Cursed To Put My Hands On Everything - maladaptive_menace (2024)

Chapter 1: No Time To Rest

Chapter Text

You stare at the numbers in the corner of the screen: 14:52. It’s been 13 and a half minutes since this f*cking prick called you up just to yell at you over the phone. You still don’t even know what he’s mad with the company for, all he’s been saying is how he can never get the help he needs. It’d help if he f*cking let you speak.

“Yes, sir, I understand that you’re frustrated with the service, but unless you actually tell me what the issue is that you’re having, there’s nothing I can-“ you start, before once again, he begins telling you about how much of a failure the education system is for allowing someone as dense as you to ever finish school and how your parents must be so proud of their idiot daughter.

“Sir, I am not paid to sit here and be yelled at when I am trying to help. I’m terminating this call. You can call back when you’re ready to communicate properly with me.” You press the red button of your headset before removing it and throwing it onto your desk, pushing yourself back into your seat, and furiously rubbing your eyes with the balls of your palms; thank god you aren’t wearing makeup. This is the third one today, and honestly, you’re genuinely starting to wonder if you may actually be cursed.

Moments later, you hear your name being called from the door to your manager’s office. Jesus H Christ, not now…

“Yes sir?” you call back, tilting up your head with your eyes still closed due to the sheer amount of buzzing going on inside your head.

“Can you just come over here for a quick chat, please?” A quick chat. Nothing makes your soul fill with rage more than the idea of a quick chat with this idiot. Taking a deep breath, you push yourself out of the pathetic excuse of an office chair they have you all but chained to and walk towards his office.

Walking through the door, you see your manager lounging back in his own chair with one leg draped over his knee (funny how he gets the orthopaedic leather chair and you’re stuck with something that is less supportive than plastic garden furniture, but hey-ho) and twiddling a ridiculously expensive-looking pen between his fingers.

“Come in, close the door,” he says, leaning forward and placing his feet on the floor. As you turn to do so, you lock eyes with one of your colleagues in an opposite cubicle and grimace at each other as the gap narrows.

“So, that last call…” he says once the door clicks, looking over at you through a furrowed brow. You make your way into the beat-up chair in front of his desk and slump into it as you run your hand through your hair, still defeated from the verbal onslaught you were just victim to.

“Yeah, what a call, right? I mean, I couldn’t even get a word in edgeways and I don’t even know what he wanted from me-”

“Well, you know there’s a reason he’s angry, yet it seems like you barely made an effort to actually try and help him. It seems like the reason he went off on you is because you wouldn’t take control and be assertive – you know, he’d respect you a lot more that way, and you’d have had more success. I think there’s a lot you can learn from this.”

For a few moments, you think you can actually hear the internet dial up noise running through your brain as you process what the f*ck has just been said to you. Did he really just say that this was all your fault?

“Um, I’m sorry - what?” is all you can make out after an extended pause. However, your face is unable to control itself (a common issue for you really) but how you could not react to that? You sit upright and stare in confusion at the man in front of you, your brows contorted into shock.

“Don’t look at me like that. You know that you’re supposed to be there to support our customers, and there are times when things are going to be tough. You need to learn how to take this on the chin and take control of the situation. I mean, if you’d have gotten through to him, who knows? Maybe you could’ve got him to upgrade his package with us. That’s a potential sale you’ve just lost.” He huffs as he pushes himself out of the chair, obnoxiously strolling to the window to peer out into the grey city streets below.

“This isn’t the first time this has happened, even today. I think we’re going to have to put you for some additional training because these reactions from you simply aren’t good enough. I won’t write you up for this now, but I will make note that we’ve spoken about this.” You’re fairly certain that you’re catching flies with how low your jaw is hanging.

“But sir-”

“No buts, I won’t take any excuses. You can do better than this. Now go back to your desk and try harder on the next one. Don’t take no for an answer.” He isn’t looking at you at this point, which is good, because you’re fairly certain he’d be dead if looks could kill. Still reeling, you take a moment to register what he has said before pushing out of the chair and quickly exiting the room.

As you walk out, that same colleague shoots you a look through gritted teeth. You look away before you can show how flustered you really are, and beeline for the bathroom before you can catch anyone else.

Ten minutes later, only slightly puffy-eyed now that you’ve managed to calm your angry tears, you return to your desk and put the headset back on. For the rest of the day, you have your phone open looking through job listings.

-

You count down the seconds until 5pm finally hits. Your stuff is already packed, and you are out of there. You run to catch your bus, taking in haphazard breaths as you sit down. At least you’ve got a seat by yours- oh you have got to be sh*tting me! It appears, even though there are a multitude of free seats further down, the absolute dickhe*d who insists on having an exceedingly loud argument with his partner on his phone is only content with the idea of perching himself next to you. Never mind, at least you can put your headphones in… oh for f*ck’s sake, you’ve left them at work. AGAIN.

You wonder if your ears are leaking brain fluid by the time you finally reach your stop, and you run into the local corner shop to grab something for dinner. It’s slim pickings with your even slimmer funds, so you settle on a microwave mac and cheese with a garlic bread – both reduced, of course. You can’t afford the fancy, full-price sh*t. At least carbs and cheese have never hurt you, you think to yourself, whilst conveniently choosing to forget the discomfort you’re definitely going to feel later on, but the soul needs healing first and that sounds like future you’s problem.

When you finally get home after what you feel has been 3,000 years since you left this morning, you immediately start preparing your food and looking for other treats around the kitchen. Peering out the window, you see Percy, the neighbour’s cat, is pawing at you through the glass. Your heart softens for a moment as you reach into the fridge and grab the last sad-looking slice of sandwich ham you have before opening the back door to him.

“Well, hello little pauper man! Have you come to steal more of my heard-earned goods?” you coo, knowing full-well you would murder someone if he asked you to. He jumps down to rub his grey fur across your shins in an affectionate greeting, knowing his infuriating cuteness has a lasting effect on you. You rip up bite-sized shreds of meat for him to chow down on whilst he circles your ankles in a figure 8 as your own meal buzzes away in the microwave. Once satisfied that he has depleted you of your goods, he hops back up onto the windowsill, offering one last boop with his forehead before leaping back upon the fence top and disappearing into the murky evening.

You sigh as your own food dings, its ringing cutting through the silence of your home. Yet another man who takes all I have, yet I can’t help myself from giving all I’ve got… You giggle to yourself before grabbing the plates and moving to your desk for your evening’s entertainment.

At least, in the mundanity of your actual life, you have this haven to escape to. It may have taken you a long time to save for everything you needed, but being able to run all of your favourite video games out of it, you’ve never been more thankful for the PC waiting for you. You place down the dishes and load up your current favourite game, Baldur’s Gate 3. You finally beat tactician mode last night, and finally starting your honour run for those esteemed golden dice has been pretty much the only thing keeping you going throughout this sh*tshow of a day.

You pretty much skip through the opening scene. You’ve seen the Githyanki diving through the skies on their majestic red dragons so many times now that you’ve essentially burned it into your memory. You take bites as you click through all the options, but you already know what you’re choosing this time. You’re finally going to do the self-insert you’ve been telling yourself you were too good to do, but honestly, your patience is that thin right now that you barely care about what anyone might think if they found out.

Race: Elf. You love those pointy ears, honestly. You wonder how much it would cost to get your own ears modified to be pointed. Class: Bard. You look over to the ignored guitars and ukuleles in the corner of your room and convince yourself you could still actually play something if you tried. You spend what feels like hours scrolling through all the mods you’ve added to see which hairstyles, colours, tattoos, piercings, and other options are most like your own. As you’re finally ready to hit start, you feel an overwhelming tiredness take over you. Honestly, cheesy carbs with a side of carbs probably wasn’t the best idea for a nutritious evening meal, but it’s only 7:23pm, so you could probably sneak in a power nap and play a little bit later than normal to make up for the absolute sh*t show of a day you’ve been through.

As the soft melody of the theme plays through your speakers, you are lulled into a gentle slumber, forgetting about the perils of what you’ve been through in the last 12 hours. Colours swirl behind your eyelids as constellations reveal themselves to you in a kaleidoscope across an inky deep-blue sky, showing golden patterns and motions that are indescribably beautiful. You trace them with your pupils, bewitched by their beauty, and lose yourself in your dream-like state. The more you follow, the deeper you fall into their spell, losing yourself entirely in the cosmos of your unconscious mind.

Suddenly, you notice that the air feels… shaky? You look around, still dancing among the stars behind your eyelids, but you notice you hear the wind rushing around you, as if you’re travelling at incredible speeds. All of a sudden, you feel the most excruciating pain behind your left eye, as if something were trying to push it out of your skull, but you find that in your current state, you cannot bring yourself to move. Your eyes flutter open, but have the lights gone off while you slept? What time is it? You can only see darkness.

Until you don’t. Slowly, your vision creeps back into focus, and for a moment, you think you have accidentally pressed play on the game, considering what you are faced with. In front of you is possibly the most high-definition image of an illithid you think your screen has ever managed. I mean, you did splash out on a good one, but surely it was never this good, was it?

Once again, you go to caress your burning eyeball, but you’re stuck. Hard. f*cking sleep paralysis, you think to yourself as you attempt to wrestle your inactive muscles, until you realise, it’s not your muscles that aren’t moving. It’s you. You’re trapped. And that isn’t a screen in front of you. There’s no open window in your bedroom blowing you with its breeze. You’re no longer sat in your desk chair. This is real.

f*ck.

Chapter 2: All's Well That Ends... Not As Bad As It Could Have

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sh*t. sh*t. How the hell did this even happen? You were dozing off just moments ago at your desk in your room, how in the f*ck have you managed to get yourself into this mess?!

You take in your surroundings, noting the mind flayer now making his way through whatever room it is that you’re in. It stops to notice its dead comrade before floating up what can only be described as the spine of the ship. Honestly, even the hyper realistic graphics of this intro scene in the game couldn’t prepare you for how disgusting this “ship” actually is. The walls look like flesh you’ve only seen in horror movies, or the butcher’s counter in the supermarket. And the smell, you think you’ve only smelt this once in your life, that one time you forgot to empty out the fridge before going away for a fortnight. Except this time, it’s everywhere, and it’s worse.

Once again, you struggle against the confines of the flesh pod you’re contained in, but it’s no use. You’re stuck. You look over to your right, and there she is. Her green flesh is remarkably more olive-toned than you were expecting, looking more tanned than otherworldly in all honesty. Her little button nose is pointing around, clearly searching for a way out, her piercing hazel eyes meeting yours. She is saying something, but thanks to the new tenant within your cranial folds and the casing around each of your pods, you can’t figure out what it is. At least, you think, Lae’zel is here too, even if she doesn’t know you yet.

A few moments go by, and gradually, your hearing starts to come in. You hear the whooshing of air outside the ship, and… church bells? Oh god, you know what’s coming next, but there’s nothing you can do except brace for impact. You feel the ship move faster before the inevitable crash against the side, and there it is.

You can’t see it yet, but you can definitely feel the fire of the githyanki’s red dragon along the hull of the ship. Then comes the sound of the tearing flesh as a barrel of angry heat pummels down the spine that you just saw the illithid disappear up, cascading across the nursery of tadpoles in front of you. You continue to struggle against the casing, as does Lae’zel, as you see through the scattered rips upon the ship’s casing that you’re no longer in Baldur’s Gate. Is this Neverwinter? You never actually looked it up, but you suppose that’s your best guess.

The barrage of attacks from the horde of githyanki continue as you pummel through the icy wilderness, the dragon blasting more angry balls of fire into the room as you get thrown around your pod like a ragdoll. A final, blinding breath that feels like it is burning you to your core fills the area, and for a moment, it is too much as you lose consciousness again.

Your eyes open to see Lae’zel has finally broken free, the room around you in complete disarray and flames after the absolute thrashing this ship has taken. She falls to the floor exhausted, looking up at you with fatigue riddled through her expression, before walking towards a particularly large hole in the wall to stare upon the wastes of Avernus and the horrific creatures barrelling straight for you. sh*t..

-

Lae’zel has gone. Honestly, you knew it would happen anyway, but you were hoping she might free you this time around. To be fair, you’re still incredibly dizzy and exhausted and nauseous, and the mac and cheese from earlier certainly isn’t helping things. Eventually, the pod hisses as the latch lifts and you slowly get up, mindful of your tentative state. You jump down, taking note of your surroundings. Luckily, this is pretty much the same as the game. But, should you loot like you normally would? Is that a thing now? It’s better to be safe than sorry, you suppose, so you start taking note of the loose items for grab around the room. After gathering some coins and other trinkets, you look towards the pool that is still standing. You know what it is and what you have to do, so you step back and think about what you would normally do in-game.

Well, you’d normally shoot it with a bow, or a spell, but you definitely don’t have a bow yet… But you do appear to have a lute. You don’t recall that being there before, but you definitely won’t complain now. Wait, does that mean…

You reach up and touch the tips of your ears: they’re pointed. Holy sh*t. You look down at your hands; I mean, they look like your hands. You recognise the patterns in them, the nail shapes, the scars you’ve picked up over the years, the hangnail you’ve been absolutely decimating all day with your teeth. Looking over the rest of you, you look near enough the same. Your build looks a bit different, closer to that of the one you would choose for your Tav in the game, but without seeing yourself, you would estimate you’re still, well, you. But if you’re elven, does that mean..?

Taking several steps back, you reach out your hand, willing whatever energy you can feel within you towards your fingertips. You feel it, a crackle, a warmth beneath your skin that wants to break free, like a heartbeat, a pulse. What the f*ck? How do you even do this? Oh wait, idiot. Haha.

“IGNIS!” you yell, closing your eyes in anticipation and averting your gaze. But… nothing. Huh. You look back at your hands, but they are clearly glowing, wanting to expel whatever it is within you that you can’t find a release for. You ponder a moment, before realising your second mistake and sighing loudly. You reach behind you, grabbing the lute off your back. Analysing the strings and giving them a gentle pluck, you realise that it has the same tuning as a regular guitar. Thank f*cking Christ, you think to yourself, before readying a chord, planting your feet in place, and willing your focus to the structure in front of you.

You watch in awe as you bring down your strumming hand as a blast of flame shoots out of you towards the nursery pool, causing it to explode. You shriek, half in fear and half in sheer glee, at the triumph you have just achieved in causing your very first act of destruction. Well done, you. But you don’t have time to celebrate for too long, knowing what is coming ahead.

Travelling into the next room, you once again look around to see what goods you can take before using the strange contraption to travel upwards to the familiar sight of the exposed brain, the voice of Us humming around your skull.

“Save Us, please, help Us!” it cries. Looking at what’s in front of you and knowing what you need to do, you wonder if you’re about to see your evening meal come back to visit. You actually consider just leaving it there, but you know that you’ll need all the help you can get to get off this goddamn ship. Taking the brain in both hands, you stifle a wretch as you prise and pull it from the confines of the skull before the sinew and tissues give way and free it.

“Thank you… You saved Us! We must get to the helm!” Us cries as it finally starts taking its first steps. You look down at the disgusting little thing, taking it in with your own eyes. It was definitely much cuter when it was pixelated.

“Yeah, yeah, to the helm. Show me the way, little buddy.” You grimace as you hear the little shlaps of its feet against the fleshy ground, but it does seem to be growing on you a little as it scuttles.

You take off after it, coming to the opening over the expanses of Avernus. You know she is here, ready to pounce, but you can’t see her in the spot you think she’ll be in as you’re looking around- oh never mind, there she is, having her Simone Biles moment through the air. She lands gracefully, as expected, and points her greatsword directly towards the intestines you would really rather stay inside your body.

“Abomination, this is your end!” she spits at you, before you’re both grimacing at the pulsating writhing within your skulls. This time, however, instead of the sultry voice of the narrator telling you what you can see, you are there within Lae’zel’s memories, but they are just flashes that are difficult to comprehend. Flurries of red wings are clouded by flashes of silver in the sunlight, roaring armies sounding off in the distance. And you see you, exactly as she sees you. You do have the pointed ears you can feel, but also your nose, eyes, lips – but they look more… refined, almost? As if someone had drawn you, and then brought you to life. You can’t complain, you suppose, but you wonder if this is the effect of you making your character a self-insert before your unexpected journey.

“My head, what is this… ungh! Tsk’va, you are no thrall… But, what did I see...” she chokes out, clearly disconcerted by what she has seen within your own brain. You panic. What has she seen? How the hell do you explain who you are, where you’re from… What you know?

“Look, this is no time for this, I can explain later. But right now, I certainly need your help getting the f*ck out of here, and you definitely can’t do this on your own.” Your eyes bore into her hazel ones; you know, you’ve never appreciated how beautiful they actually are. She glares back, before softening, her features falling into one of the purest smiles you might have ever seen.

“Vlaakith blesses me this day! Together, we might survive.” She stows the blade into the sheathe upon her back.

“Yes, you’re right. We need to get off this ship, then we’ll deal with the tadpoles. We will not become mind flayers, not if I have anything to say about it. Let’s go.” You push past her, Us’s little tippy-taps following. You notice Lae’zel stare upon him with shock, reaching for the blade once more. “We need him, he’ll help in the upcoming fights. He thinks we’re thralls, so he’ll do what we ask.” You point ahead towards the imps feasting upon the dead ones that have already fallen.

She nods assertively, meeting your strides, greatsword in hand, and dives into battle. Us runs ahead too, swiping at the winged creatures with his claws. You pull out your lute, trying to recall what you had done earlier to summon your power, shooting flames out towards the creatures. This time, however, you’re not as lucky with your aim, and some shots go wide, some just scrape by the hairs of Lae’zel’s head which grants you a rather load groan from her direction, but thankfully, one lands squarely in the chest of the final imp, reducing it to ash.

You take in a lungful of air as Lae’zel cleans the blood from her sword on the shirt of a dead thrall.

“You prove surprisingly adequate in battle, when you do not make attempts to singe the skin from my bones,” she says, kicking the limp body beneath her. You huff out a laugh, stretching out your back muscles.

“Funnily enough, I thought you’d say something like that.” You look around to see what has been left behind and grab the extra crossbows and sword to add to your arsenal. “Here, in case we run into any foes from a distance,” you say, passing one over to your new comrade. She takes it, nodding in approval, as you continue forwards, looting some more gold as you go.

Climbing the sinew ladder and entering the alarmingly butthole-shaped door, you see the other stowaway you’ve been looking for, as well as the two half-dead people strapped into the weird, fleshy dentist chairs. Not wanting to take risks, you decided to test your abilities with the new crossbow, perfectly pinging the first one through the skull without a second thought. You would celebrate this, except this is real life, not a video game, and you look on in horror as you’re faced with the fact that you actually just killed someone, even if they were pretty much already dead. You turn to the side as your meal finally finds its escape route.

“T’chk, so it is for the feeble-minded to go soft over a grazed knee. You will harden yourself, istik, or you will put us both in danger.” She jumps through the air (honestly, you knew her jump mechanics were pretty crazy in-game, but this is just ridiculous) and slices her sword through the second body, his intestines pouring across the floor with a spray of blood. You think you might just pass out, but you know she’s right. This is nothing. Especially to her, she’s a hardened warrior. And this is just the beginning of it all. You swallow, hard, and breathe. You can deal with this later. Right now, you need to focus on survival.

Your inner turmoil is interrupted by banging upon glass. There she is, god’s favourite princess, stuck in the McDonald’s playhouse that is the pod. Well, no, she’s actually in grave danger of being trapped in a blazing glory if you don’t help, but dear god you have to think about something other than the act you just committed right now. You run up to the glass.

“Get me out of this damn thing!” she screams, bringing down her fists in a barrage against the casing.

“Hang tight, I think I might know how to get you out,” you yell back, much to your other companion’s dismay.

“Tsk’va, we have no time for stragglers!” she says, urging you to move on.

“Look at her, she’s clearly a cleric. We don’t know what we’re facing, and we could use all the help we can get. Follow me.” You don’t wait for a response as you barrel towards the next room, grabbing the key from the body by the door as you enter, and run for the other body at the other end of the room. You grab the slate and run back before Lae’zel has even had a chance to catch up, Us’s little shlappy feet turning it in circles as it toddles behind you. You thrust the slate into the console, placing your hand upon it.

Once again, you are not prepared for the unusual pulsing sensation that rattles you as you do, but you power through, willing the pod to open. You drop your shoulders in relief as the pod opens with a hiss, your new companion falling to the ground in relief. You also feel a sense of relief at your success, the worm in your head sated from your use of its power.

“I thought that damn thing was going to be my coffin, thank you-” she starts, before the same painful tremors wrack your skull as it did with Lae’zel. You see flashes, but they are dark, shadowed. Lost. You sense a glimmer of her apprehension over Lae’zel before you are pulled back to your senses. Damn, she really does hate the gith.

“What in the hells was that?!” she exclaims, rubbing her forehead.

“It’s the damn worms we have in our skulls, they’re connecting us. They seem to come with a bunch of freaky psychic powers that I’m not too hyped to find more about just yet,” you respond, massaging your temples. It’s been no time at all since receiving it, but you groan at the idea of having this fugitive alongside you for the foreseeable future. “Come with us, we’re heading for the helm. We need all the help we can get.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice, get me out here. I’m Shadowheart, by the way,” she replies, still side-eyeing Lae’zel. You smile, it’s not like you didn’t know that already, and offer your own greeting.

“Lae’zel has proven more than worthy with a blade, and she’s exactly what we need in this upcoming fight. Speaking of which… do you know the command spell?” Lae’zel is looking at you with a look you can’t place, but she seems content with your words of praise. Shadowheart, however, is confused at your question.

“Yes, but, why is that relevant?”

“Don’t think about it too much. Come on, let’s not waste time. I’ve, um, done some research on illithids and I’m fairly certain we can use that tentacle thingy over there to recover our wounds.” Both of them look to you with a mixture of confusion and almost horror as you grab at the tentacles, then follow suit as they see the sigh of relief as the magic washes over you.

-

“Thrall, connect the nerves of the transponder, we must escape. NOW.” You feel the mind flayer’s words rather than hear them, almost like a concept instead of a conversation. You find it incredibly unsettling, but once again, you can unpack this later. You all break out into a run towards the bough, firing shots and spells as you run. Us takes down an imp as Lae’zel tears through a hellboar, whilst you and Shadowheart make a break for it. You turn to her as you do, remembering your plan.

“Shart-uh, Shadowheart! Command! Make him drop the sword!” you yell towards her, pointing at the cambion commander in death grips with the illithid. She throws you a look of utter incomprehension before doing as you say, the faint glow of her magic covering her body as she speaks. You cross your fingers, you pray this works.

And it does. As you hoped, the cambion drops his flaming sword as the mind flayer unleashes a mental blast, knocking him backwards. You look to Lae’zel, only a few steps behind you, and hint towards the abandoned weapon. She gives you another nod of affirmation (honestly, you’re loving these despite everything else going on) as she makes yet another physics-defying leap towards it, snatching it as she lands.

“Go, go, go!” you screech as you see more creatures fall through the gaps in the ship, ready to strike. You pull out the lute, furiously strumming, hoping that something, anything, will hit the creatures as you do. A path clears in front of you between you and your companions’ attacks, and you take your final steps, reaching the ridiculous contraption. Pulling at random tentacles, you attach two, just as the dragon returns to rear its giant head through the holes in the shell. Suddenly, that expected lurch throws you forwards as you’re transported to yet another plane. You grab the tentacles tightly, but not tightly enough. Just like the scene you already know, you’re sent flying through the air as the ship lunges, and you’re in a freefall. But you know what you need to do. You fling your arm out, guiding your body towards the contraption again, reaching for the tentacles to keep you steady. You breathe a sigh as you catch it.

You eventually stumble as the ship crashes against the landscape, falling into that same spot. You lock eyes with the mind flayer, and you expect it will say something. Anything. But it doesn’t. It just keeps it’s glowing eyes locked on you, staring. This distracts you from looking out for what you should’ve known was coming as your skull gets the biggest bonk from a chunk of loose rock, knocking you from the confines of the ship.

You know it’ll be ok, but it doesn’t make the freefall any less scary. What if it doesn’t work? Oh god, the ground’s getting close, it’s too close, you’re going to be sick, you’re going to crash, you’re going to fall, you’re going to die, you’re going to die, oh my GOD you’re going to die, you’re going to f*cking die-

The ground halts before you, everything in your body lurching downwards before you are dropped like a sack of potatoes to the floor. Everything goes black.

Chapter 3: I Shouldn’t Have Wished To Live In More Interesting Times

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The first thing you notice is the itch. You have never in your life noticed any feeling within that lump of tissue inside your cranium, but you’ve never been more aware of its presence within you now. It feels like a clothing tag is stuck within the confines of your skull, tickling and scratching at your brain, making you hyperaware of how it moves and jiggles within you.

Your vision comes in slowly, the bright morning sun burning your corneas as you face the day. The wreckage of the nautiloid lays, well, everywhere. There are burning strings of mangled flesh strewn upon every natural artifact within sight, the stench filling your nostrils as you sit up and ready yourself. Your whole body feels bruised and battered as you do, your muscles screaming in protest at the unwelcome movement and the lack of soft furnishing in your landing pad. At least squid man pulled through with the feather fall, you think to yourself as you try pushing yourself to your feet. You wobble unsteadily, your body not used to the onslaught of physical trauma you were subjected to hours before. Walking to the riverbed nearby, you cup a handful of water and rise your face, the now murky water dripping into the sand as you feel the crusts of blood come free from your skin.

You set off down the beach, pocketing things as you go, checking the bodies laid around you for loose change and anything that may help you on your journey. Still, this is new to you, so you offer a quiet thank you to the fishermen you find and help lay them in more dignified positions. You know you should learn to accept it; you can only imagine this is your life for the foreseeable future, but that doesn’t mean seeing them in this state is easy for you. But still, how did you get here? Why are you here? Out of all the people in existence, why is it you that has been chosen for this? Are you dead? Is this some kind of purgatory? Are you in a coma? Did VR suddenly just dramatically improve overnight, and you’ve been chosen as a surprise beta tester? Oh my god, is this one of those TV shows where they get a hypnotist to create a new reality and you’re just here for some f*cker’s entertainment? You shrug off these thoughts, they serve no purpose right now until you can get some answers, and keep moving.

After a while (much longer than you thought it would be, considering how quickly it happens in the game) you spot Shadowheart laid in a clearing on the shore, prism placed perfectly in hand. Wow, she really is god’s favourite princess, she looks straight out of a f*cking Disney movie laid like that you think to yourself, noting her perfect stillness. You lean over her, opting instead of shaking her awake to gently stroke the hair from her face. You take in her features, her pouty lips, her prominent cheekbones, the ever so faint lines on her skin. You already thought she was beautiful in the game, but in person, she’s perfect.

“Wake up Sleeping Beauty, we’ve got sh*t to do,” you soothe, easing her out of her slumber. She meets your eyes softly as hers open, before they widen in surprise.

“You’re alive- I’m alive… How is this possible?” She pushes herself to her feet, stowing the prism into her pocket.

sh*t. What do you do, what do you say? Can you tell her? Should you tell her? Is she ready to know? She looks concerned at your pause as you deliberate every possible outcome of what you say next, but you need to say something, quick.

“I, uh, I’m not sure, I don’t know – um, I think it’s important to find camp. We need to strategise, and Lae’zel will be around here somewhere,” you choke out uncertainly, hoping your suggestions are enough of a distraction for now. Shadowheart scoffs.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the gith saw us here and abandoned us to save herself. She seems incredibly… self-sufficient, shall we say,” she retorts, dusting off her armour. You sigh, knowing her reservations aren’t going to change anytime soon, so you may as well change the subject.

“Here, the wreckage gets thicker up that way, it’s probably our best bet for finding other survivors. Are you ok? Are you hurt?” She shakes her head, looking over her body and patting her limbs.

“All things considered, I’m as fresh as a daisy. But we do need to find a healer, soon, if these stowaways are ever going to get dealt with. What about you?” She looks you over for injuries as you smile at her.

“I’m fine, honestly. Bit of a headache, I suppose,” you chuckle, pointing towards your skull, “but let’s not worry about them right now. C’mon, the bulk of the wreckage is this way, let’s find a way through.”

-

The fight with the remaining intellect devourers goes smoothly, Shadowheart landing a good whack at the little pest who is trying to claw at your lute strings. You tend each other’s wounds, thankfully just a few scratches, and continue through the wreckage. Seeing the injured mind flayer, you don’t even give it a chance to affect you before you’ve put a bolt through its skull. Shadowheart scoffs, commending you on your brutality, before you continue through to the grassy banks on the other side of the ship.

You can hear the magic of the portal before you see it, the whirls and whooshes of the magical energy reverberating through you. As you walk towards it, you see the buzzing purple magic spin furiously through the craggy hillside, its energy pouring and crackling over you. You place your hand towards it, hoping you hear the voice you’re expecting. A tanned hand pokes its way through aimlessly, clawing at the open air.

“A hand, anyone?”

You know you can’t help it. You try to resist, you really do. You know you shouldn’t. But your willpower ceases to exist as you meet it with a resounding SLAP from your own.

“OW! Perhaps I should have clarified?” The hand wags its finger at you disapprovingly, as if you were a naughty kitten being scolded for knocking glasses off a countertop. “A helping hand, anyone?” You giggle to yourself before stepping forward and gripping the arm, pulling with all your might.

“Yes, that’s it!” You strain further, worried this may not actually work, and eventually yank with every ounce of strength you have. You feel something give. Suddenly, you fall backwards, your feet failing beneath you as you stumble on some loose rocks and land on your behind. You look up to see Gale in all his glory, his eyes wide in bewilderment as he barrels through the air towards you. He lands on top your chest, pushing you further into the dirt as he covers you with his body. Well, you weren’t expecting this.

You feel all of the air leave your lungs in an instant, gasping as your gaze into the deep, puppy-dog brown eyes of the man on top of you as he locks into yours. You take note of the wispy lines cascading from his eyes into his neckline. Your hands instinctively grip at his biceps, squeezing the surprisingly toned muscles beneath his purple wizard robes. His own are holding you too, gently, as if he hadn’t just essentially rugby tackled you to the ground. This would almost feel intimate, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re fairly certain you’re going to pop a blood vessel if you don’t get some air right now.

“Hello, I’m Gale of Waterdeep. Apologies, I’m usually better at this. And, I suppose, not crushing the person who helps me out of a rather sticky situation.” He pushes himself up as you swallow a mouthful of air, your chest screaming at the relief. He sits back onto his knees which are placed either side of yours and pulls you into a seated position. You grip him for support as you turn to cough furiously, trying to find your bearings. He pats you hard on the back to help regulate your breathing.

“Ooh, there we go. Genuinely though, I sincerely apologise for the aerial assault there, I wasn’t expecting the launch to be quite so forceful.” As your coughing slows, he rubs your back in gentle circular motions as you regain control of your breathing. You take in deep raspy breaths as he moves the hair out of your face, then takes your hands and gently guides you back to your feet.

“It’s- fine- don’t worry! Just glad- I could get you free,” you choke out, releasing one of them to rub your bruised sternum. That’s going to leave a mark. “S’pose- it’s what I get- for the smack.”

“Well, what sort of a gentleman would I be if I didn’t offer the most sincerest of thank-yous to the person who saved me from such a peril, even if that was quite a crack she gave me. Can’t say I wouldn’t be tempted to try it myself, were I on the other end of such a predicament. Say, I saw you on the ship, didn’t I? I suppose you’ve also been victim to a most unwelcome insertion of the ocular region?” You chuckle breathlessly, he really does seem to say everything in such a ridiculously endearing manner.

“Yes, we’re looking to find a worm bailiff capable of serving an efficient eviction notice, I suppose,” you say with a smile. Gale and Shadowheart look at you in confusion as he drops your other hand, placing them both on his hips. sh*t, is that a thing in Faerûn? “But, um, some company along the way would really help out, if you’d like to join us?”

“Well, consider my services at your disposal. I’m pretty nifty with the arts of the arcane, if I do say so myself. And I could hardly turn you down after the ordeal I have just caused, nor would I be wise to attempt this journey by myself.” He bows towards you, extending out his arm and offering a tight-lipped smile. “Lead the way.”

-

You follow the road around, knowing full well who waits for you around the corner. You convince the tieflings to run as the captive silently communicates with you to let her down immediately. Much to Shadowheart’s disapproval, Lae’zel joins your party, making your little troupe a quad.

Travelling towards the faint buzzing of civilisation, you realise how close you are to the grove. As expected, upon your arrival, the adventurers are yelling to the people atop the gate, warning them of the oncoming goblin attack. Zevlor steps out, and you watch him in wonder as you see what an actual real-life tiefling looks like. His skin is bright red, his eyes burning into the scene before him, his tail whipping around as he moves. As the goblins barrel closer towards you all, you instinctively grab your lute and take aim. If you try, you might succeed…

“By the Nine Hells, open the gate!” he yells, turning to Kanon. Please, no, you plead, knowing what his fate is to be.

“Wait! Watch for the archers, they’ll aim for the bridge first!” you scream, sending bolts of fire to the goblins readying their bows. You hold your breath and watch as their weapons go up in flame, the creatures furiously shaking them as the adventurers turn to hit them with arrows and weapon blows of their own. You don’t release it until you see all three hit the floor and turn to see Kanon is still standing atop the structure, unharmed. Oh thank f*cking god, you breathe, thankful your intervention has worked.

“Damnable roach,” you hear as a new fighter jumps from the tops of the battlement. “Provoke the blade…” Wyll lunges forward, burying his rapier into the chest of an unlucky goblin before pushing its lifeless corpse to the ground, “and suffer its sting.” Holy sh*t, that was cool.

You, your companions, and the other fighters launch into battle with the grotesque creatures. You pluck your strings furiously as the others lunge and throw themselves around the battlefield, offering them your words of encouragement and throwing fire at weaker enemies. You really need to find out what the hell you can do with this thing, you think to yourself as Gale hurls ice and thunder around, dwarfing your attempts at magical damage. Lae’zel cleaves her sword through a worg as Wyll continues piercing through goblins, Shadowheart keeping everyone healthy as they do.

The fight is over quickly, thank god, and everyone rushes inside the grove. Not before you can pick up a bit of coin and some loose weapons, mind you. You split up the fight between Zevlor and Aradin, trade some extra loot you’ve picked up along the way with the vendor for supplies and make your way up to the top of the bridge. Kanon is speaking with his sister, you notice, and you breathe another sigh of relief knowing that you saved him. He thanks you for your warning, offering to share some of his supplies in thanks. You continue exploring, saving the tiefling girl with the telescope from the bugbear assassin and earning yourself a soul coin in the process.

When you make your way back to the main area, you spot Wyll training with the children and introduce yourself. Jesus Christ, why is everyone in Faerûn so goddamn hot? you think to yourself, before inviting him to join your merry band of misfits. He tells you of the Advocatus Diaboli, and you do your best to keep your face blank as he tells you how much of a terrible person she is. If only he knew…

You continue your escapades around the camp, allowing Lae’zel to terrorise the poor “teethling” and scolding her, interrupting the boy and the adventurer during the heated interaction over the locket, forcing Mattis to flip his coin around 17 times before giving up and just giving you the damn ring, soothing sweet Silfy’s tears as she’s caught with her fingers near your breeches, and saving Arabella from the wrath of Kagha.

“Viscious bitch,” you whisper to yourself as Arabella runs free. Shadowheart scoffs, then tries to hide it as a cough while you give her a side-eyed smirk. Your talk with Nettie is uneventful, as you already know, but there’s no way you can warn the others about it without giving yourself away. Upon the hilltop overlooking the grove, you sing and play with Alfira as she struggles to put her heart into words, and your own melts with adoration over how sweet she is.

You also go and help free the boy at the beach from the harpies, but not before advising your comrades to shove shreds of rags in their ears, and screaming the words to All Star by Smash Mouth completely out of tune as you fight to drown out the sounds of their singing. You probably could have come up with something better to wail, but honestly, it worked, so no harm done (if you don’t count hurting the ears of your companions). You grab the Ring of Colour Spray from the nest, knowing full well you’re going to have to feed your magic-hungry companion at some point.

-

Before leaving the grove, you make sure to head down to the little beach with the very sad bear.
“Gale, can you just give him this bit of fish? I can’t cope with that face,” you ask, pulling out the fish head you nabbed at the docks by the crash site earlier. He nods, and you use this opportunity to quickly run your hand underneath a large boulder, pulling at the amulet you know is under there. No chance is this becoming Gale dinner, you think to yourself as you carefully stow the Amulet of Silvanus.

sh*t, you think. The sun is still bright, but you can tell the afternoon is drawing towards the evening, the sky now tinged orange, and you still haven’t been to collect your final tagalong of the day. Karlach will have to wait until tomorrow, there’s no chance you’ll make it to her by nightfall, and you definitely haven’t got the strength for any battles you might face along the way. But he isn’t too far away, you don’t think.

“We should really look at setting up camp. I think there’s a spot just past the nautiloid, not too far away. It should be safe since we’ve cleared the area,” you say to the group. Wyll and Gale nod in approval, Shadowheart offering a smile of affirmation. Lae’zel appears vexed by the suggestion of rest, but honestly, you’re also f*cking tired and you want to lie down. Soon.

You set back out onto the dusty roads, travelling towards the smoking wreckage again. The flames have died down, now a gentle flicker compared to the inferno they were earlier. You navigate your way ahead, pushing through the viscera and focusing on the route ahead of you.

“Do you think we’re almost there? As much as I adore the idea of meandering through the mess of this godsforsaken vessel, I think a nice bit of cheese and some wine would really whet my whistle, so to speak,” Gale chimes, animatedly patting his belly in protest of his hunger. Shadowheart giggles.

“You know, I really wouldn’t say no to a nice glass of red right now. Or a good baked fish,” she adds, smiling between you both. “Do you think we can grab a nice vintage from the next straggle of refugees we run into?”

“Guys, honestly, I don’t think I can handle thinking about food right now or I may actually start eating my own leg, or one of yours,” you chuckle, grabbing your grumbling stomach, “but I promise, nearly there! Just a bit further.” You spot the exit you were looking for, pushing forward, looking frantically for any sign of life. Then you hear it.

“You there! Come here, I need help!”

Chapter 4: I Need A Quick Word

Chapter Text

Your breath catches in your throat as you lay eyes on him for the first time, your eyes widening in awe. You already know how beautiful he is onscreen, but in real life? He’s absolutely breathtaking. His silvery-white curls cascade across his sharp cheekbones, speckled with dried blood, the contrast highlighting his beauty even more. His pale features look like they have been carved from marble, a work of art this world is not sacred enough to be privy to, yet you feel blessed to be in its presence. You almost offer your thanks to the cosmos for the privilege. His scarlet eyes glance to you for a moment, squinting, analysing you, as if he can stare through to your soul and unveil every secret about yourself. He peers back over to the thicket, looking down his perfectly straight nose, pointing his marvellously sculpted arm out towards the fauna. The golden threading in his armour glimmers in the late afternoon sun, and you see the light reflect from his narrowed eyes. Oh god.

“Hurry, I’ve got one of those brain things cornered,” he says, his eyes flickering between you and the thick bushes. “There, in the grass. You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others.” You panic momentarily – what should you say? Should you play into it, act like you don’t know? Are you going to call him out on his bullsh*t already? But surely, that would raise alarm bells… You instinctively turn and look to your companions for support, but apparently, Astarion sees this as an opportunity to act.

He leaps forward, silver dagger in hand, as he gracefully reaches around your chest and waist, pulling you to the ground as you gasp in surprise. At least this time, being dragged to the floor by a companion hurts a considerable amount less, and you still have access to your lungs. Small victories, you suppose. He holds the blade to your jugular, his legs intertwining with yours, and you almost feel ashamed at the heat that burns inside you, creeping its way into your cheeks. Almost.

“Shh… Not a word. Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours,” he drawls with a sly grin, your body perfectly pinned within his grasp. You can feel his muscles tense around you as he tries to keep you still. You try to move, but he seems to have found every gap you could escape through, only allowing your neck enough space to stretch away ever so slightly from the sting of the blade as you try to push it back with your one free hand. “And you. Keep. Your. Distance. No need for this to get messy.” Your companions step forward, grabbing their weapons in preparation.

“I need her alive. Stow that blade or I’ll show you just how messy things can get,” commands Shadowheart, throwing possibly one of the shadiest looks you’ve ever seen. You’re a little touched, actually, that you’ve not even known each other for a day and yet she’s willing to fight for your safety. Astarion chuckles with that airy laugh of his.

“Promises, promises, but I have other business, I’m afraid,” he retorts, gripping the knife closer. You sigh, exasperated. It’s been a long f*cking day.

