Shattered

Feeblemind. 8th level enchantment. You blast the mind of a creature that you can see within range, attempting to shat⁠ter its intellect and personality...

The rich-hued buildings of Cantonova faded to grey in Spymaster Gepopo's vision as she shut the door to her headquarters behind her and made her way into the shadowy streets. She padded down the cobblestones on near-silent feet, as the city slumbered beneath a clear spring sky and a blanket of stars.
The pulse of the city had grown more anxious in the past few weeks. Recent events—first the Count's death, then the slaying of the hidden blue dragon at the opera house—had whipped Cantonova into a frenzy, hence the need for additional late-night patrols. Gepopo insisted on taking the third shift herself. Once the streetlights had dimmed and the moon was past its zenith, the city nights felt as empty and peaceful as ever.
She came to a corner, glanced back down the previous street once more, and then rounded the bend towards the Vía John-Felípe. This particular corner of the Cuarto Almaviva tended to be quiet by now, especially on nights like tonight with no performances at the Royal Phoenix. The social clubs and dance halls were mostly a few streets over, the nearby residents were mainly too old and wealthy for house parties or other shenanigans, and the Royal Institute had long since closed for the night. As Gepopo expected, the plaza was bare. She had just begun to ascend the mosaic staircase in front of the Institute when a loud WHOOSH from behind her caught her attention.
The teleportation circle embedded into the stone tiling of the plaza began to glow—softly at first, then brightly enough that the color briefly leached back into Gepopo's vision. A cloud of silver mist swirled upwards from the pavement, illuminated by an orange glow at its base. Gepopo leapt up the rest of the steps two at a time, ducked behind one of the museum's ornate columns, and pulled a shuriken from her belt. She leaned out from her hiding spot and waited for the mist to dissipate.
Gepopo wasn't sure what to expect once it did. Even with her limited understanding of magic, she knew the spells used to travel to teleportation circles were insanely powerful, and rarely used lightly. A few possibilities came to mind: a group of professors from the Wizarding University of the Aquatic Kingdoms making last-minute preparations before docking tomorrow, perhaps, or a team of dedicated faeroxologists trying to reach Madame Flora from the Feywild. She'd long suspected the Verdini family of having spellcasters powerful enough to teleport, but she doubted they would be so brazen as to use this neighborhood's circles instead of casting their own, especially so soon after the Count's death. Worst-case scenario, it was Sarastrans from the Empire, finally tracking down the adventurers hiding at Figaro's. She gripped her shuriken tighter at the thought.
What she did not expect was a single tall, thin figure, standing completely still, with a greatsword hanging limply from their hand. Even after the mist and light dissipated, they remained motionless. As Gepopo studied the figure, a map of the surrounding streets unfurled in her mind like a chessboard in a grandmaster's imagination. She quickly analyzed the potential moves the stranger could make. If they turned and left, she could follow behind them soundlessly in the shadows; if they charged towards the institute, she could tackle them and force them to submit. They did neither. Instead, they stood motionless, swaying slightly in the brisk breeze. She narrowed her eyes, trying to catch every detail.
They were a warrior, that much was clear. Their armor was odd and mismatched, with one spiked pauldron and one completely round and smooth. Smears of dark, viscous liquid adorned it—the same liquid that ran down their sword, pooled at its tip, and dripped slowly onto the pavement. Their long pale hair faded to wine-dark ends that hung past their waist. The waxing moonlight glinted sharply off their silver sword and their luminous skin. Though she'd only met them a few brief times, Gepopo soon realized who was standing in the square.
"Sasha?" she called out in a half-whisper.
Their head snapped towards her, but they remained frozen.
She hid her shuriken behind her back and crept towards him slowly. "Sasha, is that you?" she said, in the same hushed tone. Something was definitely off about them. Had they been charmed? Or worse—possessed?
They did not respond, nor did they move. Their exposed arms, neck, and face were striped with battle wounds, still glistening in the moonlight with the celestial sheen of aasimar blood. The vacant stare in their pupilless gold eyes took her a few seconds to comprehend, but soon, old memories came flooding back: the weathered granite halls of the Black Keep's inner sanctum, the spindly, writhing glyph she had narrowly avoided, the crushing guilt of turning back towards Figaro just as he stepped on the runes and watching his face drop into that same empty, lifeless stare.
Gepopo stashed her shuriken and held both hands up as she approached. "Look," she said calmly. "I come in peace. I won't hurt you. Just come with me, okay? I can help you."
She inched towards their sword hand, but they gripped the sword tighter and snatched it away. "Shhh, it's fine," she said, backing away and taking their other hand instead. "Keep your sword. That's fine. Just come with me, okay? Come on. I won't take your sword, I promise."
