
Real silence.
Well… almost.
The outside courtyard was alive with the goblin camp's usual chaos, but compared to the howling inside, it felt like a temple.
The first thing he noticed was the stage.
A rickety thing built from half-rotten planks, slapped together by hands that valued enthusiasm over carpentry. Perched upon it, trembling yet valiantly strumming a lute, was… a human bard.
A young man, probably in his twenties, forced into a performance that sounded somewhere between a folk ballad and a funeral for musical talent. A female goblin leaned on the stage, elbows planted, chin in hands, gazing up at him with dreamy adoration. Every time the bard's voice cracked, she squealed in delight.
William blinked.
"That… explains the screaming earlier," he muttered.
He stepped past the stage —
— and stopped cold.
In the far corner of the courtyard, trying desperately to disappear into a pile of crates, was a tiny owlbear cub. Barely the size of a small dog, all fluffy white and brown feathers, big golden eyes, trembling like a leaf in a storm.
Around it, three goblins circled with the predatory glee of children kicking at a beehive.
One poked it with a stick.
Another tossed a rock near its feet.
The third whispered: "Bet it tastes good roasted."
William felt something twist hard in his chest.
Cute.
Terrified.
Defenseless.
And incredibly out of place among goblins.
He sighed.
"Well," he murmured, stepping toward the scene, "that's not happening today."
He slipped the rune into one hand — just in case — and approached with the slow, deliberate gait of someone who knew exactly how to command a goblin's attention.
The cub noticed him first. Its ears perked, feathers fluffing, hopeful and scared all at once.
The goblins noticed him second.
And their expressions soured instantly.
"Oh great," one hissed. "True Soul."
"Wanna piece of the beastie too?" another sneered.
"Back off," the third snapped. "We found it first!"
William's fingers brushed the rune in his palm, and the faint purple glow under his irises flickered.
His voice dropped low.
"I wasn't asking."
The goblins froze.
The owlbear cub blinked up at him with huge, trembling eyes.
And William stepped fully into the clearing, ready to decide exactly how this situation would end.
William stopped a few paces from the circle of goblins, raising both hands in a slow, disarming gesture. The owlbear cub huddled tighter against the crates, its tiny talons scraping the wood with a faint, panicked chirr.
"Alright," he began, voice calm, almost patient, "let's handle this sensibly. You three give me the cub, no one gets bitten, pecked, stabbed, or punted into orbit. Fair?"
The goblins stared.
Then they burst into laughter.
Ugly, nasal, goblin laughter that sounded like a trio of trumpets made of phlegm.
"Why'd you want it?" one snorted.
"Prettyboy wants a pet!" another hooted.
"Minthara get bored of ya already?" the third cackled.
William inhaled through his nose, praying, actually praying, that he could hold onto diplomacy for more than eight seconds.
"I'm willing to trade," he tried. "Food, equipment, coin, something that doesn't involve you tormenting a baby creature that didn't do a damn thing to anyone."
They exchanged looks.
Then the boldest one jabbed a finger at him. "Give us your boots."
William blinked. "My… boots?"
"All of 'em."
"You got two feet, that's two boots."
"Good trade!"
The cub whimpered again. William forced a polite smile that held together about as well as the goblins' stage construction.
"No."
The goblins snarled instantly, offended at his lack of generosity.
"Then no deal!"
"Owlbear's ours!"
"We're gonna roast it!"
Something in William's spine snapped.
Fine.
Diplomacy had clocked out.
He didn't move. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't so much as twitch.
He simply let the thing inside him, the subtle pulse behind his grey eyes, the psionic whisper in his blood, the violet ember no one in the Underdark could've given him uncoil.
The purple glow flickered to life in his irises.
The goblins didn't notice at first.
Then William's presence shifted.
The air pressed down.
Not like magic.
Like gravity.
A slow, invisible tide rolled outward from him in a circle of cold pressure. The dust on the ground stirred. The cub's feathers bristled. The goblins' laughter died mid-cackle as their pupils shrank to pinpricks.
"What… what're you doing?" one squeaked.
William took a single, silent step forward.
The violet glow in his eyes brightened, soft, eerie, unmistakably alien.
"You're going to give. Me. The cub."
No shouting.
No threats.
Just a voice heavy with something that bypassed the ears and crawled directly into the spine.
The goblins' breath hitched in unison.
The boldest one's knees buckled.
"We… uh… we was just playing!"
"J-just fun, True Soul!"
"No harm meant!"
They backed away so quickly one tripped over the other, then scrabbled to their feet and bolted, yelping curses over their shoulders.
William exhaled slowly, letting the psionic pressure fade.
The courtyard relaxed with it.
He knelt beside the cub, whose trembling eased once the goblins vanished. It blinked up at him, wide-eyed and hopeful, before nudging his hand with the soft feathery crown of its head.
"Yeah," William murmured, gently scratching under its beak, "you're coming with me."
The cub let out a small, warbling chirp and immediately pressed its whole body against his leg in a feathery hug.
A faint shimmer flickered at the edge of his vision.
System Notification: New Companion Acquired • Owlbear Cub
• Unnamed
• Hungry. Easily startled. Soft as sin.
William smiled despite himself.
"Great," he muttered. "Now I have to protect you from goblins. And everything else."
The cub chirped again, clearly believing this was an excellent arrangement, and William, new armor, new mission, new psionic migraine waiting to bloom, scooped the little creature into his arms.
"Fine," he said. "Let's go."
The cub nestled close, content.
Somewhere inside the monastery, Minthara paused mid-command… and smirked as if she felt the ripple of something interesting blooming outside.
William strode into the camp with a new shadow at his heel.
A baby owlbear.
His baby owlbear.
Suddenly, William had a wicked smile on his face as he looked down at the baby owlbear, "I'll name you Owlbert!"
"Chirp?"