[and then at this point they take a wrong turn, and he's yeeted into her memory:
The mirrors lead you and Shadowheart down a path that shows a similar descent into a dark underground temple. The twisting path heads further into the dark, until the reflections that show back to you are only lit by the dim glow of purple lamps.
Shadowheart and three of her traveling companions - Gale, Karlach, Astarion - stand before an altar made of stone, glowing purple. On the altar, an inscription reads, “Brave the Gauntlet of Lady Shar, Surmount Her Trials and Rise a Dark Justiciar.”
The mirrors on the opposite sides of the room reflect other memories, other moments. They’re hazy and dark, you can’t even quite make out what’s down that way, as though parts of the mirrors are hidden from view. But you see reflected in them the story of the Gauntlet of Shar, a legendary place - a secret temple to the goddess buried deep underground in a massive cavern. There, her truest servants will prove their devotion to her by undergoing trials and will be rewarded. You see reflections of Shadowheart asking a woman, whose face is wreathed in shadow, for permission to prove herself, to show that she’s worthy of being made a Dark Justiciar, and being rejected again and again. But the rest of the memories you find that way are dark, and hidden, and there’s a feeling of dread if you even think to approach that particular hallway. There is something quite bad down there.
The better lit path ahead shows the four adventurers still at the ledge overlooking the temple, discussing their options. Shadowheart tries to explain to them what you just saw reflected on other mirrors.
“In order to join Lady Shar’s elite, you had to pass her trials, and then make a sacrifice in her innermost sanctum when you’ve proven yourself. Very few make it that far.”
But all of them are clearly uneasy, not knowing what the sacrifice will be or what it would even mean for Shadowheart to be a Dark Justiciar, other than that she professes it is her innermost desire to do so.
“I’ve dreamed of this place,” she insists, harsh. “This is my destiny.” And then she softens slightly, looking all of them over. Karlach worried, Gale suspicious, Astarion interested in something else that can be found here and skeptical of whatever it is she’s asking. “You know me better than most,” she admits to them, more vulnerably. “But I need to find out whether I’m worthy.”
The skepticism is still there, so she adds - “If I prove myself to Lady Shar, she’ll bless me with power we can use to fight the Absolute, and rid ourselves of these parasites once and for all. Please.”
Other flashes on the walls of other mirrors. A relic buried at the bottom of the temple. The Nightsong, the key to Ketheric Thorne’s immortality. A directive, from a stern, no-nonsense woman with two swords. Find it and destroy it, so Ketheric can be stopped. An image of a fortress, Moonrise Towers, ruled over by a cruel man who cannot die and an army he has absolute control over. Whatever Shadowheart is after, it’s not the only reason to continue. There’s something else important here.
You follow more twisting paths. Despite the reluctance, Shadowheart’s friends help her pass the trials. Puzzles, tests of wit and skill. And at the end of the gauntlet, there is another altar, made a stone, where Shadowheart insists she be the one to cut her hand with a knife and let blood drip down. The altar reveals the prize inside.
From the altar, Shadowheart collects a spear. She’s distracted, and the other side of the mirror reflects back the feelings. Lady Shar herself, encircling, embracing, a presence felt only by Shadowheart, which she does not mention to the others, even as her obvious awe and fear both grow. “I just feel we’re on the right track,” she says, her voice shaky. “I’m right where I need to be, under Lady Shar’s gaze.”
And despite her misgivings, she goes deeper into the temple. Once they reach the bottom of the temple, arriving at a statue of Lady Shar and a deep pool of water with stairs descending down below, words suddenly are spoken, ones that only Shadowheart can hear. One more test before you. Descend to the Nightsong. Make a sacrifice. Rise a Dark Justiciar..
She kneels before the statue and begins to pray.
The final threshold. You made it, Shadowheart, just as I knew you would. Despite these words also echoing all around, once again only Shadowheart appears to hear this.. Now all you must do is step forwards, and the rest will prove simple.
What do you need of me? Shadowheart’s prayer.
Nothing you are not capable of. The punishing of a wicked Selûnite. All you must do is use my spear to end her light. And then you will become a Dark Justiciar, blessed with my power. You will become my voice to those embrace me, and my sword arm against those who would do me harm.
I will. I will not fail you.
The others ask if she heard something, but she lies, says she was just communing with her goddess, paying respect.
The four descend into the pool and arrive iin another realm entirely, a void of dark shadows, clouds, rocks from some ruin in swirling nothingness, dark purple lightning occasionally lighting up the otherwise murky sky. The Shadowfell, the realm of Lady Shar.
“See my actions, Lady Shar,” Shadowheart prays, speaking out loud now. It seems almost like something she’s doing to calm her nerves, focus her thoughts. “Hear my words of faith. Blessed Nightsinger, witness my adoration. I have emptied my heart of falsehoods. I have vanquished your foes. Lady Shar’s will shall be done, as sure as night shall fall.”