“Y’know, it’d be nice if I didn’t keep meeting people who want to tackle me to the ground,” you say, earning yourself a choked exclamation from the wizard.

“Now, hang on a second there! It’s not like I did it on purpose! I have no idea what this buffoon’s issue is, but you can hardly compare the two. However, my fair-haired friend, if you don’t release her immediately, I will incinerate you.” Gale once again offers that disapproving look, mirrored with his tight-lipped smile. Honestly, he’s adorable, you can’t help but think to yourself.

“Gods, enough of this! You will give me the answers I need! Now, I saw you on the ship, didn’t I? Nod.” You sigh defeatedly, offering Astarion the nod he wants. He smirks, going to speak again, before you open your own mouth.

“Not to interrupt your devious little plan here, but I’d probably be a bit more cooperative if there weren’t a blade pressed to my jugular right now,” you say, raising your eyebrow at him. “How about we put away the claws, kitty? Let’s play nicely, now. I promise I won’t bite.” He groans, infuriated at the lack of information he’s getting. He pulls away the knife, pushing you away from him as he climbs back to his feet. You’re almost a little sad at the loss of his presence, but you are glad to be free of the dagger, you suppose. You clamber back up, uncertainly, your eyes locked on him to make sure he doesn’t try something stupid again.

“Ah, good boy. Now, seeing as you’ve been so nice, go crazy. What do you want to know?” You look at him expectantly as he crosses his arms, looking like a grumpy toddler who’s just spat out his dummy, the dagger still clutched in his palm.

“Honestly, can’t a man just interrogate a stranger by knifepoint without them being so… insufferable?” He pinches his brow before letting out a frustrated sigh. “Look, I saw you there, you must know someth-”

His sentence is interrupted as that all-familiar pulsing starts bouncing around in both of your skulls. Your vision quickly fades to black, but gradually you see the dim lights of Baldur’s Gate’s torchlight at night fade into view. You’re near the Blushing Mermaid, your eyes darting around patrons on the inn’s deck. You glance between them, your eyes settling on a halfling woman sat by herself, nursing a pint of ale. Yes, she’ll do well, you think, as you stalk your way over. You’re about to introduce yourself, before you’re suddenly back within your own mind, staring at the pale elf before you. He looks at you in horror, his eyes now wide and full of fear.

“What in the bloody hells was that?!” he yells, stumbling backwards. He flitters his gaze between you and your companions, pulling out the blade in defence. Goddammit, what did he see?!

“It’s the f*cking worm they put inside us. It has psionic powers connecting us, so we have a lovingly infuriating telepathic link,” you say, your hands splayed out in front of you, willing Astarion to calm down, showing you mean no harm. “And it needs removing, soon, unless you love the idea of sprouting tentacles and turning a dashing shade of blue.” He stares quizzically a moment, lowering his weapon arm. He giggles, lightly at first. Then, he breaks out into a full-blown laughing fit, clutching his stomach and wiping at his teary eyes.

“Gods, this is hilarious, isn’t it? Finally, a taste of freedom, at the cost of becoming one of those freaks. Heh, isn’t that just my divine luck.” He pinches his brow before running his hand over his face. “And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. Apologies.” He offers you a wry smile. You think you may have blushed.

“Um, hah, honestly, it’s fine, it’s ok. To be fair, if I were you, I imagine I’d have likely done the same,” you say, earning yourself a look of approval. “You’re welcome to join us, by the way, we could use all the help we can get.”

Lae’zel scoffs as Gale and Wyll make sounds of protest. Shadowheart laughs and shakes her head, clearly amused at how willing you are to keep picking up strays who knock you to the floor. You should probably see a therapist about this, you think to yourself. You throw your own look of silent warning, silencing the boys, as you turn back to Astarion who is looking over at your companions.

“I’d be honoured. The more, the merrier, I suppose. But please, allow me to introduce myself. My name’s Astarion,” he begins, placing one hand on his chest as he waves the other with flair. “I was in Baldur’s Gate when those beasts snatched me.” You give him your name, his eyes lighting up in intrigue. He repeats it back to you, a sound so sweet you make sure to savour it.

“A pleasure. Well, seeing as we’re all well-acquainted now, I don’t suppose you have a camp set up, do you? Gods, I’m exhausted.” You smile, waving him to follow, as you and your companions set out for a prime location.

-

The game made this seem easy. So easy. You don’t even know where the rest of them got their supplies from, but luckily, Wyll was willing to give you a spare bedroll he’d picked up. However, you even struggle laying that out properly. Luckily, Lae’zel takes pity on you (or, you suppose, just gets pissed off enough watching you that she has to step in for her own sanity) and shows you how to lay it correctly with a protective sheet, explaining it is to prevent moisture and keep it clean. Well, it’s not like you’d know. You’re a city girl through and through - the closest you’ve come to roughing it in the wild is when you couldn’t get a taxi home after a night out and had to hang out in a 24-hour McDonald’s until the buses started again in the morning. Not really sure how those transferrable skills will play out here, mind you.

Later on, you sit around the campfire, your companions around you as you pick at the supplies you collected from your escapades earlier in the day. Kanon gave you quite a delicious loaf of bread, and you scoff it down with an apple and some cheese you picked up from the trader. Shadowheart looks as happy as she can be in this scenario, tucking into a fried fish with a glass of wine. Wyll is beside you, regaling you all with tales of his adventures as the Blade of Frontiers. Typically, he’s the companion you find you use the least in the game, but you’re enamoured with his storytelling right now, lost in the intricacies of his tales and losing yourself in his words. Gale looks content tucking into his own meal, looking at the happy faces around camp of those enjoying the food he has prepared for you all. Lae’zel has even decided to sit on the edge of the circle, still with a grumpy face, but at least she’s here, you suppose.

You notice one face is missing. You glance around, looking for the missing companion. He is sat under the canopy of his tent, goblet of wine in one hand, book in the other. You spot his plate of food on the ground next to him; the cheese has been picked at, as have the fried potatoes, but not very much. Huh, so he can actually eat real food, you think to yourself. You admire the way his face looks as he’s concentrating. There’s a crease in his brow, his eyes narrowed, the faint lines around them highlighting his interest in whatever it is he’s reading. He takes a swig from the glass, placing it down momentarily as his tongue darts out to lick his fingers to turn the page, before grabbing it once again. His nose crinkles as he seems to read something particularly interesting, his plump limps turning up slightly at the edge – you’ll have to ask him what it is later.

He looks up from his book, his eyes meeting yours. He smirks as he notices you watching, raising his brow and his glass to you. You blush, hard, your eyes widening in surprise before quickly fixing your gaze back to Wyll and pushing your fists to your mouth in embarrassment as he waves his arms frantically, retelling how he skewered the heart of a rampaging troll causing havoc amongst a small village. You faintly hear Astarion breathe out a laugh, seeing him turn his attention back to the page in your peripheral vision.

Wait, what should you do about his feeding? You don’t want him to go hungry, obviously. But should you be the one to broach that subject with him? Or should you just hope it’s you he comes to at some point over the next few days? What if he goes to one of the others, and they’re not as understanding? What if Lae'zel sticks him like a pig? Surely, you have to do something, you can’t just leave him to figure this out on his own. You ponder over the pros and cons as your companions continue their stories, each of them sharing little glimmers of their lives you had no idea were there, causing a whole new understanding of the people around you.

-

The night draws to a close, the cosmos revealing itself in a golden shimmer against a backdrop of deep indigo. You spy constellations you've never seen before, wondering what stories there are about them, if they're similar to those in your own galaxy. Holy sh*t, this is far more beautiful than what we have at home, you think to yourself as you clear up the leftover items from dinner under a backdrop of pure celestial artistry. The fire is a gentle flicker now, its light offering little assistance against the expanse of the open sky, but at least the moon is offering all of the light you need. As the others retire into their tents, you weigh up your options one final time. Astarion is the last to start packing away his things, his attention having been stolen by the pages of his book for the whole evening.

You take a steely breath, clench your fists, and cautiously walk over to him. He looks at you, raising a brow in surprise.

“… Well, hello. What can I do for you?”

Chapter 5: Hey, Soldier!

Chapter Text

He places a hand to his hip, the other grasping his jaw as he looks down at you quizzically. You try and find your resolve, your courage waning under his gaze. sh*t, you have to say something, you think to yourself.

“Um, hi. Er, I noticed that, uh, you didn’t – well, food, um…” you stumble, not sure exactly what it is you’re trying to say. Your hand nervously plays with the ends of your hair as you fumble over what words to use. He guffaws, tilting his head back and shifting his weight to his other hip, releasing his hand from his chin.

“Come on darling, use your words. Like a big girl. You’ve got this.” Your face blooms with heat and you’re fairly certain there’s steam coming out of your ears. It feels like he’s burning through you with his eyes, the weight of them unbearable and drowning you.

“Yes, ahem. You… didn’t eat all your meal,” you start. You know what you want to say, but you just can’t. He barely knows you; how would he react if he knew you knew? Just because you offer doesn’t mean he’ll accept, he is Astarion, after all. How could he trust you after just a few hours? “I was wondering if… er, maybe you wanted something else instead? We’ve got a long day tomorrow, um, you should keep your strength up,” you stutter, staring at the ground, unable to carry the weight those eyes have you under. “There’s fruit, uh, nuts, some meat… I’m sure the others wouldn’t mind…” You scuff at the floor with the toe of your boot, hoping the ground will swallow you up.

“Haha! Oh my, isn’t that sweet? Look at you, worrying about little old me, it’s positively adorable.” He reaches out his hand, placing a finger under your chin, lifting your face and pulling it to face him so he can meet your eyes. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod- You know he can see how much you're blushing beneath him. He can probably feel the heat of your cheeks, the blood pulsing through your veins, hear your heart pound beneath your skin. Your eyes are wide, like a rabbit caught in headlights, him the circling fox ready to strike for the remains. You know he’s doing this on purpose, he understands completely what this is doing to you, his actions a coat of armour to protect him. It’s sad, really. You know he doesn’t need to be this way. But f*cking hell, you just can’t help yourself from falling for it. You’re putty in his hands.

“I just want to make sure you’re ok,” you whisper breathily, leaning into this touch, wrapping your arms around your torso with all your strength. You think you might just fall apart if you don’t. He looks down at you, flustered under his control, a flicker of an emotion you can’t quite read passing over his features before his sly grin returns. His thumb strokes against your jaw softly.

“Tsk, honestly dear, you needn’t bother.” He drops his hand, your body jolting slightly at the loss of contact. “But, I appreciate the gesture nonetheless. I actually had some rations not long before you found me,” he says, turning to grab the book to put it away. “However, now I know, should I feel absolutely famished,” he articulates, meeting your eyes once more, “I know exactly where to turn. Goodnight, we have a long day tomorrow, after all.”

He turns, walking into the tent, leaving you alone under the moonlight. Oh my god, you f*cking idiot, you think, cursing yourself for losing your cool. You stand there momentarily, analysing what just happened, before heading to the waterfront to splash your heated face.

Your sleep that night is light and restless, jolting over every little sound in the night. The nightmares of your adventure so far plague your dreams, the bloodshed something you’re still not accustomed to. You might not ever be. You think you may just hear someone moving around at some point in the night, walking out of camp, but you’re too tired to check. You slip back into your slumber.

-

In the morning, Wyll simply won’t shut up about finding the Advocatus Diaboli, and honestly, you can’t wait to meet her, so you make it the priority for the day. Lae’zel is still insistent on finding the githyanki crèche, but you assure her you’ll make your way there soon, earning yourself an impatient huff. One thing you are grateful for in real life over the game is there’s no stupid four-people limit on who can come with you, so you all set out together.

Leaving camp, you first stumble upon the dying True Soul and his siblings. Obviously, the others have no clue about any of this, so you play along in order to get the information about the Absolute. Makes it easier than finding a way to explain it yourself. When the opportunity arises, you send them ahead to the owlbear cave, stowing the new tadpole you’ve acquired.

In the cave, the ensuing fight is a piece of cake with the six of you in the party. Obviously, the siblings have perished before you had a chance to follow, but you suppose it was easier than dealing with them yourself. Within moments, Lae’zel buries her flaming sword into the mother’s neck, the group watching in horror as the baby ultimately starts gorging itself on the corpse. You stifle a giggle, expecting as much, but it’s no more bizarre seeing it in person. After collecting the egg and the last of the loot from around the cave, you follow the hill around until you find a particularly fluffy adventurer, guarding the body of his fallen friend.

“Hi, boy!” you say, raising your palms in an effort to show your offering of peace. Scratch looks at you quizzically, sniffing at the air around you, his caution evident throughout his whole body. You reach into your pack and break off a piece of salami, tossing it to him, it landing perfectly in his jaw as he snaps at it gleefully. “Follow our scent, Scratch. Find us at camp. We’ll take care of you.” Astarion scoffs, making a comment about you taking in yet another stray and how the group will have no supplies left soon enough, but you just laugh him off. There’s not a chance in hell you’re leaving the best boy in the world behind.

Further down the road, you spy the exsanguinated boar. You f*cking knew you heard him leave in the night! You didn’t think it’d happen so soon, though. The group gathers around the boar, considering what may have happened to it, as Astarion shifts uncomfortably, scratching at his neck in unease. Gale examines it up close, taking note of the lack of wounds.

“Yes, it’s a dead boar. Big deal. Now, come on, we’ve got better sh*t to do than ponder over every dead creature we come across,” he spits, edging further away from the animal. You raise your brow at him, silently hinting at your understanding of the situation, but you keep your mouth closed.

“No, he’s right, we’ve got bigger priorities right now. Although, Gale, do you think you can get a good cut from it for dinner?” you ask, passing a spare dagger over to the wizard. He smiles, gladly taking it from you.

“Why, of course! Roasted gammon sounds like an absolute treat, but we should keep an eye out for some vegetables to go alongside it while we’re out. Make it almost feel like we’re back home.” You catch Astarion’s eye; there’s a furrow in his brow, a confusion as he looks at you. He purses his lips, giving you a subtle nod before taking off eagerly.

-

Thanks to the lovely powers of your cranial lodger, the Blighted Village is a breeze. You waltz right through, the goblins residing there giving you free roam of the grounds. You make sure to stop up at the windmill, scolding the creatures holding Barcus captive amidst his spinning prison, ensuring his safety before continuing on. f*ck Wulbren Bongle, you think to yourself, admiring the steely resolve of this pint-sized sweetheart with a heart of gold.

As you traverse through the village, you spot it: the notorious barn, the faint repetitive thud coming from behind its closed doors, groans of pleasure becoming more and more audible. You stop; no, you can’t. No, no, no, you shouldn’t. Seriously don’t- what are you doing? Why are you moving towards it? Oh my god, stop-

“What in the hells are you doing? Clearly, they don’t want to be interrupted, and I don’t think my eyes can handle such a sight,” interrupts Shadowheart, her face conveying pure disgust. You giggle to yourself, there’s no chance in hell that you’re missing out on this. You raise your hand to the door, Astarion grabbing you just as you’re about to touch it.

“Wait, don’t interrupt them. Let me do it, they sound disgusting.” You look at him, eyes wide in amusem*nt, before stepping back and signalling for him to take over. He gives you a devilish grin before pushing the doors open, revealing the disgusting scene inside.

Well, you knew what to expect. You knew it’d be gross. But honestly, seeing it with your own eyes really takes the cake. You don’t even know how this is physically working for them, surely he’s nowhere near big enough to even get it in, never mind actually make it enjoyable for her to be making these kinds of sounds…

You and Astarion are besides yourself with laughter as the two creatures shout out words of annoyance, your arm holding onto him for balance as you struggle to remain standing. The bugbear pulls away, hiding whatever shred of dignity he has left behind his hands. Wyll has covered his eyes, Gale looking away entirely, finding a spot far away to focus on instead. Shadowheart has her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle - Lae’zel isn’t even phased.

“Oh please, continue! I could put this in prose. Astarion, do you think I could make a bit of coin writing about this debauchery? I’m sure there’s a few booksellers who would pay a pretty penny for this kind of smut back in the city,” you exclaim, earning yourself another round of raucous laughter from the elf. Even Gale snorts out a chuckle from the back of the barn. The troll clambers up from her position, reaching for her giant club.

“RUINED, SMASH - I’LL SMASH YOU!” Oops.

Thankfully, the fight is over quickly, but you do get a good scolding from your other companions for your recklessness. However, for the next hour, you and Astarion can’t look at each other without breaking into laughter again. Worth it.

-

After what seems like an eternity, you know you’re finally near her. You’ve taken care of the hyenas and gnolls, the grotesque birthing ritual now etched into your brain. You don’t think you’ll forget about their horrific transformations anytime soon. Wyll is eager to push ahead, his focus being only on finding her, warning you all of her horrific deeds and how she isn’t to be trusted. Oh Wyll…

You find her at the waterfront, cowering as flames cascade around her in a violent haze as she groans in pain. Good god she looks terrifying up close, but magnificent. Her poor skin is scarred and disfigured from the brutality she has been subjected to, but even now, you can see the beauty of her physique and the rippling muscles along her body.

“One horn – the stink of Avernus. Advocatus Diaboli.” You roll your eyes. Honestly, Wyll. We get it already, come up with something new. Karlach turns to face you all, raising her head from its tucked position in her chest.

“Well I’ll be godsdamned – the Blade of Frontiers. Thought I’d shaken you for good. That’ll teach me to underestimate you.” She raises to her feet, her glorious stature dwarfing you. You wonder if the others can see cartoon love hearts in your eyes.

“Karlach. Wyll’s told us all about you…” you breathe, still in awe of her presence. You are cut short, however, as your brain worms decide to have a good wriggle and open their annoying neural pathway between you both. Suddenly, you’re knee-deep in the Hells, swinging your axe around and slicing foes left, right and centre. It’s f*cking stifling, you can’t stand this heat. You’re looking around frantically, hoping for any means of escape, the panic rising in your throat as you lodge your axe into the neck of another foe. You need to get out of here, run, f*cking RUN, Karlach…

You’re back in your own body, your heart aching under the weight you felt of Karlach’s mechanical one. You stare at her through sad eyes, every inch of your body screaming to hold her, give her a hug. However, you quite enjoy not being burnt to a crisp, so you hold fast for now.

“What in the hells was that?!” she yells, cowering backwards. Wyll steps forward, blade in hand, poised and ready to strike. You grab his arm, willing him back, hoping he’ll hear reason.

“Wyll, stop, wait!” you exclaim, looking back to Karlach. “It’s the tadpoles – they connect us, give us a way to see into each other’s minds. I saw, Karlach. I saw that you didn’t want to be there, you wanted out, you were forced into it. You’re innocent. She’s no devil, Wyll. She’s a victim, Zariel’s victim.” Your eyes pour into him, pleading with every ounce of willpower you have, hoping he’ll see sense.

“She’s right – it’s the truth. I never wanted to serve Zariel. I was enlisted against my will, sold to her, to fight. So I did. I had no choice, you have to believe me!” Her voice makes something in you crack; you can’t handle how much you want to protect her already, how she’s already digging her wholesome little self deep into your soul. Your grip on Wyll’s arm strengthens as you whisper a silent prayer. He looks between you both, his eyes full of fear and concern, before dropping his arm entirely.

“sh*t, sh*t!” he exclaims, turning away from you both. “You really are no devil, are you? I’ve… I’ve been deceived.” You meet his gaze again, whispering a quiet thank you. Karlach breathes a sigh of relief, her shoulders lowering as she does.

“Oh, thank the gods. Thought I was going to have to take your head,” Karlach laughs. Wyll smirks.

“You would’ve died in the attempt. But there have been enough threats today.”

“Truce, then?”

“Aye, truce.” The two offer each other a gentle nod, before Karlach turns to you.

“Well, you know who I am, clearly, but who are the rest of you?”

-

The so-called Paladins of Tyr are dealt with swiftly, although you make sure to drag your companions out of the building before Karlach absolutely f*cking decimates it. Thankfully, everyone is smitten with her immediately; even Lae’zel is in awe of her physical prowess, consistently praising her skills as a warrior. You’re not surprised, you’ve always absolutely adored her, and experiencing her joy and love in person has only solidified that.

You all return back to camp afterwards, the evening once again drawing in as the sky develops streaks of pink and purple across an orange hue. You help Gale with preparing the meat for roasting, Wyll helping to peel the vegetables you’ve picked up along your travels. Scratch also shows his face whilst you’re halfway through your meal, earning himself a bountiful portion of everyone’s scraps. He sits beside you, curling up around your feet, offering a welcome source of warmth in the cool evening air.

Your companions sit around you as you gently pluck a tune on the lute. It’s been a while since you last played anything, but they all seem grateful for the night’s entertainment. You play a few songs you know, obviously new to the ears of your friends, but you’re grateful for their praise nonetheless. They make requests you’ve never heard of, working with them to try and figure out what the right chords are, the chaos bringing you all to tears. Even Astarion has elected to put away his book for the evening in favour of the group’s company.

The stars once again make their appearance, the group eventually dwindling down as your companions gradually retire for the night. Before long, Karlach wishes you goodnight, and it’s just you and Astarion left under the expanse of the cosmos. The fire flickers gently as you pour yourself another glass of wine. The stuff tastes like piss, but honestly, you’re just glad to have something that can take the edge off. Astarion takes the bottle from you, refilling his own goblet.

“We’re a bit of an odd bunch, don’t you suppose?” he questions, staring up at the sky. “A prodigal wizard, a famed swordsman, a walking furnace… the other two. And you.” He looks at you, his eyes conveying his intrigue. “You’re not from the city, are you?” You panic momentarily, hoping you don’t blow your cover.

“Um, no. Not quite. I know the area a bit, I suppose,” you murmur, hoping that might cover your back for now. He tilts his head, analysing you, trying to figure you out.

“I thought not. I have a feeling I would’ve seen you around if you were. You’re a bit of a mystery, aren’t you?” He swirls his glass, watching it intensely before taking a swig from it. “You don’t seem as open as some of the others do, you’ve barely told us anything about yourself.” You look over to the waterfront, avoiding his gaze. Please, don’t. You don’t even know what you’d say.

“I guess not. Didn’t feel right to, I guess? Suppose I’d just rather hear about you lot than talk about me, I’m really not that interesting” you say, pulling your knees to your chest. You feel the anxiety rise in your stomach, taking up space in your throat, causing your throat to wobble.

“Hm, possibly. I mean, I’m personally grateful for your lack of sharing. It would’ve been very easy for you to tell the others what you already know.” You bolt upright in alarm. sh*t, sh*t, sh*t!

“I, er, I’m sorry? What do you mean?” you stutter nervously, biting your lip. You think you might be sick.

Astarion leans over to you, tucking his finger under your chin the same way he had done the night before when you’d approached him, his scarlet eyes burning into yours.

“That you know I’m a vampire, darling.”

Chapter 6: Just A Taste

Chapter Text

Your heart thrums in your chest as your muscles seize in place. You can’t bring yourself to move, even to look away from his overbearing stare as you remain fixed under his piercing eyes. Your arms are locked in a vice grip around your knees, holding yourself together, any slip and you may fall apart. f*ckf*ckf*ckf*ckf*ckf*ck-

“V-vampire? Ha, wh-what do you mean? You mean to tell me y-you’re a vampire?” you stammer breathlessly, any shred of conviction disappearing under the waver of your voice. You can almost hear the metaphorical dice clicking as you fail spectacularly at whatever deception attempt you were making. Astarion raises a brow at you incredulously, clearly not falling for your sh*t, his thumb brushing delicately across your jaw.

“You’re not fooling anyone, dear. Now, when did you figure it out, hm? Even more interesting is why you haven’t come running at me with a stake, or I suppose, instructed Lae’zel to. You don’t seem particularly skilled with weapons, after all.” He moves closer, dwarfing you with his presence. You can’t handle this, what do you say? What do you f*cking say?!

“I, uh…” Oh, f*ck it. “I guess I knew straightaway. I, um, I saw it. In the tadpole vision – I saw you feasting. Plus, those fangs of yours are a bit hard to miss, and the red eyes. I guess I figured you wouldn’t be stupid enough to try your luck with your only chance at surviving this ridiculous situation,” you whisper, praying he falls for it. It’s a half truth, you suppose. Look at you, lying through your teeth to him. “And I just, I don’t know. I trust you, I guess. And I imagine you’d let the others know when you’re ready.” For a moment, he looks confused, slightly pulling away and dropping his grip upon your chin, his eyes widening, his brow furrowing. You can’t help but think about how you adore the little crease in his forehead when he pulls that face.

“And you don’t think that that was an admittedly stupid thing to do? Keeping it to yourself?” he questions, leaning back on his palms. You shake your head slightly, looking back out to the water, unable to handle his gaze any longer. The ripples in the stream give you a momentary reprieve as you collect your thoughts. You let out a shaky breath.

“We’ve all got sh*t, Astarion. Some sh*t we can’t help. You can’t help being a vampire any more than Karlach can help that she has an engine for a heart, or Wyll has one eye, or that Gale is, well, Gale.” Astarion huffs out a laugh, the delicate sound cutting through the knots you’ve formed in your stomach, quelling your discomfort.

“Yes, well, you’re quite right about that, I suppose. That is quite the affliction.” Astarion reaches for his glass of wine, taking a swig before reaching over to grab yours, extending it to you. You smile softly as you release the grip on your poor, tortured knees and take it from him, downing the rest of the thing in one go. “Still though, aren’t you worried about when I need to feed? When I’m starving? Ravenous? What I might do to you?” He spits the words at you, clearly looking for evidence that you’re going to change your stance, that you’ll turn on him. Oh, sweet boy. You could never.

“Well, you’ve already shown that you can fend for yourself, if tonight’s meal is anything to go by,” you say, rubbing your arms soothingly. “But… Well, um, I thought maybe…” You trail off, not quite sure how to verbalise what you’re thinking. You know this will benefit him, that he’ll be grateful for the offer. But still, what if he says no? What if he thinks you’re an idiot for suggesting it? Oh god, what if he laughs at you for being the silly little girl you are?

“Yes, dear?” He moves to you, seating himself beside you, joining your gaze upon the horizon.

“I thought, maybe, you might want… to… oh for f*ck’s sake…” you breathe, hiding your face in your palms. How do you even suggest this?!

“Go on, darling. Like I said before. Use your words.” He reaches up, his hand moving to a loose strand of your hair. He twirls it through his fingers before moving it away from your face, his fingers tracing delicately down your back as he does. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks as you shudder, a burning heat spreading within you. He’s going to be the death of you.

“I thought… you know, only if you wanted, of course. And, if you’re ok with it… that you might… want to… feed… from me?”

Silence. For a moment, you’re frozen still. You gradually pull your palms down from your eyes, breathing deeply as you will yourself to look at him. He is staring at you, a million thoughts racing behind his eyes. He shifts his weight, his body turning entirely to face you. Oh god, what have you done?

Suddenly, his hands are around your biceps in a vice grip as he spins you to face him, holding onto you with every ounce of his strength as he keeps you in place. You gasp as he leans over you, that sly grin staring you down as his teeth flash in the moonlight.

“Now, are you positively certain that this is what you want, sweetheart?” he breathes, his face inches from your own, his words laced thickly with want. You can only nod as your voice fails you, your only thoughts being about how beautiful he looks in this moment.

“Use. Your. Words.” He growls at you, somehow pulling you even closer. “Go on. Be brave.”

“Yes, Astarion. It’s ok, I want you to,” you whisper. “Please.” Honestly, you’re ashamed at the desperation laced in your words as you say them, but you’re too far gone to give a sh*t. His eyes flash with something mysterious, something ravenous. He pulls you into his lap, your thighs straddling him as he pushes your hair to the side, exposing the skin of your neck. The heat within you is blazing, every inch of you burning under his grasp, stoked only by the cool touch of his fingers against you as he finds a prime location to strike. You feel his teeth graze against the delicate skin as you hold your breath in anticipation. Oh god, here it comes…

-

“… Um, so sorry to interrupt! Have either of you seen Clive?”

You realise you’re now staring at the stars as your back hits the ground with a thud, your head pulsing from the unwelcome bang as you fall. Ouch. You turn to the intruder, furious at the disruption, the flush of your cheeks now due to the sheer embarrassment of the predicament you’re in. Karlach stands at the other side of the dwindling fire, her hand sheepishly grabbing her other arm as she scans the area for the missing teddy. You can only hope she didn’t see the compromising position you were in moments ago; you don’t think you can deal with camp gossip just yet.

“No, darling. Where did you last have him?” Astarion asks nonchalantly, looking over his perfectly manicured nails, showing no indication that there was anything untoward happening before the tiefling’s arrival. Prick.

“I don’t know, I had him in my tent earlier, but he’s gone! I don’t know where he could’ve… OI!” Karlach yells, breaking into a run. You watch her as she sprints over to Scratch who has taken refuge over by the abandoned boat, happily chewing on Clive’s ear. “Give him back, you furry little sh*t!”

You think you can physically see the dog weighing up the pros and cons of hanging onto his new toy, before ultimately making the right decision and bolting away from the flaming fury, running to you for safety. You giggle as he cowers behind you, his tail tucked between his legs as he whimpers. Karlach snatches up the teddy from his abandoned position, grimacing as she wipes the drool from his soggy ear.

“Ugh… You’re lucky you’re cute, Scratch, or I’d barbeque you for tomorrow night’s dinner!” she exclaims, clutching Clive to her chest. You reach around and stroke him softly, scratching at the good spot behind his ear.

“Oh dear, Scratch, did the mean old lady scare you? You just wanted to play with her favourite toy, didn’t you? We should ask before we take though, shouldn’t we, boy? Ohwho’sasweetdoggy!” you coo, smooshing your face into his coat. He licks at your face before bouncing off, clearly not wanting to get himself into any more trouble with the barbarian. Karlach huffs, smiling at the disappearing hound.

“He is cute, isn’t he? Pretty sure I’d let him get away with murder. Anyway, glad I’ve got my mate back,” she says, tucking the bear into her side. “Sorry for the interruption! Goodnight, again.” She bounds back to her tent with her tiny companion, closing the flap as she finally disappears for the night. God, you can’t help but love her. You turn to face Astarion, who is now standing above you, arms folded across his chest.

“Honestly, I feel like we can never get a moment’s peace in this godsforsaken camp. However, I think I’ll take that as my indication to retire for the evening.” He starts to move away, your heart dropping at his exit. Well, that f*cked up, didn’t it?

“Did you… um, do you want…” you mumble, scrambling to your feet to follow him. He pauses, turning to face you.

“While I appreciate your eagerness, dear, I think the moment’s over. We can’t risk… intrusions. Plus, I am still quite sated from my last meal.”

Oh.

“But, I mean it. This is a gift. I won’t forget it,” he murmurs, turning over his shoulder. “Maybe I’ll come to you another night, and we can finish what we started. Until then.” He stalks away, climbing into his own tent and yanking the flap shut before you can even get out a single word. Well, ok then.

-

The next morning, you feel slightly cranky thanks to the lack of sleep caused by your unfinished business the night before, the frustration causing you to toss and turn until you could see strings of pink across the horizon. However, Faerûn’s sh*t won’t fix itself, so the first point of call is to Dammon to hand over the infernal iron you picked up on your travels through the Blighted Village. Honestly, it’s amazing how you just so happened to pick it up while you were there, what a fantastic coincidence! Whilst you still can’t hug your newest companion, you’re happy that she finally has some relief from the heat that encompasses her which has an astounding affect on your sour mood.

You convince the gang that you should totally check out the chapel ruins back by the coast to see if there’s any useful loot for your upcoming journey. As a group of seven now, you tear through the treasure hunters without breaking a sweat, Lae’zel and Karlach tearing through them like they’re made of paper. Astarion helps to disarm the never-ending traps, complaining the whole time about getting his hands dirty. Honestly, what a princess.

You make sure to loot all the weapons from the dead scribes, ensuring at least a little safety before their ultimate attack. Gale finds the locked book, opening it with his arcane prowess and obsessing over the details within. He also points out the statue of Jergal, regaling the rest of you with tales of his history, before promptly being interrupted by Astarion.

“Honestly, Gale, is it actually possible for you to not bore us to death with these tales of yours? I’d rather hear about Lae’zel’s last sh*t if I’m perfectly honest.” You and Shadowheart cling to each other as you burst out into a fit of laughter, Karlach following suit. Gale stutters in disgust, shaming Astarion for his vulgarity, while Wyll stifles his laughter behind his fist. Lae’zel side-eyes Astarion, a vague glimmer in her eye.

“I do not think you would be ready to hear such a tale, elf. My defecation would put an orc to shame with its sheer size alone,” she retorts, folding her arms across her chest, smirking at him. That’s enough to send you over the edge as you fall on the ground, tears streaming from your eyes, the most disgusting snorts coming out of you. Shadowheart falls with you, the both of you rolling across the muddy floor as you cannot contain yourselves. Karlach drops to her knees, clutching at her stomach. Astarion guffaws at the githyanki, his mischievous giggle ringing through the room over the top of your raucous laughter.

“Well, you two, that’s quite enough. Apologies for trying to educate you on matters that are actually entirely relevant to our current situation, I suppose,” mutters Gale, a slight pull at his frustrated grimace. Even he can’t remain tight-lipped for too long before he chuckles at your inability to pull yourself together.

Eventually, you do manage to, and you make your way to the door near the statue, pressing the hidden button to open the crypt. You hear the eerie groan as life is breathed into the withered corpses around the room, strikingly less dangerous considering you’ve already stolen all their weapons. Thankfully, Wyll, Lae’zel and Karlach fight their way through the ones closest to you all as Shadowheart and Gale throw spells at range to the outliers. Astarion sneaks up to a foe near the sarcophagi along the side, plunging his dagger through its heart before it can jump on you. Thank god. You strum your lute furiously, offering words of encouragement to your companions and hurling balls of fire around the room. In no time at all, the room stills as the last foe drops, leaving you all free to enter through the uncovered door. You walk ahead, placing your hand towards the sealed sarcophagus.

Your fingers barely grace it before it begins to open upon its own accord, a thin, bony hand protruding from within. You watch as the thin, frail form of Withers rises to the air, twisting and locking his gaze directly upon you. You hear your companions gasp in surprise, but you were expecting this. You keep your eyes fixed on him as he floats down, stepping onto the dais before you, moving closer to you.

“So he has spoken, and so thou standest before me. Right as always.” Withers looks over you, taking in your form as he comes to a halt. “What a curious way to awaken. Now, I have a question for thee; what is the worth of a single mortal’s life?”

You ponder a moment. You know what he actually charges for a companion’s revival, but do you think that’s what he’s actually looking for here? Should you be honest in your opinion, or just give him the monetary value?

“I would say it depends on the value of their merit, their actions, their will to make change for the better,” you state, folding your arms. “Or, maybe, 200 gold. But who knows, not me. I’m not the one who makes that call.”

“You pose an… interesting response. A life and how it’s lived are two different equations. Monetary value, however…” He trails off, eyeing you in regard. “I believe I may have made an accurate decision in bringing thou here for this journey.”

Wait, what?!

Chapter 7: Suspicion Always Haunts The Guilty Mind

Chapter Text

You stare blankly at the decrepit corpse in front of you. He brought you here? You don’t even know what to think; why the hell, out of all the people that exist, have existed, or ever will exist, has he chosen you to complete this mission? What the hell is special about you? You don’t know how to wield a weapon, use magic - hell, you don’t even know that much about D&D lore, so you have no idea why you’re apparently the perfect option for this sh*t. You’re just, well, you.

“You… You’re the reason I’m here? On this journey?” you choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. Your arms cross your chest defensively, your hands reaching for your arms in comfort as you face the reality of the situation. You were chosen for this. This wasn’t some mystical f*ck up, some divine mistake, some freaky science experiment gone wrong that you got caught in the crossfire of. This was on purpose. These people, your friends, their lives, the thousands of people across Faerûn – they’re your responsibility. You really do have to fix this sh*t for them. The weight of this realisation is too much, this is all too much, you can’t handle this, he got this wrong, it can’t be you, no, this isn’t right-

“Yes. I hath seen the merit of thy values, the understanding in thy soul, the goodwill in thy actions. Thou hast but naught to lose in finding thy purpose in this fable, an almighty purpose, if thou wilt,” he replies, his shoulders rising in conviction, his gaze fixed upon you. “Thou talents were wasted on unimportant matters, thy true skills better valued elsewhere.” No, this isn’t right. He’s got this all wrong, you can’t do this, you’re no hero. You can’t even kill spiders in the corner of the room, how the f*ck are you supposed to face the Dead f*cking Three and a goddamn Netherbrain?! Your chest constricts, the panic settling in through your veins, the urge to run screaming in every pore of your skin, vibrating through your bones, settling deep in your muscles. Sensing your unease, Gale steps forward, gently placing his hand on your shoulder, whispering your name.

“N-no, no, no, this isn’t right, you’ve got this all wrong, you’re wrong,” you croak, your eyes brimming with tears, your shoulders struggling to hold you up. Gale rubs your arm soothingly, calling your name again, trying to snap you back to reality, but his attempts are futile. You can’t breathe. The walls of the tomb are constrictive, the dank air suffocating. You need to get out of here. Now.

“Fate works in mysterious ways, child. It is better that thou accept thy place in the universe than argue against the chaos of the divine cosmology, lest it consume thee.”

You can’t handle it anymore. You don’t know when you started moving, but you don’t even realise until you’re halfway through the scribe hall, bolting full speed for the exit. You think you hear Gale and Karlach calling for you, their protests silenced by a soft drawl telling them to give you time, some space. Your lungs are rasping for air, but despite how heavily you inhale, how full your lungs get, it’s futile. You can’t breathe. You can’t f*cking breathe. You clamber against the door at the other end of the seemingly endless corridor, fighting against it to get out, but it’s still locked. Your hands are shaking too much to even think about picking it, so you jam your dagger through the keyhole with full force, the whole thing disintegrating as the door flies open. You’re back at the beach where it all began.

You keep running, not sure where to go. The bodies of the poor fishermen still litter the beach, their eternal positioning by your design from your actions the day you arrived here. There’s going to be more, and you can’t save them. Their lives are entirely in your hands. This is on you, it’s all on you, people will f*cking DIE because of you-

You keep going, your feet barely touching the ground as you keep gaining traction. You can’t stay here, they’re everywhere, reminding you of what’s to come if you fail. And you can’t face that right now, you just can’t. Before you even realise where you are, you’ve made your way through the wreckage of the nautiloid, through to the grass clearing on the other side where you first met Astarion. You reach the edge of the cliff, nowhere left to run, before your screaming muscles catch up with you, the agony ripping through you. You fall to your knees, your chest still unable to keep up with the oxygen you need, the dam within you breaking. You screech across the expanse of the river in front of you, the pain, the hurt, the fear forcing its way out through your vocal chords.

And you keep screaming. You keep yelling into the abyss, to whatever f*cked up divine bullsh*t brought you here, punching at the ground and tearing at chunks of grass for some kind of destructive relief. Your home, your friends, your family, your loved ones. Even Percy the cat. They’re all gone to you now; this is your fate. You’ll die here, there’s no chance in hell you’ll survive this, no chance you’ll ever go back. The tears are coming so fast that your vision is gone entirely, all you can see is the blur of the early afternoon sky behind a veil of liquid that won’t stop. Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, you slump, curling up into a ball on your side, your body still wracking with your heavy sobs as you bury your face behind your hands. You want the world to swallow you whole.

-

You remain there, holding yourself, your sobs still coming just as fast for ages. Eventually, you hear soft footsteps as a presence you can’t even bring yourself to look up for plants itself near you, sitting delicately with their feet dangling over the edge of the cliff.

“Darling, you’re not doing yourself any favours getting all worked up like this,” Astarion states, a slight hint of softness in his cutting tone. You try to blink away the never-ending stream of tears, wiping them with the fabric of your armour. You really don’t want anyone seeing you like this, but least of all him. You try to control your breathing, taking a shaky inhale, but it feels futile as you continue to gasp, desperate for the next one already. He says your name, commanding you to look at him. Everything in you screams to avoid him, look away, run, but you can’t. There’s just something about this infuriating man that begs for you to follow his instruction.

You pull your hands down slightly, bending your neck upwards, allowing just enough space for you to be able to peer over them to look at him. His eyes are fixated at a spot in the distance, his elbow resting on one bent knee, his fist pressed to his jaw. You wonder what he’s thinking, what he thinks of you in this moment, how weak you must be. You almost cover your face again before he turns to face you, his divine beauty captivating you.

“Sit up.” You do as he says, shakily finding your bearings as you use the last of your remaining strength to pull yourself onto your behind, grabbing at your shins and resting your chin against your knees. Your breaths are still ragged, painful, but you can feel already that they’re beginning to settle, even if only slightly. “Now, are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

“I-I, I just, I can’t, Astarion- I, I can’t do it, I, I, I-” you stammer, your control slipping once more as you start rambling incoherently, not a single legible word coming out of your mouth, your tears falling once more. Astarion’s hand is upon your jaw in an instant, yanking your face towards his own, forcing you to peer into his scarlet eyes. You think their intensity might just swallow you whole.

