Ch 1 Into the Bloody Fray
A fresh cup of cocoa sat on her desk, steam curling from the mug and carrying the rich scent of chocolate. With a heated blanket pressed against her thighs, the lingering sweetness of milk chocolate on her tongue, and soft pink light filtering through her sheer curtains, the room had become the perfect haven for a cozy afternoon.
Her mouse clicked lightly across the desktop as she booted up Baldur’s Gate 3. It didn’t take long before the familiar choir echoed through her speakers, bringing the quiet, quaint bedroom to life.
Even after 500 hours, the game still has me mesmerized. And that did not even account for the time spent in character creation.
Months had gone by since her last Baldur’s Gate 3 campaign—never mind any game. Work had taken over her life, leaving her too drained to cook—most nights she collapsed straight onto her bed the moment she got home. Now that work had finally slowed down, it was time to test the new update.
After selecting “New Game,” she hovered over the difficulty options. Her mouse lingered over Honour Mode. She’d always played on Balanced. The safety net of being able to load back a save was comforting. Not saying that ‘save-scumming’ was a bad thing—but hardcore gamers tended to disdain it. That didn’t bother her, though; she had always been a casual player at heart.
Still… This is the final patch. Maybe she should give it a chance.
Fuck it.
With her mind made up, it was time to lock in. This run, she’d chase that elusive golden die.
Right after her choice, she pressed ESC to skip the opening cutscene. Her affection for the game aside, seeing that once had been more than enough. She hated worms, and that whole sequence was too much for her scoleciphobia. Just the sight of it gave her the heebie-jeebies.
Soon, another familiar tune flowed from her speakers.
“Down By the River” had long been ingrained in her brain. The number of mods she had installed for character creation alone was ridiculous. For her, half the game’s fun lived there—not just in aesthetics, but in imagining the person behind the character. Where she could daydream—role-play—and begin the adventure before the game even started.
She’d gone through different races and builds before, but for Honour Mode? She’d play it safe. The Dark Urge was off the table for this playthrough. As much as she loved playing the Dark Urge, she would have to stick to the basic Tav.
Outlander high elf druid, she decided, her excitement bubbling at the thought of exploring the Circle of Stars subclass. It sounded magical—and what better way to brave Honour Mode than as a starlit elf guided by the constellations?
She named her Elena.
She leaned back, cracked her knuckles, and admired her masterpiece with a grin of satisfaction. Pay no mind that she spent more time than she needed on it. But as she clicked “Next,” she froze at the sight of the Dream Guardian screen.
Oh. Right.
It always slipped her thoughts that the guardian came right after. But not wanting to waste a second more, considering she couldn’t care less what appearance her dream guardian took, she just hit ‘random generation’ without even looking at the result.
Giddy with anticipation, she hit proceed, ready to dive in.
Her first—and hopefully only—honour run was about to begin.
But then, a strange discomfort bloomed in her chest. She paused, pressing a hand to her heart, confusion prickling through her.
It wasn’t sharp, but the way it ached didn’t feel right.
Then her blood roared in her ears. The ache was gone, replaced by frantic and uneven punches to the chest. Each violent heartbeat forced another breath from her lungs. Her confusion morphed into fear as her fingers clenched the fabric of her shirt over her heart. Cold sweat slid down her temple. The hum of her computer grew distant with each passing second. Spots swallowed her vision—and then nothing. Her body went slack. She tipped over, keys clacking as her torso crashed onto the keyboard. The impact overturned the mug, cocoa spilling across the desk in a spreading stain and scalding her cheek where it lay against the desk.
Darkness claimed her.
+:★:+━━━+:★:+━━━+:★:+
Elena jolted awake inside a pod. Her senses were assaulted by a sticky, suffocating heat. The surface beneath her squelched and pulsed, slick against her skin. It was a sensation unlike anything she’d ever experienced. A thick layer of glass, misted by the traces of her own breath, impeded her sight. She wiped it clean. Her face twisted in a mixture of disgust and dread as she tried to peer through the window she made.
