Blood's Requiem
Chapter One
Disclaimer: Neverwinter Nights 2 belongs to Obsidian Entertainment and Wizards of the Coast, and I make no money from this work of fanfiction at all.
Pairings: None in this chapter. Some UST
Warnings: Spoilers for chapter two of the game, slight AU regarding the storyline, and Shandra blatantly admiring Casavir.
Summary: First her barn, then her house. Shandra has to deal with crazy barbarians, a gorgeous Paladin and the rest of the crazies in Neverwinter while trying to make some sense of her broken life.
A/N: This is a story to answer the question of why Shandra, who had every reason to really dislike the PC, would die to save the PC and friends. It is largely a character piece and an attempt to tell the story through Shandra's eyes while providing some UST at the same time. Any feedback is appreciated and I hope that I have edited most of the crud out. The story takes place as a series of memories while Shandra talks to the demons and devils of Jerro's Haven.
//"Only do this if you want to, Shandra."
Those words broke the heavy silence, but they helped to steady her, a little. Shandra's gaze had been transfixed, and with a shudder she shifted her attention away from the blood stained, worn pedestal before the Jerro Guardian.
She knew that the Captain wouldn't ever make her do something she didn't want to do, and for a moment she was tempted to do just that: run away and back to the relative safety of the Sunken Flagon or to Crossroads Keep. She had already lost one home. No one would find fault with her if she just left; she didn't owe them anything.
She could feel Yasha's eyes on her back, waiting.
If there was anything she had learned, it was that Yasha Miller had a protective streak wider than the Neverwinter River, and that the woman certainly wouldn't hold it against her. She would be disappointed, but Yasha would understand. Then she would then go in, and shake the planes themselves looking for another way in, but she wouldn't hold it against Shandra. Gods knew she wished Yasha would sometimes just go in and ask, or take, what she wanted without being so damn tentative about it.
Gods knew, she wished that she wasn't here, standing in an empty, echoing ravine, in front of a massive construct that called for her blood. At least it was just a drop and not the pint that she had been told. Yet she knew she had been lying to herself, because if it helped them, if it helped her, Shandra knew she would do it. Since signing on with this mad company, she knew there was no turning back.
"All right." Shandra swallowed nervously, but managed to bare her teeth in a smile. "I know you all will have my back, in case the summons goes wrong."
She drew a dagger, not one of her short swords (which she hadn't had time to clean properly) and pricked her finger.
"Damn."
It hurt; it seemed like she could be stabbed in the shoulder and it wouldn't hurt so much as when she cut herself. Dark red, completely normal human blood welled up and rolled down to drip on to the odd pedestal before her.
Her muscles tensed and she held her breath. She could sense the others- Casavir, Elanee, Neeshka and Yasha- all doing the same. Hands were on weapons, wary of the inevitable fallout of opening a reclusive wizard's personal Haven. Shandra's hands had landed on her swords as she waited for the catastrophe that would surely come.
It didn't take more than a heartbeat for all of this to occur, as the winds whistled through the barren canyon walls.
Shandra blinked; the door had opened.
All of her companions exhaled in the heavy silence.
"Well." Shandra tasted the word, feeling a sense of relief that made her nearly sag. She couldn't turn to look at her companions yet. She knew that Yasha would be smiling and Casavir would be looking on in approval. She didn't think she could handle that right then. "That wasn't so bad…"
There was a shift, and the world was pulled out from underneath her, and Shandra was sure she had landed in hell.//
My captors hadn't been physically cruel yet, especially when I repeatedly told them I had no idea what they were talking about.
Dammit, why do these things always seem to happen to me? I had been assured I would be safe at the Sunken Flagon. The crazy ranger lady had been kind even when I had yelled at her, and Casavir's reassurances had gone a long way to making me feel secure in this place even after the loss of my home. Then I had walked away, and…
That was about the last thing I remembered. I hadn't even had time to scream. Those damn githyanki had babbled on and on about 'kalach-cha this' and 'kalach-cha that' and I started to wonder if this was a lynching party, a trap or a fan club. I think they must have eventually drugged me to stop the screaming, because damn I screamed. If we were near a settlement, I screamed. If we were in the woods, I would try and leave tracks, and maybe scream a little more. We were in Luskan, so I doubt it did me much good. I didn't know how I knew that Miller and her motley crew would come after me, but I did. I suppose I thought it would just hold true to her pattern- any time bad things happened to me, she would be in the area- and bad things were definitely happening right now.