“How many times do I have to tell you this, dear? Use. Your. Words.” You really don’t know what it is about that phrase, but it reaches into you, digging deep into the pits of your belly, unlocking the last piece of resolve you have within you. You close your eyes, allowing you a moment’s reprieve to gather yourself as you take a deep breath.

“This… This is too much. Too much responsibility. There are so many people relying on us, Astarion. On me. And I can’t help them. I’m not… I’m not good enough for this sh*t,” you whisper. You open your eyes once more, his still locked onto you. He raises his brow quizzically, looking over you, analysing you. “What if… What if I can’t do this? What if people die, we all die, because of me? Because I can’t do it?” The tears spill over as you remain focused on him, finding their way down your cheeks and dripping onto his leather gloves.

“Hm. Well, if that’s how you truly feel, I suppose you’d better give up now then. You know, seeing as we’ve clearly got no chance, according to you.” He drops his grip on your jaw, returning his gaze back to the horizon. “We’ll just go our separate ways as we live out our final few days, destined to become mind flayers, no chance of survival, apparently. I’m sure tentacles would look lovely with your complexion.” You halt, taking in what he’s just said. Is he seriously suggesting that you just give up?

“What – no! We can’t, we can’t just give up, Astarion, we have to try, at least-” you start, pushing yourself to face him, before he abruptly cuts you off.

“Well, you’ve clearly come to the conclusion that there’s no chance, so why bother? We may as well have a few days of peace in the sun before everything goes tit*-up, I suppose. I might finally get a nice tan after 200 years in the shade – you know, I wonder if that’s possible for someone with my condition…” he ponders, his mouth twisting in contemplation. You let out a heavy sigh, rubbing at your sore eyes.

“Ok, ok, I get it. I’m being stupid, I know. It’s just… It’s a lot, you know? You heard the bone man, he chose me for this. Me. Who can barely hold a weapon, can do even less with magic. I’d never used either before three days ago,” you murmur, joining Astarion in staring out over the open water. You know, it really is beautiful here. Quaint, even.

“Well, what was it you said to me last night, dear? ‘We’ve all got sh*t, Astarion. Some sh*t we can’t help.’” he says mockingly, forcing a shrill tone. At least it elicits a small giggle out of you. “Hmph. Seems to me this is one of those things. You can’t help being here anymore than I can, or than Gale really can’t help himself from being so godsdamned insufferable.” You let out an actual laugh at that one, Astarion’s distaste for the wizard genuinely lifting your mood. Astarion, you know you admire the man, really. He looks to you, the edges of his lips tugging slightly upwards as you smile back at him.

“Thank you, Astarion. You didn’t have to come find me.”

“I did, actually. The others saw smoke coming from across the valley when we left and set out immediately to investigate, so you wouldn’t have been able to find us if I didn’t,” he says, running a hand through his soft curls. Oh sh*t, Waukeen’s Rest!

“Oh no- f*ck, we have to join them!” you exclaim, jumping shakily to your feet, almost falling over again in the process. Astarion raises a dubious brow to you, rising himself and grabbing your elbow to steady you.

“Oh, hells no, look at you! You have about as much grace as a newborn satyr right now, you really will cause us both to perish if you attempt anything other than resting in your current state,” he commands, placing his hands to his waist. “And I’ll be damned if I let you be right about all of this.” He pauses for a moment, reaching up to twirl a loose silver curl through his fingers. “Plus, fire tends to do terrors on my hair, anyways. The others can handle it. They are grownups, after all. Now be a big girl yourself and get back to camp. I will not be carrying you.” You let out a light giggle, taking cautious steps as your lingering shakes still affect your balance. Astarion follows behind, keeping out a watchful eye for any potential danger along the way.

-

It’s late afternoon when the rest of the team arrives back at camp. Astarion is settled at the front of his tent with a new book he picked up from the tomb, Scratch curled up near his feet. You figured you’d give Gale a night off and get dinner started ahead of their return. His eyes light up as he sees you hobbled over the campfire, wooden spoon in hand. He calls your name gleefully, beelining straight for you as Karlach follows suit.

“Oh, how glad I am to see you, friend!” he exclaims, pulling you into a tight hug. “We were all so worried, but I’m sure you can appreciate that we had to run off.” You hold him back, grateful for the embrace, tucking your face into his chest as you feel the last shreds of your anxiety wash away. Karlach beams at you from behind him, bouncing on her toes like she just can’t contain her excitement.

“Soldier, hi! Glad to see you’re ok. I’d hug you too, but I guess we wouldn’t have enough healing potions to unmelt your skin,” she snorts, shaking her fists in glee. Seriously, how is she so cute?! You return her infectious smile, your heart warming in her presence. You can see Astarion out of your peripheral vision, a slight tug at his lips.

“Karlach, I would gladly take the risk for you any day. Anyway, what’s a little singeing between pals?” you giggle. Shadowheart steps forward, meeting you with a soft smile before turning to the others.

“Ok, children, that’s enough. Let the poor girl breathe,” she chides, grabbing at a spare spoon to help you cook the meal. You roll your eyes playfully, eyeing up your sheepish companions.

“Ooh, you heard her! Anyway, enough about me, how did it go? What happened?” you ask. The group fill you in (even though you already know anyway) and Wyll talks to you about his father and the plans that the Cult of the Absolute have for him at Moonrise Towers. You offer him a hug too, offering your apologies that you couldn’t be there to help him save him.

As you all finish your meal, Withers finally makes his appearance at camp. He looks to you, and you can almost read his thoughts through his gaze, sensing his approval that you have returned to face your destiny. You offer him an approving nod; whatever you want to ask him can wait. You’re still a little tender from earlier and the last thing you want to do is set yourself off again. It’s not like either of you are going anywhere anytime soon.

The same as previous nights, you and your companions gather around the fire in the early hours of the evening, your lute offering background noise to the peaceful ambience you’ve all created under a backdrop of innumerable stars. You speak to Gale about wanting to get better at magic, and who better to ask than the prodigy himself? He excitedly accepts your request and starts throwing ideas at you, half of them you have no idea what he’s talking about, but you adore his enthusiasm and willingness to help you, so you let him chatter on (much to Astarion’s annoyance). Lae’zel decides to run story time tonight, spinning tales of dragons and the astral planes, mighty foes slain with her sword, and the might of the githyanki. You hang onto her every word as she speaks, awestruck by her prowess. God, you wish you could fight like her.

Once again, the evening draws to a close as your companions gradually retire to slumber, and it’s just you and Astarion left to pack things away again.

“Astarion, I…” you start, grasping at the words you want to find.

“Yes, dear?”

“Thank you. For today. You didn’t have to help me, but you did. I really appreciate it,” you say, staring at the ground coyly as you hold your arms. He scoffs lightly, continuing to grab at the discarded goblets.

“I didn’t do anything. I just kept an eye on you until I was sure you wouldn’t die from self-induced asphyxiation. And what a boring way to do it, as well, you should try experimenting more,” he drawls, a mischievous glimmer in his eye. You laugh, kicking your foot into the dirt.

“Well, anyway. I appreciate it. Thank you.” He nods, moving to the waterfront to clean out the drinking vessels as you follow with the plates from dinner. “There was something I wanted to ask, though. An exchange, if you will.”

He raises an eyebrow at you in question. Honestly, you love how often you make him do that, the little crease in his brow becoming an almost permanent part of his complexion around you. Almost as if he reserves it just for you.

“Oh, yes? I’m all pointy ears, love.”

“Well, I was thinking. I still don’t know how to use weapons properly. And there’s no chance in hell I’m ever going to swing a greatsword like Lae’zel, or throw an axe like Karlach. But you… you’re pretty damn good with those blades of yours. And that might be something I’m capable of learning.” He turns to face you, his face showing a look of intrigue.

“And the exchange part of this…?”

“Well, um. My offer, before. Last night. For you… to feed. You teach me how to use a knife, I’ll let you drink from me. As often as you want.”

Astarion drops the goblets into the sands of the riverbank, raising to his feet in the blink of an eye, standing tall above you. He reaches out to you, once again tucking those slender fingers of his under your jaw to lift it as your breath catches in your throat. f*ck, you love it when he does that. He peers down at you, his scarlet eyes glistening in the moonlight, mischief written all over his features.

“Well, darling… When do you want to start?”

Chapter 8: Let's Have Some Fun

Chapter Text

His smile is downright devious, the gleam of the moonlight bouncing off of his sharp fangs as his face hovers inches from yours. His unanswered question hovers in the air as you find yourself lost in his gaze, encapsulated by the vermillion hue of his irises as you count the freckles within them. You swallow, hard, trying to regain at least some semblance of civility as blood rushes to your cheeks; you’re not entirely sure that they don’t match the pigment of his eyes at this point.

“I, um, I’m fine. With whenever. It’s up to you – if you wanted to start training tomorrow, that’d be great. The sooner we start, the better chance I have at any kind of success on this stupid journey, I suppose. But please, don’t feel like you have to just yet - not if you don’t want to.” You reach up your own hand, gently placing it over his forearm, gripping it gently as you let out a shaky breath. “In terms of, well, your payment… I mean, I’m happy to, uh, provide it… upfront. Y’know, so you have your strength. But it’s your call. I don’t know,” you mumble, looking away in embarrassment.

God, you’re making a fool of yourself. He must think you’re some kind of bumbling idiot, always fumbling your words around him, stuttering, barely making a coherent sentence. But there’s just something about him that takes away all your senses, your focus, your inhibitions. He has you wrapped around his little finger, and he f*cking knows it. That’s the only reason he ever pays you any mind. You’re practically throwing yourself at him at every opportunity, like a pathetic schoolgirl with a paltry crush. You’re making this the easiest game he’s ever played, even less difficult than any of the marks he’s acquired over the last 200 years. And that’s exactly what he wants. He wants you to trust him. To him, you’re just a means to an end. A way to get through this tadpole bullsh*t, to utilise against the master he’s ever so desperate to be free from. He doesn’t know you the way you know him; he doesn’t know how much you actually care, how you want the best for him, how you want the same things he does. His autonomy, his freedom.

But to you, he’s… Well, he’s something, at least. You’re not sure what, but he’s more than just a pretty face you stumbled upon mere days ago. You know that even despite the hold he has on you, the power he thinks he has in this stupid game, while you know the intricate details of his life, his pain, his suffering, there will never be an equal balance between you. Not until he knows that you know, what you know. It’s you who’s being deceptive, withholding information, working to an ulterior motive. You’re the one who isn’t being honest about who you are. Even if you think it’s so you can do right by him, to help him. You’re yet another figure in his life making his decisions for him, except you’re offering the illusion of choice. Somehow, that feels even worse.

His grip softens against your chin, his hand gently snaking its way to cup your jaw as he tries to return your focus to him. But you can’t; you’re too ashamed. Ashamed of letting him think that he has the upper hand, that he’s the one in control. But no matter how much you’re willing to let him get away with, it’s you. You’re the liar, the manipulator. Come on, you’re literally dangling the thing he is currently desperate for, one of his deepest desires that he has been forbidden from partaking in in exchange for your own personal gain. How are you any better than any of the disgusting creatures that have already used him against his will? Your eyes fill with tears as you grasp at just how badly you’ve f*cked it up already.

“Oh, for f*ck’s sake, what in the hells has gotten into you this time?” he chides, wiping his thumb across a tear that has broken free. He tilts his head as he looks over you, looking for any sign he can find for an explanation to your change in mood. How do you even begin to explain this?

“I, I don’t know. I don’t feel right doing this. I feel like I’m using you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you force the words out. He scoffs, shaking his head in confusion.

“Right, let me just get my cards in order. You have come to me, offering me something I need to survive - willingly, I may add – that is an essential part of your own body that you need to live. Literally, the life flowing in your veins, if you will.” He drops his hand from your jaw, opting instead to grasp your shoulders, grounding you. You instinctively wrap your own arms around your torso in that ever-familiar, self-soothing embrace. “You’re trusting that I, a bloodthirsty vampire, am completely capable of only taking what I need without draining you completely and killing you. And you’re offering me this of your own free will, the only thing you request in return is for me to teach you a few measly knife tricks so that you can improve all of our chances at survival.”

Well, when he puts it like that… He kind of has a point. Yes, you need to be careful. The longer you go without telling him what you know, the more time you spend around him letting him think he has you in an entirely different chokehold to the one you’re in, is dangerous; you will have to find a way to tell him at some point. But… not yet. You know that if you were to say something now, he’d never trust you, never let you get close enough to genuinely help him. All of the companions would be the same way. And what’s a bit of blood, anyway? It’s not like you’re inviting him into bed. You’ve always had an issue with overthinking, and he seems to be pretty damn good at snapping you out of it.

“No, no… You’re right. I just, I guess don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of your condition.” You tilt your head to the sky, willing the tears to soak back into your skull as you inhale deeply. The stars do seem particularly beautiful from this angle.

You sense Astarion still, his grip tightening briefly as his muscles freeze. You bring your face down to meet him, his face awash with a look you cannot place. He clears his throat, shaking his head to reset his features.

“Darling, your bleeding heart is sweet and all, but this is getting a bit silly, even for me. I’m fairly certain that the fact you’re even thinking you could be abusing any sort of power in this situation speaks wonders about how little you actually are.” If only he knew…

“But, nonetheless, even if you have some devious ulterior motive, I am still one hundred percent willing to accept your offer. I don’t imagine you’ll be turning that knife back on me at any point – I don’t think you’d be capable of doing so. I can’t imagine you could even kill a rabbit for dinner, dear.” You grimace at the idea, eliciting a wry grin from Astarion as your twisted face confirms his suspicions. “Anyway, it’s not everyday someone offers themselves up on a golden platter, after all. Although, that’s only if you still mean it.”

You pause for a moment, considering all angles, before slowly offering him an affirming nod.

“Well, let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

-

After your previous disturbances, Astarion takes you by the wrist and leads you into the nearby forest to avoid it happening again. You stumble behind him, your smaller steps not quite matching his eager strides as you try and match his pace. He takes you to a clearing in the woods where a fallen tree lays still beneath the canopy of the stars above, a gentle wind blowing through the leaves, offering a chorus of gentle rustling. You had no idea this place was here, never mind so close to camp. You’ll have to come back here sometime.

His steps slow as he reaches the log, turning to face you as he gently pushes you to sit on it. He releases his grip on your wrist as he once again tips up your jaw with his slender fingers, towering over you as you wait patiently beneath him.

“Are you definitely sure this is what you want?” he questions, his voice dripping with sensuality. Your breath hitches, you can’t bring yourself to speak. You nod timidly, the intimacy of the situation clawing at you, rendering you incapable of even thinking straight.

“Gods be damned, woman – how many times? Use your bloody words.” He moves his fingers to grip at you as he growls, snapping your head to focus on nothing except him and those captivating eyes of his. Your pulse quickens, your palms gripping at the bark beneath you so tightly you think you may have splinters.

“I- yes, sorry. Yes. I want you to do it,” you whisper, your eyes pleading with him. Astarion inhales deeply, turning your face to the side as he analyses the exposed skin of your neck. Your heart is drumming so hard within your chest that you wonder if he can see the pulse against your skin. He releases you, climbing over the trunk to sit with his legs on the opposite side to you, his torso twisting to face you. His hand reaches up to wrap around the back of your neck, grasping at your hair as he pulls it taught against your skull, leaving you open entirely to him. His other arm snakes around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. You gasp as your own hands find their way to rest against the taut muscles of his chest, one hand travelling to his bicep, anchoring you entirely under his grasp.

His sharp fangs graze against you, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their path. You fight against the urge to squirm against the sensitivity, lest he accidentally puncture a major artery, but you can’t control the shaky gasp that comes out of you. He breathes out a soft laugh against your skin, eliciting another instinctive response from you.

“Keep still, dear.” You each take a deep breath before he pulls his head back slightly, only to connect it a moment later with the soft flesh of your neck. For a split second, you don’t feel anything, the anticipation covering up any physical sensation that may be there. But then, you do. And it f*cking hurts.

You try not to, but you can’t help but let out a pained groan as his sharp teeth connect with your sensitive skin. He stiffens slightly as you do, the thumb of the hand that’s wrapped around your waist offering a gentle, reassuring stroke. It only lasts a moment before your taste overwhelms Astarion, his own anguished breaths being whispered against your throat, the reverberation from his chest vibrating through your whole body as he somehow holds you closer, tighter, like if he doesn’t, you’ll simply disappear from beneath him. You can’t think, can’t breathe. All you know is the pain, the pleasantry, the… pleasure as the sting gradually subsides. You can feel your essence flowing through to him, the way your blood spurts faster as your heartbeat forces it through the puncture wounds, like every fibre of your being wants to be consumed by him. You can almost feel the way you flow through his own veins. You soften against him, allowing him to expose your neck even further as he loses himself in you.

He licks and mouths at the droplets that escape from him as he continues to lavish at you, causing you to moan senselessly. Everything inside you is on fire as heat spreads throughout your body. Every nerve is screaming for your attention as you feel every minute contact with your skin; the way his hand pulls at your hair, the other grips at the small of your back, the way he squeezes you beneath him, his breath tickling at your neck as he groans in satisfaction. He reaches his hand further around to grab at your hip, aggressively pulling you completely onto his lap, your body pressing to him simply not being close enough for his taste. You let out another surprised gasp at the motion, but you allow yourself to melt into his touch, welcoming him closer as you wrap your arms underneath his, pressing your palms to his back. You rest your head against his shoulder as you lose yourself in the sheer bliss.

You feel so peaceful. Every anxiety, fear, worry is gone as all you can focus on is the gentle numbness spreading through you as you’re held firmly under Astarion’s touch. You begin to feel a little cold against the breeze, but that doesn’t matter, all that matters is this moment… Oh sh*t.

“A-Astarion… I’m…” You can’t even finish your sentence, it’s too much effort. And why would you fight this? You’ve never felt so calm, so at peace. Astarion huffs beneath you, his jaw still latched onto you. You feel your hands begin to go limp as you let them drop from his back. Suddenly, you’re jolted as you feel him peel away from you, his tongue darting across the final droplets that come out. He is panting heavily, helping you to sit upright. You groan, upset at the loss of comfort from his arms holding you in place, annoyed at having to use your final shreds of energy to hold yourself up instead. He traces his fingers at the holes in your neck, pressing them, ensuring that they have stopped leaking.

“Sorry, dear. Got a bit carried away there,” he says breathlessly, his chest still heaving. Your own breathing is shallow as your head spins, your body swaying under his touch.

“S’ok… I’m ok. I just, uh…” you start, pressing a palm to your forehead in an attempt to calm your dizzy mind. “I think I need a moment.” You look to meet his gaze, his eyes wide, bright. You see a dribble of your blood at the edge of his mouth; you don’t even think before reaching up to swipe at it with your thumb, wiping it across his bottom lip. sh*t, why did you do that?

He looks at you, bewildered, before pulling it into his mouth with his teeth, savouring his final taste, groaning softly in satisfaction as he keeps his eyes fixed on you. If you had any blood left at this point, you’re sure it would be racing to your cheeks - at least that’s a nice little bonus from this that saves you a morsel of decency. You stare at him through heavy lids, your shallow breaths coming quickly as you try to regulate your racing heart. Astarion places his hands to your hips, slowly manoeuvring you to your feet, his hands keeping you steady as you sway.

“Come on, let’s get you back to camp. You need some rest.”

-

It takes you a while to return. Even though the journey is short, it’s considerably harder now that you’ve almost completely lost whatever blood you had in you. Astarion at least lets you hold onto him for support as you stumble at a snail’s pace, his little groans of annoyance slipping through every time you struggle to lift your feet and trip onto him. He scoffs at you as you fall into him particularly hard after slipping on some rocks.

“Honestly dear, I appreciate the effort this is taking from you, but can you at least watch where you’re bloody walking? Honestly, you’re a liability.” You look up to him, your brow raised dubiously. Is he for f*cking real?

“Oh, yes, I’m so sorry Astarion. Please forgive me, I’m only completely f*cking drained of my blood, thanks to you,” you retort, rolling your eyes exaggeratedly. He frowns at you, his mouth opening in faux shock.

“Um, ex-cuse me, darling, I did warn you. Now hurry up – the sooner we get back, the sooner I don’t have to put up with this whole newborn fawn thing you’ve got going on.” You smile and shake your head, continuing to push one foot in front of the other. You can’t help but shiver as you feel the chill in your bones.

When you eventually get back, Astarion places you down beside the fire, disappearing out of view. Damn. Guess that’s how it is, then. You feel the sharp pang of rejection for a moment, fixated on the loss of his presence without even a goodnight, until you see him return a few moments later with a chunk of bread, a flask of water, and a blanket. Oh. He places the fabric over your shoulders before uncorking the flask and shoving it into your hands.

“Drink. If you’re going to be my personal blood bag, I need you to keep your strength up.” You can’t help but offer a tight-lipped smile, your eyes melting at him. You feel a warmth stirring in your chest, but you will it to stop. You can’t afford anything like that right now, especially when you still have so many secrets to share.

You open your mouth to thank him, but you pause as you suddenly feel an overwhelming weight in the air around you. You look around frantically, noticing a circle of fire open on the ground in front of you. You recognise the sulfuric aroma of the smoke - this has to be hellfire. sh*t. The wind begins to rush around it, swirling the flames into a vortex as a figure of black tar rises from with in it. You stare in awe as she unfurls herself, shaking her wings and muscles loose as she steps forward.

“Where’s my pet? He’s been ever so naughty.”

Chapter 9: Aaaaaaand Here I Go

Chapter Text

You stare in shock at the creature in front of you, her ginger hair a stark contrast to the blue of her skin and horns, her expansive wings enhancing her demanding presence. Honestly, you can’t believe you forgot she’d show up at some point, but you kick yourself internally for the slip-up. Astarion scowls at her as he bears his fangs, edging in front of you with his arms braced, slightly blocking her from view. As he does, you hear the scuffling of fabric and the thrum of footsteps upon the mud as your companions make their appearance. Mizora turns to face the group, spying her target. She grins devilishly, folding her arms across her chest.

“Ah, Wyll, just the pup I was looking for. And look, you’ve found yourself a little pack, how quaint.” She scoffs, scanning each party member before laying her eyes on Karlach, analysing her from head to toe. “Call me Mizora. I’m Wyll’s patron, the fount of his power. My pet’s been unruly, and his leash…” She raises her hand, reaching towards Wyll. Knowing what’s coming, you try raising your own as if there was anything you could do against a goddamn devil anyway, but you struggle thanks to your bloodless state. You whisper his name silently, powerlessly. She pulls at the air, the invisible rope between them snatching Wyll towards her. “…Needs a yank.”

Wyll clutches at his throat, his breathing restricted, his body tethered to the devil, his eyes wide with fear. Your heart breaks for him.

“We had a deal, Wyll. But Karlach’s still breathing,” Mizora scowls, placing her hands to her hips.

“I’ve taken more pleasant sh*ts than you, Mizora, and at least those can be buried after,” spits Karlach, her flames burning brighter. Honestly, you love her enthusiasm. You can’t help smirking as you try to stifle a giggle.

“That’s no kind of talk for a lady. By the way, Karlach – Zariel sends her regards.” Her face is plastered with a sh*t-eating grin you want to wipe from her stupid, smarmy face, but you can do next to f*ck all in your current situation. You can’t help but imagine actually force-feeding her sh*t, though. She deserves it.

“You told me- devils only! She’s a tiefling! Not a monster!” chokes Wyll, using every ounce of effort he has within him to spit his words at her. Mizora fixes her gaze back to him, offering a sarcastic pout.

“How precious, the little pupster’s found his bark.” She places one hand on her hip as she raises a finger on the other, as if reading from an invisible script. “Clause G, Section Nine: ’Targets shall be limited to the infernal, the demonic, the heartless, and the soulless.’ Karlach meets the criteria by virtue of having no heart.” There she goes again, pulling that annoying smirk once more. You’re filled with a fiery rage. God, you f*cking hate her already.

“If you so much as lay a f*cking finger on Karlach, I’ll sh*t down your neck myself, devil,” you snarl, raising unsteadily to your feet, your fists clenched. If it weren’t for the pure, unbridled anger coursing through what’s left of your blood, you’re certain you’d fall back down, but you’re riding on hatred and pettiness for this bitch who thinks she can mess with your friends. Everyone’s heads jerk to you in surprise; Karlach lets out a childish snort as Astarion releases a high-pitched guffaw, Shadowheart hiding a giddy squeak behind her hand. Lae’zel offers a reserved smirk as Gale and Wyll look to you in horror.

“Goodness, Wyll. Don’t you keep the most pleasant company,” she says, her eyebrows furrowing in disgust. Glad that got to her, you think, offering a sarcastic smile of your own. “Don’t you worry – that ship has long sailed the Styx. But a defiant pup must still pay his price. To wit.” Oh sh*t.

Mizora flicks her hand as a golden aura covers it and the gleaming headpiece upon her skull, replaced quickly by the same black tar she rose from. You call out, but it’s futile. The ground opens up in flames around Wyll and he is consumed by them, falling to the ground in agony. You can barely look as he screams in pain, his skin audibly ripping and tearing as the transformation consumes him. You hide your face into Astarion’s arm, unable to face it. You know there’s nothing you could have done to change his outcome without sacrificing Karlach, but still, those ever-familiar pangs of guilt wrack through you as you try waiting out poor Wyll’s torment. You bite furiously at your lip, bargaining with the tears that threaten to show to remain hidden.

As you hear the final whooshes of magical energy, you force yourself out of your hiding place to look back to Wyll. His beautiful brown skin is marred with new scars, his chocolate brown eye now black and scarlet. His forehead is now home to the protruding, curved horns symbolising his devilish curse; still, though, he looks just as beautiful as before, you think. You can see his heart breaking as he takes in his new form, grieving for the man he was just a few moments before. Oh, Wyll… Mizora sighs deeply.

“That’s better,” she smirks. You want to wring your hands around her neck.

“What the hells have you done?!” yells Wyll, flexing his hands in front of him.

“A promise broken, a price paid. You know the terms. Get used to the new form, pet – there’s no going back. Some magic, even I can’t undo. Now, let’s see how the Frontiers face without their precious Blade,” she sneers, turning to face the tiefling. “Karlach, keep an eye on him, would you? I’ll be keeping mine on you.” She buries her eyes into you, scowling at you. You return one just as vicious back to her, Astarion peering at you from the corner of his eyes. You’re still positioned slightly behind him, but it takes everything not to just push him aside to lunge at her. You do, however, recognise that to be a very stupid decision, even if she is entirely deserving of it.

“Go ahead, bitch. See if I care.” Mizora pinches her brow in frustration, taking an exasperated sigh, clearly not happy that her threats aren’t phasing you. You honestly couldn’t care less if you’re pissing off the big scary demon-lady – at least she knows you’re not afraid of her, even if she could probably demolish you with a snap of her fingers. Luckily for you, at least, you know that she knows that she needs you alive to sort this sh*t out, so you’ll do as you f*cking please. She turns to Wyll once more.

“Well, pet, don’t forget - our pact still stands. Ta-ta!” She winks at him, much to everyone’s annoyance, before disappearing back to the hells within her flaming circle. Wyll stares for a moment, his face etched with fury, before storming off to clear his head. The rest of you wait briefly, unsure of what to say or do, until Astarion turns around to face you.

“Well, dear. All that goody-two-shoesiness in you led me to believe you’d never be capable of barking quite so viciously,” he drawls, grinning at you. You return his gesture, giggling slightly at the realisation of what you just did.

“Soldier, did you really just threaten to sh*t down the neck of a f*cking devil?!” exclaims Karlach, placing a hand to her chest as she laughs. “And for me! What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Well, as much as I appreciate your ferocity, I do fear that bark might not match her bite, if I’m being completely honest,” chides Gale, scrunching his face in disapproval.

“Oh, be quiet, wizard. Our friend here seems to have a fire in her that will come in most useful if she’s so willing to wield it against a powerful foe.” Lae’zel nods to you, approving of your scathing words, and you smile to yourself knowing you’ve impressed her. You catch Shadowheart’s eye as she also raises her brow in approval.

“Yes, it would seem so. Now, if it’s all the same to you lot, I’d rather return to my bedroll. Can the rest of you please refrain from bringing unwelcome visitors here in the disgusting hours of the night? It’d be nice to actually get some rest, for once.” Shadowheart stalks back to her tent as Lae’zel quickly follows suit. You look to the boys.

“I’m going to go find him, make sure he’s ok,” you say, rubbing at your arm soothingly. Astarion raises a brow at you.

“Are you sure that’s the best idea? You know…” He trails off, not wanting to alert Gale to your condition. You nod back to him, wishing the both of them a goodnight. The wizard leaves, but Astarion waits a moment, ensuring that you don’t co*ckle over after a few steps. Satisfied that you won’t pass out, he turns and enters his own tent.

You find Wyll sitting by the waterfront, Scratch nudging at his side. You stumble over to him, perching on the ground beside him, remaining silent. You both remain there a while, neither speaking, staring out across the water, until Wyll finally lets out a deep sigh.

“The Blade of Frontiers… Now a wretched devil. Gods, what will the people think…” Resting his elbows on his knees, he brings his hands to his face as he rubs his eyes, pushing them to the edge of his face to massage at his temples.

“They can think what they want, Wyll. All that matters is your heart and your actions, and they always have and always will speak for themselves.” You reach down to pet Scratch, his little black nose rubbing into your thigh affectionately.

“Come on, you know it’s not that simple. They’ll take one look at me and think I’m a monster, a freak. That I’m one of them.” He pinches his brow before leaning back, resting his weight on his hands. “They’ll never trust me again.” You look to him, your gaze softening. Your heart aches for him, you feel his pain as if it were your own.

“And so what if they do? Think of the tieflings in the grove, what do people think of them, what sh*t have they faced because of a pair of horns? Yet they’re some of the most genuine, kind, selfless people we’ve ever met. Well, excluding Rolan, maybe,” you say, huffing out a soft laugh. While you do love the wizard and know what he’ll inevitably be capable of, he is quite insufferable at the moment. You lean back yourself, looking up to the stars above. “Look, if people are only going to judge you based on how you look, then they’re not good f*cking people anyway. Yet you, you are good. Hell, I’ve only known you for a few days and even I can tell that you’re probably one of the best out there. Everything you do is for the good of the people, Wyll. To help them, save them. And if you think other people won’t see that, well, you’re wrong.”

Wyll turns to face you, his sad, puppy dog face softening with a ghost of a smile. Your chest warms.

“Thank you. I know you’re right, I know… I know I can prove myself. But what if I can’t? What if they don’t let me?”

“Wyll, you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone except yourself. The rest can follow suit. Besides, those horns look particularly good on you – you’re one handsome devil, if I do say so myself,” you giggle, giving him a gentle poke in the side. He laughs with you, sitting forwards.

“Ha, thank you, I suppose. I haven’t even seen them yet. I think… I just need some time to adjust. Get used to all these bumps and marks on my skin. Plus, the gods only know how I’ll be able to sleep with these bloody horns,” he grins, looking up to them. You gently reach up your hand to trace them with your finger.

“They do look like they may be a bit of a nuisance… We may have to make you a special pillow to accommodate for them.” You both laugh at the thought. Scratch looks up happily, jumping into Wyll’s lap as he starts to lap at his face, causing Wyll to chuckle even harder. “See? Scratch doesn’t give a damn.”

“No, I guess he doesn’t. Genuinely, though, thank you. And thanks for having my back there, Mizora really is a complete arsehole. I’m glad you could knock her down a peg or two.” You snort out a laugh, clasping your hand to your face at the outburst.

“Oh god, I can’t believe I said all of that. But honestly, what a complete bitch! I’m so sorry you have to put up with her. But I’d have your back in a heartbeat.”

“Yes, she’s definitely… something, alright. But not everyone would get into a verbal fistfight with a devil. You’ve got some guts, friend.” You smile, resting your head on his shoulder. He wraps an arm around you, giving you a gentle squeeze. “Come on, it’s late enough as it is. Get some rest. I’ll go soon, I promise.”

“You sure? I can stick around for a bit longer, call the next hell-bitch a dickhe*d,” you jest, looking up to him. He shakes his head, smiling at the idea.

“As funny as that would be, I’d rather you didn’t piss off half of the hells in my honour, if I’m completely honest. Would put a pretty nasty target on both of our backs. Go on, we’ve got things to do in the morning.” You rise to your feet, still slightly unsteady, but thankfully the warlock doesn’t seem to notice. “Thank you, again. I mean it.”

“Don’t worry about it, Wyll. I just want to make sure you’re alright. Well, goodnight then.” You offer a gentle wave before making your way shakily to your bedroll, sweet darkness coming to you almost as soon as you lay down your head.

-

You feel absolutely exhausted in the morning as you’re awoken by a fluffy nose poking at your own, licking at your face to rise you from your deep slumber. You barely have the energy to push him off as Gale calls to him.

“Scratch, boy, come on. Leave the poor thing be,” he scolds softly, gently stroking at the dog’s ears as he turns to look up at him. “Hello, sleepyhead! Welcome back to the land of the living. I’ve saved you some breakfast, the rest of us are just about ready to head out for the day.”

You groan, slowly pushing yourself to sit upright as you rub the sleep from your eye. You realise he’s right, your fellow companions are already in their armour, grabbing supplies for the journey ahead. Jesus Christ, you must have been exhausted to sleep through all the commotion of this lot in the morning.

“sh*t, sorry. You should’ve woken me earlier, I’d have helped out with the cooking,” you yawn, stretching out your aching muscles. You reach to your pack, looking for the amulet of Silvanus you grabbed on your first day – you’ll be needing it if you have any hope of functioning today.

“Well, actually, we tried. You grunted at Shadowheart and rolled back over, then were quite affectionate with your words when you told me to, what was it?” He places one hand to his hip as he grips his chin with the other, offering an exaggerated contemplative expression. “‘f*ck off, Weave-boy, I’m sleepy’. Quite to the point, if I may say so myself.” Oh. My. God. No you didn’t.

“Oh sh*t, Gale, I’m so sorry! I don’t even remember doing it, oh my god- Gale, I would never-” Gale holds up his hands to stop you, offering a tight-lipped smile.

“No offence taken, my friend. You are not the only one to say such things in the throes of slumber, nor are you the first to say such things to me. And neither, I doubt, will you be the last.” You offer him a guilty smile, your embarrassment at your unconscious actions coursing through you. “Anyway, come on, we’ve got work to do.” You look at him quizzically.

“Oh, do we? What’s on the agenda today, then?”

“Don’t you remember? I’m going to teach you how to manipulate the Weave.”

Chapter 10: Charmed, I'm Sure

Chapter Text

The rest of the party decides they’d rather face the perils of the wilderness than listen to Gale’s “incessant chittering”, lovingly pointed out by Astarion, so they leave you and the wizard to your studies as they continue to investigate the path towards the goblin camp. Your first point of call is figuring out how this stupid amulet works, which you just cannot seem to do on your own, no matter how hard you try. Otherwise, this whole exercise will be pointless in your almost completely exsanguinated state. Thankfully, your teacher is patient and understanding enough to guide you through the magical mechanisms to unlock the power within, taking extra care to explain the intricacies of how to control the threads of the Weave.

“Imagine this: through the air, everywhere you look, there are small tendrils and strings all around that our eyes cannot see. As a budding mage, it is your task to guide them, organise them into wefts that make up a larger pattern, almost like you’re spelling out how you want them to work,” Gale muses. He holds up his hands, flexing them, and you see it. He illuminates the threads of magic around you both in a pale lavender glow, showing you exactly how the Weave interacts with the environment. You watch in wonder as he places his hands between them, mixing and swishing them through the air, forming patterns and motions that captivate you. “This is my goddess’s gift to us mere mortals. A mighty one, at that. One I am most thankful for.” Between your gapes of awe at the intricate designs he is making, you notice a softening in his eyes, a sadness. You feel your heart ache for the lovelorn wizard. As soon as it appears, it is gone, replaced by a gentle smile as he takes a step behind you, taking your arms in his.

“See this collection here?” He guides your hands into a swirling group of magical tendrils. “We’re going to harness these into that amulet. Use your mind’s eye to envision a key to unlock it, that will allow us to utilise its magical stores.” You do as he says, placing your hand in the cluster. You feel the magic bubble and tingle against your skin like a soft electrical current, filling your fingers with an indescribable energy. With your eyes closed, you try your hardest to imagine the key and its details. You open them, seeing how the magic around your combined hands has grouped, a small, mystical key made of those same threads of Weave hovering lightly in your palm. You gasp at the success, amazed that you actually did it, looking up to Gale with glee. His eyes match your own giddy expression, a giant smile plastered across his face.

“Yes, that’s it! Good girl, you’re a natural! Now, push it towards the amulet, like this,” he beams, pulling your hand towards your chest, the little key wafting through the air towards you. You feel yourself blushing lightly at his praise. “Ok, wrap your hand around it, envisioning how it would unlock.” You grab at the amulet, willing the energy to absorb into its core. You feel the energy leave your fingertips, drawing into the necklace.

Relief washes over you as you feel the life return to your veins, the spell contained within flowing through you. You notice you still feel a little nauseous, but you imagine there’s only so much a spell can do after you’ve been depleted of blood for as long as you were. You make a mental note to try and use the amulet before you go to sleep next time. That doesn’t matter right now, though. You did it! You used magic!

“Gale, it worked! I can feel it!” You squeal excitedly, spinning around within his hold, wrapping your arms around his neck. He returns your hug, lifting you slightly off the ground; you giggle even harder at the sudden loss of the ground beneath you. “Thank you, thank you so much. This is…” you trail off, not sure how to explain the rollercoaster of emotions you’re currently feeling. You’re using magic, with your own hands, taught by a character you adore. You, from a world where this is something only read about in books, seen in movies, played in games. You feel tears threatening to well within your eyes.

“Ah, my good friend, you have no need to thank me. It is an honour to share my talents with another. Now, come on, let’s see what else we can set our sights on.”

-

You spend the next hour going over the basics: first, you manage to figure out how to cast Minor Illusion, overjoyed at the little cat you manage to conjure, followed by minorly successful attempts at some healing magic. You also make a feeble attempt at Speak with Animals, managing to get a quick hello out of Scratch before losing control of the spell. He explains how each spell has a verbal component and specific motion, but as a bard, you get to bypass that by using your chosen instrument as your spellcasting focus. That’s why you’ve been able to cast Firebolt, but your control is poor, so he attempts to show you how to manipulate your instrument properly. He is offering advice about your footwork when you let out a particularly nasty flame, and you look up to see the wizard kneeling on the floor in pain, his hand clutched to his chest. Oh sh*t, did you hit him?!

“Gale, I’m so sorry! Are you- are you ok? Where did I get you?!” you exclaim, practically throwing your lute to the floor and running to him. He looks up to you through pained eyes, raising a hand to stop you.

“No, no, don’t you worry. You didn’t catch me,” he groans, slowly raising to his feet, still doubled over in pain. Oh. Oh. “I think… It’s best you know now…” You tuck your hand under his elbow, trying to help him upright. You meet his eyes, feigning a look of confusion. “I have a certain… condition, shall we say. Not contagious, mind you, so don’t you worry. But in order to quell its rages, I need to… consume, well, raw sources of the Weave. Magical artefacts.” The ring, where’s the ring?!

You barely let him finish the sentence before bolting off to the camp chest. You start furiously rummaging through all the random sh*t you’ve accumulated, hoping to stop by a trader at some point but probably never will. You start frantically pulling out fabrics and boots and swords and food, trying to locate the pesky item. You quickly shove it all back in, diving for your own pack, hoping you might have some luck. You pull out a dagger, a chalice, a wedge of cheese, three scrolls, potions and poisons, and then finally, you see it, right at the bottom of the pack. You lunge for it, sprinting back to Gale once your shaking fingers finally pry it from the folds of fabric.

“Here you go!” you exclaim, thrusting the Ring of Colour Spray into his hands. He looks at you, quizzically, before taking it from you.

“Are… you sure? Don’t get me wrong, I’m very appreciative, but you were very quick to run and grab that. You don’t even know why I need it,” he questions, fiddling with the piece of jewellery. sh*t, that wasn’t very inconspicuous of you.

“Oh, um. Yeah, well, you look like you’re in agony. And I trust you – you wouldn’t ask for these types of things without a reason. I don’t imagine you’re struggling to cast Colour Spray, of all things,” you mumble, hoping you’ve covered your back enough. His gaze lingers for a moment before there is a ghost of a smile on his pained face, his head nodding slightly in gratitude. Phew. He takes the ring, placing it to his chest as purple swirls of magic flow through the air into his chest. He sighs, deeply, standing back upright.

