A Noble Beast

Minthara first began to notice how strangely Halsin had been acting a week before, while they were out in the city, buying supplies. 

She’d never expected them to be friends, but the two had achieved a somewhat mutual understanding. Minthara did not bother him and he did not bother her. 

But that day, as she waited for Galatea - the group's de facto leader - and Astarion, to finish their shopping, Halsin came up behind her and whispered so delicately, she almost believed it was a trick of the mind. 

“You do not belong here,” he said. “The others will soon see who you truly are. They do not want you here.” 

She scowled. “Mind your tongue, darthiir, before I rip it out.” 

Halsin smirked. “Oh, but you wouldn’t dare.”

Her nostrils flared. “Is that a challenge?” 

“No. It is a fact. If you were to hurt me, who would the others believe more? The druid, who has always lent a helping hand, or the vengeful drow, born and bred in betrayal?”  

Minthara frowned, straightening her back and examining his eyes closely. There was something…perverse in them. As Halsin was not infected by a tadpole, Minthara could not reach his mind, but her instinct told her something was afoot. 

The same instinct that had told her to trust the outstretched hand of Galatea.

Her first thought was to bring it up to the others, but it quickly perished. Minthara would not throw baseless accusations with only her intuition as proof, and even if she did, the rest of the party would call her paranoid. Although she knew that Galatea would trust her judgment, she would not risk the two of them losing the artifact’s protection.

Minthara took a deep breath. “Meditate with one eye open, druid. I do not give my enemies a chance to strike against me.” 

Halsin said nothing, as his mouth twisted into a sardonic smile, giving Minthara an unreadable look before turning his attention elsewhere. 

.

It was evening, and the camp was quiet as Minthara laid on the hammock inside her tent. Almost everyone had gone into the city, but she had elected to stay behind, citing injuries from their last battle.

Surrounded by silence, she contemplated her current situation, as she entered a state of trance. Halsin wasn't the only one who had been acting increasingly strangely towards her. 

There had always been an invisible barrier between the party and Minthara. She remembered hearing their concern when she first joined camp, fearing she would act against them at any point. Even after weeks of traveling together, she could still sense a distrust. Whether in camp or in battle, they were distant from her. She thought back to their last battle. Minthara had been cornered by their enemies. She had looked at Shadowheart for assistance but the cleric had hesitated, only moving after she had already been struck. 

This rankled Minthara. She never expected them to be friends - nor did she particularly want to be - but how would they defeat the cult of the Absolute with so much distrust between them? 

And she knew who was causing this - Halsin. 

She had seen how he would whisper in the others’ ears, things she could not hear, but judging from how they would look at her, it was nothing good. He had also begun to bring up the Grove more, even in casual conversation, and he'd remind everyone what Minthara's original plans were. Afterwards, she'd see the way they all looked at each other, shifting in their seats.

At the very least, Galatea trusted her — a fact she was grateful for. The two had grown intimately close since Moonrise Towers, and although their relationship was still fresh, Minthara knew that the tiefling valued her presence, and as long as she did, Minthara would be safe. 

During that time, when she was feeling ostracized, Minthara had often found herself playing with Scratch. At first, she thought the dog to be a lowly beast, a mongrel who only followed them for food, but he ended up growing on her. 

Scratch, unlike many, was loyal. Though such a concept was uncommon and even despised in the Underdark, it was a trait Minthara had found herself admiring as of late, and she soon found that Scratch, a dog who had originally attacked the group for getting too close to its master’s body, was less likely to turn on her than some of her so called companions. 

When she was lonely, he’d run to her with his ball in his mouth, placing it at her feet, ears perked in a hopeful request. 

Minthara would indulge him, grabbing the ball and throwing it far. He’d run to it, and bring it back to her. A simple thing, but Scratch's enthusiasm for it lifted her spirits, a reluctant smile growing on her face as his tail wagged happily.

Her meditation was interrupted by the sound of Scratch’s bark. Immediately, Minthara sprung into action, grabbing a nearby weapon, prepared to ward off any intruders in the camp. Instead, she saw Scratch growling at Halsin, showing the druid his teeth, as the elf looked at him with disgust. 

When Halsin raised his fist, Minthara shouted Scratch’s name, grabbing their attention. She walked towards them, her weapon still in hand, and the dog quickly ran to her side. 

