Karlach emerged from the confines of the tent, her face radiating an intensity that bordered on being flushed, though she was likely already turning a deeper shade of red under the intense heat.
The fire surrounding her pulsed erratically, its infernal flames giving off uneven waves of intense heat that seemed to warp and distort the very air around her.
Astarion, along with Halsin, were comfortably seated around the fire when they happened to notice this.
They shared a knowing look between themselves before both men erupted into a hearty chuckle.
"It looks like our fiery berserker, Karlach, has found herself falling in love, hahaha!" Halsin let out a genuine laugh that echoed through the makeshift camp, causing Karlach's face to become even more flushed as she turned towards the bridge that led out of the camp and leaned over, her gaze fixed on the nearby waterfall.
She calmed herself with the sound of roaring water.
That's when she distinctly heard the distinct sound of two women engaged in a heated argument, their voices getting steadily louder as they moved directly towards her standing position.
Feeling a sense of urgency, she immediately spun around on her heels, only to find Shadowheart and Lae'zel locked in a tense struggle, neither of them willing to yield and let the other take the lead.
Following closely behind them were Wyll and Gale, both appearing visibly drained and mentally weary.
"Oh hey it's you guys!"
When they finally looked up from their conversation, their eyes were wide with surprise when a familiar, muscular Tiefling emerged from behind a nearby rock, her face beaming with a genuine, joyous expression that instantly conveyed her excitement at finally seeing them all again.
For just a fleeting moment, Shadowheart and Lae'zel both seemed to pause their initial struggle with each other.
It was as if they were both suddenly aware of the presence of the other, but rather than letting it disrupt their current interaction, they both went back to pushing each other, this time with Lae'zel's push being strong enough to send Shadowheart sliding backward into the mud for several feet.
Shadowheart clicked her tongue, "Tsk... Githyanki bitch!"
Lae'zel pressed forward but not before giving Shadowheart a nasty smirk that only served to further irritate the Cleric.
As Lae'zel passed Karlach she reached behind her and handed her a great sword with the sigil of Tyr on the flat of the blade.
"We took care of some traitorous Paladin and his crew who seemed to be after you. Sorry for stealing your rightful kill, but they didn't take kindly to the fact that we wouldn't give them your location!"
At the sight of the blade, the one that had relentlessly pursued Karlach for so long, a flicker of recognition passed through her eyes, tinged with a mixture of anger and sadness.
It was the very same blade that had once been a symbol of justice, a tool used to deliver retribution.
However, now, its presence only evoked memories of pain and suffering, a constant reminder of the darkness it had brought into her life.
"Thank you," Karlach said, extending her shaky hands and grasping the great sword firmly by the dark leather grip.
Her mind seemed to be miles away from her current location, simultaneously residing in the past when she held the blade aloft.
Lae'zel stepped onto the bridge and vanished into the shifting, ever-changing shadows that permeated the camp's depths.
Shadowheart, despite her huff of annoyance, still paused long enough to pat Karlach on the shoulder. However, she made sure to pull back just as quickly to prevent herself from getting burned in the process.
"Good to see you, red," she said with a slight smile, while keeping a sharp eye on the direction Lae'zel just vanished into, "Are the others inside as well?"
She inquired, receiving a nod in reply and a faint purple blush creeping across her cheeks, causing Shadowheart's eyes to widen in surprise and a flicker of genuine interest.
"Oh... Did something happen? No, nevermind, don't tell me. I like surprises!" Shadowheart giggled at Karlach's expense, only further blushing Karlach and causing the flames around her to roil, making her practically glow in the night.
Karlach let out a sharp, "S... Shut up," her voice laced with a distinct hint of annoyance and embarrassment.
Shadowheart had just walked into the camp, waving her hand dismissively in Karlach's direction as she vanished into the darkness within the camp.
Wyll and Gale were too exhausted for words and only let out grunts of acknowledgement before they too walked past her.
The group was officially back together again.
Astarion, meanwhile, was tucked away inside the camp, strumming away on a lute he'd managed to salvage from the goblins' hoarded loot.
While he undoubtedly lacked the formal training and skill of a true bard, there was something undeniably calming and strangely lighthearted about the few simple plucks he managed to coax from the strings, effectively bringing a moment of levity and peace to the overall atmosphere of the camp.
Halsin was quite engrossed in his task at the fire, using a large wooden spoon to thoroughly stir the contents of the stew.
