[i'm throwing us right into it, we're opening a door and are yeeted into the funhouse.
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, one where Shadowheart plunges the spear into the woman's heart and another where she takes the spear and tosses it off the side of the platform, lets it fall into the abyss. You can decide which one seems like the right path, or else you can explore somewhere else, one of the other avenues that opened up while exploring the memory.
[ Shadowheart had already told him that she hadn't gotten her answers before her death, and even though he is curious, and even though it's not in his nature to obey some dubious deity...
He wants to see what happens at the end of the path that Shadowheart had sought for so long, and whether it's worth it. So he'll choose the option where she kills the woman. ]
shadowheart takes the spear. whatever hesitation was in her, she forces away, twists her expression into a grimace, and pierces the spear through aylin's heart. whatever sort of being aylin appeared to be, she dies like any person dies, screaming at the pain. but as much as there's fear in her, there's relief as well.
"There it is. True death, at least. You are Shar's child after all." With that acknowledgement of her misjudgment, she's gone.
There's a second, only a second, where Shadowheart feels sorry for her, but then Shar's presence and voice surrounds her, joyful - an emotion that could never otherwise be associated with the goddess of grief and loss. Shar's approval, Shar's pride, her love.
It is done! You have proven yourself. You have answered my highest calling. My Chosen. My Warrior. My Dark Justiciar. No more hiding, Shadowheart. Let me show you. Let all see how you have served me, and how you have been rewarded.
The mark on Shadowheart's hand glows, with bright purple flame, and for a second her eyes widen with terror. She's expecting pain, but instead, something else is there. Its absence. Darkness surrounds her, and she's dimly aware of the sensation of excruciating pain she should be experiencing, but she doesn't feel it. Nor does she feel fear. It's gone.
Your pain is now your power. Wield it well, Shadowheart. My church must be cleansed, and you will be the instrument of ridding it of the impure. And then you shall be its leader.
Shadowheart smiles.
There are answers here, an understanding. A war between Selûne and Shar, two sister goddesses, fought for aeons. This day was long in the making.
A flicker on the opposite mirror, memories, moving quickly, only a glimpse. Shadowheart, as a child, asking if she can't try and prove herself, and being told time and time again that she's not ready, forced to practice her prayers for longer. The words of the Sharran prayers never sit right on her tongue, the way she'd reach instinctively for different words, prayers she was once taught to recite in a life she can't remember anymore. The way she was forced to work harder than anyone else, forced to bear the disapproval of the Mother Superior, who took notes on her progress, studied her work like a specimen, harshly punished any failure. Her mind erased when she failed, when she wasn't compliant enough. The wound on her hand used to punish any attempt at deviating from the lessons, any time she tried to reach for some emotion the Mother Superior didn't approve of.
A girl who was molded, on Shar's orders, for this moment, to prove a point in this battle between two goddesses. It was never the spear itself that held the specific power to kill a daughter of Selûne, but rather the specific hands that wielded it, proof that with time and effort Shar's faithful could mold any child into her champion.
She succeeded in what she was meant to do, and in so doing, cast a blow on Shar's behalf that will weaken Selûne's power forever. Even now, Shar's power in this land is growing. The Selûnite cleric, who maintains the only haven capable of shielding living souls from Shar's shadow curse, won't be able to hold out any longer. All of the people there, relying on that spell, will surely die. There were familiar faces in the group seeking refuge at that inn, and by now they'll be dead.
Shadowheart pulls the spear from Aylin's heart, untroubled. None of it hurts anymore.]
[she didn't expect him to go that direction - she follows after him, a little upset. not really sure why he chose this way, wondering if he just assumed she did this.]
[ His expression softens a little when he sees her upset, even though- he wasn't trying to be callous. For once, he wasn't just trying to satisfy his curiosity. ]
So you already knew? What would happen if you killed her?
