Chapter Text
Taverns in Baldur’s Gate are disgusting, Shadowheart had remembered hearing from her peers in the cloister. Drunks, the smell of piss, hot, just an all around mess. She heard the raucous laughter, the stamp of feet on hardwood, and the telltale twang of strings and drums long before she smelled anything, though.
So the bard is here. The Mother Superior had sent them–Shadowheart, Fredrichk, and Wilbur–to capture and interrogate the bard about the location of a Selunite enclave somewhere outside the city. The bard would tell them, they’d scout, report back, and then return with full force and eradicate the Moon bitches’ followers. With all said and done, Shadowheart would be a Dark Justiciar. No one, not even the Mother Superior, would be able to keep her from that once she located that enclave. And it all started with one of the people making the racket inside the building she stood before now.
Wilbur whispered from behind, “Remember, the plan is for me to bring ‘em outside quietly. We meet in that alleyway two houses down,” he gestured lightly up the road, “and knock ‘em out. Then on to Rivington.” The human would be the one to lure the bard into walking home with him, while Shadowheart and Fredrichk were there to watch, provide back up, should the need arise. He pushed against the door, disappearing into the crowd almost instantly.
Fredrichk waited a bit, the halfling roundly ignoring her as they timed their entrances to the tavern. He entered as a drunk exited, throwing up just off the side of the porch. Shadowheart elected to peek through the tavern’s windows to gauge the scene first.
It was certainly lively. Half the occupants were on their feet, swinging each other around, dancing. The room was dimly lit . She spotted at least two people playing instruments, a hand drum and a violin respectively, but there was definitely a third milling about somewhere else. She heard its loud plucky lilt just a bit further in. Could be any of them, but I suppose Wilbur’s going to know which.
Enough time had passed. She pushed the door open gingerly, careful not to attract too much attention to herself. Fredrichk sat at the bar, a drink in hand, chatting glumly with the bartender. Wilbur might be closer to the third player, within the crowd.
She weaved her way through the throng, Wilbur finally coming into view. He seemed reserved, sitting off to the third player’s side, giving them only fleeting glances. It must be that one. Shadowheart found a more obscured corner to sit before giving the bard a real look, beginning her assessment. Maybe a little taller than me. Long dark brown hair, up and wrapped sloppily. Can’t see her ears. Gray eyes. Maybe Blue. She shifted in her seat, pretending to give the rest of the room the same attention.
A goblet of red wine appeared at her table. She caught a quick flash of Wilbur moving back to the bard with another glass in tow. Shadowheart took a sip, noting his poor choice.
“For me?” The bard said to him, her voice had a light cadence though a bit gravelly, as she waved at the goblet with a cheeky smile. Wilbur grinned in turn, eyes and teeth reciprocating with almost too much ardor. The bard shrugged and turned away, ignoring it. If Wilbur was disappointed or confused, he did not let it show.
Two songs later, the Sharrans had made no progress with the bard. Shadowheart began mental preparations for the second plan should the first not work; poison her and take her basically by force, but if the bard wouldn’t drink she’d have to stab her or…
“Your friend over there has terrible taste in wine,” Shadowheart hadn’t noticed the bard maker her way. Either she was losing her edge or the bard happened to be particularly crafty. Her lute was swung lazily behind her back, and she held two new goblets in her hand. A lighter smell of red wine emanated from them. So far, much better than what Wilbur had chosen. “Do you mind?” The bard pointed a finger at the empty stool beside her.
Shadowheart schooled her hesitancy, producing a single resolute nod and tacking on a smirk. “I don’t.” The bard sat, placing the goblet in her right hand. Pulling it up to her nose, Shadowheart smelled for anything off but caught nothing, “And you’re right. His taste is quite dreadful.” A quick glance in his direction told her he was not pleased with the shift in situation, though he should have been more subtle in the first place. If I need to be the one that lures the bard outside, then so be it.
The bard’s clothes were baggy up close, somewhat ill-fitting along her shoulders and arms, the collar loose and the ties hanging unevenly. A smattering of freckles made their way across her nose, making their way just lightly onto her cheeks. She appeared more olive-toned than Shadowheart originally thought, clearly spending much time in the sun.