Hazy with sleep, she evaluated her surroundings. Pods lined up the walls, and in the center of it all, a massive bowl of mysterious yellow liquid sloshed and churned, reeking of a foul odor. Acid? Elena wasn’t sure. An unrecognizable shadow splashed within the bowl and she couldn’t tell if it was fish… or something worse.
Is this… a dream? Elena thought, unaware of the predicament she was in.
Across the chamber, someone thrashed in another pod—arms pinned, desperate to break free. Despite never having been here, a strange wave of déjà vu washed over her. Through bleary vision, she caught a glimpse of the captive’s vivid green skin.
Her heart lurched, eyes almost jumping out its sockets.
It can’t be—
Her attention flitted to the second figure approaching the trapped person. Purple-ish skin. An elongated squid-like head, and tentacles writhing beneath its chin.
A mind flayer.
Then, as if a puzzle piece clicked in her head, she whipped her sight back to the captive in realization.
Lae’zel.
Recognition crashed over her like a bucket of ice water. Her breath hitched. A frantic pounding filled her chest. This was the cutscene she always skipped.
This must be a dream. It had to be. How else could she be here?
But as if to mock her thoughts, the mind flayer turned toward her, a wriggling tadpole held between its fingers. She flinched and turned away, hot bile rushing up her throat, but a force snapped her head back.
No.
Her thoughts spun out of control. Panic flooded her veins as the creature drew closer. Elena’s teeth chattered, feeling buckets of cold sweat drench her back. She wanted to move—flail her hands, scream—anything, but her body was either paralyzed with fear or held down by a psionic force. The tadpole now hovered just inches from her eye, and for a moment she forgot how to breathe.
Dear God, let this be a dream—
But no matter to whom she prayed, none answered her calls, and with the tadpole right before her, those were her last thoughts before passing out—unable to withstand the thought of the horror that was about to unfold.
+:★:+━━━+:★:+━━━+:★:+
Elena awoke with a violent gasp.
Much to her dismay, she was still on the ship.
Still in the pod.
Except now it released her from its grasp as if to say they were done with her.
She stumbled out, clutching her throbbing head. A sledgehammer was pounding at her temple—and beneath that pain, something moved inside her skull.
It was the tadpole, settling into its new home.
Not phantom pain.
An indescribable slimy wriggling sensation behind her eye—a reminder of what had happened.
She almost didn't have enough time to react before doubling over and vomiting onto the pulsing, fleshy floor. Hot tears streaked her pale, freckled cheeks. The stench of bile collided with the choking fumes of the raging fire around her, and each breath she took seared her lungs. Electrical sparks exploded from above, raining down and biting into her exposed skin on occasion. Elena was overwhelmed. Desperate to shut out the world around her, she squeezed her eyes shut.
She wished this were all a dream.
Wake up.
She heaved.
Wake up.
A sharp slap echoed in the room.
Pain bloomed across her cheek, dread seeping through every inch of her.
Still here.
Still on a falling mind flayer ship.
It’s not the time to panic. The ship was crashing, and if she wanted to survive this, she needed to reach the helm fast.
She forced herself upright, wiping her mouth with a trembling hand. Terror clawed at her, but she shoved it down. There would be time to unravel later—if she survived.
One reluctant step at a time, she pressed forward. Passing the shattered pool of tadpoles, bile rose in her throat again. She swallowed it down and kept moving.
She brushed aside her racing thoughts and veered toward the stairs. Instinct—honed by countless playthroughs—kicked in, overriding the lingering shock. Her hands moved before her mind could catch up, snatching gold and supplies from the chests in her path.
Then heading down towards the sphincter-like door, a childlike voice echoed in her mind.
“We are here… We are trapped! Help us!”
She glanced at the platform, knowing what would await her if she went up.
Us. The newly born intellect devourer.
If this were still a game, she’d free it without a second thought. But right now, her mind reeled too much to get anywhere near that thing. The idea of approaching the creature, let alone extracting it from a dying man—made her skin crawl.