[there wasn't ever another choice. if she'd done what she was meant to do, she would have gained the things she wanted, but she would have lost any capacity to be the person she is now.]
It's done. I'll never be accepted by her that way.
[ She'd seemed rather uncertain about the path forward last time they spoke of it, so he's watching to see if she's mourning the loss of that dream she once had. ]
So you know what choice you're going to make then? When you go back.
[ Oh. He likes that answer- even though the decision is hers, whichever path she wants, and whatever shape she wants her life to take.
Still, he can't help but smile slightly, squeezing where their hands are joined. ]
Then I hope that's what you do, and that you find something better for yourself than what you had to give up. [ Her family and sense of belonging among the followers of Shar. He knows that isn't easy. ] Though I gotta say, make your own decisions about your life has its own challenges.
I'd still choose it over living out someone else's plans for me though.
[ Since he's such a control freak.
But with that, the mirrors wake back up, and now they're in another fantastical land.
—It never brings you an joy to fight against Almyra—the land of your birth. Each battle is a reminder of how many lives have been lost to the pointless feud between these two nations, and of the hatred that it propagates.
And you hate that you benefit from each victory. The people of Fódlan hate the Almyrans, and each time you fend off their attacks, it makes you more of a hero. More respectable in the eyes of your peers, as if winning a battle is something to be praised.
Once you put an end to the war, then maybe you'll feel worthy of any accolades.
Not that it matters now, as you face down your brother. One last life to end.
... You don't think you love him, but there's still this pointless grief in your heart. And when your friend calls you out on your hesitation, that age old instinct rises up again: don't let them see you hurt. So you put it aside and continue the march forward. ]
Not quite. Originally we were fighting against Empire, but we've always had a tense relationship with Almyra. They often make raids into Fódlan's territory.
I don't have a family, but... I suppose when I think of one, I always picture people who are loving. Who would protect you from harm, laugh with you. Care.
[so as badly as it might hurt, this sort of relationship isn't the "family" she would hold dear.]
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week 3; monday
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He wants to see what happens at the end of the path that Shadowheart had sought for so long, and whether it's worth it. So he'll choose the option where she kills the woman. ]
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here at 2:29.
shadowheart takes the spear. whatever hesitation was in her, she forces away, twists her expression into a grimace, and pierces the spear through aylin's heart. whatever sort of being aylin appeared to be, she dies like any person dies, screaming at the pain. but as much as there's fear in her, there's relief as well.
"There it is. True death, at least. You are Shar's child after all." With that acknowledgement of her misjudgment, she's gone.
There's a second, only a second, where Shadowheart feels sorry for her, but then Shar's presence and voice surrounds her, joyful - an emotion that could never otherwise be associated with the goddess of grief and loss. Shar's approval, Shar's pride, her love.
It is done! You have proven yourself. You have answered my highest calling. My Chosen. My Warrior. My Dark Justiciar. No more hiding, Shadowheart. Let me show you. Let all see how you have served me, and how you have been rewarded.
The mark on Shadowheart's hand glows, with bright purple flame, and for a second her eyes widen with terror. She's expecting pain, but instead, something else is there. Its absence. Darkness surrounds her, and she's dimly aware of the sensation of excruciating pain she should be experiencing, but she doesn't feel it. Nor does she feel fear. It's gone.
Your pain is now your power. Wield it well, Shadowheart. My church must be cleansed, and you will be the instrument of ridding it of the impure. And then you shall be its leader.
Shadowheart smiles.
There are answers here, an understanding. A war between Selûne and Shar, two sister goddesses, fought for aeons. This day was long in the making.