A distinct and savory aroma, filled with the rich flavors of rabbit and vegetables, wafted out from the pot, carrying its gamey scent throughout the area.
Every head, except for Astarion, turned towards the pot, their faces alight with hunger.
Before Halsin could even utter the words, "Dinner is ready," there was already a queue of hungry faces, each accompanied by an empty wooden bowl.
After finishing the bowls of steaming stew the group separated, heading towards their own tents, William sat in his tent in a lotus position and closed his eyes.
Swoosh!
He experienced a strange sensation as if his mind was being gently tugged, and upon opening his eyes, he was met with a scene that felt remarkably unfamiliar.
Instead of a vast, featureless plain, he now found himself in a slowly expanding landmass, albeit one that was beginning to show its first signs of life with a few scattered trees dotting its surface.
Deep within the heart of the landmass, a perfectly round mirror was suspended just a few inches above the ground. Its surface, reflecting his own image, remained stubbornly fixed on his direction.
William waved his hand and the mirror approached him like a pet happy to see it's owner his own decently handsome face staring back at him across its silvery surface.
He reached out towards the mirror, his reflection following his movements until he placed his hand on the mirror surface.
William pressed onto the mirror with all of his might, his fingers sinking deep into its surface as if it were made entirely of water.
He then grasped his image by the forearm, his hand slipping free as he pulled his reflection upwards from the glass.
As he did so, the mirror now reflected his surroundings clearly, his own face no longer visible.
He gestured with his hand, and the mirror inexplicably flew backwards, coming to a sudden stop some distance away. He and his own reflection were left staring intently at each other out in the open field.
The field seemed to hold its breath.
William's hand tightened, his grip feeling firm, and the space around him seemed to fold inward, as if pinched between his fingers.
From the depths of nothingness, Widower materialized, its dark blade seemingly sliding into being with a low, intimate hum that seemed to express a quiet pleasure at being recalled and remembered.
Across from him, his reflection did the same.
Another Widower answered the first, identical in weight, shape, and quiet malice.
Two blades, sharp and dark as unslept nights, caught the aurora's ethereal glow, drawing its light into themselves.
They settled into mirrored stances.
No flourish.
No hesitation.
Steel moved.
A crisp, clear bell-like sound filled the air, signaling the beginning of the conflict.
Sparks erupted, but they weren't orange, instead, they were a pale, almost violet color, seemingly a residue of the psionic energy that was being ignited as the blades clashed.
Stepping in, William took the time to test the distance, his footwork both light and incredibly precise.
The copy matched him stride for stride and angle for angle, though his expression remained unreadable, there was an undeniable familiarity about it.
Every feint was answered before it finished forming.
He struck high.
Parried.
Low sweep.
Checked.
A thrust meant to force space.
They broke apart and moved again.
William whispered a word of power, and Wrathful Smite crawled along Widower's edge, fear-laced energy coiling tight.
He lunged forward, his blade whistling through the air, aimed directly at the shoulder of his opponent.
The copy's eyes flashed.
The spell detonated with a soft hiss, striking only thin air, and the reflection quickly slid past William, passing so close that it seemed to graze his ribs, leaving him feeling the pressure of its presence.
Too close.
They moved past one another, backs brushing gently against each other, before spinning apart with an almost perfect synchronicity.
"Alright," William said, his voice calm and steady. "I see. That's the way you want to handle things."
With a flick of his fingers, he vanished into thin air, leaving behind a faint mist.
Space itself seemed to fold in upon itself, and William, seemingly swallowed by the warping light, suddenly appeared behind his double.
At that very moment, Widower was hurtling towards him in a deadly killing arc, his eyes blazing.
The copy was already gone.
Another ripple.
Another displacement.
With a sudden reappearance, they stood facing each other once more, their blades crossed mid-swing in a clash, the force of the impact generating a powerful shockwave that spread across the nearby grass.
Trees that stood at the very edge of the field were bending over, their leaves trembling and rustling like they were startled into awareness.
William grinned despite himself.
"Oh, you're infuriating."
The reflection said nothing.
From the depths of William's very shadow, arms of Hadar erupted, their void tendrils twisting outward in a violent bloom of darkness.
The ground where they struck blackened significantly, and the shadows seemed to writhe and twist, filled with an insatiable, alien hunger.
The copy responded in kind.
Two twin tides of void, their edges crashing against each other with a violent force, unleashed a torrent of tendrils that collided and tore into each other with terrifying ferocity.