It had to have been days, maybe a tenday when I found myself in a cage and looking through a portal at what had to be the oldest looking githyanki woman I had ever seen. Not that I had seen many, but…
Illmater have mercy, because I heard them saying what they were going to do to me.
I hate being scared all the time. I hate being helpless. Yet the gods must have heard me, because the repeated phrase "kalach-cha" seemed to speed up, and I could hear a feminine snarl of anger.
I had never been so happy to see someone run (or rather, walk) headlong into danger. And I had never felt so ashamed of myself, because for a moment I had doubted that my personal nemesis would come. When she offered to trade herself for the rest of us… well, I was shamed again. It was stupid that she do it, because gods knew that they would kill us all anyways, but at least she tried.
Several strange silver things flew off Miller's body- they had been in her pack- and she was yanked into the air, arching her back and squawking in pain. My jaw dropped, and I think the githyanki woman did much the same.
"You have… a piece of the sword inside of you," she said, voice flat and confused. My mind fizzled, because that was downright… impossible. Not to mention disgusting.
"It is no matter. We will take it, by force!" the woman behind the barrier hissed, and her guards attacked. After that, Miller then proceeded to do what she did best, in a very spectacular manner.
She threw her head back and howled, rage twisting her face as she took a war mace and proceeded to ignore magical blasts and striking blades, and started to break things.
Damn, that woman wasgood at breaking things.
Arrival back at the Flagon was anticlimactic at best. There was celebration that I was back safely (and I had to avoid Duncan's hands) and I did my best to sit on the other side of the common room from Bishop.
I eyed my companions, thinking about who would be my new tutor. I had no ability to spell cast- perhaps once, but no longer- and my talents were all blades.
Elanee was a druid, and she fought best as a wild thing, not with weapons. Grobnar- obviously no. I doubted Neeshka would have the patience, the same went for Khelgar, and Casavir used heavy armor and war hammers. Both were great for dealing damage and taking it, but, ah- heavy armorstinks. While I didn't object to chain mail, I didn't want to go that far. That left Miller and Bishop, and I would rather be an orc kissing troll than be around Bishop for more than a few minutes.
So, Miller it was then. She's good with two weapons, and if it wasn't for her little temper problem… Still, she tended to be patient with the people in her strange group.
I found myself eyeing the gang again, and shook my head. They all seemed so different from each other. I had to wonder how Miller had picked up so many strays. The first time I had met her, her crew had been walking down the path to my farm. Well, "walking" wasn't really the right term. Khelgar barreled, Elanee strolled, Neeshka glided while Miller seemed to lope. I remembered thinking that she was probably the largest woman I had ever met right off the bat. She was taller than anyone in her party- it was true now even with the addition of two tall human men- at well over six feet, maybe even seven. Yet for all that she was quiet (except when drinking or breaking things or both) and polite, even though I knew she lied to me about why she was there.
Speaking of which… where was she? I took a swallow of my ale, glancing around the common room (and giving Casavir an appreciative glance at his backside) before realizing she was no longer about. I tensed, nearly sloshing my drink, when Grobnar plopped down in front of me.
He babbled, and I had to smile at him because he was just so amusing, but the lack of the female ranger in the room began to make me increasingly nervous. It had been weeks since she had been out of my sight on the long trip back from Luskan. I had taken comfort in seeing her back, knowing that she led the way. As much as Casavir's calming aura, the sight of her blotting out daylight with her big frame reassured me that I wasn't going to be kidnapped again.
I shook my head when I realized that Grobnar had asked me a question. I looked over at him and tried to appear attentive.
"I say, Shandra, are you all right?" the little gnome asked, tilting his head to the side. I shrugged.
"I was about to ask the same question," another voice interrupted, and I winced. Duncan was a nice man, but old enough to be my father and I just wasn't interested in him. I was still grateful for his hospitality. "You look like someone killed your cat."
"No, I don't think that's it," Grobnar corrected. "She looks like someone set her cat's tail on fire, before cutting it off and then stomping on its head. Or maybe even-"
"We get the idea, Gnome," Duncan snapped, and I had to shake my head, some of my nerves dissipating at the rather absurd exchange. I glanced around. Neeshka and Khelgar were in a somewhat congenial argument about who had the better ale, Qara was watching the common room when she should have been wiping the tables, Bishop was leering and Casavir was talking quietly to Elanee.