She held his free hand tentatively for a moment, watching for any more sudden movement, then started to lead him out of the plaza and down the street towards her hideout. Sasha followed, somewhat reluctantly, still clinging to what Gepopo could now see was an impeccably crafted blade. She hewed closer to the shadows, well aware of how odd the two of them must look to anyone still awake to see them. Fortunately, they only needed to travel a few blocks; still, at the pace they could travel, the walk back to headquarters felt painfully slow.
When they finally arrived, Gepopo unlocked the door to find one agent still nursing a glass of rye at the bar after his last shift. "Sammal, I changed my mind," she told him. "You're on for the night patrol after all."
The agent, a dark-haired human man in a stylish woodsman's jacket, turned around nonchalantly. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said with a slight smirk. "I'm clocked out already. You're gonna have to—"
"I know damn well that overtime pay is time-and-a-half," Gepopo snapped. "I'll tell Jacinda to put it into the system. Just—ugh, here, watch him for me, will you?"
She shoved the near-comatose aasimar towards Sammal before storming down the hallway towards the storage room. She scanned her potion shelf—Healing, Growth, Lesser Restoration—none of them seemed strong enough. What was it Lucretia had called the spell, all those years ago? Feeblemind, she thought. She remembered Susanna gently ribbing Figaro about wasting a high-level spell slot on getting his mind back. We need something stronger. One of the rare ones. Finally, her eyes landed on a tiny teal vial near the back, which she grabbed before rushing back out.
Back at the bar, Sasha had dropped his sword and was frantically looking back and forth between his outstretched hands. Sammal leaned on the bar a few feet away, one fist under his chin. "You lose something?" he teased, laughing. "Shouldn't be so careless, my guy."
"SAMMAL!" she shouted. "Give back whatever the fuck you stole from them."
"I didn't take anything!" he protested.
Gepopo stepped in between Sammal and Sasha and tapped on his closed fist. "Then what's in here?"
He rolled his eyes and reluctantly opened his hand, revealing two rings: one ornate gold with an amethyst at the center, the other a plain copper band. Gepopo snatched them up immediately.
"I was just fucking around. I wasn't—"
"Look," Gepopo sneered, getting as close to Sammal's face as possible. "I will double your precious fucking overtime if it means you'll stop fucking around and do your goddamn job, cowboy."
Sammal held up his hands in mock surrender. "Sheesh. Fine. I'm going."
Gepopo turned back to Sasha. She pressed the rings into one of his outstretched hands and the vial of potion into another. "Here," she said. "Drink this."
Sasha's face relaxed, but they still stared blankly at the potion, unmoving. After a moment, Gepopo took it back, uncorked it, and pushed it against their lips. "Drink."
They still did not respond. Finally, Gepopo reached up for their jaw, wrenched it open, and poured the potion into their mouth. They coughed and sputtered until the potion took hold and the light returned to their eyes. They took the vial from Gepopo's hand, swallowed the rest, and looked around in confusion.
"Who— where— I— are you—" they stammered.
"Spymaster Gepopo, service of the Countess. We've met before."
Sasha's brow furrowed for a moment, then relaxed as they chuckled. "Right! You were Loge's patron."
She smirked in return. "Technically, he was his own patron. But I..."
"Lied to him?"
"Not really. Just... helped sustain the illusion he had already decided to believe," she said. She allowed herself a brief, fond smile before turning back to Sasha. "Now, you. I know who you are, but that's about it. Who sent you here? Do you know? What happened to you?"
Sasha shook their head. "It's all very fuzzy..." They rubbed their eyes blearily, paused for a moment, then snapped into focus. "Pamina. Pamina did this to me. Do you know her?"
"I'm aware of her." Gepopo frowned. "I can't say I thought she was capable of a Feeblemind spell. Nekrotzar, maybe, but..."
"No, Nekrotzar is the one who sent me here," he said. "I remember now. We were on the Astral Plane. There was some kind of army after me, but the three of them were there, but they were attacking me, too, and Pamina cursed me, and Blanche—there were two of her, actually—and then Nekrotzar just—"
"Why the fuck were you fighting them? That sounds like a dumb-as-shit thing to do."
"I was trying to find him." Sasha's eyes dropped to the pair of rings in his hand. He put them back on and sighed. "I was going to find him."
Gepopo shook her head and groaned. She whistled for the invisible servant at the bar. It sprung into action with a clatter and a slosh, setting two glasses of Elvish whiskey down in front of Gepopo and Sasha.
"Loge's gone, blondie," Gepopo said. She grabbed her glass and took a long drink. "You know that by now."