She knew that she should go up—an additional ally wouldn’t hurt.
But… there’s no screen to shield her. No avatar to command from a safe distance. She was here. Nothing could shield her from it. And she knew she wouldn’t be able to stomach it.
So, jaw clenched, she forced herself to move on.
As she neared the gaping hole, a blistering wind whipped through her hair, snapping painfully and ripping tears in her eyes. Elena gasped at the blood-red wasteland stretching beyond the hull. Heat rose from below, the acrid tang of sulfur clinging to her tongue. Even with Avernus yawning beneath her and red dragons tearing through the sky, her mind rejected it.
In the midst of her thoughts, a sword thrust at her, and at the end of it was Lae’zel, radiating with bloodthirst.
“Abomination. This is your end,” she seethed. Elena stared at the woman whose skin took a striking color of green. The sharp silver glint of her weapon and armor made her swallow hard. Before the warrior could act upon her words, both women wavered—hands on their heads, throbbing in pain. Their tadpoles had connected as if greeting one another. Elena could see through Lae’zel’s eyes, as if they were her own.
“My head. What is this… ngh.” The gith groaned, but clarity returned not a moment later. “Tsk’va. You are no thrall—Vlaakith blesses me this day! Together we might survive.”
Lae’zel stood before her—no longer a character on a screen, but a living, breathing woman.
“Yes, I—uh—was also abducted by the ship.” Elena managed to utter.
Lae’zel nodded and replied with a sense of urgency, “First, we must attack the imps, then head to the helm.” Knowing this was not the time to gawk at the woman, she nodded and prepared to fight. The githyanki warrior ran forward, sword in hand, as she yelled out a battle cry, “H’taka!” signaling for Elena to follow in her footsteps.
The imps glanced up, gore glistening on their jaws. Elena recoiled, but when one lunged at her, she swung her quarterstaff on instinct. The heavy weight of the staff cracked against its skull, blood splattering on her skin as she sent the imp flying. A shrill cry of pain echoed as it died. The other imp, not wanting to give her respite, was already upon her, claws aiming for her exposed chest.
Fumbling with her quarterstaff, she almost didn’t block its attack in time. Unlike the game, she had come to realize that there would be no such thing as taking turns in an actual fight.
Elena, stunned by her fighting skills, stared at her palms. She didn’t know if it was adrenaline, but she hadn’t done half bad. Given her own physique, pulling off those moves seemed out of reach. Sure, she worked out, but that was to maintain her health. Otherwise, she was desk-bound half the time. The most combat she’d seen was arguing in the comment sections. Watching her move like that felt unreal—like the skills belonged to someone else.
She couldn’t call them practiced moves—more like muscle memory awakened from nowhere. Pure instinct guided her hands, and that unsettled her more than the monsters did.
Lae’zel cut down the last one with finesse and glanced back at her, nodding in recognition, “You proved surprisingly adequate in battle. Now—to the helm.” With that, she sheathed the blade behind her back and strode forward without waiting.
Adequate... she’d take that. It was better than being useless, and if she was to survive this crash, she’d need the fighting skills for the perilous journey ahead.
Elena followed behind a step, heart still pounding, but her attention shifted on the view to her left—the red sky tearing open, dragons slicing through Avernus like streaks of flame. The scene felt unreal. Distant. As if she were watching it again behind a screen.
Lae’zel noticed her lagging and spat, “What are you looking at? Move.”
Elena snapped out of her reverie and brought her mind back to the present.
Right. She was still on a falling ship.
She rushed after her. From behind another sphincter-like door, deep, echoing thuds reached her ears, like fists battering against tempered glass with fierce determination.
“Damn it! Let me out!” She yelled over and over again. It was Shadowheart. And just as she noticed her, she too saw Elena. “You! Get me out of this damn thing!” She pleaded, her brows knitted in worry.