Shadowheart’s years of training, though she couldn’t remember it, compelled her to look directly into the bard’s eyes, and never pull her attention away. The key to seduction is to make the other feel like there is no one on earth but them. The phrase pulsed in her mind, a resounding and clear instruction.
The bard met her gaze in equal ardor. “A good friend?”
“Not particularly.”
“Ah.” It hardly mattered what they spoke of, though Shadowheart gleaned that the bard was just observant and not in touch with Wilbur’s intentions. Every time the bard drank, Shadowheart took a sip of her own. Mirror your subject; everyone yearns to see themselves in another. Make yourself familiar. The bard would pull closer, and she would do the same.
The music started up again.
With an exaggerated flourish, clearly in jest, the bard rose from her seat and bowed, offering her hand to Shadowheart. “Might you join me in a dance, lovely one?” The flattery sent a tingle up her spine. She let a grin through. Not so hard after all, Wilbur.
“I’d be a fool not to, wouldn’t I?” She said, sliding her hand into the bard’s, which were surprisingly calloused. Not rough, but firm on the ends of her fingers and at various points in her palm.
There was the distinct possibility that dancing was not part of her training. Upon a light stubbing of toes and the pull of the bard’s hands on hers’, she realized that it didn’t much matter. The bard would probably like the idea of teaching her something.
Shadowheart chuckled, playing up her ineptitude, “I’m not much of a dancer, it seems.”
The bard looked down at their feet, and pulled to the right, watching Shadowheart tap light on her toes in the same direction.
“So you say, though from what I see you have a natural talent.” The bard pulled her back, laying a hand on her waist as the tempo picked up. It was light, unpossessive, merely pushing and pulling with the rhythm in small, decisive motions. Shadowheart stepped on her toes a bit more for good measure, each time eliciting a tut-tut and a smile, as though the bard was amused.
“One more misstep and I’ll have to give you lessons,” the bard emphasized the innuendo with a squeeze of Shadowheart’s hip.
Perfect. Shadowheart made one more wrong move, her foot just glancing off the bard’s ankle, then looked up awaiting a response.
The bard clucked, released her, then made a show of judging Shadowheart’s form, pressing her arms up at the elbow and moving her leg in and back. It was gentle, always gentle, but firm and hot–as though her fingers were kept over a flame.
The bard shook her head. “Hmm, this might be worse than I thought. We’ll have to take this somewhere private. That is, if you’d like to get better.” The bard quirked an eyebrow in question.
Shadowheart sighed, throwing her hands over the bard’s shoulders and whispered into her ear, “I really would.” She felt a light tremble beneath her, the bard taking in a shaky breath. Hm. Effective.
“Shall we begin now?” The bard murmured.
Shadowheard nodded into her neck. It smelled divine, like cinnamon and cloves. Warm and heardy. She shook herself.
In an instant, they were outside, Shadowheart subtly herding her two houses down. They walked beside each other, the bard’s hand grazing hers or swiping over her hips every few steps. A half moon illuminated the road. Shadowheart fought the urge to keep to the shadows on either side.
Conveniently, the bard took Shadowheart down the correct alley and pushed her against a wall. Her breath caught in her throat despite herself as the bard’s hands lay firm on either side of her head.
Wilbur and Fredrichk would have followed them out. This will be over soon, she just needs to stay distracted. “I suppose this is as good a place as any for dancing lessons.” The bard’s gaze shifted, not admiring the cleric but rather…studying her?
The bard’s hands crept down her side, settling at her waist. The light touch of the tavern was gone, replaced with a greedy hold, like her hands were trying to take everything they could get. The bard was just a bit taller than Shadowheart, her face tilted down, her lips parted. Just a few seconds more. Instead of kissing her, as expected, the bard buried her face in Shadowheart’s neck, inhaling deeply.
“You know…” the bard muttered almost imperceptibly, her tone still laced with that seductive edge, “You really are lovely for a Sharran.” Shadowheart froze just as Wilbur stabbed the bard with a dagger coated in a sleeping potion.