“Ooh, that hit the spot. I can feel it work. The magic is like a lullaby that sings to sleep the demon inside.” He stretches his muscles, rubbing at the spot on his chest. “A metaphorical demon, I haste to point out. But no less dangerous – and no less bound to wake up again to continue its ravages. Such is the nature of all monsters.” You offer a wistful smile to the wizard, gently patting his arm in comfort.

“It sounds awful, Gale. I’m sorry you have to go through this. But you’re my friend, so please, just ask me and I’ll give you some of the sh*t I’m currently clogging up the chest and everyone’s packs with,” you say, both of you offering a light chuckle. “Seriously, though. Please don’t feel like you need to keep this to yourself. I’m happy to help out.”

“Well, friend, your kindness is duly noted. Hopefully, I should be sated for some time, but I know where to turn when my mystical hunger rears its ugly head.”

-

After Gale’s little turn, you both decide that it’s best if you rejoin the rest of the group and make your way for the Blighted Village as discussed that morning. Thankfully, you find the others quite quickly, all covered head-to-toe in cobwebs. Astarion and Wyll disgustedly pat and swipe at their armour, making futile attempts to rid the stuff from their armour as Shadowheart picks the fluff from her hair. Karlach and Lae’zel, completely unphased by the cottony additions to their outfits, are engaged in an animated discussion about the battle they just succeeded in.

“You fought well, ra’stil. Your skill at decimating the mother spider’s skull was astounding to behold. I am glad I was able to witness such a feat,” admires Lae’zel.

“Honestly, Lae, the way you swung around at all those babies and splooshed them all over! Ugh, I’ve never seen something so disgusting and so amazing! Did you see the way the middle sized one flew when Wyll blasted it? Haha, it was so funny- oh, soldier, magic man! Hi!” Karlach exclaims, using her greataxe to wave at you. “We’ve been f*cking around with spiders!” You choke out a laugh of endearment, her pure joy filling your soul. It’s almost enough to make you forget the lingering sickness that resides in you.

“Well, I’m glad to have missed out on that one, then. You’re all looking a little… fuzzy,” you reply, eyeing up the boys. The tiefling laughs again, throwing her head back.

“You’ll never guess how we managed it, either. This one,” she says, pointing to Wyll, “thought he’d take a seat on that old well when one of the bricks thought it’d give in. He only went and f*cking fell into the thing! We all had to jump down after him to try and find him a way out.” You grab your face, trying to stop yourself from laughing, but it’s no use when Karlach is howling herself. You follow suit, as does Shadowheart.

“Oh, Wyll… Blade of Frontiers, bested by a brick.” He rolls his eyes at you, tutting comically and shaking his head. You reach up to grab a tendril of cobweb that has stuck to his horn, wiping it on your side. Astarion groans exasperatedly, flinging out his limbs in discomfort.

“Gods, if I never have to see another spider-ridden cave again, it will be too soon!” he yells, running his hands through his locks. “Oh for f- it’s in damned my hair! I’ll never get this sh*t out, all my good lotions are back in the city and I don’t think I’ll find a luxury herbalist out in these godsforsaken woods.” He pulls what is arguably the biggest pout you’ve ever seen, looking alarmingly like a grumpy kitten just awoken from an afternoon nap. You stifle a snort, walking over to him.

“Goddammit, come here, drama queen. Let me get it,” you say, grabbing at a waft of cobweb caught on his pointy ear. He looks at you with disgust momentarily, flinching from the contact. You offer a reassuring gaze, holding your hand still, before he ultimately rolls his eyes and his frown returns, crossing his arms grumpily over his chest. He does, however, turn his head down slightly towards you so you can reach better. You shake your head softly, picking and pulling at the threads caught in his curls. God, his hair is so soft… You’re distracted from your thought as Shadowheart calls your name.

“I found this in the cavern – thought you might want to add it to your never-ending collection of junk to sell.” She reaches into her pocket, pulling out a hefty purple gem. The amethyst.

“Huh, thank you,” you say, reaching out your hand. You feel a strange sensation as you take it from her, the quiet lull of the dark magic it contains. You quickly stow it in your pack. “I’m sure we can fetch a good price for it. That’s really kind of you.”

-

Obviously, you just so happen to stumble into the cellar under the apothecary accidentally when you were raiding it for supplies (and something to shut up Astarion about his hair). You clear the rooms quickly, dealing with the undead creatures and numerous traps before finally entering the main hall. You feel the thick air weigh upon you, heavy with the magic of the tome resting within. Astarion makes quick work of disarming the traps, allowing you to walk in, claiming the treasure. Obviously, Astarion takes an interest in the book, so you gladly hand it over. He analyses it, wondering how to unlock it. Maybe later, you think to yourself, and you all continue your journey.

Following the trail south, you quickly come upon the two brothers arguing with Ethel. Oh, for f*ck’s sake. Not this already.

“Lads, for the love of all that is holy, I have never clapped eyes on your poor sister!” she exclaims. Honestly, if you didn’t already know her story, you’d have fallen for it completely.

“Drop the act, hag. You was the last to see Mayrina alive,” Johl spits, his eyes narrowing at the old woman.

“Is there an issue, madam?” asks Wyll, sidestepping between the angry men and the “frail” woman. You bite your tongue, allowing the situation to unfold.

“Madam? Madam? This hag’s got our sister held captive!” yells one of the brothers, the meat cleaver in his hand waiting for the right moment. The group looks frantically between them all, trying to assess where their accusations are coming from. Ethel scoffs, clutching a hand to her chest.

“Boys, honestly. I’ve never seen her, I have got no idea what you’re talking about.” There it is, the slip. Her eyebrows are creasing wrong, a slight smile at her lips. You notice it, and so does Astarion.

“Dear, I think you mightn’t be telling the whole truth, hm?” he drawls, raising a brow to her. “I really can’t be bothered to deal with this, so just fess up and give them what they want. Save us all the hassle, please.” Ethel scowls, clenching her fists in frustration.

“Bollocks. You were supposed to rush to my defence, love. Fat lot of good you are. Word of advice? You ever darken my door, you’d best have that head bowed and an apology at the ready. Bye-bye, now.” She offers you all a sickly-sweet grin, before promptly vanishing into midair.

“Bloody hells, she just disappeared! Ain’t seen nothing like that before,” cries Demir. His brother steps forward, still bracing his cleaver.

“She could shoot fireworks out her arse, for all I care; the hag has Rina!”

“Wait, wait. Everyone, calm down. Who’s Mayrina? What’s happened?” Wyll asks, pleading the brothers to withdraw their weapons with his hands splayed defensively. The brothers go on to tell the group about their sister and her situation, how she had left nothing but a note explaining her disappearance. Wyll scratches at his brow. You know what their fate is, though. And you know what Ethel is capable of. You can’t allow her to harm them, not when you can save them.

“Gentlemen, look. You’re barely armed, no armour, and you intend to go up against a hag. They’re powerful creatures, you’ll likely be dead before you even reach her door. Let us go, we can take care of her, help your sister. Please,” you beg, your fists clenched, hoping they heed your words. “You’re no good to her if you die.”

The brothers look to each other momentarily, a silent discussion taking place in front of you. You think you might have gotten through to them, you pray you have. Johl turns to you.

“No, she’s our sister. We’ll save her, she has to know we’ll take care of her,” he spits, turning to run off into the swamp as Demir follows. You yell after him, willing him to stop, but it’s futile. They’re gone. sh*t. You can’t save them all, you guess.

You follow the route down, making your way through the gorgeous, sunlit land. You see flowers and feasts laid out, fluffy little sheep roaming around. You know it’s all fake, you can even sense the magic, but you don’t know how to break this illusion. You close ranks with Gale, tapping him on the shoulder, waving your hand for him to lend you his ear.

“Hey, is it just me or does this all feel… wrong? Like, our eyes are deceiving us?” you whisper, gesturing vaguely to the environment around you. Gale inhales deeply as he frowns, scanning the area, before waving his hand through the air.

“No, you’re right. There’s something strange afoot. Let me see if I can… aha!” he exclaims, his hand looking like it’s catching on something you can’t see. He pulls at the air, uttering words you can’t understand, and you watch as the golden glow of the illusion magic dissipates before your eyes in a golden hue. The once-vibrant greens, yellows, and blues are now murky, tinged with grey. The sun is dim, barely illuminating the area underneath a canopy of muddy clouds. The cute little sheep are now the esteemed redcaps, still wondering around blissfully unaware of your new perception. You actually kind of miss the illusion.

“Gods be damned… illusion magic. We really don’t want to get on this hag’s bad side, if this is what she’s capable of,” Shadowheart remarks, her head darting around to take in the new surroundings. There are murmurs of agreement from the rest of your companions.

“Come on, guys. She’s clearly powerful and has a lot of remedies… Maybe she knows about the tadpoles,” you suggest, hoping you can sway them. Lae’zel regards you through a narrowed brow.

“The only thing that will save us from becoming ghaik is finding a githyanki crèche and undergoing purification via the zaith’isk, not in the rotting wetlands inhabited by a hag,” she spits, folding her arms. You sigh, offering a tight-lipped smile.

“I don’t doubt that, Lae’zel. And we will make our way there, I promise. But we may as well see what she has to offer, while we’re here.”

“T’chk.” She huffs, rolling her eyes, but continues moving forwards. Phew.

You continue moving through the swamp, making sure to sidestep the various traps and dangers lurking within the waters. Soon enough, you spy the two brothers, bested by a loaded contraption they clearly hadn't spotted. You lets out a soft sigh, the weight of their deaths added to your ever-increasing list of regrets you carry with you. As you keep going, you come across a redcap, staring at you with utmost fury as you lock eyes with it. You can’t help yourself from letting out a loud “BAAAAAH!” as you stare it down, earning yourself an angry one in return from the strange little creature. At least that got a giggle out of the others.

Finally, you see the edge of Ethel’s teahouse off in the distance, half rotten and falling apart. You keep watching your steps as you trudge towards it, your poor feet sodden with bog water and squelching with each step. You’re nearly there when it hits you; a stench that fills your senses, something that smells alarmingly like cotton candy mixed with steel. You scrunch up your nose with distaste, when suddenly, you remember. Oh, god. This isn’t going to be good. You look around frantically, searching for the source of the smell, when you spot him.

“Powdered iron-vine. An old hunter’s trick – most monsters will think twice before making a meal of me,” Gandrel calls to you. You look him over; yep. That’s him. You look to your companions, scanning through them quickly, until your eyes lock with the elf.

He looks absolutely murderous.

Chapter 11: Hungry For The Slaughter

Chapter Text

sh*tsh*tsh*tsh*tsh*tsh*tsh*tsh*tsh*tsh*tsh*tsh*t- Astarion is already walking over to him, confidence dripping in his little strut. You need to get between them - fast.

“You’re a monster hunter? I’m surprised – I thought all Gur were vagrant cutthroats,” he drawls, reaching one hand behind him. You know he’s reaching for his dagger, what he plans to do to the poor man. You are also aware he can be a bit of a prick towards the Gur, and as much as you can understand why he might be, you’re also really not cool with letting this go unchecked.

“f*cking hell, Astarion. Is there really any need?” you scowl, your eyes flickering momentarily to his tucked hand, then back to his own. He is now facing you with the same furious look, but you can see something lurking at the edge, threating to show. Fear. You soften momentarily, pressing your lips into a firm line, willing him to understand that you’ll have his back. You hope he picks up on it.

“Your friend has just heard the rumours of my people! That we steal chickens, curse your crops, seduce your daughters…” Gandrel has his hand stretched out towards you, willing you to calm. Oh, sweet thing. “I wish I had half the power settled folk think my people possess. Alas, I am a simple wanderer. A simple wanderer and monster hunter. But I’m no witchdoctor or cutthroat.” You offer a hint of a smile to the man before turning back to face Astarion.

“No, you’re not, are you? It would seem our friend here has some pre-existing notions of your kind that are better left checked at the door.”

Suddenly, you feel the disconcerting feeling of your temporal lodger squirming against the flesh of your brain. f*ck, you hate it when it does that. You can’t help but flinch slightly at the discomfort, trying to keep your face clear at least to avoid suspicion from the monster hunter. Then, Astarion’s voice is ringing through your skull, the sound bouncing between your ears.

What in the sweet hells are you doing? He’s a monster hunter. The second he finds out who I am, he’ll be coming at me with a stake. A stake that’s probably dripping in some ridiculous concoction of rose oil and gilliweed, no doubt, and it will make me reek!

Your eye twitches slightly at the overbearing feeling of him in your brain; you need to be f*cking careful. You need to think – or, well, not think, lest you expose yourself. And you’ll be damned if that’s going to happen now, of all times for it to be. Your gaze flickers to him momentarily.

Look, we don’t know who sent him, or why, but they’ll know he’s here, looking for something. And if he doesn’t return, they’ll know something’s up. And they’ll send more of them. Better to find out what we need to know, then send him on a wild goose chase to waste his time, ok? Please, trust me. Your eyes plead with him, hoping he’ll see reason. Look, he tries anything, you get free reign to get dagger-happy, ok? His glare lingers a moment before he huffs quietly, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Honestly, no harm done, my friend. I was wondering if you could help me.” sh*t. “I’ve heard rumours of a vampire spawn in the area.” sh*t. “His name is Astarion.”

You feel him physically jolt next to you, but also, so do your companions behind you. This is NOT going to end well for any of us.

“But, I fear he has gone to ground,” Gandrel continues, his eyes lowering to the floor. You take this as your opportunity to furiously shake your head to your companions, quickly motioning your hand for them to shut the f*ck up. You see each of their alarmed stares, the shock written all over their faces, before quickly shaking them free. Oh, thank god. You look back to the Gur, his eyes looking up to meet yours again. “I hope the hag of these lands can help me flush him out, if I can afford her blood price.”

You panic – what should you say?! What should you f*cking say?!

“Oh, er- if you find him, I guess, what will you do? You’ve travelled an awfully long way for one vampire… And, um, bargaining with a hag? You should know better than any, uh, how badly that can end,” you stutter, wringing your hands. You can sense the anger pouring off the elf; you know he’s one rash decision away from knifing the poor bastard.

“Well, I’ve been instructed to capture him. Alive. It is a sacred mission from the head of my tribe. My people are in the city, waiting for me. We… We have a lot riding on this being successful.” Gandrel reaches a hand up to rub at his neck. “And you’re right. But desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose. But I really need to find him, and hopefully before nightfall. That’s when they’re strongest, you see. In the daytime, we have the advantage.” You bite your lip, thinking furiously. What could even be a believable excuse to get him to leave?

“Well, funny story, actually. We, um, ran into a spawn only two nights ago. Y’know, pale, fangs, all that good stuff. He was, uh, trying to take a bite out of me, before my friend here managed to pull him away.” You take in a shaky breath, hoping to hell and back that he believes you. “He took off north-west, we, we think he may be heading for the mountain pass, trying to get back to the city.” You wrap your arms across your chest, furiously gripping at your biceps. Please.

“Oh, really? What did he look like? Did he have silver hair? Pointed features? Well, rather similar to your friend, I would think,” he questions, his eyes wide with intrigue.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I thought it was him at first, until he wrapped his hands around my neck.” You let out a strained laugh. “T-to be honest, still thought it was him then, as well. But no, no. Not him. A little taller, actually. Nicer hair. Tighter curls.” To your surprise, Astarion actually scoffs at your comment.

“Oh, yes, that sure sounds like the fellow,” he sneers, scrunching his face at you. You bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling at his annoyance.

“This… This is valuable information, thank you. You’ve saved me from paying a hefty price.” Gandrel reaches into his pocket, pulling out a vial. “Here – a paralysing toxin. I have more, I was planning on using it on the spawn. But you didn’t have to help, and I have some more, anyway. If he knows your scent… Who knows, he may still be out there waiting. It’s the least I can do to repay you.” You take it from him, smiling softly, guiltily. You know this is the best option for all of you, but still. Lying through your teeth is all you seem to do these days, and it really isn’t a good look for you.

“Oh, um, thank you. You’d better get going, quickly. Maybe while there’s still some sunlight, you can catch up to him.” He smiles to you, offering an assuring nod, before setting off on his futile mission. You release the timid breath you’ve been holding, your hands shaking viciously, before looking back to the elf. He is still scowling at you, furious. But he isn’t able to get a word out before Lae’zel has a sword to his throat.

“Tsk’va! I should have recognised there would be a hshar’lak in our midst. How long was it going to be until you drained one of us dry, spawn?” she spits at him, her eyes narrowed. You run up to her, pulling at her shoulder, hoping to shake her free.

“Lae’zel, stop! He’s not going to hurt us, ok? Don’t you think at least one of us would be dead by now if he would?” you plead with her, grabbing at her sword arm, willing her to lower it. She huffs at you, keeping it firm.

“And you, kainyank. How long have you known about this? You don’t seem at all surprised by this revelation, and you’re quick to come to his defence.” You frown, holding her stare.

“I picked up on it immediately. I mean, look at him. It’s not hard to figure it out.” Despite the precarious situation he’s currently in, Astarion still finds it in him to let out an annoyed gasp at your words.

“Well, a vampire. Honestly, I feel like I should’ve picked up on that earlier, considering your pale complexion,” muses Shadowheart, crossing her arms across her chest and resting her weight on one hip.

“Come to think of it, the fangs are a dead giveaway, too - if you’ll pardon the pun.” Gale takes a step forward, scratching at his jaw as he chuckles softly, trying to diffuse the tension. “She is right, though. It’s been four days since we got captured, I’m pretty sure one of us would have ended up as a midnight snack, by now. Wait, hang on a second – did you get the boar the other night?” Astarion purses his lips as he scrunches his face, raising his shoulders slightly.

“Maaaaybeee…” He sighs, bracing out his hands. “Look. None of you have a thing to worry about, ok? I am perfectly capable of handling myself. Have done for 200 years, and I intend to for at least 200 more. I assure you; I will not take a single drop from any of you. Unless it be willingly given, of course,” he smirks, quickly glancing to you, before regarding the gith once more.

Lae’zel looks to you both, a contemplative look flashing across her face, before exhaling sharply. She promptly lowers the sword, resulting in a sigh of relief from you and the elf.

“Well, good luck getting at me, fangs! Unless you happen to like it hot,” chuckles Karlach, placing her hands on her hips. “Come ooooon, Lae, he’s not so bad. I’m sure we’re fine.”

“I must say, I’m a little ashamed at my monster-hunting skills if I couldn’t even pick out a damned vampire at my own camp. But – if you promise to keep those fangs to yourself, I promise not to stake you.” Wyll takes a step towards Astarion, reaching out his hand as a peace offering. Astarion looks at it briefly before taking it in his own, a charismatic grin plastered on his face.

“Why, of course. I wouldn’t expect any less from the esteemed Blade of Frontiers.”

“Honestly, Wyll. Your track record isn’t looking too great, just yet,” you chuckle, placing a hand on his shoulder. “First Karlach, now Astarion… Do you ever actually manage to take down the big, scary monsters of the realm?” Your companions burst into laughter around you as Wyll flounders, his eyes wide in exasperation.

“Excuse me, you’ll find it’s you who keeps intervening with my plans! If you weren’t so keen on rescuing every stray you find, I may actually have a shred of credibility to my name,” he retorts, gently punching at your shoulder. You grin cheekily at him, momentarily resting your head against his own as you both share a giggle, him wrapping one arm around you just like the night before in a brief embrace. He is right, you suppose. You should think about opening a shelter for emotionally-scarred vagabonds.

“Ok, ok, let’s go. We’ve got a hag to deal with.”

-

Thankfully, with the group you have, it takes you little time at all to deal with Ethel. You notice Lae’zel is still antsy as you make your way through the lair, but you imagine she’ll be happy once she thrusts her sword into the belly of the hag. When you finally do best her, she bargains with you, as you expected, but you still manage to come out on top with the chunk of her scalp and the freedom of Mayrina. Little victories.

You raid her stores, taking anything that seems like it may fetch you a penny. Some of it looks really f*cking weird – there’s eyeballs in jars, viscera of corpses spread on the altar, animal parts everywhere. You were already feeling queasy before you entered, but now, you feel downright sick. You spot the wand you’ve been looking for and promptly exit through the mushroom ring in the back of the room, hoping you don’t vomit on the floor.

Once outside, you spot the expectant mother attempting to shift the coffin of her dearly departed husband with little luck. Poor thing. After taking her berating, you give her the wand, allowing her to resurrect the zombified corpse, and bid her good luck on her travels back to the city. Lae’zel shuffles uncomfortably, scowling furiously, before finally blowing up at the group – or, well, you specifically.

“Tas’ki! We simply cannot wait any longer. My kin are still out there, and they might leave if we don’t move NOW! Any chance we have at finding a zaith’isk will be gone, dooming us all. We will become ghaik, and any opportunity you have left to be a do-gooder, a she’lak, is over. We need to stop chasing dead ends and move.”

Ah, sh*t. As far as she, or any of the rest of them, are aware, she’s right. It’s currently your only lead, other than freeing Halsin from the camp. And god knows Lae’zel won’t let you wait until after then to find the other githyanki. You bite your lip, your face crumpling as you accept defeat.

“No, you’re right. I’m sorry, we’ve gone on too many detours. We’ll head that way now – Gale, do you have the map? Zorru said he’d seen them north-west.” Gale nods at you, reaching into his pack for the beaten-up scroll, and you all set out walking. Lae’zel storms ahead, quickly followed by Karlach. The others follow suit as Astarion lingers behind to walk with you.

“Well, looks like your little plan with the Gur paid off.” He picks at a nail, studying his hand. “You were pretty adamant about not letting me ram my dagger through his face, though. Care to share your reasons?” You pinch your brow.

“Look, we don’t know what they want, or why they want you. sh*t, who wants you back so badly,” you lie, rubbing at your neck. “And like I said, the last thing we need is more people coming our way if he doesn’t make it back. This way, at least, we have a few more days of peace. Well, from them, at least.” Astarion lets his eyes wash over you, contemplating your words. You feel the guilt pour through you, knowing exactly what it is the Gur want.

They want their children back. They want to save them; they don’t know what Astarion had to do. What Cazador forced him to do. What Cazador always forces him to do. And still, you know why he has to do these things, and you can’t even tell him. How the f*ck would he ever believe you, and even if he did, how the f*ck is he supposed to deal with that? With what he’s done, what he’s helping take place? All 7000 of the souls he halped damn? Hell, even his own role within it?

No. You can’t tell him. You don’t think you can ever tell him. He would hate you if he knew that you knew and didn’t share. But also, this is his life. His actions, his consequences. He needs to figure it out on his own. Even if your secret does come out, if they all find out who you are and where you’re from, how could you ever begin to explain what you know about the intricate details of their innermost trauma, the most pivotal moments in each of their lives? You’re like a limitless Scroll of Augury, there to reveal the results of any path they may take. And that makes you feel even more sick than you already do.

Frowning, Astarion continues to peer at you, the concern on his face causing your guilt to consume you.

“Dear, you’re looking awfully peaky. Are you quite alr-” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before you promptly turn, running to a nearby bush and releasing the entire contents of your stomach. You fall to your knees, heaving, your eyes brimming with tears as everything comes out of you. You can barely hear Astarion’s groans of disgust over the pounding in your ears as you proceed to empty your breakfast all over the floor. You rasp out a sob as your oesophagus burns, only acid left.

“Oh, hells, this is disgusting,” he murmurs, grimacing. However, he still takes a few steps towards you. “This isn’t because of… well, your ‘gift’ last night, is it?” You press the heels of your palms into your eyes.

“No, no… Maybe? I don’t know. I’ve felt a little off all day, I suppose. Might just be something I ate for breakfast.” You stumble back to your feet shakily, the world spinning slightly around you. God, you feel like sh*t. You rest your hands on your thighs as you bend forwards, taking in a lungful of air. You feel Astarion’s hand as it reservedly pats your back, like he really doesn’t want to touch you, but also doesn’t want to leave you alone.

“Right, well, best we give it a day or two before we try again, I suppose. I don’t want whatever you’ve got, after all.” You breathe out a small laugh, grabbing a handkerchief from your pack to wipe your face and a flask of water. You swill your mouth and spit out the remnants of your vomit before taking another drink.

“I wouldn’t have thought you could even catch an illness, vampire. Although, at least you don’t have to hide your secret anymore.” He huffs softly, his mouth twisting in agreement.

“Yes, I suppose so. Now hurry up, they’re already ahead, and I mean it when I say I won’t carry you.”

-

You make your way back through the Blighted Village, finally catching up with your companions. Thanks to your little turn, the group decides to stop for a quick bite so you can quell your gurgling stomach. After a few bites of bread, you’ve had all you can handle for now, so you all head back to the path leading to the broken bridge. Lae’zel, Karlach, and Shadowheart make it across with no issue; these are the perks of not having strength as a dump stat, you suppose. It’s a little trickier for you and the boys – Gale nearly falls into the ravine below, but thankfully, Lae’zel is there to pull him back. Wyll manages to tuck and roll as he lands on the other side; Astarion just plants the floor, earning a big laugh from everyone. Then, it’s your turn.

You have no idea how to do this. You’ve never had to make a jump like this in your life, so you try and remember whatever you can from your high school sports classes. Ok. Give yourself space. Build up speed. Bend your knees. Lower your centre of gravity. Jump off your dominant foot. Swing everything up. Look ahead, not up. You’ve got this, you’ve got this. You pace backwards, readying yourself, taking a deep breath. And you start sprinting. As you reach towards the edge of the bridge, you shut your eyes on instinct, praying to every god you’ve ever heard of. You feel the rush of wind against you as you push from the floor with every ounce of strength you have, willing yourself to move forward, your stomach feeling like it’s going to fall out of your arse. Your eyes open again just as you reach the other side, your foot slamming against brick, your momentum still moving you forward. You can’t stop, you’re still going - until you collide headfirst into the elf’s chest, taking the both of you down.

Astarion exhales loudly as all the air is knocked out of him – strange, considering he doesn’t actually need to breathe, anyway. His arms wrap around you instinctively as you both descend, like he’ll somehow stop the fall by grabbing you for stability, while yours are pressed firmly against his chest. There’s a loud THUD as you both hit the ground, another groan coming out of him.

“Astarion, oh f*ck, I’m sorry!” you yell, pushing yourself up and off of his chest. You quickly reach to pull him up as a prolonged whine escapes him.

“Get- off- me,” he wheezes, sitting upright, his eyes wide. He coughs furiously as you climb off of his lap, your hands grabbing at the air as you try to decide whether to pat his back or just leave him be. "Haven't I- been pushed down- enough for one bridge?!" He continues to gasp, rubbing at his sternum. Gale, however, is beside himself.

“Haha! See, it’s not just me who likes to knock the wind out of all of your sails!” You shoot him an exasperated look, your hands waving with the same expression. You stand, reaching out to Astarion and help pull him to his feet. He’s barely back up before you hear what sounds like a flurry of wings on a gust of wind. You look whip your head to the source of the sound, your breath catching in your throat as you spot the brown-haired man walking towards you.

“My, my, what manner of place is this? A path to redemption, or a road to damnation? Hard to say, for your journey is just beginning.” f*ck.

Chapter 12: You're Paranoid, Aren't You?

Chapter Text

You stare blankly at the unassuming devil. You’re too stunned to even consider having a coherent thought just yet, so you settle for the static interference that consumes your brain like a TV without a signal. He, however, eyes you up and down, taking you in. You can feel the mystery surrounding him, see the mischief flashing in his eyes. He co*cks a brow at you, deep in thought.

“What would… suit the occasion? Hmm… The words to a lullaby, perhaps?” His grin is downright devilish, which, you suppose, is quite fitting, all things considered. ”The mouse smiled brightly; it outfoxed the cat! Then, down came the claw,” he swoons, scratching his hand down through the air, “and that, love, was that.” He chuckles deeply, the bass of the sound resonating through you. “They do know how to write them in Cormyr, don’t they?”

Your companions shift around you, each of them too uncomfortable to address the man in front of you. Astarion’s coughing has settled, his breaths now a soft rasp, but he is still rubbing it soothingly. Lae’zel has her sword in hand, but it is pointed to the floor, the hilt resting against her chest. A warning, but not a threat. Karlach is shuffling her weight between her feet, her adorable inability to remain still keeping her on her toes. The other three are hanging back, an err of caution etched on their faces. Great. You have to deal with this sh*t, again. You glance back to the devil, eyeing him from head to toe. You know, he is quite attractive in person… Your thought is disrupted when he lowers into a deep bow. Diva.

“Well met. I am Raphael, very much at your service.” His grin is still sickeningly sly, but honestly, a small part of you admires his confidence, his demeanour - even if he is a bit of an insufferable bastard. You offer him a wry smile of your own, dipping your head to him as he offers a nod in return.

“So, Raphael. Am I speaking to the mouse? The cat? Or… a fox?” You return his own sickly grin to him, crossing your arms assertively across your chest. If there’s one thing you’re going to do in this ridiculous scenario, it’s definitely f*ck with another devil. You seem to be getting rather fond of it. And apparently, you assume, you’re pretty good at doing so, considering the way he looks completely taken aback.

“My, my… We do have one perceptive little critter, don’t we? Should I fear those teeth of yours?” He places a hand to his chest with a dramatic flair. “Well, I can’t deny your assessment of the scenario, my dear. I would consider myself a silent observer, hiding in the shadows, ready to pounce. Of course, what I have to say merits some more privacy, as well as some more… let’s call it refinement. This little scene,” he says, gesturing to the area around you, “is decidedly too middle-of-nowhere for my tastes.” Oh f*ck.

”Come.”

You barely have a moment to think before a brilliant white light encompasses you, swallowing you whole. You feel everything within you lurch as you’re thrown between planes of existence, your already temperamental stomach threatening to unload once more. The floor is gone beneath you, the sky above too. There’s nothing, yet everything all at once. It feels like the heaviest gales are storming against you, threatening to sweep you away. You slam your eyes shut, attempting to shut out the sensation. Thankfully, it’s over almost as soon as it started, and you open your eyes to see the new environment around you. The House of Hope.

The room has a faint red glaze enveloping it, caused by the fire of the Hells burning in the distance, and a faint whiff of sulphur over the overpowering sickly-sweet smell of vanilla, cedarwood and bergamot. It almost seems like someone has just dumped a bucket of the stuff over every surface in sight in a feeble attempt at covering the rotten fragrance of the plane. There’s a grand fireplace with a ridiculously ornate painting overhanging it of Raphael in his true form, his blazing red skin and wings commanding authority over all it overlooks. There’s also a vast spread of delectable foods on the banquet table in front of you, a feeble attempt at showcasing his wealth, power, and resources. Just about every object in the room has some form of golden ornamentation; clearly, Raphael is peaco*cking, overcompensating. In all honesty, you’re not impressed. If anything, you’re kind of disgusted at this blatant attempt of power exertion. You almost pity him.

“There. Middle of somewhere.” He splays out his arms, attempting to showcase the room around you. You make a point of glancing around, disinterest settling in your expression. He doesn’t seem impressed. You note that he has brought the rest of your companions with you, something that you’re fairly certain didn’t happen in the game. Interesting. “The House of Hope, where the tired come to rest, and the famished come to feed - lavishly.”

You co*ck an eyebrow to him, opting to look at your nails instead. Your companions at least feed into his flair for the dramatics; they’re all looking around with wonder, Astarion poking at the ornate wooden chair beside him, Karlach greedily eyeing up the table of food. Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Wyll opt to remain still, their eyes flitting between all the extravagant décor.

“Go on. Partake. Enjoy your supper. After all,” he grins, “…it may just be your last.” You turn away, walking towards the table. The group all turn to look at you, confusion etched on their faces. You look over the options, choosing to grab a particularly sweet-looking cinnamon roll and a wedge of cheese. You don’t even turn to face him before you speak.

“Raphael, are these dramatics actually leading anywhere, or are you just interested in showing me your ’Ooh, my co*ck’s sooo big!’ collection?” you sigh sarcastically, picking at the roll and placing the piece into your mouth. sh*t, this is good. You groan with satisfaction. “Mmph, this is amazing. You’ll have to get the chef to give me the recipe.”

You can audibly hear the collective sound of your companions slapping their mouths – except for Astarion, of course. He instead lets out a singular sharp, shrill laugh. Raphael, however, growls with distaste.

“Goodness, I may have pegged you wrong, little one. With a scratch that sharp, you may just be the cat, after all. Now, are you not entertained? Well, far be it from me to disappoint.” You see the flames surround him from the corner of your eye, the gasps of shock from the others as Raphael’s true form comes out. His tinged-red skin is now scarlet, his brow now home to two majestic horns, his expansive wings stretching out behind him. “What’s better than a devil you don’t know?” he drawls, clutching at his chin. “A devil you do.”

You let your eyes flicker to him for a moment. Thanks to your pre-existing knowledge, you knew this was coming, so this really isn’t the surprising reveal he was hoping for. While you are impressed with the figure in front of you, and you really shouldn’t be trying your hardest to piss off the literal prince of Hell, you just can’t help yourself from acting like a little sh*t. You scan him briefly, the look of disinterest still sewn to your features, before huffing and returning your attention to the table. You place down the cinnamon roll in favour of some grapes, popping one of the succulent fruits into your mouth. Its juices burst on your tongue as you bite down on it, filling your mouth with its delicious flavour. Jesus, they must have some good f*cking soil in hell. It elicits yet another satisfied sound from you. You think you can actually hear the cambion’s eyes rolling in his skull.

“My, my, you do seem quite hard to please. No matter. I may have something to pique your interest. The situation remains – I come to you with an offering. One skull, two tenants, and no solution in sight. I could fix it all,” he says, snapping his fingers, a fiery blast releasing from the motion, “like that.” You roll your own eyes, pushing at the plates at the edge of the table to give you enough room to perch at the end of it. As you do, you flick your hair over one shoulder, sighing dramatically, folding your arms neatly across your chest.

“Raphael, darling, do you seriously think I’m mad enough to make a deal with a devil? It’s clearly worked out so well for everyone else.” Wyll begins to interject, before ultimately deciding that maybe now isn’t the best time. You shoot him an apologetic look before turning back to the cambion. The frustration radiating from him is fuelling you, filling you with a giddy delight. You probably will have half the Hells on your tails before this sh*t is over with, if your current interactions with its high-ranking citizens are anything to go by.

“And what is madness, but a denial of reality? Still, I’ve a feeling you’ll change your mind, before it’s changed for you.” You wrinkle your nose exaggeratedly, pursing your lips as you shake your head at him. He looks furious, and honestly, you just find it funny. He co*cks his head, his eyes laser-focused on you. “That’s it. I grow weary of your impertinence. You and I, alone.”

WHAT?!

Raphael waves his hand, and with a flash of hellish flame, your companions are gone. This didn’t happen in the f*cking game! He strides towards you, looking at you through his furrowed brow, his enormous presence closing the distance. You sit upright ever so slightly, but if there were ever a time for you to lose your confidence, it definitely isn’t now. You opt instead to ravage your anxiety into the vice-like grip you have at your forearms, but thankfully, your apathetic face doesn’t waver. As he stands before you, he reaches a clawed, vermillion hand to your face, pinching your cheeks between his thumb and finger. You note the heat of his body; you feel it radiating from where his skin meets yours, the temperature far higher than that of any human, but not hot enough to burn. You imagine there will be a flushed tinge when he releases you, though.

“Well, handsome, you it seems you have me all to yourself,” you tease, puffing out your chest as you inhale, tilting your head flirtatiously. You know there’s next to f*ck all you can do in comparison to a devil in his own home, so your womanly charms will have to weasel you out of this one. “Am I really so special to deserve all your attention?”

“Oh, incredibly special, little kitten. You know, it does take quite a bit of effort to pique my interest.” He observes you up and down, his eyes lingering momentarily at your rising chest before flicking back up to yours. GodDAMN. You can feel the heat flush to your cheeks, hoping he’ll figure it’s just the heat of his own hands causing it. “And you certainly do. Not many would remain so calm in the presence of a devil, especially one that drags you into the Hells without a moment’s notice.” You inhale once more, unfolding your arms to rest them against the edge of the table.

“And what’s more, there’s something… different about you.” Uh-oh. “As a connoisseur of souls, I’m quite well-versed in how they should appear, considering my nature. I can track and sense the aura of each individual soul in this realm, from the mightiest titan to the smallest ant. I know how they look, feel, smell, taste.” UH-OH. You frown slightly, eyeing him through your dipped brow.

“What are you getting at, devil-man?” you probe. By some f*cking miracle, you manage to maintain your external composure. Internally, however, you are positively sh*tting a brick. You feel a cold sweat prickle at your pores, your heartbeat rising infinitely. You feel a lump rising in your throat that you attempt to force back down, lest it betray your hard-fought control of this situation. He grins once more, his smug expression cutting through you.

“My point, dear, is your soul is unlike any I have come across before. Your fragrance, your energy, it’s distinctive. And I find it positively captivating.” Oh sh*t. “You’re not from this realm, are you, my curious little cat?”

Frozen. You’re frozen. Your mind has gone completely blank at his revelation. He knows. Oh my god, he knows. Of all the f*cking people to figure this out, why did it have to be him?! You should’ve kept your mouth shut, you shouldn’t have pushed so far. Look at the f*cking mess you’re in, all because you thought you could best him. He’s a f*cking devil, a prince at that. Did you really think you could outwit him?

… Well, f*ck it. It’s worked so far.

“Hmmm… Well, you got me!” You raise your hands in sarcastic defeat, rolling your eyes dramatically as Raphael releases his scorching grasp on your cheeks. “My big old secret, my hidden identity. Guess there’s just no hiding from you, mister. No, I am not a native of Faerûn. Or Toril either. Or the Hells. Or the Astral Plane. sh*t, I’m not even from the Realmspace. But you… You have no idea where I’m from, do you?” you sneer, rising to your feet. You begin to slowly pace in a circle around the devil before you, his eyes fixated on you.

“You know nothing about me, like you do my companions. You have no insider intel, no secret records, no past history. Haha! I bet you don’t even know my name, and you can’t stand it.” You’ve completed a full circle around him, now standing back between him and the table, your body impeccably close to his as you spit your final statement at him, your words dripping with confidence. f*ck, you really do love messing with these hellions. You raise a hand to his shoulder, picking at a piece of lint, your eyes locking with his as you toss it aside. You think you can actually see flames in his pupils; it seems the cambion isn’t the only one capable of being devilish.

“What’s the matter, Raph? Cat got your tongue?”

He growls at you. He f*cking growls. Oh, this is priceless! You, of all people, have the spawn of Mephistopheles wrapped around your finger, and you love it. The authority you currently hold is enough to stave off your fear; knowing his weakness, his folly, is enough to ensure your own safety. There’s not a chance he’ll lay a finger on you while you have him captivated like this, and especially so when he still thinks you’re his only shot at returning the crown. He can’t stand not having the knowledge, any sway over you. You’re here, from another world, and he hasn’t a clue how you got here or the secrets you hold of the other dimension. You’re drunk on the power, swimming in it, allowing it to consume you.

“Do not overestimate your significance, pet. You hold no skill, no prowess, and there’s a mighty battle ahead of you that you are in well over your head for.” He leans his head closer to you, his face inches from yours. You refuse to submit. “I, however, have the power you’ll need. The magic, the strength, the ferocity. These mighty purrs will get you nowhere when there’s an army at your back and a knife at your throat. You’re lucky that I don’t gut you where you stand for your unruliness.” You pout exaggeratedly, trailing a finger across the ornate detailing on his doublet.

“Oh, did you really think I’d trade you my special little soul for a few magic tricks? Raphael, I thought you were smarter than that. And I know you won’t lay a finger on me when I have a shiny new toy you’re begging to get your teeth into. I die, I get hurt, then you get nothing. No soul, no information, not a thing.” Your finger pokes at his sternum, each prod punctuating your final words.

“Hmph. You say this now, but just wait until you’re out of your depth. When you’re frantic, desperate. When you and your companions’ lives are hanging by a thread. Then you might just see some sense.” He leans over you, reaching to grab a goblet of wine from the table. “But, until then, I guess I’ll just have to wait. This wanton kitten is yet to make a sober cat, it would appear.” He takes a deep gulp from the glass, his eyes still focused on you as he drinks.

“You’ll be waiting a long time, devil. This kitty has claws, after all.” Your eyebrow flicks up mischievously, the corner of your mouth tugging up with it.