In the platform down below, in the center of it, is a woman. A circle of light surrounds her, and you know that is her prison as much as the chains she is held by. She is a beautiful woman, tall and strong, with pale skin with cracks of gold flecked through it and white hair. But captivity has not been kind to her. She is in rags, dirty, wounded and broken.
More images again on other walls. This woman, called the “Nightsong,” has been kept prisoner here for a century by a necromancer who has sapped the strength and power she was born with for that long to transfer it to the man who rules Moonrise Towers, Ketheric Thorne. But the necromancer is dead now. No one is holding her anymore, except for the spell he cast which has not dissipated.
(Video of this part is here to 2:44, though some stuff is different with dialogue choices and this being an origin playthrough)
“I have felt you come, Sharran” she says, her voice hoarse. “The first in a century.” She looks at Shadowheart directly, expression on her face defiant despite how weak she is. “You, who have come to seek the praise of your wicked goddess. You, who have come to drive a dagger through my heart. Go on, show it to me. Your sword, your knife.” She lunges at you, and she’s held back by her prison.
My spear, child. Shar’s voice also echoes, something only Shadowheart can hear. Pierce her heart with it and become my sword hand, my Dark Justiciar.
“Not a dagger,” Shadowheart spits back, defiant. “A spear. My Lady Shar’s spear.”
“Well, well, well,” she says. “A spear empowered by your goddess to kill the child of a God?” Her voice is furious, dripping with contempt. “But there is much your mistress does not tell you. My death will come at a terrible price, one you will not grasp until it is too late.”
Shadowheart is not alone in this memory. Her companions have stayed silent, maybe surprised by what Shadowheart is doing, but they are looking as though they’re planning to interfere. At least Gale and Karlach are probably not willing to see her murder a woman in cold blood who is currently in chains.
“Her fate is mine to seal alone,” Shadowheart snaps at them.
“The fate you seal is your own,” the woman says. Her voice has lost some of its temper, trying to persuade now. “To be a Dark Justiciar is to turn your heart from everything but loss. You will know no love, no joy, only servitude. Until, of course, your mistress inevitably discards you.”
Shadowheart is still fierce, looking at the woman like she plans to kill her, but if you know her well, if you’re familiar enough to pick up on smaller changes, there’s hesitation, too. What she’s being told is breaking through to her in some way, she’s just resisting it.
“Do you know what I am, little assassin?” the woman, anger back in her voice. “I am Dame Aylin. Out of this hellish realm, I carry my sword for my mother, Selûne. The very sight of me would disgust you if you were a true Sharran. But perhaps you are something more.”
And then Shar’s voice. Shadowheart, do not listen. She seeks to distract, to confuse, to prolong her unholy existence and deny you your destiny. Shut out her words.
There’s another hallway through the house of mirrors that opens at these two conflicting messages. A path through the mirrors, dark, but lit by moonlight; Shadowheart looks down that way, but does not move to travel there. The mirrors in that direction reflect something much older than she is, an ancient war between the goddess of darkness and her sister, the moon goddess. The battles fought in that war, the pieces used, the way one goddess might seek to gain the upper hand against another.
But Shadowheart is focused on Dame Aylin, who is watching her as though she suddenly recognizes her. “Yes, I know you,” she says, as though she’s seen something suddenly. “A lost child, frightened by wolves in the dark.”
Another hallway through the house of mirrors opens in the other direction. And there’s a sense of terror about what lies down that direction. It’s too dark to see that way, but there’s a sound of snarling, howling. There’s pain in that direction. There might be more that way than only pain, but the way is too dark and there’s no way to tell.
Aylin is still speaking. “Much has been promised to you, hasn’t it?” she asks. “But what has been taken from you? What do you know of your own heart, your own life?”
Shadowheart looks down that direction, almost as though she intends to travel that way. There’s a part of her that wants to, wants to see it, and there’s a part of her that’s very, very afraid. She changes her mind, turns away from it. Gathers her resolve.
“Whatever you think you know of me won’t matter,” she says, but she’s faltering a little. “Once I become who I’m meant to be.”
“If you lay your hand on me in friendship, free me,” Aylin says, “I will lay another path before you. But you must decide whether to walk it.”
Enough. Close your heart to her craven words. Strike! Shar’s voice, brokering no more argument, no more hesitation.
“There she is again, isn’t she?” she says, looking directly back at Shadowheart. “Why does she fear truth more than I fear death?”
Reflections on the other mirrors - memories, only half formed, of fear, of duty, of the need to obey. Of kneeling on a stone floor, body growing weak, reciting prayers until they’re right. Of pain. Of growing strong enough to endure it, and the pride in that. Of being told lies and learning to always believe them anyway.
Shadowheart calls the spear to her hands.