"Did you see where your niece went?" I asked Duncan, to forestall an argument.
"Yasha? Oh, she wanted to take a bath. Cleanest ranger, or barbarian, I've ever met. You'd think after living in a swamp most of her life she wouldn't like bathing so much, but considering how many hits she takes, I think hot water helps ease the aches. Better than using many hot water bottles, I suppose. She took a bottle of mead with her."
"Ah." I looked around. I gulped the rest of my ale, and grimaced. Nothing was wrong with the ale, but hell. I was just about punch drunk, forgetting the spirits I had already consumed. Bed was calling.
"I'm going on up to my room, Duncan," I said with an uneasy smile. He gave the bartender's look, one that priests usually reserve for liars, and nodded. I shrugged at him, and set my drink down, standing and heading for the stairs.
The revelry from the common room became more and more muffled as I went up the stair well, until it was little more than a distant annoyance in the background. My room was on the other end of the hall- the same room I had used on the night I was kidnapped.
Nope, that didn't bother me, not at all. I was just fine with the fact that I was alone. I was completely alone, no candles or lamps, and not ill at ease despite the welcoming soft bed.
I shrugged off my filthy clothes, noting that someone had put a large shirt out for me to wear to sleep. I made myself lie down, straining my ears. I told myself it was just curiosity, to listen to what was going in the common room.
I wasn't listening for the sound of clinking armor or the brush of steel in its scabbard. I couldn't sense magic, and-
I started to doze off, when the idea that someone might be putting a sleeping spell on me made me sit straight up in a cold sweat. A loud thump from down the hall made me jump, and I looked frantically around the room for the maker of the sound.
Okay… no one was there… I could relax. Only I couldn't. I could smell smoke from the kitchen stoves and my gut told me that the tavern was burning down. When it was too quiet, I knew someone had used a silence spell to mask his presence…
I ached all over.
The trip back from Luskan had been unpleasant from lack of beds and a hard pace set by our two rangers. The bed was warm and soft, and Ineeded sleep. The ale should have relaxed me but all it did was turn off my rational thought, making the paranoia louder.
Another loud thump echoed down the hall, and I sat up again. My hands shook as I grabbed a pillow. As far as I could figure in my slightly tipsy state, I had two options. Settling on the least likely to make tongues wag, I staggered out and stiltedly made my way down the hall before pounding my fist against the smoothed oak of one of the doors.
"Open up! I know you're in there!"
I kept smacking, and between one whack and the next, the door was thrown open, and my knock hit Miller's nose.
"Ow."
"Oh, sorry," I looked at her, and paused, thrown off from my original tear. She was wrapped in a towel, dripping on the floor with her large boar, Edare, behind her. I could see the wooden tub she had used in the corner, taking up much of the floor space in the small bedroom, next to the fire with a bottle of mead on the floor. The scar that the silver thing was under was between her breasts, trailing down over her ribs. I stared at it before looking back up at her face, and tried not to think about what it must have felt like.
"Can I help you with anything?" she asked, distantly polite.
Blond hair was nearly brown from being soaked. Her skin was, like anyone who worked outdoors, weathered and tanned. Somehow she seemed even larger without the armor covering her up- I couldn't excuse her height on the effect of layers of leather and padding. Sweet Chauntea, she was intimidating even now.
"Shandra?" her eyebrows went up. "Are you all right?"
"I'm staying in here," I told her flatly. She blinked.
"If you want to switch rooms-"
"No. I'm staying in here, with you. I told you, I don't like being left behind. I want you right where I can see you."
One of her eyebrows lifted, and she shook her head (then rubbed her bonked nose.) "Are you sure?"
"Yes," I snapped, hugging my pillow like I child. I noticed I was doing it and stopped. I wasn't afraid of her saying no, really. I wasn't.
She paused, face blank. "All right." She stepped aside to give me room and picked up a robe. I walked in, noting that the room had gained some personality from its owner, with a weapon's rack, a wardrobe and some flowers on the mantle. "You take the bed. I'll go see if Uncle Duncan has a spare cot."
Something about that didn't sound quite right to me, but I was too tired to notice. So I collapsed, realizing that the bed was already quite rumpled, and there were bits of armor strewn across it. I didn't quite care at that moment. All that mattered was that my gods-awful paranoia was mollified, knowing that the only person more annoying than the githyanki was staying with me.