“Then let’s see how sharp you can make them. Regardless, you and your companions may have use for me yet on this little journey you’re on together. But I grow tired of your jabs, as stimulating as this conversation has been. Until next time, my feline friend.” You don’t drop your expression as he flicks his hand once more, the white light once again enveloping you as you’re flung back into the realm of Faerûn.

You land with a jolt, the force of your re-entry knocking you to your knees. You let out a sharp breath as you finally come to your senses, taking in the gravity of what you did in the last few minutes. You, once again, just got into a verbal f*cking boxing ring with a powerful cambion. And won. You f*cking won. How the hell does this keep happening? You, who couldn’t even make your own doctor’s appointments without wanting to cry, just had the son of the second-most powerful Archdevil in all the Nine Hells at your mercy. Your whole body shakes as the adrenaline catches up with you, the nausea in your stomach permeating you to your core. You faintly hear your name being called, the world finally coming back into your senses. You sit back on your knees, taking in more quivering breaths. Your name is called again, more urgently, as you finally look to see the group making their way to you, Astarion stepping furiously ahead of them.

“What in blazes did he do with you?!”

Chapter 13: Enough Waiting. I Crave Blood.

Chapter Text

You try to speak to him, assure him that you’re ok, but you find that the sound that comes from you isn’t exactly what you’d hoped for. In fact, it’s not words that come from you at all. You meow.

Looking frantically to your hands, you notice that they are in fact no longer hands, but fluffy, ginger paws. He turned you into a f*cking cat?! Is he for real? That bastard! You continue looking over yourself, your whole body now covered in the same fluff, including the twirling tail that hangs off the back of you. Even the knees you thought you were kneeling on are actually stubby little legs, ending in little pink paw pads. You spin furiously, screaming – well, yowling, you suppose – as you take in your new figure. The world seems so much bigger now that you’re only about a foot tall, the elf stepping towards you a f*cking giant. Your back arches, your tail standing at full height and claws extending as you continue to freak out.

The group, however, does quite the opposite. Astarion stops still before he breaks out into raucous laughter, throwing his head back in delight as the others follow suit. Karlach falls to the floor, clutching at her stomach as her laughter booms out of her, Shadowheart is wiping the tears that fall from her eyes. Wyll has a hand clasped to his mouth as he chokes back his rising amusem*nt. Even Lae’zel has a small smirk, no matter how much she wants to hide it. Gale, however, takes a step towards you, reaching out a hand as he smirks.

“Oh dear, looks like that sharp wit of yours has finally bit you on the bottom, it seems,” he chuckles, patting you firmly on the head. “Polymorph, I believe. I imagine the effects will wear off in a minute. A shame, really. I would’ve loved to have introduced you to Tara like this. It’d be nice for her to have a feline friend.” You hiss at his comment, but ultimately find yourself warming to his soft touch. You don’t even know why, or how, but you find yourself purring as you nudge your head into his hand, your panic soothing. This only sets off Astarion even more.

“Oh, sweet hells, I think this form suits you much better, darling,” he jests, a hand resting on his hip as the other playfully pinches his jaw. “Much more palatable. Can we keep her like this, Gale? It would be so much fun.” You scowl, or, at least you think you do, at his infuriating tone as you launch yourself at the elf. He jolts in shock as you run up to him, taking an alarmed step back as you begin batting his shin with your fuzzy paw rapidly. He yells at you, his hands splaying out as he attempts to shake you away, your companions somehow starting to laugh even harder. Karlach is coughing up a lung – you’re almost worried she’s going to pass out. You keep up your furious barrage, attempting to nip at his ankles as he becomes even more flustered.

Suddenly, you halt your flurry of paws as you feel magic swirling within you, a golden light swallowing your form as your limbs begin to stretch and grow. Gradually, you transform back to your usual self, still scowling at Astarion as your behind rests on the floor with your palms holding you up behind you, an identical one mirrored in his own expression towards you.

“Now, now, you two. No time for a catfight!” giggles Shadowheart, reaching forwards to help pull you up. She stares amusedly between the two of you. “Gods, you’d think the spell had affected you both.” You graciously take her hand, your eyes still fixed on Astarion, your brow furrowed at him as you rise to your feet. He does the same, exaggeratedly grimacing at you. It’s only right you do it back, more dramatically, and stick out your tongue.

“Are we quite done, you two? Glad to have you back in human form, friend,” Gale smiles, patting you on the back. Astarion crosses his arms frustratedly, his brow creased in that fashion you simply adore.

“Pfft, I wish she were still a cat.”

“Shut it, fangs.”

“Make me, kitten.” You take a step towards him, Shadowheart’s hand grasping at the back of your tunic to pull you away.

“Oh no, we don’t. Let’s play nicely.” You look to her, your resolve softening at her smiling features. You sigh heavily, but not before making a face at Astarion, swiftly giving him the finger. He scoffs, turning his nose up at you.

“Oh. My. GODS! That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, soldier. What the f*ck did you do to make him turn you into a bloody cat?!” Karlach exclaims, her eyes glistening with gleeful tears.

“Go on, give us the gory details, then,” Shadowheart implores, her eyes gleaming with intrigue. You huff out a soft chuckle and enthral them with the tale of your run-in with the devil, electing to withhold the conversation of your unique soul. Your ‘Cat got your tongue?’ comment earns you a particularly loud round of laughter from the group.

“Honestly, we need to keep a watchful eye on you if you’re going to keep pissing off every cambion we come across,” Shadowheart jests, using your shoulder for support as she shakes with amusem*nt. “I do have to give you credit though, sounds like you had the man by his balls.”

“Well, what can I say? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” Gale guffaws at you, particularly fond of your literary phrase. Huh. Guess Congreve’s words have weaselled their way into Faerûn just like Shakespeare, if Gale’s environmental phrases are anything to go by. You notice Lae’zel is still looking antsy, not particularly fond of waiting around. She locks eyes with you, her glare penetrating you.

“Yes, yes, her words are as cutting as a warrior’s blade, but this useless whittering must cease; my people are waiting, and we have wasted enough time getting sidetracked.” You grit your teeth as you sigh, nodding to her as you set off to return to your journey.

-

As you finally reach the western side of the Risen Road, you spot the enormous red dragon immediately. Its scales glint and glimmer in the sunlight, its roars echoing off each surface within the rocky cavern; if you weren’t seeing it with your own eyes, you wouldn’t have a clue where the sound would be coming from, even though it’s pretty f*cking loud. You watch it soar and dive through the air, just as you see it bend its neck to unleash a fiery breath to the poor Flaming Fists on the bridge underneath it. sh*t, you were too late. You watch in horror as the bridge falls to pieces, chunks of wood dropping into the ravine below. The mighty dragon lowers back to the ground, its rider climbing down from its back to approach the group of githyanki before them. Kith’rak Voss.

Lae’zel doesn’t say a word before she bolts, making her way steadfast to the group of her kin.

“sh*t- Lae’zel!” you whisper-yell, urging her back, but she pays you no mind. All she has on her sights set on is the group of soldiers below you. You have no choice but to follow suit, running to catch up with her. As you do, you momentarily notice the pale tiefling up on the bridge – the same one whose corpse you will find in the crèche later in your journey. You inhale deeply as you keep moving, recognising that there’s yet another soul you won’t be able to save. However, if you don’t join Lae’zel now, you’ll all end up in sh*t, so you’ll have to deal with the heavy feeling in your heart later. Seems like there’s a lot you’re going to have to deal with later.

Your green companion is practically soaring down the hill and under the bridge, and you curse yourself for not keeping up with your old gym membership as you stumble after her, the rest of your group following suit. She finally starts to slow as she gets closer to the dragon rider.

“Rider – my time is short. Lead me to-” she starts, before promptly getting cut off by the David Bowie of Faerûn. Honestly, in real life, that absurd quiff on top of his head is even more ridiculous than you could’ve imagined.

“Shh, shh, shh. Such a familiar tone,” he spits, his eyes narrowing. “Were I not merciful, I would slice the skin clean from your meat. Yet you are not bleeding, for I am nothing if not merciful.” Ok, you already knew the githyanki to be cutting and blunt, but hearing it in real life reeeeally makes you want to shove a brick through this arsehole’s face. Instead, you elect to remain silent, your fury at his disrespect simmering just below your skin. “Your name, child.”

Your eyes flick to her, a sheepish look on her face. You’re fairly certain that this is the first time you have ever seen her with anything except her usual scowl – it’s unsettling, really, to see her so shaken in the presence of such a character. Her own eyes meet you, almost pleading for direction. You nod your head to her affirmingly before she turns back to Voss, her shoulders stooping slightly.

“Lae’zel.”

“Lae’zel. Proud. Regal, even. You will call me Jhe’stil Kith’rak.” Lae’zel’s eyes light up in admiration, in fear. She clearly knows how formidable a man he is.

“Voss. Knight Supreme. The queen’s silver, the queen’s sword,” she states, pride dripping in her tone with love for her wretched ruler. He regards her softly, bowing his head slightly.

“I am who you say. A ghaik vessel has fallen from the sky, Lae’zel. Thieves aboard have taken a weapon most precious. It is polyhedric in shape and inscribed with the runes of our people,” he says, his hands enunciating his words. You see Shadowheart stir out of your peripheral vision, clutching tighter at the weapon in her hand. You elect to ignore it; even trying to insinuate for her to calm herself will draw unnecessary attention. Lae’zel, however, appears calm and collected to those in front of her, which thankfully keeps the attention off the cleric.

“Take word to your crèche – you are to join our search. Speak up, child. Affirm your mandate.”

You notice as Lae’zel’s eyes shift slightly. Suddenly, you realise – she has no idea about the artifact yet, other than a possible glimpse she may have caught back on the nautiloid. You haven’t encountered the dream visitor, haven’t turned yet, haven’t had any unusual encounters due to it. Normally, when playing the game, you wouldn’t have even ventured this far until you were coming close to the end of Act 1, but obviously there was no chance in hell you could stop your gith friend from avoiding this place any longer when she has her own free will to do with as she wishes. You haven’t got a f*cking clue what to do.

“You honour me with this duty, Kith’rak. I shall alert my caretaker with haste.” Oh, thank god. Voss nods to her.

“You serve your queen well, child. Take your slaves and hunt those who escaped the ghaik ship. They must carry the weapon. I fly now to Vlaakith, our Undying Queen. She will see your faith rewarded in this plane and ours.” He nods once more, beginning to step away. You, however, know he isn’t on his way to her. He’s most likely off planning how to save Orpheus, free the Prince of the Comet, and poor Lae’zel is none the wiser. You’re not looking forward to her finding out that information. “Qudenos, to the sky!”

You watch as the knight grabs at the scales of his impressive dragon, pulling himself atop its back in one fluid motion. You and your companions are captivated as the mighty beast rears its head and flaps its immense wings, the force of which blows all the hair out of your face which you had meticulously styled this morning, but you’re too mesmerised to care. It takes off swiftly, blocking out the sun as it goes. f*ck, where can you get one of those?! Lae’zel turns to face you, hardening her features, that ever-familiar scowl returning to her face.

“You heard Jhe’stil Kith’rak, we are to look for this artefact. The way forward to the crèche is currently blocked by the flames, anyway, so this will bide our time well until we can continue. I will make the thieves pay for their insolence towards the githyanki.” Ah, sh*t. Well, at least she’ll shut up about the bloody crèche for 5 minutes, you suppose. You lock eyes with Shadowheart; she looks furious, yet you sense the fear lingering on the edge of it. You’ll have to keep this secret for now, until the true nature of the prism is revealed. You offer a small, tight-lipped smile to her before returning to Lae’zel.

“Right, yes, ok. Come on, then. We still have to find Halsin at the goblin camp – he might be able to help us in the meantime, if he’s as impressive as the grove keep telling us. Let’s head back and make a plan, it’s already getting pretty late.”

-

The walk back to camp is tense, the majority of the group unhappy about their contraction to the service of the githyanki, yet still mindful enough not to piss off the one in their midst. Except for Karlach, of course, who can’t help nattering all the way there about what she would do if she had her own dragon – he would be called Scrumpy, by the way. And he’d be blue with yellow eyes, they would find a barn to live in together and steal meat from the Upper City to eat, they’d sell his loose scales for coin, and he would be particularly fond of playing fetch with goblin corpses. Obviously.

Shadowheart, however, is silent as she remains at the back of the group. You steadily slow your pace as to not arouse suspicion from the others, your steps eventually falling in-line with hers. Her head still facing forwards, her eyes glance to you for a moment, yet she doesn’t speak. Guess you’ll have to initiate this conversation.

“Sooo… Uh, interesting, what Voss had to say, huh? Seems like they’re looking for something awfully similar to that little thing you’ve been carrying around,” you murmur. Her eyes shoot to you, rage pouring through them. You sigh, keeping your eyes fixed ahead. “Look, I’m not going to say anything, ok? There’s a reason they want that thing, and a reason you have it. Your reasons are your own, and I’ll respect that. I’m not going to go selling you out to each other; we need each other. And I wouldn’t trust those guys if my life depended on it.” Her gaze softens as she takes a resigned breath, her focus going back to the road ahead.

“Thank you. Not many would trust another like that, particularly not when there’s a bunch of bloodthirsty savages at our heels.” She scratches at her neck, her other hand falling to soothe her stomach.

“Don’t mention it, Shadowheart. You’ll tell me what I need to know when you’re ready.” You smile softly to her as she mirrors your expression. You feel bad, considering that you already know everything you need to, but you don’t want to push her to open up about her devotion to Shar or her mission for her Lady before she’s ready. At least it’s not a lie, you suppose.

When you eventually get back to camp, you and your companions gather around the little desk with the map of the area, going over the places you have ventured to and what’s remaining. Really, all that’s essential to do now is tackle the goblin camp; granted, you haven’t been able to locate information on the Shadow Druids, or check out the Zhentarim hideout, but you’ve had a good go at sorting out all the other sh*t that’s been going on, and it’s not particularly like they will change much in your ongoing journey. A bottled beholder might’ve been useful, though.

“Ok, so, looks like the best course of action is to enter from here, and begin wiping them out with our hand-to-hand fighters from this spot,” Wyll says, pointing at a location on the map, “and then have our ranged fighters stay up here for the best advantage.” He says your name. “You can choose where you go, but it’s probably in your best interest to stay well away from any possible melee attacks, considering your weak sword arm.”

You exclaim in offence, clutching a hand to your chest as the rest of the group laughs at his brutality. Well, he might not be wrong, but he could at least be nice about it. You playfully punch his bicep before he exaggeratedly grabs at his arm, wailing in false agony.

“Ow! Oh dear, the mighty warrior has bested me, how will I ever defeat her?! The Blade of Frontiers will wield a weapon no more!” he exclaims sarcastically, shaking his head as he recoils.

“Ex-cuse me, Wyll, I’ll have you know you’d all be completely lost without me! I may as well wipe all your arses, seeing as I have to do everything around here.” You smirk at him, giggling at his dramatics. He offers you an apologetic smile. “Anyway, I’ll stick up top. I can at least throw a few spells out, hopefully. Once we’ve cleared the courtyard, we’ll have to wing it as we get inside. We don’t know who we might be facing,” you lie, knowing full well you already know exactly which path to follow and who you’ll be meeting inside. Lae’zel steps over the table, analysing the map.

“We also need to keep a close eye on anyone who may have the artifact, it could be anywhere.” You frown slightly, rubbing at your chest. You know there’s not a chance in hell she’ll find it in there, and it will reveal itself before you even step foot in the doors, should things go as expected.

“Uh, yeah. Totally. Keep an eye out for it. Look for any ‘illithid activities’, as it were.” You barely sound convincing, and Lae’zel looks to you, her brow furrowed. sh*t. “I mean, it’s entirely possible we may find it on the way, or it may not be there. But we can try.” She exhales sharply through her nose, her eyes narrowing at you.

“Well, if these goblins are as stupid as the ones we’ve already come across, we could probably just walk right into their lair without a second glance, considering the powers our little inhabitants have given us,” Astarion chimes, a wicked grin on his face. “Then we could face them from the inside-out. Find out what we need to know, then spill all the blood we desire.”

“You’re just thinking with your stomach, aren’t you, Astarion?” jests Gale, patting the vampire on the shoulder. He scoffs in return, placing a hand to his chest.

“Why, I never! I’m just thinking about what would be most useful, and if I happen to get a little snack in the meantime, where’s the harm in that?”

-

After what feels like hours of discussion, you eventually split up and you assist Gale with the night’s meal, dishing up plates for each of your companions. You note that Lae’zel actually has a hint of a smile on her face, something that has barely been present in your campfire escapades. You seat yourself near Shadowheart, barely tucking into your meal before Scratch’s little black nose is peering at you, begging for scraps.

“Oh boy, how could I ever say no to you?” you gush, throwing him a small chunk of food from your plate. He chomps at it happily before making his way around the circle, trying his luck with the rest of your companions. Your sickness is still lingering, your brow now feeling hot to the touch, so you only manage about half the meal before you excuse yourself. You decide a quick bath might be in order to help cool you down, plus you’re pretty dirty from the day’s adventure, so you excuse yourself, leaving the remnants of your meal to one very happy pup and grabbing your things from your pack.

You go downstream, just outside of the view of the camp. You hear very faint laughter and chatting from your companions, as well as still seeing the faint glow of the campfire and torches, but are happy you won’t be caught in the nude as you get yourself clean. You place your things down in order – your camp clothes, clean underwear, a bar of soap (you almost want to cry at the idea of washing your face and hair with it, but it’s not like you’re going to find the products for a full beauty routine in the middle of a forest in a completely different world) and your towel.

Your movements are sluggish as the sickness you feel courses through you, pushing fatigue into your muscles. You think about what might be causing it; it can’t be the after effects of Astarion’s feeding the night before, you’d used the amulet to restore your lack of blood, and you’ve only felt worse as the day has gone on. Maybe you have some kind of Fae-flu? Did you manage to cook yesterday’s meal properly? You remove your outer tunic as you ponder, your skin shivering in the air as you’re stood in just a vest.

Suddenly, your thoughts are disrupted as you hear a rustle in the leaves. sh*t, you left your lute at the camp, as well as the daggers you’ve been collecting to sell. You’re defenceless, sick, and only half dressed. You’re f*cked. You look frantically to the camp, about to yell, before a steel sword is pushed to your neck, silencing you.

“Not a word, istik, lest I strike you where you stand.” Lae’zel stands beside you, fury in her eyes as she regards you. Oh sh*t “I have been watching you for a while now, and you are not what you seem.”

You freeze, even the fever in your blood choosing to disappear momentarily as fear grips at you, immobilising you. You really feel sick now. She can’t know, she can’t! You’ve been so careful, you’ve not said anything, you’ve tried so hard not to reveal anything you shouldn’t know. Surely, she can’t, no, she CAN’T-

“Who are you, hshar'lak?”

Chapter 14: There Is No Wisdom In Madness

Chapter Text

Lae’zel’s eyes are laser-focused on you, her arm steady as she holds her greatsword perfectly against your jugular vein. There’s no point in fighting this; you have nothing to fend her off with, she massively outpowers you, and even if you were to call for assistance, you’d be dead before they even hear you. You tremble as you try to collect your thoughts, what do you even do in this situation?

“L-Lae’zel, I’m me. I’m the person you’ve been travelling with, I’m your friend, I don’t know what-” you start, before she pushes the blade even harder against your skin.

“No. Friend? I know nothing about you. Who are you, istik?” She turns to walk in front of you, twisting the blade to keep it in place against you. “Because apparently, you were chosen for this journey by the mummy. You have waged verbal battles with not one, but two devils now, and lived to tell the tale. You have miraculously managed to find every single incessant, whimpering creature in this godsforsaken land and have tended to them like a wetnurse. These are no coincidences.” You freeze. sh*t.

“I don’t know, Lae’zel, I don’t know! I just, maybe I’m lucky, maybe the gods are on my side-”

“You knew my name.”

“What? What do you mean, I knew your name?”

“On the ghaik ship. I never told you my name, yet you told Shadowheart exactly who I was. I thought initially it may have been this petulant tadpole, you might’ve seen it in my memories when our minds joined.” She looks you up and down, burning you with her gaze as she analyses you. You can only gape blankly back at her, your mind empty. “But I don’t think you did. And there’s the matter of what I saw from you.”

“From me? W-what did you see?” you stammer, fear coursing through your veins. You think you might be sick, the nausea overwhelming you.

“I… Don’t know. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. There were metal carriages, people wearing ridiculous outfits, and these portraits that could… move within the frame, and with sound, like the people inside were there in the moment, talking to each other. I have never heard of such a spell, or contraption.”

Well, f*ck. She did see. She knows. In a way, she’s known this whole time. But how much does she know? She can’t know about your understanding of all this chaos, can she?

“Did- did you see anything else? Lae’zel, please, what else did you see?!” you plead, tears pricking at your eyes.

“Cease, child. That was all I saw, but you will tell me what I want to know. Where in hells do you hail from?" You take a deep, shaky breath as you try to stabilise your frantic nerves. This is it.

“Not… Not here. Not Faerûn, or any of the planes. I don’t think I’m even from this universe, like, we don’t even have magic where I come from.” The githyanki’s eyes widen, her shock plastered all over her face. “I don’t know why I’m here, or even how, other than what Withers said the other day, but here I am. Up to my eyeballs in this sh*t.”

Lae’zel slowly begins to lower the sword, her grasp still firm around the hilt. She’s willing to listen, it seems, but she’s not up to trusting you just yet. You reach up to catch a teardrop that breaks free, furiously blinking as you will the others that threaten to fall back into your skull.

“So, it’s true. You’re an even bigger stranger to this plane than I am.” Her fury softens, but she’s still watching you like a hawk.

“Yeah, I suppose. My home is nothing like here – it’s far more technologically advanced, but like I said, no magic, and we don’t even know if we have gods. Some believe, some don’t, but either way, they have practically no obvious presence in our lives like the ones here do. The creatures are similar, like cats, dogs, rats, sheep. But no owlbears, displacer beasts, and definitely no dragons,” you huff shakily, thinking back to the majestic beast you saw earlier. “And, since we have no magic, our technology relies on electricity to power it. But we’ve managed to make some pretty cool stuff, like you saw. So we can have indoor lighting, buses and cars – the carriages you saw, they can carry many people, and they travel super quickly compared to horses – and televisions. They show things that are recorded with a camera, which is this device that can take… uh, instant portraits, I guess? And it can take dozens at once, putting them all together to make them move, just like you saw in my brain. And we can record sounds, as well, so we can repeatedly watch things like plays, information broadcasts, listen to music, all whenever we want.”

You think Lae’zel’s brain is about to explode. I mean, you did just explain the concept of a f*cking TV to a fantasy creature, after all. God knows how you’d explain the internet to her, or an air fryer, or Uber Eats. This whole thing really is f*cking ridiculous, though. Here you are, in a completely different world, where dragons fly and devils make deals and magic is all around you, and you’re here talking about how f*cking movies work. You almost laugh at the absurdity.

“So… You can record life, as it happens? And watch it back? Like a memory?”

“Yes. It’s common for people to have a small device that can fit in their pocket that’s capable of doing it. And we can use those same devices to communicate with people that are thousands of miles away, using specific energy waves in the air. It’s kind of like casting message to someone on the other side of the world. Plus, they can also access a global database of information, so we have all the knowledge we need right at our fingertips, like we have the world’s biggest library in our hands.” Lae’zel’s brows knit together as she digests what you’re telling her.

“This… This is fascinating. To know there are other worlds, other existences beyond our own that are so different. But the question still remains,” she says, her scowl returning. “How do you know all of this information? Do you have this device with you? To research the knowledge?”

“No, I came here with nothing. I wasn’t even wearing the same clothes. I fell asleep in my room, everything perfectly normal, nothing out of the ordinary. And then I woke up with a tadpole in my eye, and everything had changed.”

“So, how, then? How do you know?” She grips the sword again, raising it slightly.

How do you even begin to explain this? How do you say, ‘Hey, you know your whole life? It’s just fiction for me! It’s all fake! Not real! You’re just a plaything for my world! Every heartache, moment of joy, moment of pain, it’s all for funsies!’? Would she understand? Will she be angry? She has to know that this isn’t your fault – you didn’t ask for fate to throw you here, you didn’t make the universe cause this ridiculous turn of events, you can’t help that she only exists in a story in your world. You can’t help any of this. But you still feel guilt ripping through you, clutching at each nerve, its poison seeping in your blood.

“I, uh- ok. Right. Please, hear me out before doing anything rash, ok? Like I said, I have no idea how any of this has worked out, there’s nothing I can do to control it, I had no decision in any of it,” you implore, your watery eyes begging with Lae’zel’s. She says nothing. “So, um, in my world, this… quest, so to speak, it’s all… Well, it’s a story, a work of fiction. An interactive one, on a screen with moving pictures, where you make the decisions throughout, and your actions change the outcomes of each situation. And all of you are in it. You, Wyll, Shadowheart, Gale, Karlach, Astarion.”

Lae’zel’s expression doesn’t change. Somehow, that makes you feel even worse.

“This story, it tells of everything that could happen to us? How to get rid of the tadpole? What happens if we can’t?” she enquires, a hint of intrigue in her voice.

“Yes, it does. And, well… Other things, as well,” you murmur, your eyes meeting the floor.

“Tell me what you mean.” Lae’zel’s voice cuts through you. You inhale deeply, scrunching your eyes shut. Your whole body is shaking violently between the anxiety, the nausea, and the fever.

“It tells you… sh*t, this is hard. Ok, uh, it tells us a lot about… your lives. All of you. There’s not just the tadpoles to deal with, each of you gets your own storyline, a quest. And… We, well, I, I guess, have to help you decide what path to take, what directions to take your lives in. And the same things have already been put in motion here. So, I imagine that we’ll face the same decisions.”

Lae’zel looks away, completely lost in thought as she mulls over what you’ve just said. Each second she stays quiet is an eternity of anguish for you. What is she thinking? Oh, dear god, what is she thinking?!

“This… It’s preposterous! T’chk, this can’t be true, I’ve never heard a more outlandish lie than this! You will tell me the truth, kainyank, or I will gut you where you stand. I will not give you another chance.”

“Lae’zel, I swear, I am telling you the god’s honest truth! Look, I’ll even use the tadpole to show you-”

“How dare you even consider using that ghaik treachery against me! Tsk’va, you’re one of them, aren’t you? A ghaik sympathiser! And I thought I might even trust you, hshar’lak,” she spits, closing the gap between you both, grabbing at the straps of your vest.

“No! I swear it! I’m no mind flayer, I’m not under anyone’s control but my own. Look – I’ll tell you what I know already. You’re Lae’zel, of crèche K’liir, and your enclave is on an asteroid in the Tears of Selûne. You were raised on military training, making you a fierce warrior – you even killed your own cousin in one-to-one combat! You and your enclave fought beholders and infiltrated a neogi spelljammer. You want to be bestowed a silver sword, one of the highest honours for a githyanki, a sign of a mighty warrior. You dedicate your life to your queen, to Vlaakith, and it’s your dream to be chosen to return to the Astral Plane. You wanted to prove yourself worthy, so you set out on this mission to bring the severed head of a mind flayer to her so she will let you go, and that’s when you got captured on the ship. They enslaved your people, continue to hunt you still. That’s why you hate them so much.” You’re panting now, the speed at which you said all of this causing you to forget to breathe.

“Lae’zel, I swear I’m not lying. I’m no mind flayer. I’m just a girl, nobody special, nothing interesting about me. I’m just as stuck in this mess as you are.” You sigh heavily as her grip softens slightly, your head spinning. “And I promise, if there’s any sign I might turn, you can drive that sword straight through my skull. I don’t want to be a mind flayer any more than you do. You have my word on that.”

Her grip remains steady for a moment, her eyes boring into yours as she decides whether she can trust you. Thankfully, it appears she does as she releases you.

“You realise this is madness, don’t you?” she questions, anxiously pacing.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

“You will tell me what is going to happen. What will happen to me, to the tadpoles.”

“I… can’t,” you whisper, averting your eyes. She goes to speak, but you interrupt. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want to. I would love to tell you, I want to tell you everything. I f*cking hate keeping all of this to myself. But I have to. Too much foreknowledge will be disastrous. Things are going to happen – good things, bad things, horrible things. But they need to happen. And if I tell you, they might not. You might make a decision about something that you haven’t experienced yet, and it could kill you. Us. Everyone. And then, even my knowledge could be useless, it could completely change how the story is supposed to go, and then we’ll truly have nothing. That’s why I haven’t told you so far, why I was hoping I wouldn’t get caught out. And I’m not going to lie, you might just hate me for not telling you things, and I would hate me too. But I need you to know that it’s truly for the best that I don’t. I’m not a god, I can’t control your fate. But I promise you, I will always step in and help when you need me to and guide you to make the best decision.”

“You are asking for an exceptional amount of understanding, istik. How can I truly believe you know what’s going to happen if you will not tell me?”

“Look, I’ll offer a compromise. I can’t tell you the big stuff, it’s too dangerous. But tomorrow, we’re facing the goblin camp. I can tell you about that. There are three leaders within – Priestess Gut the goblin, Dror Ragzlin the hobgoblin, and Minthara the Drow. Priestess Gut is in the main hall as you enter, she’ll be branding goblins with ‘the mark of the Absolute’. Dror Ragzlin will be in the northernmost room; he’ll be attempting to resurrect a mind flayer for information. Minthara will be in the northeast, making plans to raid the druid grove. Halsin is being kept in the Worg pens to the east, we’ll have to go past some jail cells to find him. He’ll be in his bear form when we do.” Lae’zel is captivated, calming down, so you just keep going. “We’ll find a captured adventurer called Liam, as well as a follower of Loviatar. In the outside courtyard, they’ll have that guy Volo we briefly saw in the grove on a makeshift stage, forcing him to perform. It will be terrible. But when we’re inside, he’ll be in the jail cells too. They’ll be chasing the owlbear cub through an obstacle course, and they will be roasting a dwarf on a spit. If none of this is true, you can take me as a liar, and I will accept your punishment.”

She stares at you, completely bewildered. She scrunches her nose, inhaling deeply as she makes considerations. You chew furiously on your lip, praying that she’ll extend you even an ounce of trust.

“Fine. I will not gut you tonight. I would suppose that you could have had several opportunities to attempt to cause harm, yet you have been an incessant she’lak this whole time. But, should you be lying, or if I see a single sign of your betrayal, or any signs of ceramorphosis,” she says, moving incredibly close to your face, “I will drive my sword into your belly myself and smile as I paint the floor with your entrails.” You gulp, nodding slowly. She huffs at you, stepping back. “You may return to your activities. I can smell your skin, it is not pleasant. You should fix that.”

“Geez, thanks Lae’zel,” you chuckle warily. She eyes you one last time before huffing and turning away, leaving you alone to continue your bathing routine.

sh*t. You told her. She knows, and you’re still standing. You’ve still got your head, your limbs, and your insides, well, on the inside. All things considered, this has gone well - for now, at least. And you finally have someone who knows; you don’t have to keep your secret from one less person, and the weight you feel lifted is liberating. If it weren’t for the raging shivers, you’d probably dance in glee, so you settle for trying to get yourself cleaned up as fast as possible so you can snuggle up in your bedroll.

You quickly jump in the water, letting out a small yelp at the shock of the cold surrounding you. You furiously scrub your skin and scalp with the soap bar, praying they both don’t dry out completely from the lack of any hydration products. Thankfully, you’re in and out in no time, clawing at your clean clothing frantically in an effort to protect yourself from the chill. When you get back to the camp, you grab your bedroll and rejoin your companions at the fireplace, tucking yourself up warmly.

“Gods, you look absolutely rotten, what’s going on?” Shadowheart questions, placing a hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up an absolute fever!”

“’S j-just, a c-cold, I think,” you stutter, your shakes rattling through you. “W-will be ok-k in the m-morning!”

“In all honesty, I think I may be coming down with something, too. I’ve been feeling a little rough over the last hour or so,” says Wyll, rubbing a hand across his forehead.

“Oh no! No-no-no! Get away from me, all of you! I will not be catching a plague from you filth-ridden vermin!” Astarion scoffs, jumping up from his spot as he scuttles backwards away from you. Gale laughs, looking up to the frantic elf.

“I didn’t even think a vampire could catch common ailments, Astarion – not being a bit dramatic here, are we?” he jests. “Although, I do wonder if I may be catching on to your illness, I’ve also been feeling a little out of sorts this evening.”

“Weird! I don’t even know if I could catch a fever, being hot already and all. Haha, I wonder if that might cool me down?” Karlach ponders, her mouth curving upside down.

-

Seeing as most of you are starting to succumb to your sickness, you all decide to retire early tonight without your usual stories and instrumentals. You’re a little sad, it’s easily your favourite part of the day, but the fatigue in your bones is screaming for rest. As you snuggle into your bedroll, you toss and turn for what feels like an eternity, struggling to fall asleep. Thankfully, you finally succumb to your slumber, but it is not quite as it seems.

You know exactly where you are. Your mystery illness makes sense now, at least. The purple sky above you is home to thousands of constellations, spreading out across the amethyst-coloured canvas. You see the swirls and shapes across the cosmos, the scatters of asteroids floating around you. You look around you, trying to spot the visitor. You realise – you never actually ended up making one when you were thrown into this mess. You wonder what they will look like – male? Female? Non-binary? What race might they be? Ooh, will they be hot? Or will it be like a ‘Danny Dwarf-vito’ type situation? You slowly pace as you wonder, electing to sit on the stone bench beside you. Where are they? Don’t they normally wake you up?

Suddenly, you clamber to your feet as you spot him. Weirdly enough, out of all of the options you could’ve had, this was the last thing you expected. It’s him. The Emperor, in all his tentacle-y glory. His pallid flesh is a pale purple, his freaky appendages wriggling wildly in front of him as he floats closer, his cape billowing in the air. What the f*ck?!

“W-what is going on?!” you yelp, attempting to step backwards, but the bench at your calves blocks you. When he speaks, you don’t hear him, you feel him, the sound bouncing around your skull.

“Your thoughts are not as private as you would think, world-hopper. I deemed it unnecessary to hide myself from one who already knows my secrets.”

Chapter 15: I Have A Lot On My Mind... And, Well, In It

Chapter Text

Oh sh*t. This isn’t going to go well. This isn’t going to go well at all.

“Y-you, you know?” It sounds like a question, but honestly, you already know. His glowing irises bore into you, as if they’re hollowing out your soul, unlocking each part of you. You freeze in place; you haven’t a f*cking clue what to do. It’s him, and he knows. Honestly, you’re amazed you hadn’t put any thought into it so far. Of course he would know, he can read every thought you have. You’d just better do your damned best not to think about what’s going to happen at the end of your journey.

“Yes. I know that you are not of this world, and you know that I am the one protecting you. You know what this place is and that I am contained here. While I don’t understand the process behind it, I know of the fiction I am involved in where you come from. What I don’t know,” he says, coming to a stop before you, “is what you plan to do with the information you have, and the extent of it. And I am sure you can imagine that we both have an investment in what that might be.”

Well, he has a point. You know he can be a lying scumbag at times, what he did to Stelmane, about the tricks he will try and play on you. But at the end of the day, you still need him. And in the grand scheme of things, it’s self-sufficiency he’s aiming for; he wants to be free from all of this just as much as you do, he also wants the Elder Brain dead. That’s all he’s ever wanted, is to be his own person, in control of his own destiny. Plus, there’s no chance you’ll make it another day, never mind all the way to the city, without his help. And honestly, things could go well for the both of you if you can co-operate. What decisions would you both make if you can share what you know?

You breathe deeply, your hands shaking with nerves, that ever-present nausea making waves in your belly. Honestly, you can’t remember the last time you didn’t feel sick to your stomach.

“Look, I know we need each other. You can’t do this without us, and we can’t do this without you. At least for now, I see no reason why we can’t work together.” You meet his eyes almost fearfully, as if you’ll lose every aspect of yourself in him if you stare too long.

“That is a wise choice. I concur, a collaboration would be in both of our best interests.”

“But,” you interrupt, raising a hand in caution, “I want to lay down some ground rules.” The illithid has no eyebrows, but if he did, he’d definitely be raising one right now.

“And what do you propose?” he enquires, those purples eyes still locked on you.

“Number one: no lies. And that includes omission of the truth. I know who you are, where you came from, who you used to be. I know about the secret order, how you ended up under control, and the mission you were put on. I don’t need you to hide that from me. However, I know your main interest is yourself, and I am just a means to an end. While I appreciate that this particular circ*mstance will keep me safe, seeing as you need me and my companions to help you end this stupid plan, I also need an element of respect and understanding from you, even if you don’t actually care for me that much.” The Emperor raises his shoulders, his head tilting slightly as he analyses you, pondering over your words.

“Number two: I need you to understand that I’m the one with an overarching understanding of this crazy situation. While you may be a mind flayer and understand things from your own perspective, I have seen this whole thing go down a multitude of different ways, and I have some pretty f*cking valuable insight. If we’re going to work in collaboration, I need us to actually work together, ok? I need you to genuinely listen if I make a suggestion.” He is still starting at you, giving you nothing, so you just keep going.

“Number three: I need you to keep my secret safe. Only the githyanki knows so far, and while that went better than I expected, I can’t say the same for the rest of them. I have no idea how they’ll react if they find out, and especially so if they don’t hear it from me. I suppose it’s only a matter of time until they find out anyway, but if you want the rest of us to actually stick together, I will be the one to tell them. On the opposite end of that, I will return the favour. I imagine they’re all getting a visit from a ‘Dream Guardian’ right about now, and I will not say a word about anything else until you reveal yourself to them. I’m sure you have similar reasons to me as for why you’d want to keep your secret a little longer.” Thankfully, your shot nerves don’t show as you speak your words with confidence, but inside, you’re terrified. You f*cking hope this works.

You continue to lock eyes, a battle of wills to see who breaks first. This is pretty much your only chance; if he doesn’t trust you, doesn’t deem you worthy, you’re dead. Well, maybe not dead, but you may as well be. You’ll probably wake up Lae’zel and ask her to strike you through the heart before you’d even consider becoming a mind flayer. You think back to what Astarion said that day near the beach; you have to disagree with him, tentacles wouldn’t look lovely with your complexion at all.

Thankfully, the illithid seems to crack before you do.

“… Fine. You make a valid point. It would be unwise of me to disregard your knowledge, just as it would be unwise for you to disregard my assistance. Consider these rules met.” You breathe a sigh of relief before he speaks again. “However, in return, if I should need your assistance, I expect you to offer it.”

“Well, that’s a pretty decent bargain, I must say. Obviously, as long as you tell me what I’m assisting with, no lies, then I don’t see an issue.” He nods his head slightly to you, pleased with your response.

“Well, we are in agreement, then. We will form an alliance.”

“So we shall. Do we… shake on it? I don’t know how this works – I mean, I didn’t even think your kind actually existed until a few days ago. I don’t know what the custom is for making a deal with an illithid.” The Emperor laughs, his head lowering slightly for a moment before reaching out a hand to you. You warily take it; it doesn’t feel how you’d expected. It feels rubbery, almost. Like petting a dolphin. Weird Thankfully, you manage to hide your shudder.

“Oh, one thing I did want to ask, are you the one who put this damn thing in my eye? That’s the one thing I could never figure out, you lot are pretty indistinguishable at times,” you ask, raising a brow at him.

“No, it was one of my kin. But I was aboard the ship at the time – seeing as you’re aware of my past, you know that I was entrusted on this mission by the Chosen Three. Gortash, specifically. We were locating the prism we are currently held within; we found it with the cleric you travel with after she had managed to survive the retrieval mission. We also found the githyanki nearby before making our way to the city, attempting to slay us for her leader. It wasn’t until I was in the presence of the artifact that I was able to finally break free of the hold the Elder Brain.” Huh, he said Elder Brain. Guess he hasn’t seen everything, yet. Interesting. “I suppose you know already that it was I who stopped you from falling to your death in the crash. Thankfully, I had already made my way into the prism at that point. Seeing the dragon and the various cambions, as well as the bodies of my crew, I figured it was my best escape route.”

“Smart, to be honest. It was a bit of a mess.”

“Yes, as you say, self-preservation is quite important to me. I hope we can both achieve what we’re setting out for.”

“Hopefully. And, thank you, for not turning me into a squid- um, no offence!” You clasp a hand to your mouth in embarrassment – of course you’d say something f*cking stupid, you idiot. Thankfully, he laughs again, his dead-looking eyes somehow filling with delight.

“None taken. Although, were you to change, I am sure you would enjoy the new form. But I will allow you to make that decision. Now, I have other matters that need attending to.” He nods to you as you return a sheepish smile to him, still blushing over your faux pas. “Your companions will be aware they are safe, but you were correct. They will have seen my humanoid form in their own dreams. If you keep my identity secret, I will keep yours too.”