“Look at how he goes to his mistress.” Halsin sneered at him. “So obedient, so subservient. Did she tell you to attack me?” 

Scratch barked, and Minthara moved to stand between the two. 

“Keep your bloody mutt in check,” Halsin growled. “Before I find a way to silence him for good.” 

Minthara raised a brow. “Surprising that a druid such as yourself would be so bothered by a dog. Was it not a greater beast that gave you those scars?” 

“Yes. But the owlbear who did it is no longer in this world. I will not be provoked by any beast, great or small.”

Minthara’s eyes squinted. “You mean the bear who did it. I recall you saying it was a female bear who attacked you.” 

Halsin’s jaw clenched. “You probably misheard it. It was an owlbear.” 

Minthara did not reply. A moment passed, the two staring at each other, before Minthara took a step back and left, Scratch following behind. Neither of them relaxed until the druid was well out of sight. 

.

The following night, Minthara sat by the campfire, cleaning her weapons, still seething as she  remembered the woman from the Couriers, who’d claimed Scratch was hers. After she’d demanded the dog to be returned to her, Minthara had almost snapped her neck, the action only stopped by Galatea using her silver tongue to deceive the woman. 

“I didn’t realize you cared that much for Scratch.” Galatea said now, standing close by with her arms loosely crossed. 

“He is a noble beast,” Minthara responded. “And loyal - a quality many lack. It would have been foolish to betray him, to leave him with that bitch. Scratch belongs with us.” 

Galatea nodded. “I agree.”

A moment of silence passed between the two when Galatea said, “You know, he reminds me of you.” 

Minthara lifted an eyebrow. “Are you calling me a dog?” 

“No,” the tiefling shook her head, chuckling. “I just mean that you two are similar in how you act. Protective, caring, loyal.” 

Minthara opened her mouth to reply when a scream rang from across camp. Immediately, the two women ran towards the sound. 

In the barn where the owlbear cub typically slept, Shadowheart was kneeling, crying over…

Minthara caught a glimpse of white fur and felt an unfamiliar dread rising in her stomach. 

“Shadowheart? What’s wrong?” Galatea asked. 

“Look at him!” She stood up, pointing to the ground. The others arrived just as she did, all met with the sight of Scratch’s limp body, his eyes open but unmoving

Dead. 

From the corner of her eye, Minthara saw Karlach put a hand to her mouth, a curse falling from her lips as she cried, while Wyll hugged her from the side in comfort.

But her attention was quickly drawn back to Scratch, and she felt a sudden pain inside of her. 

She scowled. It was strange. She had seen death before, even of those she loved. She had killed lovers and held them in their final moments, and even in those moments she had not felt…this. This sudden empty feeling, the same as when a child loses its first spider. Minthara despised this feeling. 

Shaking her head, she stepped closer, and put a hand to Scratch’s fur. What was once warm and welcoming was now cold. Scratch should not be this cold. She petted his head, as she would normally do, and she felt her skin prickle with the strange sensation of something wet on her face. 

Tears. It was almost odd. How long had it been since she last cried?

Minthara quickly wiped them away, and stood up. Galatea's cold hand rested gently on her back,

“Are you alright?” The tiefling asked. 

“I-”

“How could you?” Halsin interjected suddenly, directing a furious look at Minthara. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You fool no one with this act. You know what you did, drow.” He turned to the rest of the group, grabbing Scratch’s dog bowl. “I saw you putting something in Scratch’s bowl.”

“It was his food.” Minthara said flatly.

“But that wasn't all, was it?” He handed the object to Shadowheart. “You’re a cleric. See if there’s anything wrong with it.” 

She looked between them, brow furrowed, before she muttered a prayer and passed her hand over the bowl, which still held some scraps of food. There was a faint yellowish glow on the food, and on Scratch’s muzzle. 

“It…it’s poison. His food was poisoned.” Shadowheart concluded and all eyes turned to Minthara, a grim accusation building within them. 

Minthara’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Halsin. “How dare you.” She bit out in a low voice, before turning to the rest of the group. “His accusations are false. I would not have intentionally hurt Scratch, much less take his life.”

“She lies.” Halsin declared. “You cannot believe her words.” 

“But…but why would she do it?” Karlach asked. 

“For the same reason she would have attacked the grove, child. Because she can.” 

