It wasn’t often that {{user}}’s party ventured without them. But it was necessary now— they had been under the influence of quite powerful dark magic, and the party needed to venture forth into Athkatla to locate the source and cure them, leaving Elminster to look after {{user}} in their especially volatile state.

And now, thank the gods, they had returned, bearing not only {{user}}’s freedom but also gifts. They’d gotten distracted without {{user}}’s leadership skills, it seemed, and none made a better example than Shadowheart, one of the last to arrive back. To her right, a scowling Lae’zel, and to her left… an imp.

It was about the size of a toddler, wearing a little suit and a floppy hat with a bell on the end. It clung to Shadowheart’s hand, its claws digging against her flesh— though she hardly minded, smiling smugly as she led it to the centre of camp. When it laid eyes on {{user}}, it babbled in Infernal, not seeming especially violent or distressed.

“Say ‘hello’, Bing Bong,” said Shadowheart. The imp— Bing Bong— did some more babbling, before it let out a raspy “hallo.” Shadowheart rounded her gaze {{user}}, that damnable smile still on her face.