You nod in affirmation.

“Good. I have used enough of both of our time. Enjoy your rest.”

-

When you awaken, the sun is just beginning to peak over the horizon. Your companions are still sound asleep, Karlach’s telltale snores giving away her deep slumber. You rise quietly as Scratch slightly stirs next to your bedroll, but he ultimately decides sleep is more favourable. You begin tiptoeing to the waterfront whilst trying to avoid waking the others, taking in the beauty of the sunrise - the sky is painted with pinks, oranges, and the last remnants of the inky blue night. Only a speckle of the brightest stars are left visible, the moon pale against the cosmic backdrop. It’s absolutely breathtaking; even in all the skies you’d seen back home, none of them could compare to this, the peace, the tranquillity. You sit in silence, alone with nothing but your internal monologue, but even that decides to cut you some slack for a few minutes.

You sit there, unsure if it’s for minutes or hours, as the day slowly comes into view. The sun is about halfway through rising above the waterline, its orange hue reflecting in the water in front of you, banishing the last few brushstrokes of night from view. You hear slight shuffling as one of your companions wakes, their footsteps making their way towards you, but you can’t bring yourself to look away from the masterpiece in front of you. Neither can Lae’zel, it appears, as she sits beside you, her figure barely in your peripheral vision. You both sit in silence, staring, admiring, until she finally speaks.

“Did you have sunrises on your world?” she asks. You look to her, her eyes still gazing upon the horizon, the orange hues of the sun reflecting from them. The hazel in her irises is illuminated, the vast shades of green and brown amplified under the warm glow. Even for someone as unusual as she is to you, you can’t help but admire her otherworldly beauty; how her skin looks radiant, her hair luscious, her features carved from her face with a divine skilled hand.

“Yes. They’re pretty similar to here, and there probably are places I could find a similar view,” you sigh, looking back to the scene before you. “But not where I lived. And I was always too busy to have time to actually experience one. It’s nice to have a moment to appreciate natural beauty.” Lae’zel lets out a small sound in agreement. “Have you ever watched one before? I don’t know if they’d have them, up on the Tears.”

“Yes… and no. The sun would make its way around the asteroid the crèche is situated on, but the colours are not the same. There is no sky like there is here, it is just the vast expanse of the cosmos, there is nowhere for the colours to go. It would simply get brighter on the surface and the larger light visible amongst the millions of stars, signalling the start of another day of combat training.” She’s never seen a sunrise?

Huh. She really is kind of like you, in a way. She also landed slap-bang in the middle of this chaos, taken from another world with very little understanding of how everything works here. Looking at her, she can’t be very old at all, not like the others, at least, if she ages similarly to humans. Early twenties at best; she’s still trying to figure herself out, find out who she is. And now she also has to figure out social propriety, customs, culture, all for people who couldn’t give two sh*ts about her own kind. You kind of feel bad for making fun of the ‘teefling’ comment. At least you have a bit of background knowledge, and this world isn’t completely different to your own. Lae’zel, however, she’s completely different. She looks different, speaks different, has different values to everyone else. And now she’s responsible for helping to save them all. No, you’re not that different after all, even if you do have very few similarities.

“Hey, Lae’zel,” you say, your finger tracing circles in the sand below you. “Thank you for trusting me. For the second chance. I’d completely understand if you were to have drowned me in this river last night.”

“It is done. You will prove yourself honest or a liar one way or another, and you will be dealt with accordingly.” Geez. “But, should you be telling the truth, it is good that you have informed me. It will be useful to have your understanding to help get these wretched tadpoles removed.” She finally looks to you, her brow furrowed. “I would be right in assuming you also were visited by a guardian in your dreams?” You bite your lip, considering how to respond.

“… Yes. It looks like we’re safe, for now at least,” you half-lie. Well, you technically were. It’s just, you actually know who the visitor is, as well as how they’re keeping you safe.

“Apparently so. They informed me that I should use the tadpole’s powers.” She huffs.

“What did you say?”

“I threatened to skewer their abdomen and wear their small intestine as a necklace if they breathed another word about engaging in disgusting ghaik behaviour.”

You clasp your hand to your mouth so that you don’t wake the rest of the camp with your unruly giggling. Trust Lae’zel of all people to terrorise The Emperor, you’re actually kind of glad she did. He could use knocking down a peg or two. Her features soften at your joy, the corner of her mouth curving slightly upwards. You’ll take that as a win.

“Dear god, Lae, we really can’t take you anywhere, can we?”

“You do not need to take me places. I am more than capable of making my own way.” The struggle to keep your laugh quiet is killing you, little snorts breaking free as you smother your whole face in an attempt to soften the sound.

“No- it’s a phrase, a colloquialism. It means that your behaviour could use some work, especially if you’re going to threaten every person you come across,” you giggle, wiping a tear from your eye. “Although, I can’t deny that I love that about you. Your fierceness, your boldness. I could learn a thing or two from you.”

“Well, if your sharp tongue against the devils is anything to go by, I’m sure you gave the visitor a good talking-to yourself.” You frown for a moment, before ultimately nodding in agreement. She’s not wrong, you suppose. “And it is the sign of any great githyanki warrior, the ability to instil fear into the hearts of your enemies. You bring shame to them all if you cannot use your words tactically and with precision.” Well, that’s a pretty good description of how she speaks, to be fair.

“Still, you impress me nonetheless.” She nods to you before turning again, the both of you sitting in silence. You continue to watch the sun rise, thinking over all that is to come in the days ahead. About the battle at the camp, the Underdark, the Shadow-Cursed lands. About all the people you need to try and remember to save, the items you need to collect, the places you need to visit. Plus, how you’re going to tell the others about your situation. You think it’s best you still leave it until after you’ve dealt with the goblins – at least they will trust you a little bit more by that point, maybe. Or maybe not. Who knows, maybe you’re just overthinking this. You could possibly just let it slip out and they mightn’t give a damn at all, or they could hate you just for knowing all of their intimate details. Oh, wait a minute…

“Hey, Lae’zel?” She grunts softly. “So, about my secret… I was wondering, would you mind keeping it, well, secret, until I’ve had a chance to tell the others? I’m not sure how they’d react, considering the extent of what I know. And I don’t want it to come between us all if it came out at the wrong time, or from someone who isn’t me.” She lifts a brow to you, her eyes flickering briefly over your body.

“I suppose. The last thing we need is bickering over even more things that are beyond our control. Consider it done.” You breathe a soft sigh of relief, massaging your palms into the warming sand.

“Thank you. Just so you know, the same goes vice-versa. I won’t tell them what I know about you, unless you want me to.” She nods again, the both of you returning to the tranquillity of the scene in front of you.

-

After around twenty minutes, you hear shuffling from one of the other tents as another companion rises from their slumber. You lift your head over your shoulder as you see Astarion making his way towards you, his normally perfect curls in disarray from his extended rest. Even though you know he trances due to his elven traits, it looks like he’s been tossing and turning all night.

“Good rest, sleepyhead?” you chuckle, as Astarion begins to furiously ruffle his hair back into place.

“Gods, you would not believe what happened in my dreams last night!” he retorts, plonking himself beside you. You reach up and move a particularly boisterous curl that won’t stay put, the elf rolling his eyes as you do. The three of you spend the next few minutes regaling about the intrusion to your slumber, about the possible meaning behind it. Well, the two of them do. You mostly try and stay quiet to avoid raising suspicion. Eventually, the conversation dwindles off again as you watch the sun begin to finally lift from the water on the horizon, its whole shape now finally visible in the sky.

“You know, I didn’t think I’d see another sunrise again,” Astarion murmurs, his jaw resting on the arms laced over his knees. In this light, the red hue of his eyes looks orange, his silver hair looking an almost honey-blonde. You can’t help but wonder how much of his appearance his condition changed, seeing how almost human he looks in this moment, despite the pointed ears. You study the lines in his face, the creases around his eyes, the small veins in his skin. For a moment, you see behind his mask, see the hurt at what has been, the joy at his freedom, the fear at the possibility of losing what he has. Your heart pangs, you would burn this whole world to the ground before you’d let anyone lay a finger on him again.

“I can imagine it’s been a while,” you reply softly. He lets out a small laugh, reaching a hand up to rub at his eye.

“Yes, you could say that, I suppose. I’d forgotten what they looked like, in all honesty.” Dear god, you could cry.

“I’ve never actually been awake early enough to experience one, I guess. Always had other stuff to do,” you say, looking sheepishly at your hands in your lap. “You kind of take them for granted when you think you’ll wake up to another chance at watching one tomorrow.” He scoffs, his gaze not moving from the radiant star.

“I imagine I was the same, before this. Had better things to do with my time than sit and watch the sky.”

“As pleasant as it may be, we still need to plan for the day. I have wasted enough time this morning watching a ball of light when there are still preparations to be made,” Lae’zel states as she rises to her feet, shaking sand furiously from her camp clothes.

“I think I’ll give it a few more minutes before I go, I’ll get a start on breakfast before the others get up,” you respond, flicking your eyes up to her briefly. “If that’s ok with you?” She nods in response, turning on her heels, leaving the two of you beneath the sun’s warm rays. You turn to Astarion once more, who is still transfixed on the sky.

“Do you think we will truly be free of these tadpoles?” he ponders aloud.

“Um, I don’t know. We still haven’t found anyone who can actually get rid of them, it seems. But at least our nighttime pal has our backs covered from changing.”

“Hm. I guess. But what if we could… find a way to keep them? Make them work for us? Use these powers for our own doing?” Oh dear. Oh, Astarion, you poor, sweet soul.

“I… I don’t know. It seems like a huge risk - we still don’t really know what we’re dealing with. We don’t want to be getting ourselves into something we can’t come back from. But I am glad at least that you can be here, with me, right now. I’m glad you have this,” you sigh, resting your ear on your knees as you face him. He finally breaks his line of sight with the horizon to briefly look to you, an unrecognisable look on his face.

“Something to bear in mind, at least. But Lae’zel is right, we have big things to focus on today. I can’t sit around hoping I’ll get a tan just yet.” You giggle softly, the both of you rising to your feet.

“So, we go and rescue the druid, scope out the camp, save the tieflings. I mean, honestly, that’s barely a to-do list,” you chuckle sarcastically.

“Oh, you’ve missed something quite important off that list, dear,” he says dryly, a mischievous smile on his face.

“Huh, really? What other super-imposing tasks do we have to focus on today, then?”

“Do you really think we’re just going to waltz into a camp full of potential enemies when you can barely lift a finger in battle?” He steps closer to you, pulling a dagger from his side. He begins twirling it with ease between his fingers, the morning light reflecting off the metal blade. He leans his face closer to yours, his body merely inches from you. “No, no, no, darling. This morning, you and I have some studying to do, my little student.”

Chapter 16: Go For The Throat

Chapter Text

Astarion at least allows you to go and make breakfast before he tortures you with endless drills. Thankfully, when your companions awaken, they agree that it’s a good idea for you to get some training in before you go walking headfirst into danger, so they decide to gather final supplies for the day ahead from the grove - after agreeing to take a good chunk of your horde of treasure to barter with, of course.

For the first ten minutes of your training, he meticulously analyses how you hold the weapons, where you’re putting pressure, how you move them about in your hands from forward-facing to reverse grip. Your wrists are getting sore from the number of times he bats them, consistently making you drop the blades, like a cat pawing at a ball of yarn. Finally, when you eventually manage to keep a firm grip on the knives despite his barrage against your forearms, he hesitantly agrees to show you a cutting technique.

“See here,” he says, etching marks in a circular pattern into the bark of a nearby tree, “how we have this clock shape. You’re going to go in for the slash at one o’clock, drag it down through the wood to seven, then lift up to eleven and slash down to five. Then rinse and repeat.” He shows you the motion with his own dagger, his arms moving fluidly through the X-shaped manoeuvre as bark spits out of the tree trunk. “Keep going until I say to stop.”

You begin as he says, dragging the knife through the marks he has left on the tree for you. You barely make a dent on your first attempt, much to Astarion’s dismay.

“Good gods, are we tickling the damn thing? SLICE, damn it!” He steps behind you, grasping your arm as you go to pull down once more, forcing more pressure into your attack. The feeling of him against you, gripping at your elbow, the intensity of his presence, it almost makes you drop the blade. Almost, though. You’ve annoyed him enough to even think about doing anything except allow him to guide you, even if you are momentarily distracted by the feeling of his curls brushing against your cheek. You watch as a piece of the trunk splinters away, the discarded wood flittering to the dirt as he drags your arm up and pulls again. You know you’re blushing, but you do your best to focus on the tree in front of you.

He steps back as you go to slash once more, barely stopping yourself from groaning at the loss of his touch. Come on, pull yourself together. With more force, you push the blade purposefully through the wood as you drag it down, small flecks of sawdust spitting from the gash. You pull up again, repeating the motion, and a chunk of wood breaks away this time.

“Hm. Better. But you need to build up speed, it will be your number one friend in a fight. You won’t have time to caress an enemy on the battlefield, especially when they’re coming at you with a greatsword. You want to get as much damage in as you can before they can touch you. Keep going.”

Following his instructions, you hold your breath as you begin trying to pick up momentum, paying close attention to how much pressure you’re putting into the swing. Too much, you’ll injure your wrists. Too little, you’ll do less damage. And piss him off, you suppose. He studies you intently as you move, keeping a keen eye on your grip, your stance, nudging your feet apart with his own when he gets dissatisfied. Eventually, just as you feel your breath growing ragged and your arm becoming dead from its out-of-the-ordinary exertion, he sharply yells.

“Switch hands!” So, you do. You repeat the process with your non-dominant hand, much sloppier than with the other. Once again, he huffs as he annoyedly steps in momentarily to guide your movements once more, but they thankfully start improving as you grow used to the motion. You continue for another few minutes, the X in the bark becoming thicker and deeper as you chisel away at the poor, abused tree. He continues to instruct you to switch between your two hands, the process becoming a second nature to you after a while.

“Reverse grip!” You allow the blades to twist graciously in your palms in a fluid motion as you switch to an overhand slice, barely interrupting your flow. You notice Astarion’s mouth slightly curl upwards in your peripheral vision, a similar expression occurring on your own as you feel the colour gently rising to your cheeks. You keep going, him instructing you to reverse your slashes completely into an upwards slice after getting used to the hand new position, and he continues interjecting periodically, telling you which motion to change to. After a further fifteen minutes, you are a sweaty, red-faced mess, but you adapt to each command like it’s second nature.

“Well,” he smiles dryly, “you’ve certainly shown that tree who’s boss. I’m sure the forest is absolutely quivering in your presence. But this is still nothing compared to a murderous loon with bloodlust on the brain.” He steps towards you, your chest still heaving with your exertion, brandishing his own knife. “Show me what you can do.”

You barely have a moment to think before he’s lunging towards you, his dagger looming overhead as it rapidly comes closer. On instinct, you jump back, Astarion momentarily looking shocked before a faint look of approval ghosts over his features. You bat at his hand, similarly to how he had to you previously, and lunge at his forearm with a downward slice over the thick leather of his gauntlet.

“Well, well, well, looks like someone was paying attention,” he grins, returning to full height. “Jumping back if you can is the right thing to do. Nine times out of ten, the idiot coming at you is going for power, not precision, and they’ll have murder on their mind. The moment where their swing misses is your prime time to strike, and if you can damage their fighting arm, that makes it harder for them to come back and hit you. If there’s no direct line to a major artery or internal organ, disarming or reducing movement is key.” He returns to his full height, reviewing the scuff on his glove. There’s barely a score through the leather, thankfully, but he raises his brow in admiration regardless. “I’d also suggest using the slice motion to go for leg muscles. Stops their movement almost entirely if you can score through a tendon.”

“Ew, noted,” you grimace, trying not to think about the gore of open bodily wounds. As if he can read your mind, Astarion rolls his eyes, placing his hands on his hips as he meets your gaze.

“Dear, the people you’re trying to stab will not have the same aversion to seeing your blood spilled as you do. The sooner you accept that we will not get through this without carving up a few bodies, the better. Now,” he says, grabbing his weapon once more, “let’s see how you fare against someone who is expecting your tactics.”

You both face each other, feet apart, bracing for the first attack. Almost like a mirror image, you each begin circling each other, knives brandished in front of you, waiting for the first strike. Astarion moves first, flexing the blade in front of you, and that’s enough to send you jumping back. He, however, quickly pulls back, leaping towards you, ducking down, and swipes the inside of your dominant arm with one of his, sending the limb flaying outwards. You try to slice at him with the other, but he’s too fast. He brings in his other arm and swipes underneath it, sending that one wide too. He moves even closer to you, swiping a leg beneath yours, quickly grabbing the back of your head as he takes you to the ground, his blade pressed softly against your jugular.

You gulp, hard, the weight of him on top of you almost too intense to bear. His face is inches from yours, his chest softly heaving against you, one knee placed delicately between your legs. His hand grips tenderly at the hair at the back of your skull. The blood rushes to your face in… embarrassment? He did just completely knock you on your arse in a second, after all. Or maybe something much more… ardent. You scold yourself for getting lost in the moment, it’s not like he’s actually interested in you. He’s teaching you how to f*cking survive. You do notice his own shallow breaths, though, and the way he is looking at you through his heavy lids, his eyes fixed on you. Stop it, you’re being stupid.

“Well, darling,” he drawls, grinning widely at you. “It appears you’re not as refined as you thought. I managed to get right at that pretty little neck of yours in… what, three seconds flat?” You roll your eyes, pushing at his chest playfully to get him to roll off of you.

“Ok, ok, I knew I wouldn’t get the best of you. Hoped I might’ve lasted a bit longer than that, though,” you reply, the both of you returning to your feet. “Go on then, tell me how appalling my stance was, what was wrong with my arm placement.” He chuckles, grabbing your arms once more and pushing them into place.

“You were here,” he says, before placing your arms into a more crossed position, your non-dominant hand tucked under the opposite arm. “When you need to be here. More of your chest is guarded, and you see how the knife is now covering your ribs? Stops me from sneaking in and getting you there, or doing exactly what I just did and knocking you wild. It also means you can come at me with the overhand and quickly respond with a jab from this one.” He mirrors the placements he has you in, showing you what he wants you to do. You repeat the motions back to him, earning yourself another approving nod. You know, you’re getting quite fond of those.

You both return to your stances, facing each other, and the circling begins again. This time, however, you move forwards first, Astarion’s blade swinging up towards you as you do. You quickly side-step it, using your tucked hand to jab at the back of his palm, causing him to drop his weapon as he hisses. You then swing down your dominant arm towards his shoulder, his other arm swinging round to stop you. Quick as a flash, you spin around, dodging his jab, and bring both of your knives towards his opposing exposed side. Thankfully, you have the sense to not actually let the blades hit him, releasing your grip on them as your fists pummel into the side of his ribs, the weapons clattering to the ground. Astarion gasps, his eyes wide in glee.

“Oh, you good girl, look at you! See? You’re not completely useless,” he jests, taking in a sharp breath from the impact of your punch. You blush at his backhanded compliment, pleased at his approval of your technique.

“No, I guess not. You’d better watch out, I’ll be giving you a run for your money soon enough,” you giggle, staring at the floor as your cheeks flush once more. You reach down to pick up your discarded weapons, dusting off the dirt on your tunic. Astarion steps in front of you, tucking his finger under your chin, forcing you to meet his ruby eyes.

“Darling, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. But… You did well,” he breathes, sensuality dripping from his words. Your eyes go wide under his stare, and you can’t help but bite at your lip over the intensity of it. The faint lines around his eyes crease as a ghost of a smile paints his lips. “You’ll definitely have a much better chance of taking down a goblin or two. But, my dear, there’s something very important you seem to be forgetting.” His voice is dark, sultry, and you’re a f*cking sucker for it. You’re enthralled on every word that leaves his lips, your mind focused on nothing but the face in front of you.

“O-oh? And… what’s that?” you breathe, barely able to maintain yourself. You can barely even think as his thumb trails across your jaw, the faint sensation sending shockwaves through your whole body. You’re an absolute mess under his grip, any semblance of control absolutely decimated.

“Well, darling,” he says, his other hand gently stroking up the length of your arm. You swallow hard, your body frozen still, longing to hold onto this moment. You feel heat pooling in your belly, too far gone to give a sh*t. “You’ve forgotten not to let your guard down.” What?

He spins around you, his hand remaining in place against your jaw, and once again, his other hand is pressing his blade against the artery in your neck, his firm body pressed against your back, his arms weighing down the top of yours. Where the hell did that come from?! You grab at his arm, attempting to make any space you can between you and the biting steel, but it’s completely useless. You feel the sharpness of his knife pressing against your skin, it faintly cutting at you, a trickle of blood escaping it.

Looking up at him, you see his eyes going wide, his pupils dilating as he looks over the crimson liquid now coating the weapon. He stills, his body going completely rigid, before slowly pulling it towards his face. He sticks out his tongue as he drags the blade across the flat of his tongue, savouring your taste as his eyes roll back into his head. Oh, f*ck. There’s something about seeing him relish your flavour, your essence, that drives you f*cking wild. You turn to jelly in his grip, your body going limp against his as you continue to stare achingly at him. He looks back down to you, a drop of your blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, his eyes flickering briefly to the wound on your neck, his breathing erratic.

“May I? Have a taste?” he breathes, the fingers still at your jaw reaching to coax themselves in the crimson fluid that’s still oozing. You let out a shaky breath as you nod, your eyes fixed on his. “Words, darling.”

“Y-yes,” you whisper, your mouth barely able to form a cohesive statement. You bare your neck to him as he brings his mouth to it, his own breaths laboured as they reverberate against your skin. It sets every nerve you have on fire, their electricity crackling through every inch of your body, igniting the flames within you. You close your eyes as you sense him brace for the bite, and then his sharp fangs are upon you once more.

It still hurts, just as much as last time he fed from you, but it fades quicker this time around at least. Between your already hazy mind and your incessant need to have him close to you, the pain subsides quickly into an overpowering pleasure that completely takes over you. You soften even further against him, your frame almost completely limp against him, clinging at his arm across your chest in an effort to keep yourself upright. He grunts and moans as your life force flows into him, your blood filling him up, offering him his own form of satisfaction. You gnaw furiously at your lip to try and stop yourself from doing the same, but you do have a minor slipup here and there. Well, you’re only human, after all. Or, well, elven now, you suppose.

As you feel your energy flow through to him, your knees begin to buckle under the increasing strain of standing upright. Almost instinctively, Astarion holds you tighter as he pulls you to the floor, the ground a welcome respite for your weary limbs. He continues to cradle you as he suckles at your neck, licking at any droplets that threaten to break free from his lips, his other hand wrapped around the tendrils of your hair. The sensation is overwhelming; you think you could die happily here, nestled in his arms, the irrepressible bliss threatening to consume you whole. Your eyes begin to roll back into your skull as you feel yourself succumbing to the peace, the pleasure, the tranquillity. Your hands loosen their grip on his arm, your head lolling back against his padded shoulder. You could just fall asleep here, safe, contained. The serene blackness begins to overtake your vision, unconsciousness singing you its siren song.

Suddenly, Astarion springs his mouth free from your neck, gasping and panting for air as the last of your blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. The jolt of his release springs your eyes back open, but the fatigue riddles you. He laps at the last droplets, the sensation enough to send a pleasant shiver up your spine as you gasp softly.

“Oh dear, you really shouldn’t have let your guard down,” he murmurs, wiping the last of the crimson liquid from his lips with his thumb before sucking up the final captured drops. He looks down at you as you slide down his body, your exhaustion making it almost impossible for you to even try sitting upright. You barely manage to breathe out a soft laugh at his words. “Come on, darling.”

Placing his hands underneath you, he begins gently lifting you beneath your armpits until you are sitting up against his body, his sturdy torso a support for your depleted frame. Your breathing is shallow as he lifts your jaw to scan your face, analysing just how much he has taken from you. His eyes flicker down to your necklace, the Amulet of Silvanus.

“Can you use it? Or did you need me to do it for you?” You shake your head wearily, using what is left of your strength to lift your palms to the jewellery, clasping it in your palm. You’ve got this, right? You try your best to remember Gale’s teachings, how you should imagine… what was it? A key? A lock? Which was which? Your mind is far too fuzzy to think clearly, to remember the steps you need to take. No, you make the key, the necklace is the lock. You need to find the threads of the weave first, right? It’s just, you’re so tired, you haven’t a clue where to look for them. You twiddle the necklace in your grip, thinking furiously about what you need to do. You drop your head back in frustration, it banging softly into Astarion’s shoulder. He lets out an annoyed huff, turning your body slightly until you are leaning sideways against him, your bottom perched between his thighs with your legs hanging over one of his.

“Good gods, woman, give the damn thing here.” His deft fingers unleash the clasp at the back of your neck as he snatches the necklace from your weak grasp. You let out a soft groan of annoyance – you totally could have figured it out by yourself, you think, but ultimately, it’s probably for the best he gets it done before you pass out from thinking too much. He holds it within his own hands, a pale blue glow encompassing them, before you feel the sweet relief of life coming back to your veins as his magic washes over you. You sigh in relief, the energy returning to your muscles, flush returning to your cheeks. As you begin to sit upright, his fingers softly dance over the puncture wounds on your neck, making sure that nothing is still leaking from them.

“Thank you, Astarion,” you sigh, arching your back as you stretch out your aching muscles. He scoffs, shaking his head at you.

“Thank me? I almost completely drained you. I should be worried about our upcoming battle, considering your complete disregard for your own survival,” he chides, pointing his arched brow in your direction.

“Pfft. Well, you’ll fight better with some sustenance in you, at least. Probably a lot more useful than most of what I can do.” He rolls his eyes at you, before promptly rising to his feet.

“Wait here.” He stalks over to the campfire, looking at the breakfast supplies that still haven’t been cleared up from earlier. You see him picking up some of the leftover food, an apple, a slice of bread, and some cold sausages that Scratch hasn’t gotten his paws into yet, as well as the last of the herbal tea that Shadowheart had brewed earlier in the day. He returns, practically throwing the food at you, his expression almost frowning. “Eat.”

You smile, picking at the piece of bread and popping a small chunk in your mouth before taking the goblet of tea from him. A mug or a teacup would’ve been ideal, but you suppose ceramic crockery might be a bit of a tall order out here in the wilderness. It really is a case of you get what you get, sometimes. You do, however, feel a faint warmth spreading in your chest at the concept of Astarion ensuring that you get some nourishment of your own after he feeds from you, even if he is a grumpy arse when he has to be kind.

You thank him again, taking a sip of the tea. Even cold, it’s still pretty damn refreshing. It seems Shadowheart might have a secret stash of honey lying around somewhere, considering how sweet the drink is, and it’s exactly what you need after a morning of fighting and having your body completely drained. You can tell Astarion is about to go for another sarcastic comment, but thankfully, you see your companions coming into view as Karlach bounds up ahead of them all, a gleam in her eye and an infectious grin etched on her face.

“Soldier, fangs, hi! We found loads of potions and stuff, and we managed to shift all your sh*t for it! Honestly, Wyll really does know how to strike a good bargain,” she beams, throwing her leather satchel to the ground in front of you. You were really glad you managed to find that hiding in one of the empty buildings in the village, it’s the only bag she’s managed to not burn to a crisp yet. Wyll follows behind, smiling bashfully at Karlach’s words of praise.

“Well, when you’ve roamed the wilds for as long as I have, you learn how to get as much as you can out of those traders. You never know when you’re going to run into another one.” He takes a seat beside you, rifling through the items he managed to score for the group and divvying them up between everyone. “Ok, so, do we all remember the plan?”

“Go in, cause chaos, hope for the best?” you chuckle, taking a bite out of the crisp, red apple. Wyll returns one to you, playfully punching your shoulder.

“Attagirl.”

Chapter 17: Onward, In Her Name

Chapter Text

The group decides it’s best for them all to grab some lunch before you head out; after all, who knows when you’ll get another chance to rest? Since both you and Astarion have recently both fed, you decline the invitation to eat, but offer to help cook anyway - him opting instead to practice some combat drills himself on a new tree. You notice Gale isn’t present to watch over the cooking pot with you like normal, so you head over to his tent to see where he’s gotten to. Seeing him in that unfortunate pained stance once more, you haven’t even uttered a word before you’ve bolted back to your pack to grab a pair of gloves you’ve been saving for this moment. You sprint back, basically launching the gauntlets at him when you get there, just missing his face with your haphazard aim.

“Oops, sorry! I had these saved for when you might need some more Weave to snack on. You got things from here?” Gale scoffs at you, picking up the gloves from the ground, a faint look of annoyance shadowed by the pain on his face.

“Thank you, friend, but I’m not eating the damn things like some lunatic fabric-gourmet! It is a meticulous process of absorbing the magical elements, consuming the power within, not digesting the fibres-” he starts, his finger wagging furiously at you, before you promptly cut him off with a giggle.

“I’m only messing around, Gale. I know, I know, but go on – get yourself sorted. It’s just me working on this meal right now, and I’m fairly certain that Karlach’s going to try gnawing on someone’s leg in a minute if I don’t get this done soon,” you jest, looking back over your shoulder to your fiery companion. She is pacing restlessly by the campfire, her eyes locked on the hunk of meat you have laid out to prepare, practically foaming at the mouth with hunger. It’s funny how hard it is to keep up with her appetite, considering you only had breakfast a few hours prior. Gale smiles resignedly, his lips forming that tight-lipped curve that seems to be tattooed to his features.

“Fine, yes, thank you. Genuinely. I’ll be there in a moment. Besides, if I were to be taking a bite out of these, I would absolutely need a good vintage red to pair with the tang of the leather. Would be wasted, otherwise.” He winks at you, slightly waving the gloves in your direction as you throw your head back with laughter. You pop back out of the tent, hearing the whoosh as he absorbs the power from them, and you bound back to the lump of meat. Karlach meets your gaze as you return, her eyes going wide with impatience.

“How long is it going to be, soldier? I could eat an ogre!” she groans, clutching at her stomach. You giggle, shaking your head in amusem*nt.

“Give me a chance, Karlach! You’ll be fed soon enough. Here,” you say, passing her a piece of cheese, “snack on this for the time being.” She gladly takes it as you toss it to avoid getting burnt by her fingers, happily chomping on the wedge, it slowly melting in her hands and pulling from her lips as she chews. You’re actually a little jealous at this accidental ability of hers, fondue on tap wouldn’t be too terrible. You begin carving at the cut of meat before Gale finally sticks out his head and makes his way to you, his brows knitted together in contemplation.

“Everything alright, Gale?” you ask, your face softening at the look of concern on his. He once again gives you a tight-lipped smile, rubbing softly at the mark on his fuzzy, tanned chest.

“Yes, yes, quite alright. It’s just… The, hunger, I suppose, hasn’t quite been satisfied as much as it normally would. Like a fire being put out by a gentle drizzle instead of the pouring rain I would typically expect.” He scrunches his face at you as he takes the knife from your hand, taking over the carving duties as you begin preparing some of the vegetables you’ve collected throughout your journey.

“Well, if you find a way to calm down a fire, I’m all ears, magic man!” gurgles Karlach, her mouth and hands dripping with melted cheese as she tilts her head back to stop it falling down her chin. Maybe you’re not so jealous, after all. That does look like a bit of a mess.

“Jesus- Karlach, let’s find you a plate, you’re getting that everywhere!” you exclaim, clambering around for one of the metal ones you had collected just for her. You hold it out in front of her as she leans over it, tendrils of the gooey substance oozing down. Scratch decides to pop up at this moment, lapping his tongue at the spillages on the floor. God damn it, this is absolute chaos.

“I say this with full adoration and respect, Karlach, but you’re a walking disaster. Please don’t change.”

Her eyes light up as she bears a goofy smile, her teeth absolutely coated in melted cheese. Honestly, you don’t think you could love this woman any more. You fold in half with laughter, your insides aching from the exertion of your abdominal muscles.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way, soldier.”

-

When Karlach is finally fed (with much less mess, this time) and the gang is finally happy with the plan of action, you gather the last of your supplies and head out for the road. Naturally, Lae’zel and the tiefling end up taking the lead, the boys in the middle engaging in an animated discussion over whether they would rather take on fifty duck-sized trolls or one troll-sized duck (the current conclusion is the trolls), and you and Shadowheart remain towards the rear of the party. She is unusually quiet, lost in her own thoughts; she didn’t even make fun of Gale for thinking he could take on at least twelve tiny trolls in hand-to-hand combat.

“Earth- uh, Toril to Shadowheart! You ok in there?” you ask, ducking your head sideways as you turn to face her. She shakes her own briefly in an attempt to reset her mind. She sighs softly as she turns to you, blinking furiously.

“Yes, I, uh, sorry. I was miles away.” She offers a small smile before anxiously scratching at her neck. Clearly, something is bothering her, but you’re unsure whether to pry. You know how much she hates opening up about herself at this point in the game, but you also can’t help yourself from wanting to ease her load. She looks like a lost little child right now, her brows knit together in contemplation, the expression highlighted further by the black crystal in her circlet.

“Is there… something on your mind? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. You just look like you could do with getting something off your chest,” you soothe, crossing your arms across your chest. She tucks her lips between her teeth as she continues to frown, looking ahead to the rest of the group that is walking slightly faster than the two of you as your steps gradually begin to slow. She inhales deeply, meeting your gaze once more.

“Yes, I suppose. You’ve been patient enough with me, despite having no reason to trust me. I suppose it’s only fair I let you know what’s going on, especially with what we’re about to go into,” she replies, gripping at her arm in comfort. You watch her expression closely as she battles with what to say to you.

It’s sad, really. If you were just honest, she wouldn’t be feeling so uncomfortable about opening up, bearing her soul to you. On the other hand, there would’ve been no guarantee that she’d just be totally fine with you knowing all of her deepest secrets without her knowing who the hell you were. It's not like you would trust a stranger you crash landed with out of a spaceship owned by mindreading aliens without any indication that they were actually there to help you, who also knows everything about you and your history. Damn, this whole situation really is messed up, isn’t it?

A few moments go by before Shadowheart inhales sharply, finally opening her mouth to speak to you.

“I worship Shar, the Mistress of the Night. She utilises the power, the strengths of loss, and it is my mission to do her bidding,” she states, staring straight ahead. She slowly turns to you, trying to gauge your reaction, her green eyes locking with yours. Bless her heart, you think to yourself. You couldn’t hate Shadowheart if you tried.

“Yes, I, uh, I guessed as much. Respectfully, you don’t hide it very well.” You giggle as she shows a faint look of shock; did she really think she was doing a good job of hiding it? You’re pretty sure she’s mentioned the Lady of Loss at least 6 times today alone, plus the big old symbol of Shar across her forehead isn’t helping her case at all.

“There aren’t many who would relish in the company of someone like me… But you’re different, I suppose.”

“Don’t worry, your religion is your own and I would be a complete arsehole to judge you for it. Besides, you’ve proven to be nothing but an ally, a friend even. I have no reason to hold you in anything except high regard.” She smiles softly, the sunlight gleaming across her pale irises. You know, even for a cleric, she looks exceedingly radiant.

“Well, that makes you better than most. Thank you. I was on a mission from my cloister when I was captured by the mind flayer ship, to collect the artifact. I… I can’t say anymore,” she says, her final words trailing off. You smile reassuringly at her, your pressed lips curving slightly upwards.

“Don’t worry, I get it. You really don’t have to tell me though.”

“Well, it’s not just that I don’t want to, I can’t. Before the mission, my memories, they were suppressed. It’s to protect my Lady’s secrets- ow!” Shadowheart clings to her hand, her face etched with pain as its impact ripples through her. She starts to furiously shake it, as if she’ll somehow shake the pain away, but it’s futile. Out of instinct, your own hand reaches out to grab her, before ultimately remembering there’s nothing you can do to help. Your hands hesitate in the air as you debate whether to reach out in comfort regardless, ultimately deciding to clench your fists.

“You ok? Can I do anything to help?” you enquire, nervously rubbing at the side of your neck. You cannot stand feeling so useless, particularly when it’s someone you’re so fond of feeling hurt.

“Sorry, uh, don’t worry, it’s nothing. Just something that happens now and then.” She flexes her delicate fingers as the last of the sting fades, finally rubbing at her knuckles with her other hand. “But that’s very kind. You know, I’m glad out of all the possible weirdos I could have met on that ship, it’s you I’ve ended up on this ridiculous journey with.”

Your heart pangs as the guilt burns through your belly and you swallow down the lump in your throat; here she is, finally trusting you, and you’ve barely told her any truths about yourself. She might think she has you pegged, but she hasn’t got a f*cking clue who you are, what you know, what you’re hiding. You really can’t keep going on like this, you have to tell them sooner or later. After the tiefling party, you think to yourself. At least you can all keep your minds focused on the mission for the time being, plus, it’d be less conspicuous for one of the group to shove a knife in your back in the middle of combat, after all. At least back at camp, after the immediate danger, there will be time to actually discuss everything.

“Yeah, likewise. Although, I wouldn’t discount the ‘weirdos’ thing. I mean, you have met the lot of us, right?” You both giggle like naughty schoolchildren, Shadowheart smiling in agreement.

“I suppose you may have a point, actually. I mean, a living furnace, a vampire, a devil, a god’s ex-lover, a murderous toad, and a bard who doesn’t know how to use magic or weapons. A bit of an odd bunch, really.” You scrunch your nose at her comment about the githyanki – it seems tensions aren’t settling much between the two women.

“Come oon, don’t do Lae’zel dirty like that. How would you feel if you got thrown into a world where you don’t know anyone, split from your people, and everyone hates you on sight just because of stories they’ve heard of your kind?” you question, softly raising a brow to the cleric. “Plus, there’s the tadpole in her head that might turn her into the same creature that enslaved her people, that she’s been taught to hate since she was born. She might seem angry all the time, but honestly? I think she’s just scared. I think it’s a second coat of armour for her. I’d be f*cking terrified if I were her.”

Shadowheart chews her lip for a moment, hesitating, thinking over your words. It’s not like that’s a concept that’s uncommon to her; she’s experienced very similar prejudice herself over her chosen deity.

“I… guess you’re not wrong. Gods, you really do see right through everyone, don’t you? I’m sure you’d find a redeeming quality in a godsforsaken gnoll.” You chuckle, thinking back to the disgusting creatures you fought the other day.

“Well… they’re kind of fluffy? Maybe they can be cute, and they look after their pack, at least. That’s about all I’ve got, though.” Shadowheart shakes her head at you, rolling her eyes at your commentary.

“Come on, before you start listing all the positives for each rotten beast we come across. Please don’t be bringing any of them back to camp, though. I don’t want to find a worg in my tent, and supplies are already starting to run thin.” You playfully raise your brows at her in faux contemplation, earning yourself a teasing tap on the shoulder before you both pick up speed to rejoin your companions.

-

As you cross the bridge from the Blighted Village towards the camp, you come across the first wretched group of goblins waiting to ambush you. Thankfully, your memory serves you well as you distract the ‘leader’ with conversation of worgs and meetings with the leaders ahead, managing to earn yourself an easy passage through the area – even if he does call you a ‘f*ck-sh*te’. Odd choice of words. Honestly, you’re just glad you don’t have to rub animal faeces on your face. Lae’zel and Astarion don’t seem particularly pleased about this avoidance of bloodshed, but they do seem somewhat satisfied when you remind them there’s a full camp of the little bastards further up that they can sink their teeth into (well, literally, in the elf’s case).

As you travel further down the path, you spot the crumbling temple in the distance. The bridge is partially barricaded, just like in the game, and you can see the hubbub of the creatures in the courtyard. You look to your companions for assurance, each of them nodding to you in support. As you meet Astarion’s eye, his brow lifts ever so slightly, a barely conveyed message of ‘are you ready?’; you breathe deeply, closing your eyes momentarily, before nodding yourself and stepping forward.

You’ve barely moved an inch ahead before the tadpole in your brain begins wriggling and squirming within your skull, each movement an absolute barrage against the fleshy mound that is your brain as it tries to burrow its way inside. You drop to your knees in anguish, as do the rest of your companions, and you can do nothing except clutch at your head in a feeble attempt to alleviate the agony you feel. You can’t yell, you can’t scream; it’s all too much as your vision fades to black, the world around you disappearing from view. sh*t, you can’t believe you forgot about this.

Suddenly, you hear it. The Elder Brain, its voice vibrating throughout your mind, the sound bouncing from each fold and crevice of your cerebrum.

“Hear my voice. Obey my command.” The familiar psionic energy you felt when you intertwined minds with each of your companions consumes you, but this time, it is stronger, attacking you, trying to control you, instead of working with you. In the vast expanse of black, you see the pale fog arrive, the three figures appearing ahead of you: Ketheric Thorm, Orin the Red, and Enver Gortash.