"Loge's not gone," Sasha retorted. "I know exactly where he is. He's in Pandemonium. And I was so, so close."
"Fuck, no wonder they wanted you... well, anywhere but there. That's one of the Hells, isn't it?"
"Not exactly. A demonic realm, not a devilish one."
She rolled her eyes. "Demons, devils, whatever. You know what they call someone who can memorize the taxonomy of which of the Lower Planes they're in?"
"What?"
"A dead nerd."
Sasha furrowed his brow for a moment, then buried his head in his arms and burst into loud, heaving sobs. Gepopo sipped her whiskey and stared at them, uncertain what else to do.
"Hey, kid, it's... it's okay," she eventually said as they continued to cry. She patted their arm gingerly. "It's not even that bad to be a nerd? I, um... look, I know lots of great nerds..."
"He's... gone," Sasha sobbed. "I can't... get him back... I'm—a—FAILURE."
"For the love of—" Gepopo put her head in her hands. "Look. If I'm understanding this right, your husband died saving this city from an archdevil and was sent to a demonic shadow realm. You went into the stars—the stars in the fucking sky—to try to get to him, and the only thing that stopped you was a team of, quite fucking frankly, some of the most powerful warriors alive, using insane amounts magic to get you back here relatively unharmed. That doesn't make you a failure, it makes you the luckiest son of a bitch I've ever met."
"I don't—want—to be lucky," they said between sobs. "I want... him."
"Well..." Gepopo took another drink. "That wasn't possible. You're still alive. That'll have to be enough."
"You don't get what I'm going through," Sasha insisted. "You don't know what it felt like—what it feels like to have to go on without him."
"I'm two hundred and seventy-three years old, blondie. I've lived plenty long enough to lose someone."
They looked up at her. "But have you?"
Gepopo sighed. It was clear she wasn't getting out of this interaction without revealing more about herself than she'd like. She swirled her glass of whiskey, watching the firelight dance in the amber liquid and play against her copper rings as she pondered which part of her past to reveal.
"My sister got vaporized by a lich right in front of my fucking face," she finally said. "Disappeared into thin air."
Sasha's eyes widened. "You—really?"
"Pretty fucked up thing to lie about, so…" They didn't need to know that she had showed up on Gepopo's doorstep several months later, shaken and confused, but still alive. "Lost one of our adventuring partners in the fight, too—our cleric, Susanna. She was Figaro's fiancée, and I watched him go through the same grief you're going through now."
"You mean—you mean the guy from the hideout?"
"Do you know any other Figaros?"
Sasha sniffed. "I don't know. The troubadour, I guess."
"That is the troubadour." She laughed. "And the ex-adventurer, and the Almaviva chief of staff. It'll be eighteen years ago come April... He's had a lot of time to be a lot of things." Gepopo stared at Sasha until his eyes met hers. "Because he stuck around," she added emphatically.
Sasha held her gaze for a moment, then scoffed and turned away. "So he got over her, then," they said. They took a drink of their whiskey and grimaced. "They weren't like us. He wasn't like me."
"Bullshit. Of course Figaro's not over her. He was damn near useless for a while. He'd go to the parades, wave to the crowds, get home, and just… shut down, like an off-duty golem." She shook her head. "For months—years, even. Hell, I still catch him like that every so often. You don't… you don't just get over shit like this. But you do grow around it, if you give yourself time."
Sasha was silent. They stared into their whiskey, then took another long draft from the glass. "I don't have time," they finally said. "The Sarastrans are coming back. The group needs me."
"Yeah, well, you're clearly going to be fucking useless to them right now, with the state you're in. And they've gotten along without you before this; I don't see why you can't take a few more days to yourself to rest."
She watched them for a response, but there was none. They wiped away the last of their tears, drained the last of their whiskey, and stared into the empty glass.
"I keep beds upstairs for my agents," Gepopo said. "You can take one for as long as you need it." She tried to smile reassuringly. "I promise Sammal won't come and mess with you again. I'll pay the little shit triple to stay away, if I have to."
Sasha finally turned to her. "Why are you being so nice to me?" he asked cautiously. "I... didn't think that was really your thing."
She scoffed. "Just because fawning over everyone isn't my default strategy doesn't mean I'm completely fucking heartless. Come on, I'll show you upstairs." She hopped off the barstool and began to walk away, then turned back to Sasha. "This... isn't really for you, by the way. I don't know you from Corellon. But I am doing this for Loge."
At the mention of Loge, Sasha's eyebrows raised. "You are?"
"Of course." She reached out and put a hand on Sasha's shoulder. "I know damn well how special he was."