Lae’zel clicked her tongue in irritation. “We have no time for stragglers.” Still, she lingered at Elena’s side, arms crossed as she waited for her to act.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be quick.” She reasoned with the githyanki. “I’ll get you out. There should be a key somewhere.” Elena replied to Shadowheart’s worried look. Lae’zel held a disapproving expression on her face in response to her comment.
“We have no time to waste on this. We must head to the helm.” Lae’zel beckoned, but Elena was already heading towards the other room, swiping the key from one of the dead bodies for the chest outside and then the rune that would let Shadowheart out. Running back, she made a beeline to the console—causing it to hum back to life as she inserted the rune. Light poured through the surface her palm sat on. As a result, there was another hideous squirming in her head.
It was the parasite again.
The discomfort was brief, and it faded as a different sensation washed over her. The console tethered to her tadpole like a wired connection, giving her authority to command it. Elena willed the pod to open, and a shiver ran down her spine as it obeyed. Her head felt... satiated?
Shadowheart knelt on the ground, heaving a sigh of relief. “At last… I thought I was done for.” She brought up a knee to hoist herself up and said, “I thought the damn thing was going to be my coffin. Thank you—” Again, there was that feeling of connection. This time, Elena sensed Shadowheart’s thoughts—her gratitude and wariness—wary because Lae’zel was by her side. A githyanki.
“You keep dangerous company.” Shadowheart quipped.
Elena knew that this would be the start of the two women being at odds with one another, and she just shrugged in reply. “It was not by choice. Besides, right now we have bigger things to worry about.”
Shadowheart studied her a moment, then nodded in agreement. “Fair point.” She looked towards the direction of the helm, “Looks like there’s plenty of fighting ahead. Let me come with you. We can get off this ship and watch each other’s backs along the way.”
Elena forced a small smile and reached out her hand. “All right then, let’s get going. I’m—” Her brows furrowed. For reasons unknown, her own name escaped her. “...Elena,” she greeted the half-elf after a pause.
Odd. I—my name isn’t Elena. Why did I say that? For half a second, cold fear slid down her spine. There was a gap in her memory. She steadied her heart and tried to calm down. No, this wasn’t the time to try and remember.
Apprehensive, she returned the handshake. “Shadowheart. One moment…” Was her reply, then she turned around to grab the prism from the pod she was in. It was the artifact that would help their group. She stared a moment too long.
“Come on, let’s go.” Elena motioned, still feeling unsettled.
Lae’zel sighed. “Finally. We have wasted enough time already. Let’s head to the helm.” The gith reiterated their objective for the nth time.
Shadowheart, in agreement, nodded. “She’s right. Lead on.”
As Elena moved ahead, she caught a glint in the corner of her eye—it was the chest that matched the key she’d pocketed.
She unlocked it in a flash, snatching up the contents before anyone could protest. Yes, the ship was crashing. Yes, they might die in minutes. But if she survived, she would need the supplies. She didn’t look back to see if her companions judged her. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. To her relief, they made no comments, even if they did.
Once closer to the door that connects to the helm, Lae’zel spoke up, “We’re nearing the helm. Once inside, you will do as I say.”
Shadowheart, not liking what the gith woman said, rebuked, “Who put you in charge? I will trust my own judgments.”
Lae’zel's eyes rolled skyward and said, what seemed to be a curse word in her language, “Kainyank.”
They entered together, and what greeted them at the helm was pure chaos. Mind flayers defended against the denizens of Avernus. Firebolts streaked and psionic beams ricocheted through the chamber. A hellboar’s screech echoed in the room. And a flurry of imps flew across.
Thrall. Connect the nerves of the transponders. We must escape. Now. One of the mind flayers spoke into Elena’s head.
You don’t need to tell me twice. She thought as she ran towards the controls of the ship, ignoring the battle altogether. Lae’zel and Shadowheart were behind her, keeping the enemies at bay and from reaching her position. As she got closer to the front, a red dragon flew past, causing Lae’zel to curse.
“Tsk’va! Hurry, before they strike!”