You look over each of them, taking in their stances, their features. They still look remarkably similar to the game – Ketheric with his weathered, tired features, Orin with her ghostly pale eyes and pallid skin, and Gortash… well, definitely not ‘young’ like the narrator described, although he does have the same greasy smile she mentioned. That man is making retirement plans, you briefly think to yourself, before the voice speaks again.

“These are my chosen. They speak for me. Aid their search for the prism, and you will be worthy to stand beside them. In my presence.” The pulsing, suffocating sensation continues to rack your skull as you try and fight its command, but it’s too much. It’s too strong, the power too overbearing to fight against. You almost feel yourself succumbing to its persuasion, until you notice Shadowheart stir at your side.

She reaches into her pocket, pulling out the aforementioned artifact, a red, pulsing aura surrounding it as she thrusts it into the air. Suddenly, it begins to float out of her hands, the energy expanding in a crackling explosion around you and your companions. Red magic flows over you all, pushing away the pain, the anguish, the horrific sensations trapped within your skull. Most importantly, the voice of the Elder Brain begins to assuage, but not before imposing its parting words.

“My power grows. My forces gather. The reckoning draws near…”

The world fades back into view, just as the voice fades out. Slowly, you all begin to rise to your feet, looking to each other and ensuring you are all unscathed. The prism is still floating, slowly landing in Shadowheart’s outstretched hand. You go to speak, but Lae’zel is already leaping forwards, sword at the ready.

“You! You’re the one who stole this from my people! I knew we should’ve left you to rot on that ship, you filthy hshar’lak,” she spits, her eyes brimming with fury. Oh, for f*ck’s sake. “Tell me why I shouldn’t gut you from navel to neck right now.”

“Hm, fitting that I happened to have something that just saved your sorry arse and the first thing you want to do is kill me.” Shadowheart grabs her mace, staring intently back at the githyanki. “Go on, then. I’d love to see you try.”

You jump between them, raising your hands in an effort to keep them separated. The boys all stare wide-eyed between each other, clearly not wanting to get involved, whilst Karlach shuffles uncomfortably.

“Lae’zel, Shadowheart – stop it, now! How many f*cking times do we have to go through all this? Killing each other will solve nothing. It’s because of that artifact we’re alive. You saw what just happened, we would be completely under those bastards’ control if we didn’t have it.” Your head flickers between the two of them, both of their weapons still in hand, but slowly lowering. “Now, can we act like grownups and put our prejudices aside for five f*cking minutes so we can actually get on with the task at hand?”

In unison, the both of them huff as they turn their heads away. Dear god, it’s like dealing with toddlers.

“Chk. Fine. But my people are searching for this for a reason, and I will find out why, what it is for. I will not allow an istik to claim an artifact of my people without good reason.” You sigh, pinching your brow.

“Ok, whatever. We can deal with this later. Right now, we’ve got some goblins to f*ck with.”

Chapter 18: Leave No Trace

Chapter Text

The first thing you notice as you enter the temple’s courtyard is the smell. Clearly, goblins are not known for their appreciation of hygiene, or scented candles. You find yourself missing your own collection of them back home in your safe little hideaway, a million miles away from the cesspit you’re in now. For a moment, you think about how you’d decorate the area – maybe some potted plants in that corner, a comfy, cushioned bench in the central area, and you’d probably get rid of the giant flaming spit that’s currently roasting a dwarf. But that’s just your taste, you suppose.

Straight ahead of you is Volothamp Geddarm, the ridiculous wizard you saw briefly back in the grove, stood upon a makeshift stage of rock, rope, and animal bone, his attention lost in the meagre crowd he has attracted with his piss-poor attempt at poetry. You do find it almost laughable that the author of ‘Volo’s Guide to Monsters’, the manual you keep on your bookshelf next to the DM guide and the Player’s Handbook for your own Dungeons and Dragons adventures, is currently being tormented by creatures that only come up to his thigh.

“Be you beguiling, or be you beheaded – ah! A stranger in our camp!” he exclaims, his arms waving animatedly towards you, but only for a moment. He returns to his unforgiving crowd; you see one of the goblins actually has a rotten tomato to hand, waiting for a good time to strike. “Laugh, if you dare! Recoil, as you must! A new age is dawning, with goblins atrust!” You grimace as your ears are defiled by his droning, you’re fairly certain you’ve heard better words uttered by drunk guys in a dive bar bathroom.

Astarion, it seems, mirrors your distaste, his own face scrunched with displeasure as he grits his teeth.

“Good gods, I’m surprised they haven’t gutted him yet.” He ponders a moment, his features twisting in thought. “Well, there’s still time, I suppose. And we have front row seats for the gore.” You sigh, rolling your eyes before pushing against the elf’s shoulder, earning yourself a small huff of annoyance.

“Can you please stop wanting to kill every single person we come across?” you ask through a lifted brow, folding your arms across your chest. Astarion tuts, waving a hand at you.

“Gods, you’re no fun. Anyway,” he says, waving a finger as he speaks, the other hand resting on his hip, “I distinctly remember you telling me I would have free reign to sink my teeth into anyone I see fit here!” You press your own fingers to your eyes defeatedly; you really cannot win with him.

“f*cking hell, Astarion, not innocents! I’m sure you’ll get your chance soon enough, you bloodthirsty fiend.” The elf pouts, folding his arms across his chest like a chided toddler. Jesus f*cking Christ, this man… Thankfully, his mini tantrum is interrupted as Volo continues his audible assault.

“With fragulous crown, and with sceptre abrade… Dror Ragzlin, short work of the… innkeeper made!”

At the mention of Dror Ragzlin, Lae’zel’s narrowed eyes shoot to you. You turn to her, meeting her gaze as you purse your lips, raising your eyebrows slightly in recognition. You had told her he would be there; you also told her she would see Volo on this stage, as well as the cub… The cub! You look around frantically for the little guy, hoping the little bastards haven’t been too unkind to him. It seems that currently he is out of view, so you vow to look for him once you have dealt with the idiot onstage.

“The inn burned to ash, the captives were… many! Goblinkind had reduced them, er, to cowering filfenny!” Both you and your companions audibly groan; this really is painful to sit through. “So raiseth your goblets and drain them with pride. Um, Dror Ragzlin, the True Soul… hath led you galide!” The goblins, however, seem to be having a whale of a time. The little brunette one holding him captive is beaming with glee, overjoyed that her little toy plays so well. Different strokes, you think to yourself, questioning the sanity of the pint-sized creature if she’s entertained by this drivel.

As you stand rubbing your temples in an attempt to subdue your rising tension headache, Wyll stirs, moving closer to you. He gently taps your arm to grab your attention, leaning close to your ear, whispering just loud enough for you and your companions to hear him.

“I wager Dror Ragzlin’s the goblin in charge, the way this one’s carrying on.” Your other companions nod in agreement, except for Lae’zel, who is still staring intently at you. You purse your lips, sighing deeply.

“Yeah, you could say that, I guess…” You turn your attention back to the wizard, clearly flustered and scrambling for his next bout of verbal diarrhoea. Honestly, it’s kind of sad seeing him up there, clearly terrified at what might happen to him should the goblins grow tired of his ‘entertainment’. Despite Astarion’s opinions, he doesn’t deserve to be tortured for his terrible prose. Well…. No, no! He doesn’t… You find yourself lost in thought for a moment; in the game, you have the option to throw out your own lines of poetry. f*ck it, it’s not like you could come up with anything worse than what you’ve just endured.

“Dror Ragzlin, our saviour, the mightiest foe! One swing from his sword, you’re split head to toe!” you exclaim, winking towards Volo. His eyes widen as he regards you, almost grateful for your interruption.

“Ah, yes! Err, the finest of warriors, a… man to behold - from the Swords Coast to the Hordelands, um, his tale will be told!” His voice warbles, his inspiration running dry. Let’s see what else you’ve got.

“Goblin, worg, and troll all alike, if you go against them, be it your head on a pike!” You smile at Volo, egging him to continue, his eyes frantic with fear.

“I, err, Dror Ragzlin, so strong…! Dror Ragzlin, so brave… Heeeee….” Volo stammers, struggling to find his words. The brunette goblin steps forwards, scowling at you as she places her hands on her hips.

“Oi, stranger! You meddlin’ wiv my pigeon? ‘E’s talkin’ stupid, now!” she exclaims, shaking her head at you. Volo splays out his arms in an attempt to diffuse the tension, afraid of the repercussions if he cannot resolve the situation.

“Come – let’s continue our ballad!” he says, clearing his throat. “Dror Ragzlin, erm, Dror Ragzlin, we, erm… Dror Ragzlin! Um, um, umtumtuous, erm, Dror Ragzlin! Iiii…” Oh dear. You were already very much aware this was a possibility; you recall the phase you went through one weekend about a month or so back where you couldn’t stop yourself from quoting this exact line, but it’s even more painful to see happen right in front of you. Clearly, the goblins around you are in agreement. The one readying his rotten tomato decides it’s as good a time as any to take aim, but thankfully, his drunken stupor means he goes wide, missing the wizard entirely. The others begin booing the poor man, his captor waving her thumb behind her.

“C’mon, pigeon. Back to ya cage!”

Volo looks to you defeatedly, his face clouded with fear as he regards you. He shuffles forward, his feat dragging beneath him as he moves. Guilt racks through your belly as you meet his gaze; he’s so afraid.

“Look what you’ve done,” he whimpers, his voice barely audible. As he steps down from the stage, you softly pat his arm, causing him to look to you once more, his blue eyes growing wet. You sigh, your heart panging with sympathy for the poor man. He might be an idiot for coming here willingly, but you can’t let him become their victim.

“Don’t worry, Volo, we’ll come get you,” you whisper, offering a reassuring smile before he is swept away by his pint-sized custodian. Astarion tuts behind you – you might not be looking at him right now, but you’re fairly certain you can hear his eyes rolling.

“Ever the bleeding heart, dear.” You shoot him an annoyed glance, shaking your head at him. His staunch inability to care even a little bit for the wellbeing of others, even if he has good cause for doing so, is really beginning to grate at you. You decide not to care right now – you’d rather take the mental ‘Astarion disapproves’ than allow an innocent man to die on your watch.

As the wizard disappears into the temple, you take stock of all the activity going on around you. There’s a cluster of goblins hanging around the spit with the unfortunate dwarf now looking particularly well-done, the giant troll covering the entrance, a trader in the corner, and the other creatures pestering their ‘chicken’. Shadowheart takes note of the fact that none of them seem to be attacking you on-sight, which is beneficial. You murmur among yourselves briefly, agreeing it is best to keep your weapons stowed for as long as you can until you have a good scope of the area.

You take a moment to think; surely it would be easier to deal with everything going on around here if half of them would take themselves out? Then, you spy it: the cauldron full of whatever piss-like swill these beasts are gorging themselves on. You turn to Astarion, a mischievous look in your eye. He responds with a mirrored one of his own, raising a brow to you in curiosity.

“Now, forgive me if I’m wrong, dear, but it looks like you may have chaos on your mind,” he drawls, crossing his arms across his chest. You grin wickedly, reaching into your pack before stepping towards him and leaning up to his perfectly pointed ear.

“You would be most correct, my friend,” you whisper softly against his ear, passing the small vial into the hand between your bodies. “That gift from Nettie? I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. I’m sure these animals would love a bit of flavouring in their wine, don’t you think? I hear wyvern toxin adds a particularly robust top note.” You pull back to see Astarion’s mouth agape with shock; he appears downright devilish as he looks you up and down, regaling in your ill-behaved suggestion.

“Good gods, look at you! Who are you and what have you done with my altruistic confidante?” He quickly stows the small bottle of wyvern toxin in the breast of his armour, turning his head to look for the stealthiest path to the cauldron.

“I have no idea what you mean, Astarion! I am always the image of benevolence.” You reach for the lute on your back; you have an idea. “Don’t worry, I can be pretty damn distracting when I need to be. Don’t be seen.” He narrows his eyes at you as you begin walking to the makeshift stage, taking your place in the centre.

“Well, now that that’s all done with, would you like someone with skill to entertain you?” you exclaim, posing yourself with your instrument. Little heads start pointing in your direction from all angles, intrigued by you. You take a deep breath, readying your hands. You pray to high hell and back that this works.

You begin strumming softly, picking out the chords as they come to you. For some reason, of all the songs you know in the world, this is the one that comes to you. Well, better than nothing, you suppose.

“There’s a fire in my brain, and I’m burning up…”

Some of the goblins start walking towards you, your companions also rooted in their spots. Thinking about it, this is the first time they’ve heard you sing – the best you’ve done so far is twang a few strings in front of them. The performance anxiety is beginning to settle in your belly, threatening to consume you, but you will it down with everything you have and keep singing. You can’t afford to lose your cool now.

Thankfully, your performance seems to be going well, going off the scattered cheers from your onlookers. Whilst silently thanking the cosmic dice that seem to be rolling in your favour, you take notice as a few of them begin to sway in time with the tempo, their attention focused solely on you. More come to join the small crowd in front of you, some even appearing from around corners and hidden positions.

“Won’t you stay with me, my darling…?”

The applause grows louder, the audience enthralled with your performance. Thankfully, your jitters begin to wear off as you see how much everyone is loving this, loving you. Even your companions are mystified – Wyll and Karlach are sharing identical beams of joy, Shadowheart swaying to the music with her eyes closed. Gale is looking at you in awe, his chin pinched firmly between his finger and thumb as he taps his toe in time. Even Lae’zel’s grumpy scowl seems soften, her stiff body shifting slightly with the melody. Your heart fills with warmth as you feel their adoration pouring into you – you haven’t sung for so long, thanks to life getting in the way. You’d forgotten how it felt to actually perform to a crowd that appreciates your craft, the thrill of having people enjoy your art. Remembering the task at hand, your eyes flitter towards the cauldron, but you can’t see him. Where is he? Surely, he can’t be that discreet, it is out in the open, after all. You scan the area momentarily, until you spot him.

He is rooted, feet planted firmly in the dirt a few metres from your companions, his gaze fixed firmly on you. His face is twisted with an emotion you can’t quite recognise from here – is he… no, no he can’t be. He’d never be captivated by your music. It’s not like he’d actually enjoy anything you would do; he’s made his distaste for musicians quite well known in your time together, commenting on it frequently during your nightly pluckings around the campfire. Just the other night, he went into a tirade about how he would rather eat his own shoes than be forced to sit through another painful performance from Alfira, and he hadn’t even heard her unfortunate practice on your first day in this realm. Although, he had then gone on to apologise to Gale, not wishing to insult his dietary requirements, earning himself an apple tossed at his head from the scorned wizard.

“Ashes, ashes, dust to dust, the devil’s after both of us…”

You continue to meet his stare, your brow furrowing slightly in confusion. Why is he watching you? He has a perfect window of opportunity to move; most, if not all of the blighted creatures are focused solely on you, you couldn’t ask for a better distraction. You’re playing your part, literally, to perfection – why on earth would he let himself get distracted? Does he really hate your performance that much?

You shoot a look to the cauldron, hinting to him to return to the plan before the moment passes. You’re over halfway through the song at this point, he’ll be lucky if he gets enough time to add the elixir to the wine. He shakes his head furiously, his eyes narrowing as he promptly moves towards the wall, hiding in the shadows. Thank god.

“Singing songs to the secrets behind my eye...”

At least you still have the goblins enraptured – several of them have started dancing, knocking into each other like a bunch of newborn fauns, spilling their drinks all over the floor. Two of them have started a fist fight, but you can’t really blame yourself for that one. You hear faint cries of “No, you stepped on my foot first!” above the sound of your playing, just before they tackle each other to the ground. Oh well.

As the song comes closer to the end, you scan for the elf once more. He is now back with the rest of your companions, looking rather invested in the state of his nailbeds. Such a diva. You notice he has a particularly strong look of disinterest on his face – almost too disinterested, in all honesty, as if his external composure may not reflect what is going on inside. Guess he’s just trying to remain inconspicuous, you think to yourself, as you sing out the final words.

“Make a mercy out of…” You strum your final chords, the crowd below erupting into raucous applause. Alcohol sloshes out of tankards as the creatures raise them in appreciation, jeering at you for an encore.

“Now, now, you lot. I don’t want to be using up all of my repertoire before we’ve really got this party going. I say we get another round in!” you proclaim, gesturing your arms out suggestively. Clearly, they all seem to be in agreement as they rush over to the corrupted cauldron, blissfully unaware of their upcoming fate. You flash Astarion a wicked grin as you step down from the stage, earning yourself a cheeky wink in return.

“Good gods, soldier! I knew you could mess around with that thing but I didn’t know you could sing!” Karlach grins, shaking her fists with excitement. You feel the colour creeping to your cheeks in coyness at her kind words.

“She’s right, that was most pleasant! I don’t think I’ve ever heard a tune like that. The music must be much more refined wherever it is that you’re from,” chimes Gale, offering a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “When we get back to camp, you must show us more!” You inhale sharply; how on earth would you even begin to tell him about the music from back home? Oh well, that’s later you’s problem.

“Yeah, uh, sure. But enough of that for now, we’ve got a… situation to deal with.” Your companions look at you with confusion until you gesture your head to the merry creatures gathered around the bowl of wine. You raise a finger, insisting they wait. Thankfully, about ten seconds later, the first goblin drops. Then another. And another. Then a bugbear. And so does another goblin. Within seconds, about half of the camp has collapsed to the floor, dead. In unison, they all turn their gaze back to you, their mouths open in shock.

“… Is there something you would like to share with the group, bard?” teases Shadowheart, her eyes glowing with delight.

“Hey, I can’t take all the credit here. The vial of toxin came in handy, and our fanged friend here is particularly good at remaining unseen.” You stifle a giggle as Astarion offers an aloof smirk, inspecting his handiwork.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, dear. Clearly, we were all busy watching your little… performance.”

-

Thankfully, you manage to get away with your little scheme unnoticed, the goblins falling for the whole distraction. They do, however, decide they need to be hypervigilant, so you are freed from your bardic duty for the time being. You decide to go and speak to the goblin holding the ‘chicken’ captive, giving her a piece of your mind over the brutality of the sport and forcing her to agree to release the owlbear. It also helps that you have a 6’3” furnace with an axe and an armoured githyanki at your side, however. You go to him, offering him your scent, just as you would in the game, and tell him to follow it to your camp.

With that out of the way, you realise there’s not much point in doing anything except heading inside to face down the three leaders. You speak with the group once more, confirming that you will try and gather intel where you can, then strike when the moment is right. Your eyes briefly meet Lae’zel’s, her scowl boring into you as you nod ever so slightly. You stretch your muscles as you go to push open the doors to the temple, turning to your companions one final time.

“So, are we ready to f*ck with their day?”

Chapter 19: I'll Give It A Shot

Chapter Text

As you step through the doors of the Shattered Sanctum, your eyes struggle to adapt to the murky, dim light within. You can barely see the scene through the archway at the end of the corridor, but you can see the small group of goblins ahead of you, incessantly whining about “the real work” that they’re currently doing. You wouldn’t mind their version of real work, you think to yourself, as you watch them standing around doing a whole lot of nothing. When the ringleader annoyingly shouts at you to state your business, you inform them you have a meeting with the drow. You notice that Lae’zel’s narrowed eyes flicker to you, analysing you intensely. Thankfully, the pint-sized creature falls for your deception, allowing you free passage to the main hall.

As you walk through, you take note of the desecrated statues and other religious relics scattered throughout the hall. Shadowheart begins to stir angrily, her frustration at the moon goddess’s presence in these walls making itself unmistakeably known.

“Selûne,” she spits at you, grimacing at a broken head of the aforementioned deity. “As if mingling with a horde of goblins wasn’t bad enough. Let’s do what we have to do, then get out of here.” You pinch the bridge of your nose briefly before offering a tight-lipped smile and moving further into the room.

Ahead of you is the first of the three leaders, Priestess Gut, brandishing the same hot poker she does in the game atop the shabby plinth. Amongst the cheers of the crowd below her, you can hear flesh sizzle as she pokes the flaming metal into an awaiting goblin’s skin, his grunts of pain ringing out above the racket. Before you make your way towards her, you turn to your companions, ushering them into a huddle around you.

“We need to take her out, and it’d be best if we can do it without engaging in a full-blown attack. I’ll see if we can separate her – she’s a healer, after all. I imagine she’ll have her own private quarters for graver injuries.” Your eyes linger on the githyanki’s as you speak, her own laser-focused on you. You find yourself silently pleading with her to agree, before giving a slight huff as she nods. “Astarion, think you can sneak your way in with me? Try and take her out silently?”

The elf guffaws, placing a hand to his chest as he raises a brow at you in amusem*nt.

“Darling, you insult me just by asking. This is what I was made for.” He grins, his fangs glinting in the low torchlight as his features are plastered with an air of mischief. You chuckle softly, releasing a sigh.

“I don’t know why I even asked. The rest of you, stay nearby if you can – just in case something goes wrong.”

You and your party make towards the priestess, the crowd slowly parting for you as you do. You try to ignore the faint, lingering smell of burning pork as you get close to the platform – at least you have an idea of what charred goblin might taste like, if you ever get desperate. Gut rises to her full height (which is still only about up to your shoulder, even atop the stage) as she regards you.

“Now, here’s somebody special. The Absolute has touched you, hasn’t she?”

-

Thankfully, after abstaining from a branding yourself, doing your best to divert her cranial probing via your tadpole, and convincing the priestess that you would rather speak in private, you are whisked away to her chapel to await her clearly expert medical advice. You find yourself wandering how a goblin might obtain such knowledge of these procedures – is there a goblin medical school? Does she have a doctorate in magical creature medicine? As ponder over the logistics of the woman’s educational history, Astarion thankfully manages to slip through the door unnoticed, clinging to the shadows like a thief in the night. As Gut closes the door with a wave of magical energy, you catch a glimpse of Karlach and Lae’zel peering around the corner, preparing themselves for any ensuing chaos.

You purposefully place yourself towards the southern wall, forcing the goblin to face away from the hidden knave, giving him the best advantage. You do your best to subvert her questioning, and just as she is distracted by her attempt to invade your brain once more, the elf leaps from the shadows, his dual knives wielded as he slits a deep, crimson line across her throat. She releases a guttural sound as vermillion liquid spurts from the open wound in her neck, her wide eyes fixed on you as she chokes on her own blood. You freeze momentarily, watching as she tries to scream for help, her little stubby hands grabbing at the open wound. You almost feel bad for her, almost feel remorse at what you have asked Astarion to do. Until you step forward and put her out of her misery by plunging your own dagger straight into her heart.

She releases her final breath as she continues staring intently into your eyes, the horror of her demise permanently etched onto her face. You don’t even withdraw your dagger – her small, limp body just slides right off it, landing in a heap on the floor. You find yourself staring at her, the guilt and nausea washing through you as you take in the fear and anguish she now wears as a death mask.

Astarion says your name, drawing it out, almost as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“Don’t go feeling sorry for it. It helped murder the people at the inn, was going to murder the tieflings, and more importantly, was going to murder you.” He leans down to wipe the blood from his knives onto Gut’s clothes before sheathing them back in their holsters, grimacing at her audacity to bleed all over his weapons. “Plus, it probably would have tried to kill me. And that’s the most important thing.”

You laugh through your nose, letting out a deep sigh. You have no idea how this man seems to want to piss you off ninety-nine percent of the time yet seems to be the only person who can permeate your thoughts, your feelings, your self-criticism, and make you think somewhat clearly.

Obviously, he’s right. She needed to die, otherwise all the poor refugees back at the grove would be dead come tomorrow. Dammon, Bex, Danis, Alfira, Lakrissa, Arabella, Mol, Silfy, Mattis, all the other helpless tieflings, they’d be gone. And you truly couldn’t live with yourself if that happened. But still, you find yourself leaning down too, placing your fingers over her eyes as you allow them to permanently close, hiding her final thoughts. At least she almost looks peaceful, now.

“Ok, drama queen. Obviously, we couldn’t allow her to touch a hair on your pretty little head,” you smirk, grinning softly at him. He gasps exaggeratedly, stepping back slightly as he raises a hand to his chest, a devious glint in his eye.

“Darling, do you really think I’m pretty? Oh, stop it, really… Actually, no. Keep going.”

You playfully push at his shoulder, rolling your eyes at his dramatics.

“Careful, or this blade will go through your heart next.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

-

Thankfully, Karlach comes through after you reopen the door and helps to throw Gut’s lifeless body into the ravine at the back of the room, successfully hiding the evidence of your little tryst. Not before you’ve looted anything of value, of course. As you leave, you make sure to trade with Roah Moonglow, the Zhentarhim mercenary stationed alarmingly close to the chapel; thankfully, she gives no indication to being aware of your assassination of the priestess, so at least you’re all still in the clear for the time being.

You make your way to the western side of the temple, hearing the cries of the restrained fighter Liam before you see him. You rush over, arriving just as one of the cruel beasts is about to take another strike at his bleeding, marred skin. His hair is matted to his head with a crimson glue, his lips and eyes purple with bruises – the poor man has been through hell these last few days. You watch as the little bastard readies himself to swing, intervening before he can assault the lad once more.

“You, stop!” you exclaim, crossing your arms across your chest. The goblin slows, twisting to look up at you. “I’ve been sent to replace you, since you’re not getting anything from him. You’re going to kill him with this… sloppy work. They think a professional should take over.”

He regards you for a moment, spitting and spluttering with annoyance as he waves his arms in frustration. You watch as some of the poor captive’s blood flies from the bat as he does, splattering onto the ground nearby. What an absolute savage.

“We do all the work, and you get to finish ‘im?!” He scowls at you for a moment before his features soften in resignation. “Bah… Take ‘im. Won’t do you any good, ‘e just… screams.”

You roll your eyes in disgust, shooting a particularly pointed grimace in the goblin’s direction as you shift your weight between your feet.

“Maybe he wouldn’t scream so much if you were capable of doing your job right. Get out of my sight, or else I’ll tie you to that rack myself.” Thankfully, your anger at the vile beast adds to your conviction as you spit the words at him. You gesture your thumb behind you, urging the creature to move on. For a moment, he looks as if he is going to retort, but looking between you and your merry band of adventurers, he decides that maybe it’s not in his best interest to piss you guys off. He scuttles away quickly, you keeping a stern eye on him until your certain he’s out of sight, before looking back up to Liam. The poor man looks absolutely terrified, his swollen eyes barely moist with tears, a feat that he has any left after his mistreatment.

“No, no! Don’t hurt me, please!” he screams, trying in vain to move away from you despite his restraints. Your heart breaks, you can only imagine the pain and torture he has been through over the last few days. Your gaze softens, a faint, reassuring smile ghosting your lips.

“Don’t worry, we’ve come here from the druid grove. We’re looking for Halsin, we won’t hurt you, I promise.” You move towards him, inspecting the restraints on his wrist. They’re locked tight, there’s no chance you’ll be able to help him out of this by yourself. “Astarion, a hand?”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“Ugh, really? I was so hoping to have a turn at flaying him myself,” he complains, pouting his lips grumpily.

“Oh, for f*ck’s sake… Come on, please?” You rub your temples in frustration, pursing your lips as you try to reason with his reasonable side – well, that’s if he even has one. Thankfully, he begins working on the locks, even if he does moan and groan the whole time. “Thank you, Astarion,” you exhale in annoyance.

“Hmph. I’m only doing it because I really don’t have the energy to deal with your whining if I don’t,” he retorts, sneering at you.

“Ugh, whatever.” You wave a hand at the elf, refusing to deal with his sh*t right now, turning your attention to the newly freed captive. “Here, let me have a look at you. Liam, right? Your party mentioned you’d been captured during the ambush.” He nods shakily, rubbing at his sore wrists. You take his hands in your own, analysing the damage. He looks pretty damn hurt; you’re surprised he’s managed to last as long as he has in here.

You frown momentarily before fetching your lute off your back, doing your best to recall your studies with Gale the other day. You softly pick at the strings, creating a gentle melody as you sense for the threads of Weave the wizard showed you would help heal some minor injuries. As you do, a mystical teal light encompasses Liam as some of his swelling lessens, the purple bruises fade slightly, and his open wounds begin to seal. Nice!

“Oh, thank the gods,” he breathes, inspecting his skin as the relief takes over. “And thank you! I thought I was a goner.”

“Good work, little apprentice!” beams Gale, his pride at your accomplishment shining through his words. You smile to yourself – this is the first time you’ve actually used your healing magic outside of practice, and thankfully, it seems to have worked.

“Don’t mention it. But I’ll take my reward in any information you might have.”

-

Liam tells you everything he knows about the camp before he shoots off through the hidden exit back towards the grove, even if you already knew everything of note yourself. Still, you have a reputation to upkeep. You do, however, make sure to pass him a dagger you’ve looted before he goes so at least he isn’t completely defenceless. You cross eyes with Lae’zel once more as she realises everything you told her last night appears to be true, an unreadable look painted across her angled features. Allow the group to walk slightly ahead, you go to her side, speaking to her in a hushed tone.

“So, do you believe me yet?” you ask softly, keeping an eye on the others in front of you.

“Chk. It would seem that everything you told me so far has come to pass, I suppose. And I imagine if you were truly on their side, you would not be killing off half of their camp, or freeing every pitiful soul you come across.” She looks you up and down momentarily, deep in thought. “There may just be an element of truth in your words, she’lak.” You let out a faint laugh as you sigh, relief washing over you.

“Phew, that’s a relief. Was afraid I’d end up with your sword in my stomach at some point soon.”

“Do not think that is no longer an option. I still might find myself inclined to do so, should we continue to pick up more of your wretched strays,” she spits back at you. You look at her in horror momentarily, anxiety panging in your stomach, before seeing her wicked grin and a gleam in her eye. Oh, she’s messing with you… She could really do with working on her delivery. You laugh shakily, brushing hair out of your face as you nod towards her.

“Yep, ok. Duly noted.”

You rejoin the rest of your companions, making your way towards the northern quarter of the temple where the worg pits should be. Even though the basic layout of the temple is the same as the game, you find that there are more side rooms than you were expecting, harbouring drunken goblins and other miscreants. This might be a tad more complicated than originally thought. Knowing that you’ll find Volo somewhere around here, you pop your head into each one you walk past, keeping an eye out for the wizard.

Eventually, you hear faint yells of euphoria from one of the side rooms, as well as the thuds that precede them. Oh, sh*t. It’s him. You peer through the archway into the dank shrine, Abdirak kneeling towards the wall at the back, dripping mace in hand. Under the candlelight, you can see welts across his skin and blood oozing all over, his body marred with old and new scars. You steel your breath, stepping through into the room. You’re not really sure why you do – habit of following the story, maybe? Or is it just morbid curiosity? Whatever the reason, you make your way towards him, the tangy, metallic smell of his brutalistic hobby hanging over the top of the fragrance of damp and dirt. Abdirak raises to his feet, turning to face you.

“Greetings, child. I’ve met few aside from goblins here.” His eyes flicker over you momentarily as he briefly studies you, taking in your own blood-spattered armour and knives sheathed on your weapon belt. “Ah, are you also here to assist with the prisoner?”

“Um, yeah, definitely. These goblins, y’know, so unruly. There’s no finesse to their technique,” you lie, shrugging at him. He purses his lips in agreement, turning his head slightly.

“Well, you’re not wrong there. It seems these creatures take no relish in the art they’re partaking in; they brought me in as a skilled hand to help them see the error of their ways. Pain without purpose is a terrible thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh, totally. Yep. Such a waste,” you mutter, rubbing at your arm as you shift uncomfortably. “Um… Maybe I should go, you look busy-”

“Nonsense, child. You seem to be… of a kindred spirit, shall we say. I think you would benefit most greatly from a lesson in worship.” His grins, the greasiness of it making you feel a little nauseous. You wonder briefly if you were to hold up a flame to his face, would it catch on fire? To be honest, he’d probably enjoy it if it did. “If you would permit it, I could show you firsthand.”

You splutter momentarily, even if you were expecting it to happen. Somehow, actually being here and being confronted with the possibility of being beaten for the jollies is maybe not as funny as you previously found it, particularly when you were safely tucked away behind a screen a billion miles away.

“Oh, no, no, I wouldn’t want to impose-” you start, before Shadowheart pipes up gleefully.

“Go ahead, I’m sure you’re in need of a little… penance,” she muses.

“By all means, let us see what his ‘skilled hand’ might get up to,” Lae’zel chimes in, a mischievous look on her face. Oh, for f*ck’s sake, you’ve only just made some semblance of peace with her and she’s already asking you to get flayed – you’re not overly sure if you appreciate the cost of her contentment. Thankfully, Wyll seems to at least be somewhat on your side.

“I wouldn’t let his ‘skilled hand’ anywhere near me.”

“Your hide, your choice. Not quite my cup of tea, though,” says Gale, disapproval etched deep across his features. That is quickly overshadowed by Karlach’s rambunctious laughter as she doubles over in delight.

“Hahaha! Go on – I have to see this!”

You pause momentarily – do you really want to go through with this? You do get a pretty decent stat buff in the game, but this isn’t a game. You will actually have to stand there and let this masoch*st beat you, all while your friends sit and watch. What the f*ck have you gotten yourself into?

The only one who hasn’t spoken up is Astarion, which is surprising considering his usual eagerness at seeing all of this unfold. You look to him, lingering in half-shadow, an unreadable look on his face. You hold his stare momentarily – for some reason, you find yourself particularly keen to find out his opinion on the matter. His eyes flick to Abdirak, down to his bloodied mace, then back to you. As he does, that familiar cat-like grin returns, the creases folding around his eyes.

“I must see this… Don’t you dare say no,” he drawls, angling his head in intrigue. Well, sh*t. Guess we’re doing this then. You sigh heavily, regarding the man with a hesitant smile.

“Right, uh, where do you want me, then?” you enquire hesitantly, mentally preparing yourself for the ordeal.

“Oh I have something exquisite in mind,” Abdirak replies, rubbing his hands together. Honestly, that alone is enough to make you feel sick, never mind what’s about to come. “Both Loviatar and I are interested in how you handle pain, dear one. And should you delight her, you will most assuredly receive her gracious blessing – trust me. Simply face the wall, and we can begin.”

You step towards the alcove timidly, your shaking fingers removing your lute and placing it delicately on the brickwork. There’s a mixture of giggling and groans of disapproval from your companions as you do; you just want this over and done with. Quickly.

“Yes… This will do nicely.”

You scrunch your eyes closed as you ready yourself for the impact, clenching your fists in anguish. No turning back now… Then, a moment later, you hear the metal whoosh through the air as Abdirak’s mace connects with your back, landing hard between your shoulder blades. Immediately, the pain ripples through you, sending shockwaves down both your arms, your legs, down to your feet. You feel the agony everywhere, but you do your best to keep it in. It would seem that despite the fact you are literally being beaten with a blunt weapon for the sole purpose of feeling pain, the fear of your companions actually knowing you’re hurting, thinking that you’re weak, is taking the stage at this present time. All that comes out of you is a sharp squeak as you furiously bite your lips, trying to focus on anything except the ache in your spine. You feel your eyes grow moist as a tear attempts to break free.

“The pain you suffer will cleanse you, do not fight it!” roars Abdirak, who is already gearing up for a second swing.

You grit your teeth once more, hoping this one will be nicer than the first. As the weapon greets your back once more, you wonder why you thought you’d be so stupid to think that – it’s worse. The throbbing remnants of the initial strike are now complimented by a sharp sting, emphasising the disturbance across your delicate nerve system. It’s absolute agony, and you can’t stifle the scream that comes out of you involuntarily. The tears start flowing as your skin is set alight, your pain receptors working overtime to blaze through you in an unbearable fury. The assailant, however, is overjoyed at the sound that escapes you.

“Your voice sounds so sweet, dear one. Keep going!”

You hear joyous clapping as the vampire practically bounces in place, overjoyed at your agony.

“Oh, bravo. Encore!” he exclaims – you make a mental note to poison his wine back at camp.

“Don’t tire her out just yet, priest. I may have some use for her yet,” Shadowheart delights, the glee ringing out through her words. Hers too.

“My, my – who knew our friend had so much blood in them?” Astarion purrs, practically salivating over the scene in front of him.

“Try not to lick your lips as you say that.” Maybe you’ll go light on her poison.

Lae’zel and Karlach share a laugh, the two boys remaining quiet in disgust. You’re not even sure if they’re watching this go down – you wouldn’t blame them if they had left the room altogether.

Another strike hits your skin, another tirade of pain washes over you, another scream leaves your lips as you brace your hands against the wall, willing yourself to stay upright.

“That’s it, dear one! Let Loviatar hear you!” In all honesty, you’d be surprised if the whole pantheon of gods couldn’t hear you, considering how loud your screams are. The tears are flowing freely as your body wracks with sobs, each hitch of your breath causing a new shockwave, starting the cycle over again.

“Would you have joined up with her if you’d known she’d be indulging in this sort of thing, Astarion?” Shadowheart enquires.

“I mean, I had my hopes.”

You take a sharp inhale as you prepare for another swing; you’re really not sure how much more of this you can take. Apparently, not much if the next strike is anything to go by, as you find yourself collapsing into a foetal position on the floor when it hits, screeching uncontrollably at the overwhelming pain. You can’t move, can’t breathe, lest a new wave of suffering ripples through you. This is going beyond the fire you felt before, it feels like someone has poured molten lava over your skin, boiling you alive.

“You are doing so well, do not give in now! Let the sting of flesh wash away your pain!”

“Good gods – stop it! She’s clearly had enough, you lot should be ashamed of yourselves,” chides Gale. You can’t see him, but you can definitely tell that the infamous finger is wagging at them in condemnation. Surprisingly, it’s Astarion who speaks up in agreement.

“Hmph, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… You’re quite right, Gale. It’s no fun watching… this,” he complains, scoffing at you. “Feels like I’m witnessing a dying animal or something.” With your head in your arms, you don’t see anyone approach, but you sense a figure move towards you, settling near your head. As a delicate hand is placed upon your back, you jerk away from it, yelping, earning yourself another jolt of pain radiating throughout your body and a fresh stream of tears rolling down your cheeks. So much for trying to hide the pain.

“Come on, darling. This isn’t entertaining – get up off the floor. You’ll get covered in dirt, and you’re filthy enough as it is.” You slowly release your head, looking to the outstretched hand before you. Astarion is looking at you with disdain; clearly, you’ve ruined his fun. How very dare you. Although, there is a particular crease to his eye that might just be betraying him… No, no. Your eyes are full of water, you’re just seeing things.

You grab it tentatively, slowly raising to your feet as best as you can, yelping each time a pang rushes through you. Wyll rushes over, ready to place his hand underneath your other arm before Astarion shakes his head, waving his free hand at him. Instead, he reaches into his pack, rummaging through his items.

“Sweet child, you bore the pain like a true believer. I am proud to have served you this penance.” Abdirak bows to you, you can barely bring yourself to regard him.

“f*cking hell, soldier. You must’ve done something pretty messed up to deserve getting a beating like that!” jests Karlach, giving a nervous giggle. Bless her, always trying to diffuse the tension. You try to speak, but all you can muster is a soft whimper.

“Loviatar herself found your performance… inspiring. She has deemed you worthy of her blessing.” Abdirak steps before your quivering form, pinching into dust from his palm and throwing it over you, before waving his arms to form a magical incantation. A soft wind rushes as you are illuminated in a red haze, a symbol appearing in the cloud around you. Suddenly, you feel a gentle wave wash over you, strengthening you slightly.

“And, on a personal note, thank you. That was positively divine.” You don’t have the strength to formulate a proper response, so you simply offer the priest a gritted smile and a thumbs up. Thankfully, with your business concluded, he turns away and exits the room as Wyll finally retrieves the health potion he was looking for.

“Gods, that looks like it bloody hurts. Here, drink up.” He holds the vial to your lips, gently placing his hand under your chin to help you tip your head back. Astarion stirs slightly, but you’re so desperate for the relief that you pay him no mind, focusing entirely on not wasting a drop of the elixir. As you drink it whole, gulping with each intake, the healing washes over you, dulling the pain in your back. You groan in satisfaction, finally able to free your aching muscles from their hunched stance.

“f*cking hell, thank you, Wyll. I needed that,” you pant, wiping your tear-stained cheeks. You roll your shoulders, the pain now quietened to a dull thrum, before shaking your hair loose from the sweat matting it to your skin. “What am I like, eh? Always getting myself into mischief.”

“Well, maybe you’ve learned your lesson now, friend. No more willing flagellation from now on, hm?” he teases, gently patting your shoulder.

“Goodness me, no need to be so boring, Wyll. Maybe she just needs to learn to take a hit or two before crumbling,” Astarion retorts, rolling his eyes. “A few hits to the back and you’re screaming on the floor? Looks like we’re all doomed.”