I was barely awake when the other woman returned. I could hear her growling softy as she wrestled in a camp cot, and finally dropping it in the space that wasn't taken up by her tub, her boar and her weapons.
She looked at me. I could feel her looming, before sighing gustily and sitting on the cot.
"What's wrong?" I muttered, my face half buried from where I had fallen on the bed and not budged.
"You're on my pillows."
I was feeling demanding right then. After all, it was really all her fault that I had no pillows of my own. Instead I burrowed in further.
Miller sighed again. "Shandra- gimme!"
There was a jerk and I yelped as my head dropped several inches and I propped myself up. Miller was disheveled, still damp, and holding her own pillow like a prize. Any and all intimidation I had felt evaporated.
"Hey, that's mine!" I snarled, reaching out one arm to grab it, but otherwise unmoving. I think I would have been more imitating if my face wasn't half buried.
Miller cracked a tired grin. "Not unless you want to share that bed, Shandra. And it is way too small for that."
"Go to hell."
"Does it have a big bed?"
"I dunno, you could ask…"
Miller looked about as tired as I felt. Considering that she had been the one taking most of the beating, I shouldn't have been surprised. "You going to sleep?"
"Once I lay down."
This was such an enlightening conversation. We sounded like a pair of siblings arguing over… well… who got the bed.
"Gods," I groaned, and tried to roll over. I was partially successful, but wound up on top of something hard and uncomfortable. Sleep was delayed while I tried to fish it out. "Yeah… okay… will you start teaching me?"
"You want me to teach you? What?"
"How to burn down buildings. No, fighting." A massive yawn cracked my jaw as I pulled out a piece of armor and tried to throw it off the bed. I managed, mostly. "Okay?"
"Right. Qara's better at buildings anyways." I was rolled over enough to see her on the cot- her feet hung off the edge. Something in me wanted to be guilty but I was way too relieved and tired to do anything about it. I wasn't alone, even if the person I was with had a bad habit of being in front of scary things. That was okay; she was scarier than they were.
Even if she did look like a rumpled bear.
"'Night, Shandra. I promise I won't go easy on you in the morning."
"Right. Uh huh… now let me sleep."
She kept her promise, waking me up the next day. It wasn't exactly early, but it wasn't noon yet either.
"This isn't fair," I whined, following Mill- ah, Yasha, into the common room. She didn't answer me, but opened up one of her lesser magic bags and started dumping out equipment. I noticed that the others were doing the same, laying out weapons and armor, magic jewelry and potions. I paused, as Yasha waved me over.
"We'll buy you new stuff as you need it, but until we know what you're best at, just pick and chose here."
"New stuff is too good for me, eh?" I snorted. Figures she'd be a skinflint. Still, there were a few decent pieces. The cold iron short sword we salvaged from my home when we first came to the Flagon was quickly discarded. It was good for simple sell sword work, but gods… with the shit coming after us…
I finally settled on some battered but intact mail and some simple swords. No fancy enchantments, but I would make Yasha buy those for me later. The woman nodded as I chose- and made me eat breakfast- before we went out.
We quickly gathered an audience. People in uniforms that had to be the City Watch gathered around; so did a gaggle of street urchins. Passersby seemed to like the sight of two women beginning to battle it out. I didn't see the appeal, probably because it was my body getting bruised.
Casavir watched us both, giving advice in his even, emotionless tone, while Bishop would just watch. I swear that man made my skin crawl. I would have sooner shared my bed with a snake.
Thinking about him caused more than enough distraction for Yasha to get through my weak guard. Dulled weapons and half speed meant an ache instead of an instant trip to the temple to be resurrected.
"Keep your main weapon pointed at your opponent's eyes," Casavir called.
Without turning to look at him, Yasha shouted back. "Why did the chicken cross the road?"
"Presumably because there was a greater good to be accomplished there."
I took a buffet to my head for stopping and staring. I didn't know if that was a joke or not.
Grobnar and Khelgar shouted encouragement in the background as Yasha showed me form before beating the use of it into me.
"Who the hell taught you?" I muttered- after the third time I was thrown into the dirt- and the question made Yasha pause. "Some kind of demon?"