“I have to agree.” Astarion chimed in. “We have all seen how ruthless Minthara is.If anything, I'm surprised it's taken her this long to get fed up with playing nice.”

“You know that’s not true,” Galatea defended. “Minthara never-”

“Would she not?” He scoffed. “You are too blinded by infatuation to see the truth. Minthara would sacrifice all of us to get what she wanted. At least I own up to my kills.” 

Soon enough, the situation devolved to a shouting match. Accusations were thrown from all sides, calling Minthara a monster, a cold and calculating murderer. Galatea continued to protest, with Karlach and even Gale chiming in as well, but everyone else kept pointing fingers at her. 

Minthara stayed silent, as her gaze shifted between Scratch and Halsin, trying to understand what had happened. It was when the druid caught her gaze, his mouth twisting into a sinister smirk, that it all clicked. 

“Orin.” Minthara uttered, the word ringing with iron fury. The druid’s smirk grew, stretching and warping unnaturally as his skin melted away to reveal the Chosen of Bhaal. 

“You spoil my fun. I was going to enjoy watching as they tore you into precious pieces I could gift to my dear father.” Orin sighed, pouting insincerely. “At least I still have your druid to content myself with.” She laughed, twisting the ring in her finger and in a flash of light, she was gone, leaving them to the chaos in her wake. 

Silence rang across camp, as though no one dared to speak for a long moment. Looks were exchanged, heads shook in shame and guilt as the truth of the matter sunk in. 

Minthara walked towards Scratch, picking up his body, ignoring the others muttered regrets and attempted apologies

“Don’t apologize.” She said, back turned to them as she grabbed a shovel. “It is far too late for that now.” 

. 

Minthara chose to bury Scratch in a spot not too far from camp, in a wooded space that had been the site of more than one game of fetch. The effort left Minthara sweaty and covered in dirt when Galatea found her sitting on the ground, back resting against a tree.

Minthara chose to stay awake, looking at the fire she’d built to keep her company. Soon, Galatea joined her, sitting besides her on the floor. 

“Thank you.” Minthara said. “For trusting me, even when others didn’t.” 

Galatea held her hand and nodded. “Always. Though, I apologize for what happened.” 

Minthara shook her head. “There’s no point in doing so.” She sighed. “I expected this would happen.” 

Galatea frowned. “How?” 

“I grew up in Menzoberranzan. Betrayal is as normal as breathing.”

“But this isn’t the Underdark.” 

“Is it not? Spinning a web of lies to sow chaos is exactly the type of thing Lolth would be proud of.” She scoffed. “I do not need them to like me, but seeing as we share the same goal, a certain level of trust was expected.” She shook her head. “My freedom depends on the Prism to ward off the Absolute’s influence. I would not risk losing that with betrayal, even if it’s what others believe of me.” 

Minthara closed her eyes. “Halsin had been acting strangely. I should have known it was her. I should have told you my suspicions.” 

Galatea frowned. “Then why didn’t you?” 

“I…don’t know.” She answered honestly. “I feared no one would believe me, and my suspicions would be regarded as baseless accusations.” Minthara paused and took a deep breath. “I hesitated and now…” she didn’t finish her sentence, as her gaze turned to where Scratch was buried.  

That unfamiliar ache from before bloomed in her chest again, as she thought of Scratch. “He knew it was Orin.” Minthara whispered, a stray tear falling down her cheek. Galatea gently wiped it away as Minthara spoke. “He barked at her, and that’s when I knew it wasn’t Halsin. And still, I hesitated.” Her jaw clenched, as she took a deep breath. “I do not care that the others don’t trust me, but for them to believe I would ever hurt Scratch…” 

She looked away from Galatea, her next words coming in a helpless murmur. "Why would they think I killed the dog? I liked the dog."

The two stayed silent, looking at the moon, when Minthara finally stood up. 

“I hesitated once and Scratch died for it. I will not make the same mistake again.” She grabbed the shovel, and began marching towards camp, Galatea following behind. 

Entering her tent, she said, “Tomorrow, we will go after her, and when we do find her, I will kill Orin. Then, and only then, will I smile.” Her fists were clenched and she looked at Galatea. “Are you with me?” 

She nodded, eyes firm. “Yes.” 

“Good. For I will not know peace until Orin is dead.”