There are two directions to take out of the memory. ]
[ wait, nightsong? even in the midst of another's memory fidelio recognises that name, and the more he sees, the more he thinks other pieces might be falling into place.
there are other parts of this, too, that feel familiar in other ways. the deep commitment to a path and an idea of someone that's become almost the centre of your identity, the fear that comes with the very idea of turning away from that path even when you come to realise that there's nothing good waiting at the end of it.
he's never been the best judge of character. he's distrusted good people and trusted the very worst. if he'd been on his own his whole life and been confronted with this choice, he may very well have gone through with it and killed this woman like he'd been told. an acceptable loss, he would have considered it; a stepping stone to something greater.
but he hadn't been alone. basilio had been beside him, his brother whose heart was so much purer and sight so much clearer. he always understood the right thing to do long before fidelio did. and he knows for a fact what basilio's choice would have been here. they were meant to kill this person called the nightsong, basilio had told him. but he hadn't, because it hadn't felt right.
so that's really all he needs to know. if he has any say in the direction this memory is going to take, they're taking the path that leads to the truth. ]
[yeah, oops. sorry for torturing your brother with her memories.]
Come. This way.
[she'll take him to the path of what actually happened. the next scene is here from 3:18 to 5:20.
shadowheart holds the spear in her hand, and then she flings it over the edge, into the abyss, getting it away from her before her resolve can falter.
there's nothing, no negative reaction. just aylin's obvious joy, her awareness that she's going to be freed of this prison. she smiles at shadowheart with pride.
"Your path is not yet set. Your future is not yet fixed. Lay a hand on me in friendship, not-quite-Sharran, and I will fight the battle that has awaited me for a century. And then, oh then, will we have much to discuss."
shadowheart does as she's asked, without speaking, still somewhat in shock. it really does only take the hand of friendship from shadowheart to free her. the reason why is complicated, and something shadowheart herself does not know. but there's an image on one of the mirrors, an ancient battle between two goddesses, and in this gesture, a victory for one of them over the other.
aylin rises, her power restored to her, recovering from her wounds and degradation, until she floats above you, a bright glowing angel with a span of feathered wings in resplendent silver armor. but she doesn't stay; she flies from the shadowfell and leaves shadowheart and the others here. there's another battle that is waiting for her.
and in the aftermath of this, despite nothing happening, despite complete silence and no feeling of shar's presence, shadowheart is very, very afraid.
"We must leave," she tells her friends, but there's a sense, as well, that you must escape from this memory now.]
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branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2025-03-06 02:28 am (UTC)[and then at this point they take a wrong turn, and he's yeeted into her memory:
no subject
Date: 2025-03-07 05:44 am (UTC)there are other parts of this, too, that feel familiar in other ways. the deep commitment to a path and an idea of someone that's become almost the centre of your identity, the fear that comes with the very idea of turning away from that path even when you come to realise that there's nothing good waiting at the end of it.
he's never been the best judge of character. he's distrusted good people and trusted the very worst. if he'd been on his own his whole life and been confronted with this choice, he may very well have gone through with it and killed this woman like he'd been told. an acceptable loss, he would have considered it; a stepping stone to something greater.
but he hadn't been alone. basilio had been beside him, his brother whose heart was so much purer and sight so much clearer. he always understood the right thing to do long before fidelio did. and he knows for a fact what basilio's choice would have been here. they were meant to kill this person called the nightsong, basilio had told him. but he hadn't, because it hadn't felt right.
so that's really all he needs to know. if he has any say in the direction this memory is going to take, they're taking the path that leads to the truth. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-03-07 02:14 pm (UTC)Come. This way.
[she'll take him to the path of what actually happened. the next scene is here from 3:18 to 5:20.
shadowheart holds the spear in her hand, and then she flings it over the edge, into the abyss, getting it away from her before her resolve can falter.
there's nothing, no negative reaction. just aylin's obvious joy, her awareness that she's going to be freed of this prison. she smiles at shadowheart with pride.
"Your path is not yet set. Your future is not yet fixed. Lay a hand on me in friendship, not-quite-Sharran, and I will fight the battle that has awaited me for a century. And then, oh then, will we have much to discuss."
shadowheart does as she's asked, without speaking, still somewhat in shock. it really does only take the hand of friendship from shadowheart to free her. the reason why is complicated, and something shadowheart herself does not know. but there's an image on one of the mirrors, an ancient battle between two goddesses, and in this gesture, a victory for one of them over the other.
aylin rises, her power restored to her, recovering from her wounds and degradation, until she floats above you, a bright glowing angel with a span of feathered wings in resplendent silver armor. but she doesn't stay; she flies from the shadowfell and leaves shadowheart and the others here. there's another battle that is waiting for her.
and in the aftermath of this, despite nothing happening, despite complete silence and no feeling of shar's presence, shadowheart is very, very afraid.
"We must leave," she tells her friends, but there's a sense, as well, that you must escape from this memory now.]