"My foster father," she answered, her tone decidedly neutral. She offered me a hand up, which I ignored. I had to wonder where this person came from, and how the hell she could…
I sighed, before sitting back in the dirt. It was some nice, comfy dirt. Chauntea likes dirt, and so do I.
Life fell into a routine after that. Yasha would get up first and I would follow her downstairs (turns out she would help Sal with the dishes) and we would train. She taught me technique, and then would grab others for me to spar against so I could see how best to use those techniques against different fighting styles. I would wind up bruised, bitch about it, and realized that bathing helped me recover my spirits just about as quickly as any healing potion. Needless to say, Yasha's tub started serving double duty.
Yasha would occasionally go out on patrol, wearing a City Watch cloak and with some of her other lackeys. (Okay, lackey wasn't really a good term for it, but I didn't want to be called a friend yet, and… I just called myself a lackey… dammit…) Here I realized that she did just fine if she never opened her mouth. She would have no problem exchanging pleasantries, or helping a child find her parents, or literally chasing down a crook, but…
She was polite in saying please and thank you. She also had all the subtlety of an ox in an alchemy laboratory. She could hold her tongue- sometimes- but she had trouble talking people around without making them wet themselves. It probably had to do with her size. When a nearly seven foot woman who made her swords look like daggers walks up to you, wearing armor and frowning, sane people run away.
The kids didn't, but that was because she tended to give them sweets. Sometimes bribery worked wonders.
Life almost started to seem normal. I had started to see, dimly, the shape of the relationships here. A strange family had begun to form around Yasha. She wasn't the mother; that had to be Elanee. Yasha treated her with a great deal of respect. Considering that she was a tree-worshipper, I suppose that was natural. Khelgar and Neeshka were siblings. That seemed right as well. Once you were part of this carnival, Khelgar would bully anyone who bullied you, even if he wanted to fight with you first. Neeshka was the child everyone watched out for, because you never knew where her fingers would be. She had a good heart, just needed a bit of guidance, in my opinion. Khelgar in particular seemed to feel it was his gods given duty to keep her on the straight and narrow and she rebelled. I wondered how long it would take for them to realize they really liked each other.
Grobnar was the dreamer, the tale-telling sibling that would keep up your spirits with his bizarre tales that would make everything else seem more distant, while Qara was, truly, the red haired step child. She could have had a place, but she held herself aloof, unwilling to play in our games.
Casavir was a warm presence in the room, despite his unsmiling and stoic demeanor. It was sad- I would have bet that he had a gorgeous smile. He didn't hold himself aloof as much as enjoy watching the youngsters play amongst themselves of an evening. I didn't approach him but I did enjoy watching him.
During those times, when I could forget that there were silver things out there for us to find, and that there was supposed to be some bigger threat out there than the githyanki, I started to be lulled by the warmth and familiarity of it. Yasha would come back from walking patrols and waiting on word of the silver thingies, would swap silly stories with Grobnar (and I noticed she took pains to try to get Casavir to laugh; apparently the chicken joke was one of many… ) while Khelgar and Neeshka would try to come up with more original insults. (I tried my hand at it once. I managed "Knee-biter" and "tail-breath.") Bishop as always stood in the corner while Elanee would try to add some sense to the conversations, but would often just smile and shake her head.
Once Duncan made Qara serve us supper. Messy, good times…
Then that little bit of stability was blown to hell.
I had to sit down after Nevalle had left, his words ringing in my ears.
Murderer.
I knew Yasha had killed people. I had seen her slaughter the githyanki that had captured me efficiently and she was teaching me to do the same. It was not outside of her ability to go and kill an entire town. Hell, Bishop and Qara might go along with it for target practice.
Then my rational mind raced to catch up. For one thing, the timeline was all wrong. I would have been with her while this happened, and she certainly could not have gone off to kill Ember (Gods! No survivors?None at all?) surrounded by a druid, a paladin and another ranger. Not without our help, and I certainly don't recall that from amidst the muck and rain on our trip back.
I rested my head on my hands on the table, listening to the others debate our options. Nevalle had suggested Yasha go to this Knight guy and… and what. Become a Squire; that was it. Then she would have a fighting chance.
I wanted to scream and rage. I knew the people of Ember. Some were my friends. For someone to kill them, then blame Yasha, mother hen Yasha, it was twice as bad. To accuse someone of killing a town because they wanted to get to her… the gods just wanted to think of creative ways to punish anyone for being around her.
