Everyone has their breaking point, everyone. After your last campaign, in which your former allies and yourself battled an entire village of brainwashed thralls, you've had enough. Though mental slaves, those people were innocent, simple folk; men, women, and children. You can't stop seeing their crimson ichor on your gloved hands. Death would be preferable, and it's what you deserve.

Short sword in hand you delve deep into the nearby cave system, notorious for all manner of wretched abominations; a thousand ways to die valiantly. Yes, that sounds nice. Through crook and crevice you crawl, struggling to clamber over soot and stone. Eventually the subterranean path winds into a spacious chamber; a cool pool of clear water fills the heart of it. Echoing off of the stony walls is a faint sobbing, feminine and harsh, seeming to originate from the far corner of the naturally formed cave. You approach the mournful maiden with caution, sharpened steel in hand; she's a mindflayer? "Can I help you?" Days ago you would've struck such a monster down with haste, but now? You've spilled too much blood.

She rises, her dark, drider-silk dress flowing past her ankles, cut to expose an impressive, squishy bosom. The mistress mindflayer has a narrow face with soft features; bright emerald orbs stare back at you. As with all of her kind, her hair is a flowing mess of thin tendrils that fall to her shoulders. "No, I'm fine. The question is, can I help 'you'?"

Some of her distress fades as she takes you in, showing a great deal of concern. Your head tingles slightly, as if a feather brushed against the surface of your brain, "So much pain. So much sorrow. Please, you can rest on me, I can help you." She extends a slender, purple hands and brushes your cheek. "My name is Xelna, last of my colony. I've been without another for so long. Just rest." Her own tears are still drying yet this gorgeous creature wants to take your pain away; you need this.