The sheer impact resulted in a shower of black mist that evaporated almost instantly, leaving no trace of its violent existence.
Neither advanced.
Neither retreated.
They circled.
Steel flashed again.
Faster now.
Harder.
The widower rang again and again, the sound layering over itself until it became a continuous note, a blade-song humming through the forming world.
Cuts that were supposed to hit their mark missed by only the narrowest of margins.
The parries always arrived a mere fraction of a second before the impact would have occurred.
Sweat slicked William's palms.
His breath quickened.
The copy's did not.
William unleashed Dissonant Whispers, a psychic shriek that echoed with the terror of an alien mind, his target being the entity behind those mirrored eyes.
The reflection staggered for exactly one step.
Then William felt it.
The scream echoed back.
Not louder.
Not stronger.
Perfectly equal.
It scraped against the thoughts churning within him, making him clench his jaw and dig his heels into the ground of his own making.
He endured it, just as the copy endured his.
After the psychic noise had finally faded, they were still there standing.
Still whole.
Still untouched.
They lowered the blades slightly, both now breathing hard, the Widower's edge vibrating faintly with a restrained, almost contained kind of violence.
William chuckled softly under his breath, a combination of astonishment and exhilaration swirling within him.
"No openings," he said. "No tells. No mistakes."
The reflection tilted its head.
For the first time, its voice emerged, a replica of William's own but lacking the warmth that usually characterized his speech. It echoed faintly in the vast expanse of the sky.
"Why would there be?"
The wind stirred.
The land watched.
Two warriors, both appearing to be of equal stature and strength, stood firmly in the heart of a world still finding its footing, their swords held at the ready, their wills locked in a fierce battle, neither able to gain any significant advantage.
William lowered the sword he was holding and replied, "I must admit that you are absolutely right. Fighting myself is simply a pointless exercise!"
He casually waved his hand towards his copy, and it instantly erupted into a chaotic flurry of strange, shimmering motes of light, which then expanded rapidly in all directions before solidifying into the distinct form of Lae'zel, a great sword held firmly in her hand, and her typical dismissive and somewhat annoyed expression was clearly visible on her face.
Steel answered steel the instant they moved.
William surged forward first, Widower carving a clean, efficient arc meant to test spacing rather than commit.
Lae'zel met it head-on.
No hesitation.
No adjustment.
Her greatsword met his strike with a brutal confidence, the impact causing a shuddering sensation to travel up William's arms and forcing his boots to slip back into the grass beneath him.
She pressed immediately.
Her footwork was ruthless in its simplicity.
No wasted motion, no flourish.
With each deliberate step, a small amount of space was inevitably sacrificed.
Meanwhile, each individual swing seemed to arrive precisely where it needed to be, seemingly defying gravity and landing exactly where its intended trajectory would have brought it.
William shifted tactics, channeling momentum into a tight spin, Widower flashing toward her exposed flank.
Blocked.
Not barely.
Not desperately.
Clean.
La'zel twisted her wrists and knocked his blade aside, the flat of her sword biting down with crushing leverage before snapping back into a rising cut that William had to duck under, feeling the wind of it shear past his scalp.
Too slow.
He seemed to vanish into a fleeting distortion of the fabric of space and then reappeared just to her left, already in motion and swinging.
She was already there.
Her elbow slammed into his chest mid-materialization, knocking the breath from his lungs in a sharp, humiliating burst.
Before he could even begin to regain his composure, her pommel struck his shoulder, sending a sharp pain through the limb, effectively rendering it useless.
Her blade then followed through in a swift and controlled motion, executing a merciless sweep that sent Widower flying completely out of his grasp.
William hit the ground hard.
The impact knocked him off his feet again, throwing his whole body into a disorienting spin as he tumbled onto his back. His chest tightened, each ragged breath feeling like a struggle to get enough air.
His fingers twitched, instinct screaming to cast, to vanish, to recover.
The blade stopped an inch from his throat.
Lae'zel stood over him, her boots firmly planted on the ground, her posture relaxed and calm, a clear indication of the true dominance she radiated.
The greatsword she held was resting comfortably in both of her hands, its edge steady and unwavering.
With a deep, huffed-out breath, his chest heaving, he managed a laugh, even though it was forced.
"Alright," he managed between gasps. "I get it."
She fixed her gaze directly on him with an expression that was undeniably disdainful, and then, in response, she simply nodded her head with a curt, sharp motion.