A flicker on the opposite mirror, memories, moving quickly, only a glimpse. Shadowheart, as a child, asking if she can't try and prove herself, and being told time and time again that she's not ready, forced to practice her prayers for longer. The words of the Sharran prayers never sit right on her tongue, the way she'd reach instinctively for different words, prayers she was once taught to recite in a life she can't remember anymore. The way she was forced to work harder than anyone else, forced to bear the disapproval of the Mother Superior, who took notes on her progress, studied her work like a specimen, harshly punished any failure. Her mind erased when she failed, when she wasn't compliant enough. The wound on her hand used to punish any attempt at deviating from the lessons, any time she tried to reach for some emotion the Mother Superior didn't approve of.
A girl who was molded, on Shar's orders, for this moment, to prove a point in this battle between two goddesses. It was never the spear itself that held the specific power to kill a daughter of Selûne, but rather the specific hands that wielded it, proof that with time and effort Shar's faithful could mold any child into her champion.
She succeeded in what she was meant to do, and in so doing, cast a blow on Shar's behalf that will weaken Selûne's power forever. Even now, Shar's power in this land is growing. The Selûnite cleric, who maintains the only haven capable of shielding living souls from Shar's shadow curse, won't be able to hold out any longer. All of the people there, relying on that spell, will surely die. There were familiar faces in the group seeking refuge at that inn, and by now they'll be dead.
Shadowheart pulls the spear from Aylin's heart, untroubled. None of it hurts anymore.]
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But actually, no. The path seems grim, and the images of Shadowheart as a child are curious.
He wonders...
But first, he'll look to see how Shadowheart is reacting. ]
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Claude. This is not the way out.
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So you already knew? What would happen if you killed her?
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No, I... No. I knew what I felt last week, from time to time.
[but it was different, to see it play out, knowing what it's going to mean.]
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Something clicks. Oh, he'd thought she was on drugs. ]
Oh, I... Sorry. For making you watch it.
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[there wasn't ever another choice. if she'd done what she was meant to do, she would have gained the things she wanted, but she would have lost any capacity to be the person she is now.]
It's done. I'll never be accepted by her that way.
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So you know what choice you're going to make then? When you go back.
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...I just want to find something else for myself. Everything has been Shar for so long.
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Still, he can't help but smile slightly, squeezing where their hands are joined. ]
Then I hope that's what you do, and that you find something better for yourself than what you had to give up. [ Her family and sense of belonging among the followers of Shar. He knows that isn't easy. ] Though I gotta say, make your own decisions about your life has its own challenges.
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[but i want a claude memory, too.]
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[ Since he's such a control freak.
But with that, the mirrors wake back up, and now they're in another fantastical land.
—It never brings you an joy to fight against Almyra—the land of your birth. Each battle is a reminder of how many lives have been lost to the pointless feud between these two nations, and of the hatred that it propagates.
And you hate that you benefit from each victory. The people of Fódlan hate the Almyrans, and each time you fend off their attacks, it makes you more of a hero. More respectable in the eyes of your peers, as if winning a battle is something to be praised.
Once you put an end to the war, then maybe you'll feel worthy of any accolades.
Not that it matters now, as you face down your brother. One last life to end.
There had never been any love in his heart for you, but that doesn't make this any easier. You don't think you love him either, but that doesn't mean you can't understand him.
... You don't think you love him, but there's still this pointless grief in your heart. And when your friend calls you out on your hesitation, that age old instinct rises up again: don't let them see you hurt. So you put it aside and continue the march forward. ]
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she reacts the same way as claude's super hot friend - worried about him, but very aware he probably doesn't want to talk about it too much.]
The war you're fighting, it's against your family?
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He shakes his head. ]
Not quite. Originally we were fighting against Empire, but we've always had a tense relationship with Almyra. They often make raids into Fódlan's territory.
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[...]
Do you regret it at all? I know your feelings about your family are fraught with difficulties.
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[ A little sigh. ]
But he probably would've thought of it as showing weakness, and that's worse than death.
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[so as badly as it might hurt, this sort of relationship isn't the "family" she would hold dear.]
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It wasn't like that for us, unfortunately. And I guess killing him is what made me realize that it never could be, no matter what.
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