Elena furrowed her brows and sprinted across, her hands grabbed at the two tentacles, clasping them together. In that exact moment, one of the red dragons popped through the cracked windshield of the ship and breathed fire.
Heat scorched her skin, sending her tumbling onto her back. The ship blinked out just before the dragon could strike again. Although the jolt of teleportation sent Elena skidding across the floor. Her head crashed onto a wall with a hard thump.
The ship was still falling, and now, so was she.
Elena expected this. It was how the story always began. The prism had protected Tav. Would it protect her? She could only hope for the best as she plummeted through Faerûn’s night sky. Fear coated her tongue, metallic and bitter. Cold air ripped past her ears, hair flying wildly in the wind. Falling forward, she saw the world spread beneath her. Lush greenery. Pinpricks of light like fallen stars. If this was her last sight, at least it was beautiful.
Alas, her fall halted midair and relief washed over her. But that feeling was brief as she continued falling, though now from a shorter distance. She greeted the floor with her face and passed out from the impact.
+:★:+━━━+:★:+━━━+:★:+
The morning sun’s bright rays burned her eyelids, dragging her back to consciousness. She groaned, sitting up and cradling her aching head. Whether the pain came from her new cranial guest, yesterday’s chaos, or her face’s introduction to the ground—maybe all three—it throbbed just the same.
Rubbing her temples, she got up and brushed off the sand sticking to her sweat. She scanned the shoreline. Salt tinged the air, blending with the acrid stench of the wrecked nautiloid. Bodies littered the shore, stretching as far as she could see.
It was real.
The nautiloid. The tadpole.
This wasn’t a cutscene. It was her life now.
Elena staggered and looked over the water’s edge.
A striking elf gazed back at her—a face sculpted by the gods, or rather, by her own hand.
A mess of long, strawberry-blonde hair danced as she moved her head side to side, catching the light in a wild halo. In the reflection, a bronze-skinned elf stared back, golden eyes wide with astonishment and flecks of starlight swirling within. If she hadn’t created this face herself, she wouldn’t have recognized it. Although, there were a few key points missing. Unlike the starter druid garb, a daring black dress hugged her form, adorned with fine golden thread and sparkling jewels. Even her eyes shimmered with a different light; their elven gold now alive with a celestial glow.
But she didn’t have half the mind to question the discrepancies of her body.
Yep, I’m an elf.
She collapsed onto the sand, a wild, hysterical laugh bubbling up from her chest.
“No… Is this even real life right now?”
Aghast, she stood up, her hands shook as she clutched her hair in disbelief. “What the actual fuck?!” Elena screamed, exasperation and grief crashing over her in a tidal wave. Her chest tightened as she paced, fists balled and nails digging into the palm of her hands.
Sure, she’d devoured isekai novels and fanfics, but who in their right minds would expect to wake up in one? Her—of all people? She couldn’t save Faerûn!
She was just a woman who coded for a living.
She wasn’t Tav.
She wasn’t a hero.
She hadn’t even finished Act 3.
And this was Honour Mode. That meant harder bosses.
She fell to her knees, snot and tears streaming down her cheeks, mixing with the sand below. How could she even begin to harness her powers as a druid? Let alone master the Circle of Stars like she intended to do—when she barely knew where to begin?
Regret gnawed at her, but the worst part was knowing she had never finished Act 3 like so many other players. She had gone through to the end of Act 2, but beyond that, the story was a mystery.
Fuck.
Elena screamed until her throat was raw, and she begged like a dog to any god listening to her—have mercy on her pitiful soul and bring her back to her tiny apartment. To her cocoa. To her heated blanket.
Silence was their answer.
After some time, she wiped off the tears.
It was too late for regrets. It was unfortunate, but she had to suck it up. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to pull herself together. Still, she knew Acts 1 and 2 like the back of her hand. That was her one silver lining.
As for Act 3? That was a problem for future Elena.
She drew in a deep breath.
It was time to gather her allies.