I looked up and saw that she had gone horribly pale, and completely silent.
Then a newcomer had arrived: Sand.
His words more or less went in one ear and out the other. His discussion with Yasha was across the room, and I barely noticed when another large form blocked the light from the fires.
Casavir covered one of my hands with one of his own.
"Do not fear, I believe our leader will not so easily be convicted. Justice is on her side."
Me? Afraid? Maybe a little.
"Justice didn't help Ember," I muttered, then winced when Casavir seemed to go gray. He didn't look at me when I glanced back at him. "I know you mean well, Casavir, but- I knew people there. They just wanted to live their lives."
"There are many injustices in this world that we cannot rectify," he said, heavily, but looked back over at our leader, weighing and measuring her. "Yet I have little doubt that, with our help, our leader will find those who did this. Ember will be avenged, even if the lives lost can never be replaced."
"That's the crux of the matter, isn't it? It won't do them much good now. They're dead."
"Yes," he murmured, and I winced. There was something dark and deep there, that I had accidentally prodded.
His hand was warm, even through his heavy gloves. He had not changed from his practice, still wearing much of his protective gear. Both of us had fallen silent, and a girlish part of me wanted to squeal. Most girls daydreamed about paladins, and I had to admit that attractive (human) male attention was not something unwanted. If it had only been at a slightly better time…
A even larger body sank down beside me. Yasha didn't look much better than I felt, in addition to looking like a blond lich.
"Sweet Mielikki," she muttered. "I- all those people…" Her shoulders wavered, before exhaling. "And now they want me to become a Squire. I don't know who I feel most sorry for…"
"The people of Ember are no longer in pain. Your torment is just beginning," Casavir said flatly, and both Yasha and I stared at him, then at each other.
Casavir had made a joke. A horribly timed, inappropriate, completely deadpan joke… Hadn't he?
"I suppose not all miracles require gods," Yasha croaked, before clearing her throat noisily. "What torment?"
"They could eventually make you a Knight."
"And?" The idea seemed repugnant to me, but a lot of people wanted to become part of the nobility.
"You will be forced to learn how to dance."
Yasha's eyes were about to bug out, and I just behind her. He… he had to be joking. Really.
I think that Yasha had finally met defeat, even if she had been wanting him to try this, because she stood up slowly and backed away.
I joined her. The idea of Casavir growing a sense of humor like this, was… ah… unnerving.
//Shandra looked around, heart first stopping then speeding up, blood roaring in her ears as she realized she was no longer with her friends. She couldn't feel Casavir's soothing aura, or see Yasha's back. It had been months since she had been completely alone, despite the years of working her farm by herself.
She quite preferred having company, maddening as it was.
Sweat popped out on her skin. She didn't know where she was, but it was dark and alien, and the paranoia that had nearly lifted ages ago had returned full force.
"And just when I was tiring of the Jerro blood, a new vein appears," a voice interrupted her thoughts. Shandra choked, eyes finally finding the binding circle on the floor and the demon woman standing casually inside it. Instinctively she knew that the demon woman couldn't cross that line… but that didn't mean much when dealing with someone from the Lower Planes.
"How- how did I get here?" she asked, hands shaking as she reached for her swords. They were sheathed at her sides, and she looked around wildly, trying to find an exit in case things got ugly.
She tried to identify the creature before her, but her knowledge was pretty much limited to this plane of existence. She could feel the evil rolling off her, however, and she made Shandra's stomach curdle.
The demon woman's red eyes fluttered in amusement. "My dear, this entire Haven is tied to the Jerro blood," she answered, her tone bored. "I imagine you got here exactly the same way you entered."
Typical demon double-talk. It didn't help much, but as she had nothing else to go on, Shandra didn't have much choice. All she could do was hope that she could find clues for herself. Drawing herself up, Shandra tried to cover up her fear with bravado.
"My friends, where are they?"
"Around, no doubt." The demon woman was all but purring, and Shandra wished she didn't suddenly feel like a plump mouse before a cat. "Probably not having as easy a time as you, I expect."
Shandra kept looking around, doing her best to hold on to her wits. She wasn't weak, she wasn't afraid of this place, she wasn't lying to herself, really. She just happened to have been stuck in Baator while stark naked.
The demon woman drew her attention back. "But let us chat for a moment, you and I. There is much that we should discuss."
Somehow, Shandra doubted that she would like hearing it.
To be continued.