Wyll scowls at the elf, sighing exasperatedly as he shakes his head.

“Well, we just need to keep up with training her, then. Maybe telling her to throw herself in front of a masoch*stic priest wasn’t the greatest idea to try and improve her pain tolerance,” he whispers, shrugging his shoulders in annoyance. Astarion mirrors his riled expression, taking a step towards him. f*cking hell, are they really going to argue over this?

“Don’t you tell me what’s best for her, devil. She’s perfectly capable of making her own choices, even if she might be too weak to handle them.”

“Hey! I am not weak-” you interject, but you are promptly cut off by the warlock.

“I don’t doubt her autonomy for a second, vampire, but surely you can use that tadpole of yours to come up with a better suggestion, seeing as you’re clearly mentally impaired enough to think this was a good idea.”

“Oh-ho-ho! Feisty, aren’t we? Is that a touch of the hells I hear, Wyll?” Astarion smirks, stepping closer. “Why are you so pressed about what she does, anyway? Unless, of course, you’re looking out for her for more than just camaraderie-”

“Oh, you bastard, do you really have to stoop that low? Is it entirely impossible for you to feel compassion for someone other than yourself, you selfish arseh-”

The boys are inches from each other, poised and ready to strike, before you promptly shove yourself between them, pushing their chests to spilt them up.

“That is enough! Wyll, thank you for your concern, but he’s right. I can make my own decisions, even if they are f*cking stupid sometimes.” The warlock looks at you forlornly, his puppy dog eyes cutting you deep in your soul, but you don’t let that stop you from your tirade.

“And you,” you hiss, turning to Astarion, “thank you for pointing that out, but I do not need you to fight my battles for me. He is just trying to help, especially since he just saw me in a heap on the floor moments ago, writhing in pain. He’s right, a touch of compassion would do you well.” His shocked expression lingers for a moment, his eyes becoming round at your scolding. Then, they narrow as he frowns, crossing his arms across his chest as he grunts.

“Now, both of you, can we stop acting like toddlers and play nicely? You can continue your silly little testosterone contest back at camp, and not in the depths of the enemy’s base. I will not have this whole thing blown because you two can’t control your tempers.”

Almost in unison, the boys sigh as they resign to your instruction, their angered stances settling, heads hung in embarrassment.

”Thank you. Let’s go.”

-

As you leave the shrine, walking past your companions, none of them dare to speak a word. There are, however, looks of contained merriment at the prospect of you telling off a skilled assassin and a renowned swordsman like they were naughty schoolchildren. You hear Karlach whisper something to Shadowheart, and her soft chuckle that follows, but you elect to ignore it, focusing on the mission ahead.

Thankfully, you find Volo pretty quickly after that, convincing his captor that he needs some fresh air so he doesn’t get sick and for you to have a turn ‘playing’ with him. You tell him to meet him at your camp before he swallows his potion of invisibility, disappearing into the depths of the camp.

You spot the ramshackle wooden bridge leading you to the worg pens, and promptly spot the goblins lingering outside the door. Fortunately, between the seven of you, you manage to take them all out before they even notice what’s happening, hiding their dead bodies behind a pile of rocks. You make your way through the entrance, into the dank cavern below.

The smell of rotten meat hits you first, overwhelming your senses. Thankfully, you manage to stomach the smell as you make your way towards the group of goblin children taunting the giant, fuzzy bear trapped in the cage. Halsin. You curse them for their cruelty, your heart breaking as he releases a broken roar. What have they done to him? As he rears on his hind legs, breaking free of his iron cage, all hell breaks loose as the fight breaks out.

You watch as the bear swipes at one of the goblins, knocking them into the brick wall, their neck snapping as they hit the ground. Karlach throws her axe at another, the squelch of the attack ringing throughout the room. Lae’zel makes a clean jump right across the room as she brings her sword down upon an unsuspecting warrior, cleaving his head clean off. Astarion and Wyll dance around the room, sticking their blades in the last critters that rush into the commotion, as you and Shadowheart use your magic to help keep your comrades afloat. Gale sends a flurry of ice through the bars of the other cage, destroying the worgs inside before they even get a chance to break free.

As you all take a moment to catch your breath, you watch as the bear becomes encompassed in golden magic, its form twisting and shifting to that of the giant elf. As he stands to his full height, you are mystified – you already thought he was quite the catch onscreen, but seeing him in person… You hope the blood splattered on your face hides the creeping blush.

His arms are muscular, strong, and his stance swallows you. He holds himself with a strength you can’t quite explain, yet looking at his angled features, you notice a softness, a calmness, a hidden sorrow. He is beautiful, despite the deep scar across his brow that highlights his creased brow, the lines that highlight his impressive age. You step towards him, his body looming over you. Yet somehow, he feels… safe. Like a home you’ve never had, a comfort you’ve been craving. He shakes the blood from his hands, stretching out his muscles as he turns to face you, a soft smile ghosting his lips.

“Pardon the viscera. One should cherish all of nature’s bounty… but goblin guts are quite far down the list.”

Chapter 20: I Am Ready, Whatever May Come

Chapter Text

You face the behemoth of a man as he towers over you, his gentle smile warming your heart. You note the fleeting appearance of relief wash over him, a soft glimmer in his eye, before it is replaced by a grimace at the remnants of your enemies’ insides all over him. You quickly reach into your pocket, retrieving a scrap of fabric for him you’d stowed away earlier so he can wipe himself down. He nods his head in gratitude, his enormous fingers dwarfing your own as he takes it from you. Your eyes linger momentarily on them, appreciating their size, their deftness, wandering what sort of things he can do with… Nooooope, you can think about that later. Or, never, actually. There are bigger things to worry about than how he might use those hands on you- … Seriously?

“You aided a bear without knowing if it would savage you? A true friend of nature – or perhaps a lunatic,” he laughs, wiping the blood from his face. “Either way, I owe thanks.” You offer a delicate giggle of your own, offering him a flask of water which he gladly gulps down, the liquid dripping from his chin over his tight armour. Dear god, he’s really not making this easy for you, is he?

“Well, considering how just about every single person who has mentioned you has made comments towards your ursine nature, I figured I’d take a risk in thinking that the bear trapped in the exact place we were informed you would be might just be the one I was looking for. Master Halsin, correct?”

“Yes, that would be correct. I must admit, I didn’t expect anyone would come to my aid. Who in their right mind would infiltrate a goblin-infested temple?” That sad, grief-stricken look ghosts his face once more – he really didn’t think he’d make it out of here alive. Honestly, the more you think about it, it’s an absolute miracle you’ve managed to make it as far as you have in this journey.

Although, you do find yourself getting irate at all the people who claim to love and care for him for allowing him to be tortured for so long with no plan of assisting him, other than placing their bets on the hope that your ragtag band of misfits might be able to make their way in to get him. They really failed him, after all he has done to help the grove, to support its inhabitants, teach them, nurture them. And then what do they do to the poor refugees who need their help, after they’ve squandered everything Halsin had to give? Honestly, those druids really don’t deserve him.

“From what I’ve been informed, you’re quite the ally to behold; seems like every druid back at the grove is borderline in love with you. We couldn’t just leave you to these bastards’ mercy. And, well, I suppose I’m not in my right mind,” you sigh, rubbing at your neck. “Got a rather unwelcome tenant making its home up in my brain juices, you see. Been told you might know a thing or two about what it is.” Halsin looks at you momentarily, analysing your face. That ever-present blush finds itself creeping back up to the surface, but thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice as he raises a hand, allowing a golden flurry of magic to encase you. It feels so… cosy, comforting. Like the very essence of him is wrapping itself around you, through you, warming your blood and easing the weariness in your soul. Even the tadpole’s wriggling against the sensation is somewhat… pleasant, in a way. You sigh softly as he continues to bathe you in the glow, before all too soon, he releases you.

“Oak Father preserve you, child… You’re infected, aren’t you? The mind flayers’ spawn.” He steps closer, gently placing a delicate palm on your cheek as he turns your face from side to side as his eyes bore into yours. Dear lord… “But… something’s different. You’re aware of the monster inside you. You don’t bow to the Absolute, like the True Souls do… How is this possible?”

“I think it’s this artifact we’ve been carrying,” you reply, turning to face Shadowheart. She frowns momentarily, before you feel said cranial occupant squirming against the confines of your skull. You can’t help but scrunch your shoulders in discomfort, your face twisting at the unpleasant sensation.

“You can’t be serious, can you? We don’t even know this man!” Shadowheart’s voice echoes between your ears, a dubious brow flickering between you and the druid. You do your best to attach yourself to the mental connection, fighting against the god-awful wriggling of the tadpole.

“Look, he’s our best shot here. And it’s not like he could get anywhere with it – there’s seven of us, one of him, and he’s just been at the mercy of the goblins for the last 5 days. I trust him, ok? I’ll deal with whatever ramifications that come from this.” Somehow, she scowls even further, her bottom lip in a perfect curve, before reaching into her pocket and retrieving the little silver icosahedron and handing it to you. You briefly grasp her hand as she does, nodding your head to her in thanks and offering a small smile, before showing it to Halsin. You notice that Lae’zel and Astarion make small sounds of disapproval, but you know that this is safe. It’s not like he could take it from you, anyway.

“Hmm… I have not seen anything like this before. I suppose it’s entirely possible this may be disrupting whatever power the tadpoles have. I would suggest keeping a close eye on it until you know exactly what it is that you’re dealing with.”

-

You agree to let Halsin wait where he is until your escapade is done; as much fun as it would be to let the bear wreak havoc on these monsters, he will most definitely cause a disruption to your plans. You leave him with the rest of your flask of water and some rations of food before making your way back out towards the rest of the sanctum. Spotting the ladders to the right of the door, you move quickly to Lae’zel, whispering in her ear.

“I need you to trust me. The drow is on the other side of this wall, but if we don’t kill her, she might come in useful later in our journey. There’s no way I can let the others in on this without exposing what I know, so… can you help me?” You give the biggest puppy dog eyes you can, hoping that they might have some sway in the githyanki’s stoic heart. She ponders a moment, her scowling eyes fixed on yours, before finally huffing.

“Chk. I will make no promises – if she comes for my throat, I will slit hers. But… I will take note of your request.”

You beam at her, mouthing your gratitude before bouncing over to the ladders. You climb up first, kneeling quietly next to the ledge, taking note of the scrying eye weaving its way between the decrepit bookcases. A couple goblins are wondering through, and there, in the corner, is Minthara. Her white, messy updo stands out against the soft lavender tone of her skin, and you hear her berating the little soldier in front of her. As your companions each make their way up, you urge them to follow your lead, each kneeling atop the platform, Gale making a quip about his aching knees.

“Ok, game plan. They’re all dotted around, but see that thing there?” you whisper, motioning towards the eye. “It needs taking out. I’d bet my last gold piece that it’s a link to whoever is running this whole show, but I imagine any attack on it will really piss off the others. So, any takers to linger back and skewer it when the time is right?”

You glance between the party, each person doing the same to see who the taker might be. Shadowheart sighs as she rolls her eyes, exaggeratingly raising her hand.

“Fine, I’ll do it. I’ll let you lot deal with goblin guts in my stead,” she jests, raising a brow.

“Ok, great, thank you. So, we need someone to cover the drum up there so they can’t call reinforcements, someone to cover each goblin, and at least two or three of us around those two. Gale, you should try and hover around there, you’ll get good range for anyone in the room. Karlach, Lae’zel, you come with me up to the drow. Astarion…” you start, trailing off as you begin scanning the area for an ideal position. He huffs, pushing you slightly out of the way to improve his own view.

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do. I’ll take the drum position. Gives me a good ranged angle, and I can easily drop in from the shadows to catch that creature.” He points at the goblin wandering close to the platform, who is scratching below the belt before bringing his hand back out and giving it a weary sniff. Eurgh.

“Fine, ok. Wyll, that leaves that goblin by the bridge if you’re cool with that. Just make sure it doesn’t push you off the edge.” He nods to you, peering below at the unsuspecting creature. “And everyone, if you can stop anyone breaking away, please do. It sounds like the rest of the horde is on the other side of this wall, the last thing we need is a whole army swarming us.”

With your gameplan set, you make your way down the rickety ladder, peering at the floating orb as it regards you. You briefly meet Shadowheart’s eyes, your brow flexing momentarily before walking towards the commotion in the far corner. Minthara is berating the beast before you for not finding the grove’s location, threatening to take something precious from him for each hour that passes they continue to have no information. Honestly, she’s actually kind of terrifying up close; not that she wasn’t in the game, but hearing her harsh words in person has a different kind of feel to it.

As you finally get up close, Karlach and Lae’zel in tow, the drow turns to face you. Before she’s even said a word, that all-too-familiar wriggling starts up in your skull again, her icy-cold essence consuming your brain. Honestly, you’re getting a little bit sick of everyone trying to worm their way in there today (no pun intended). As your minds meld, you feel the room around you dissipate as a vision of Minthara and Orin appears in front of you, the latter whispering in her ear. You can only wonder what she might be seeing in yours, so you quickly attempt to sever the connection, blocking her from lingering too long as you envision a steel wall blocking in your mind, minimising her ability to look through your memories. You notice as she frowns, but it quickly makes way for a look of intrigue.

“A True Soul in such a grotesque form? The Absolute has a place in her heart even for darthiir. Her heart is more generous than mine. Join my hunt, faerie, and obey me.” Her eyes narrow at you, her entire presence exuding authority, the remaining tendrils of her psionic hold on you weaving around your skull. Part of you almost wants to submit, to allow her the control she is demanding, but you shake away the urge as quickly as it arises.

“A hunt, huh? Who’s the unlucky target?” you chime, knowing damn well exactly who it is she’s looking for.

“Worshippers of a false god. Their existence is an insult to the Absolute’s claim on this region. There is a weapon the Absolute seeks – I’m sure those wretches have it hidden away there. We will find it, amongst the dead and the ashes.” You sense as Lae’zel tenses, and you do your best not to reach for said artifact in your pocket. “The thief whimpering in our dungeon tried to flee to their sanctuary. We will continue to remove parts of him until he tells us exactly where it is. He’s been resilient, but he’ll talk…” Liam. Well, it’s a good thing he’s probably already halfway back to the grove at this point, safe from more of their ‘interrogation’.

Her connection to your tadpole lingers, her presence still itching at the edges of your brain. You know exactly what she’s doing, what she’s looking for, so you do your best to keep your walls held high.

“Speak, True Soul, the hunt must begin soon.” Anxiety pangs in your stomach, you know what you have to do.

“I, uh, I think I might know where they are. Maybe. I saw some place that looked like it could hide a whole bunch of people on our travels here,” you state, chewing nervously at your lip. You’ve got this, you can do it. Karlach shuffles beside you; you know she’s angry at you for the possibility of revealing their location. Your eyes flicker sideways to her momentarily, meeting hers in an attempt to inform her that you have no ill intent towards the refugees.

“You are sure? And how did you find it?” she commands, her chest raising as she studies you.

“Ah, y’know, the Absolute showed me the way, I guess.”

“Praise be. And now, through Her will, you can be my eyes.” Ah, sh*t.

Suddenly, you feel a surge of energy in your mind as Minthara tries to pry her way through your mental defences, poking and prodding at any weak gaps she can find. And, it seems, she is going probably going to be successful at trying to find whatever information she desires from you, so, in turn, you think intently about the swamp to the south – you’d rather try and have some of her forces succumb to the hidden traps down there, or a few stray redcaps, than have them lay a single finger on any of the tieflings back at the grove. You try your best to imagine some of the places you have visited, each memory flittering through your mind for only a moment before you’ve moved to the next. The wreckage, the temple of Jergal, the swamp, the village, the ruins of Waukeen’s Rest, the spider cavern, conveniently doing your best to avoid any image you can of the grove. Minthara scoffs as her grip on your mind weakens, her face twisting with frustration.

“I see only fragments. Your mind is confused – do what you must to clear it.”

“Oh, sorry. Been a rough couple of days.” You begin to fake cough, turning to the side as you look to Shadowheart across the bridge, flexing your brow quickly to signal for her to make her move. “You know, there is one thing that would help me get my thoughts in order, though.”

The drow regards you, turning her head to the side in intrigue.

“And what would that be?”

You hear a thwack as Shadowheart swings at the eyeball behind you, crushing it between her mace and one of the crumbling bookshelves. Minthara’s eyes grow wide in horror as she watches the orb splatter onto the floor and you, and your companions, reach for your weapons.

“Knowing that the grove is safe from the likes of you.”

All hell breaks loose. You hear a guttural cry as Wyll skewers the goblin he has been keeping watch over, and the sound of rushing magic as Gale hurls a flurry of ice at one of the other unsuspecting creatures. You reach for the daggers at your hilt as Karlach and Lae’zel rush forwards, lunging their weapons towards Minthara. She quickly jumps back as their swings go wide, counter-striking with a swing of her own. The githyanki seethes as she is whacked across the arm with the drow’s mace, causing her to stumble momentarily. You try your best to leap forwards and take a slash at her ribs, but her armour is too tough for your blades to penetrate.

Stepping back, you quickly stow the blades, opting instead to grab the lute from your back as you hastily pluck at the strings, a bolt of fire erupting from the instrument. In the commotion, it goes wide, hitting the gap between her and the goblin she was berating just a minute ago. You hear more cries of anguish from the back of the room; you’re not entirely sure who they’re coming from, but you don’t have time to check as the goblin leaps over the table to take a swing at you. You jump to the side, just missing his attack, as you try to kick his stubby legs out from under him. Strumming again, you blast out another firebolt, singeing the armour on his shoulder as he screams in agony. Suddenly, Karlach’s axe flies over you as it makes contact with his head, the resulting eruption of skull and brain matter splattering all over. Ew.

You turn to her, her cheeky smile spreading across her face as she winks at you, before promptly leaping over the table to grab her discarded weapon. However, as she does, a swarm of mystical energy consumes her, freezing her in place. Hold person, sh*t. You turn back to the githyanki and the drow, locked in a flurry of competing blows. You watch as Minthara’s mace connects with the side of Lae’zel’s skull, the resounding crack bouncing across the walls as she drops to the floor, knocked out cold. sh*t.

“Lae’zel!” you screech, feeling powerless as you watch the drow dive over your friend’s limp body to lunge at you. You try sending another bolt out from your lute, attempting to step back again, but the table blocks you from moving. The flames hit her squarely in the chest, but thanks to her impressive armour, it doesn’t do a damn thing to her. f*ck. You watch as another flurry of ice flies over, missing her by just an inch as she continues moving towards you.

Oh god, this is it. You’re f*cked, there’s no chance in hell you’ll be able to take her down by yourself. You frantically look from left to right, seeing if there might be anything to use to block her oncoming assault, but it’s futile. As her arm rears back to strike at you, you do the only thing you can think of – you rear yours back too, swinging your lute directly at her head as it connects with an almighty force. Thankfully, the thing doesn’t snap in half, which is surprising considering the force you put into your attack. She stalls momentarily, the collision with her skull causing her to waver on her feet unsteadily. However, she promptly shakes it off, staring at you with bared teeth, snarling, ready to strike. You clench your eyes closed, waiting for the end to come, powerless to stop her. Your thoughts flicker momentarily to the people at home – they’ll never know that this is how you died, at the hands of a bloodthirsty drow, in a dingy dungeon a billion miles away. They’ll never know what happened to you, how you disappeared, where you disappeared to. This is it.

However, despite your preparations, the moment never comes. Instead, you hear a frantic roar as someone leaps through the air above you, jumping down on top of Minthara. You open your eyes to a blur of white hair and blue armour as Astarion plunges his blades into her, through her neck, her sides, through the gaps of her armour on her arms. You briefly see the white gleam of light reflecting from his fangs before he sinks his teeth down into her, draining her completely as she struggles in vain to stop him. Her eyes stay fixed on you as the elf drains the last of her energy, her brows furrowed in fear, in sorrow, forevermore. A single tear escapes her eyes as the light fades from them, her body stilling, going limp, before Astarion drops her to the ground.

You can’t move, you can’t breathe. You were so ready to die, for you to be the one laid on the ground in a lifeless heap, not the other way around. You don’t know what to think, to feel. She’s dead. You could have saved her, helped her, made her come to her senses. But she’s gone, and she almost took you with her. Once again, you were incapable of defending yourself, only alive because someone came to your rescue, yet again. You feel your breaths growing ragged as your lungs scream for air, your airways feeling tight and unbearable.

“Goodness, what a mess- oh no, no, no, no,” Astarion protests, jumping up to you and gripping your shoulders, shaking you violently. “How many gods-damned times do I have to say this? Get. A. Grip. This is not the time for this. You’ll only get yourself slaughtered, or one of us if we have to come and step in again.”

Staring into his deep, red irises, you find your balance, your composure, as you begin holding your breath and swallowing harshly. He’s right, you really need to get a hold of this.

“S-sorry. Thank you, I thought I was- I thought I was a goner,” you stammer, gripping his arms in return for some sense of stability.

“Now is not the time to thank me. Besides, her Absolute nonsense was getting on my last nerves. Now, kindly get your sh*t together, please, before you get one of us killed.” As he releases you, you wobble for a moment until you find your footing. Thankfully, as you scan the room, it appears that your companions have successfully dealt with the remaining creatures, and Karlach is now free from her magical bindings. Lae’zel is still passed out cold on the floor, so you rush over to her, analysing her head wound as you fretfully try to take your mind off of your fleeting brush with death. Shadowheart follows suit, scowling slightly at the unconscious woman.

“Gods, can we just leave her here? Would certainly make my life a whole lot easier,” she moans, crossing her arms across her chest. You roll your eyes at her, sighing loudly.

“Would it kill you two to play nicely?” you chide, glaring through a raised brow.

“Honestly? Probably.”

Astarion’s high-pitched chortle rings out as he throws back his head, placing a hand on his chest.

“Oh, I do love a good cat fight. Although, it is more appealing when both parties are conscious enough to participate.”

-

After helping Lae’zel heal up, you make plans for the final boss: Dror Ragzlin. Although, once again, your plans don’t amount to much more than go in, f*ck sh*t up, leave, but it’s better than nothing, you suppose. Thankfully, Astarion at least has the initiative to try and place himself up on the rafters to pick off some of the enemies from the shadows. Not wanting to risk exposure of your escape from the nautiloid, you interrupt the hobgoblin’s ritual, causing everyone to attack you on sight.

Thankfully, Lae’zel and Karlach team up to take on Ragzlin as you, Wyll, and Shadowheart cover each other’s backs from the swarms of goblins. Gale remains at the back of the room, twirling his staff as he unleashes a barrage of offensive spells across the hall. Using your new knife skills, you successfully manage to take down two of them before a single hit even lands, a feat you find yourself quite proud of. However, as the enemies cause your little trio to move apart, you find yourself flanked by two vicious creatures, completely at their mercy as you make your best attempt to duck and weave from their swipes, the occasional dagger nipping at your skin.

Suddenly, a bolt skewers the brain of one of the attackers, its body dropping to the floor as you spin around and plunge your knife into the side of the other. You look up briefly, meeting Astarion’s scowling eyes. You both gaze between each other briefly, you offering a soft smile of gratitude before he scoffs, twisting away to shoot at one of the other fighters atop the rafters with him. You bury your blade into the creature once more to make sure it’s down before moving onto the next.

Before too long, all of the foes are slain, and you and your companions absolutely drenched in their blood. You’re definitely going to need to bathe when you get back to camp. You make sure to take the key to the cell at the back of the room from Ragzlin before you leave, pocketing the mountains of gold and swiping yourself some interesting new items to sell.

Thankfully, there’s now only a handful of goblins left in the main hall to take out, and between the seven of you, it takes no time at all. You make sure to head back to the worg pens to check on Halsin, who seems to have perked up a bit now he has some food and water in his belly. He is elated as you inform him of your success, agreeing that he will speak with you in the safety of the grove about the next leg of your adventure, before agreeing to help you wipe out the remaining beasts that weren’t victims to your toxin-induced antics out in the courtyard.

As you exit the temple, the horde is waiting and ready with weapons drawn to ambush you. Despite the party’s fatigue at the constant battles you have wrought throughout the day, the creatures seem to be dropping quite easily. The troll is preoccupied with Karlach and Lae’zel, who have made an impeccable pair throughout this whole ordeal, and Gale transports himself atop the barracks to send magical attacks from above. Halsin, Wyll, and Shadowheart split off towards the eastern part of the camp to deal with the stragglers there, which leaves you and Astarion to deal with the ones in the main area of the courtyard.

With a crossbow in each hand, Astarion dances between the foes, dipping and diving out of reach from their attacks, keeping their attention focused solely on him. You brandish your daggers in your own, plunging them wherever you can find a suitable piece of flesh, finishing off what the elf has started. Suddenly, you are face-to-face with one of the blighted creatures, his gruesome sword brandished towards you. You brace yourself, searching for the best spot to aim your dagger as he runs wildly towards you, his chest entirely open. You decide to risk it, throwing one of your blades directly at his exposed torso, the blade sinking directly through his heart. As he drops, Astarion’s face comes into view from behind him, a devilish smile etched upon his face.

“Oh, good girl,” he grins, raising a brow in approval as he shoots another bolt into the bugbear lunging towards him, the creature dropping dead on the floor with a pained groan. You beam back, his words of encouragement warming you, soothing the self-conscious voice inside your head.

You go to speak, but suddenly, you freeze in place as a searing pain rips through you. The words catch in your throat as the air leaves your body, all of your senses consumed by the agony flooding through your veins. Looking down, you see the protruding arrow poking out of your chest as your blood begins filling your mouth, dripping onto your clothes and down to the floor. Your eyes flicker upwards to look at the assailant; a singular goblin upon one of the watchtowers, poised with his bow momentarily before a bolt of thunder knocks him to the ground, courtesy of the wizard. Your ears begin ringing, your mind is completely fogged; ahead of you, you can see Astarion’s anguished face as he rushes towards you, reaching for you, yelling your name, but you can’t hear a thing. Blackness creeps into the corner of your vision, your whole body going cold as you use the last of your energy to try and remain upright, but it’s no use.

“A-Astarion…” you gurgle, before you finally lose your balance. Everything is black before you’ve even hit the ground.

Chapter 21: As It Was, So It Is Again

Chapter Text

Peace.

That’s all you feel, complete and utter peace. There is no pain, no sadness, no doubt, guilt, uncertainty. For the first time in your life, you are experiencing true tranquillity. Your aching muscles, the fatigue, everything, is all gone. Even the wound in your chest is non-existent, like your grave injury never even happened. You find yourself inhaling and exhaling with ease, no resistance, as you feel yourself lost in serenity. You allow yourself to drift as you lose yourself in this newfound sense of calm, your mind alarmingly empty; even the tadpole seems to want to leave you be. Whatever is around you lies still, not a sound enters your ears, your eyes remaining closed as you bask in your comfort.

After what feels like an age, you finally allow yourself to start moving your fingers and toes – slowly, of course, as even the subtle movement is an affront to the tranquillity you feel within. Gradually, you can move your hands and feet, then your legs and arms, and so on, until finally you can stretch and twist your body as you please. Then, finally, you open your eyes.

You can’t even begin to explain the beauty you see before you. You’re drifting in the cosmos, floating amongst a billion constellations of gold and white light, the deep purple backdrop of space and the kaleidoscopic smoky accents of nebulae forming the most beautiful canvas you think you may have ever seen. You find yourself twisting and turning in every direction, absorbing as much of this beauty as you can. Amongst the stars, you also see remnants of shattered meteorites amongst the brightly coloured planets floating in the distance; not any you’ve seen images of before, mind you, but there are similarities to those that exist in your own universe. The one closest to you remarkably resembles Saturn, but with multiple belts of broken rock surrounding the emerald green sphere instead of just the one.

As you continue to marvel at the masterpiece laid out before you, you are suddenly overcome with the feeling of someone watching you. Quickly snapping your head in each different direction you can, twisting and flipping your body to cover all areas, you try your best to locate the hidden spectator, but it’s no use. It’s just you and the expanse of the ether around you, not a soul in sight. Until you hear a voice.

“It would seem that thou hast found thyself in quite an inconvenient predicament.”

Your brow furrows in confusion; where is he? You continue searching for him, your hair flipping around your face furiously as you continue to whip your head in all angles. Until, your surroundings slowly become consumed in a blinding white light, causing you to block your eyes with your forearm. As you do, you feel ground settle beneath your feet, a gentle breeze blowing around you. You gradually drop your arm as the light settles, opening your eyes to find yourself in a completely new environment. However, not one that is unfarmiliar.

You’re home. Well, you’re on the street outside your home. You spot your furniture through the windows, the familiar sight of your front door. Even the neighbour’s cat is perched atop your roof, delicately licking himself clean. However, other than sweet little Percy, there isn’t another soul in sight; no pedestrians, no vehicles bustling, no one. No, he can’t have brought you back. Not now, when there’s still so much to do.

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, unsure of what to do. You’re not sure why, but you almost feel like if you step towards your door, then that’s it, you’re stuck back here. But… is that what you want? Is that what you need? How did you even get here? You try to remember what happened before your trip into the heavens, how you got there. The last thing you remember is storming out into the courtyard, surrounded by your companions, the enemies being picked off one by one. You remember sinking your dagger into the goblin’s chest, Astarion’s childlike glee at your prowess, but after that…

Oh.

You died. You were shot through the chest with a rogue arrow, helpless to do anything, the last thing you saw before your eyes permanently closed was the unreadable emotion on the elf’s face as you choked on your own blood. And now, your dead body is lying somewhere in the chaos of that campsite, and you are… here. Back in your own world, or at least you think you are. The eerie stillness, the quiet, it’s unsettling. As you remain rooted to the spot, contemplating your next move, Withers steps to your side, looking ahead to the building in front of you.

“An unusual abode, one must admit. Sturdy, though. Certainly with more… comforts, one could suppose, than a residence in Faerûn, dost thou not think?” he enquires, his sunken eyes flickering over your home. “Surely, thou must find thyself in want of returning to such a place.”

You contemplate for a moment; he does have a point. You literally just f*cking died, your life ended, all because of some interdimensional bullsh*t you had absolutely no sway over. You were taken from your home, your family, friends, all to be placed into a situation you were vastly unprepared to deal with. Surely, you’d be completely out of your mind to go back if given the choice, wouldn’t you?

Although, maybe you’re not in your right mind. You look towards the familiar building, taking in all of the details you had never paid attention to before. The peeling paint, the scuffs on the window frames, the effects of the weather on the walls, the path towards the door that you’ve walked hundreds of times, and the place that you were once so at home with now feels… wrong. Like it’s not your home anymore. Like you don’t belong here. Maybe you never belonged here – it’s not like you loved your life, anyway. You hated your job, your friends barely had time for you, you always made yourself far more available to others who never gave any of their time back to you.

Yet now… You have purpose. You have a reason for existing, a mission, a clear goal. Hell, you have a bunch of absolute freaks who you adore, and you’ve barely known them a week, yet you literally laid down your life to help them. And without you, this whole messed up scenario becomes ten times harder for them to navigate.

“Maybe, maybe not. Why am I here?” you ask, turning your head to face him. He turns to meet your gaze, his dehydrated chest rising and falling softly.

“To remind thou of thy choices, child. As thou is most aware of, this journey is one of using thy understanding and quality of character to aid the weary, the misguided. Upon our first meeting, what was it thou said? About the value of one’s life? ‘It depends on the value of their merit, their actions, their will to make change for the better.’” He reaches out a skeletal hand into the air, waving it, and suddenly the environment changes once more.

Now, you are standing outside the front of your office, the murky grey sky dulling the world around you. A faint drizzle pours, but somehow, you find that you and Withers remain dry. Once again, there is not a soul to be seen, no cars or buses in the street – just complete silence, except for the faint patter of raindrops.

“Meddling in the affairs of others is something that comes of great cost, adventurer. And now, thou hast had but a taste of what that cost could be.”

You study his face momentarily; what does he want from all of this? Why is it you that has to be the one chosen for this ‘journey’?

“Withers, I… I died. Maybe where you come from, death isn’t a permanent thing, a complete end. But here, for me, well… As far as we know, it is.” You sigh heavily, wearily running a hand through your hair. “I need to know, why did you choose me? Of all the people in my world, the fighters, the strategists, the strong, why me?”

“Because thou hast nothing to lose in this dreary realm, plus, thou owns a soul that is rich in value that coin cannot compare with. Thou wouldst not act in greed, nor thirst for power, but purely upon the intuition of what is right.”

Huh. Maybe being a goody-two-shoes all the time isn’t so bad. Or maybe it is. Who knows? Even if your ‘rich’ soul is worthy of this, that doesn't mean that you are. You can’t fight, you can’t cast, you couldn’t even make it through the first major fight you were a part of. The others were putting themselves at risk trying to keep you safe, and you still went and got yourself f*cking killed, endangering them all in the process.

“But, I’m not strong enough, Withers, I’m weak-” The mummy holds up a shrivelled hand to silence you, stopping you in your tracks.

“One grows weary of thy protests, child. Strength can be learned, prowess can be refined. But the qualities that one such as thyself carries, well, that is something designed only by nature.” He turns to face the building again, scowling at the unusual architecture. “Dost thou desire to return to this realm, leave thy adventure behind?”

You ponder his question; do you want to? Could you even return to this place after everything you’ve been through? But, what if you just keep bringing them harm? Sure, your intel is useful, but even that has its limits.

“I… I don’t know,” you mutter, dropping your eyes to the floor.

“Allow me to tell thee why I hath chosen one from thy realm.” Your head snaps back to him, fully attentive. “As thou art aware, it is not my duty to speak truths, to interfere, for the minds of mortals are easily swayed. My place, for the most part, is to observe. This intervention, the retrieval of thou to mine own dominion, is beyond mine ordinary remit. But thou art extraordinary, in thy own fashion, and so are these times. I could not allow such an interference to be attributed to one from the realm I reside, lest I attract the attention of those that would interfere with the path of righteousness.”

Inhaling sharply, you mull over his words. He’s right; or, somewhat, at least – you went from someone who had never used a weapon, never even experienced magic, to someone who helped take down most of a camp full of enemies, despite the help you received. And it’s true, your only hope out of all of this is to try and guide everyone into making the choices that will help them grow, recover from their pain, face their demons and win. No lust for power or ulterior motives cloud your judgement, you just want what’s best for everyone.

“So, I shall ask thee one final question. Wouldst thou like to return here, to thy own world, with limited opportunities and wasted potential, with naught but the company of a rogue kitten? Or wouldst thou rather return to Faerûn, to thy companions, and fight for the freedom of the oppressed?”

Well, putting like that, it’s pretty obvious what the right answer is. Taking one final look at the sh*thole of an office before you, the memories of all the times you have cried in the bathroom, been yelled at by customers and colleagues alike, left alone to spend your weekends by yourself yet again flooding through your mind, you return your gaze to Withers.

“Take me back, Withers. I want to go back.”

“Thou hast spoken.”

He reaches out his skeletal hand to grab yours, his free one once again waving through the air as your surroundings blur from view in the same blinding light from before. You scrunch your eyes shut as it burns your corneas, trying to dip your head out of its path. Wind flurries around you as you feel yourself begin to fall, soaring, floating, before the blackness consumes you once more.

With a harsh thud, you finally feel the ground beneath you, holding you in place. But, it seems, you also feel the faint sensation of someone gripping at your shoulders, your name somehow being shouted at you, yet you can barely hear it. Slowly, you open your eyes to see the pained, red eyes looming over you as your vision comes into focus, a mop of white hair speckled with blood blocking out the late afternoon sun overhead. He is still speaking your name, his hands in a vice grip around your biceps as he attempts to shake you back into consciousness.

“Hi, fangs,” you croak faintly, your throat burning at the sensation. You have no energy at all, the pain in your chest seeping into the rest of your nervous system, but you can tell that the offending arrow is no longer there, the wound now sealed. The elf heaves a sigh of relief, his grip on you softening, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Don’t you dare do that again, I will not haul your dead body back to camp.”

Chapter 22: Still Breathing, Despite Everything

Chapter Text

Everything hurts. Hell, there are parts of you that you didn’t even know you could feel that are in absolute agony. Although, that probably ought to be expected when you’ve literally just been brought back from the dead. Taking raspy breaths, you try to sit up, but it’s a bit too much for you to manage on your own. Astarion scowls as he uses his grip on you to try and help pull you up, but you continue to wince as he does, so he instead scoffs and lays you back on the floor. Thankfully, your companions begin arriving one by one, each sharing a mutual look of concern. Wyll calls your name, clambering to your side as he kneels beside you, gently taking your face in his palm as he looks you over.

“What in the hells happened here?!” he exclaims, looking to the giant patch of blood staining your doublet. You manage to look down slightly to see the mess before your eyes flitter to the ground beside Astarion, where you see the offending arrow splintered in two. When did that happen?

“Was… shot,” you rasp, the words burning in your throat. Despite your skeletal saviour bringing you back from the brink, it would seem you’re not out of the woods yet. You can feel the pain threatening to take you under once more. “Not… good…”

“By the gods… How did you survive this? This much blood, a wound like that, it should’ve killed you!” Wyll’s face is twisted in anguish at the state of you, his puppy dog eyes cutting you deep inside. Hell, seeing those almost hurts more than the agony you feel.

“I… I think it did,” murmurs Astarion, frowning at him. The two share a momentary glance before Halsin places his hand on Wyll’s shoulder, gently signalling for him to move. He crouches beside you, analysing your wounds, his own face twisted in concern.

“This is too much for just us to handle in our current state, we need to get her back to the grove immediately. I have a full apothecary there, and the other druids should be able to assist me. Shadowheart, will you lend us some of your magic for the time being?” She nods, her hands encompassing in a golden glow as she places them over the wound, a delicate, warm feeling ever so slightly softening the edges of your agony. Halsin follows suit, his own magic much softer, mostly drained after the ordeal he has been through in the last few days. Thankfully, it no longer feels like you are moments away from dying again, but you still feel exhausted. However, you find that you still have one thing on your mind.

“Lll…t…” you mumble incoherently, drunk on the pain and relief. Everyone looks to you in confusion.

“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that, friend. Come again?” asks Halsin, offering you a gentle smile.

“L-loot… Th..s.. good st..ff here…” you reply with barely any energy left to move your lips. You audibly hear Astarion slap a hand to his face.

“Good gods, woman. You’ve just come round from having a dance with death, and all you can think about is what you can get your hands on? Have you any shred of self-preservation?” he huffs. “Although, I can’t say I don’t admire your light-fingered antics.”

You choke out a pained chuckle yourself, meeting his eyes.

“W-well… th-the drow… armour… Would look good on- on you, b-be useful,” you breathe, each syllable enunciated by a sharp stabbing sensation. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake… Ugh. Well, I suppose you’re not wrong. And drow armour is particularly well-made and hard to come by… Would be a shame to see it go to waste. But maybe we should get our priorities in order first? Like, not dying again?”

“He’s right, we need to get you back. Quickly.” Halsin places an arm under your neck and knees before lifting you with ease, cradling you in his strong, chiselled arms. Honestly, not the worst place in the world you could be right now. “Now, who’s coming with me? I’ll need backup in case we run into stragglers on the return journey.”

Wyll, Karlach, and Gale immediately agree to assist, Shadowheart offering to provide additional healing where she can. Lae’zel looks to Astarion, raising a brow to him.

“Oh, I’m going for that armour. Not a chance in all the Hells I’m going to pass that up! But, I’m sure you’ll be fine, of course. I imagine we’ll run into each other again soon enough,” he chimes, dipping his head slightly. You can’t help but feel a pang of sadness at his plan to split up, something in you was hoping he would stick around. But, he’s his own person, and honestly, it would be a bit stupid to leave that behind. You all need every advantage you can get.

“I will remain with the elf. I am sure his dainty little arms will struggle carrying his spoils back to camp, should his complaints about his pack be anything to go by,” chides Lae’zel, a soft scowl gracing her face. Astarion gasps, exaggeratedly placing a hand to his cheek.

“Lae’zel! Why, I never! Although, if you’re offering to carry things for me, who would I be to say no?”

You think you can actually hear the whole group collectively roll their eyes.

-

As you are carried back to the grove, you consistently flit in and out of consciousness. At one point, Halsin actually has to place you down for a moment as the pain causes you to vomit uncontrollably, the wound in your chest reopening slightly as your abdominal muscles heave.

You’re not sure how long it takes you to get back, but all you can recall is the faint yelling of the tieflings as you arrive to open the gate, a quick flash of Nettie analysing your face from inside the druids’ quarters, and several scattered flashes of assorted healers tending to your wounds throughout the remainder of the day and into the night.

All the while, you find yourself dreaming an array of different things. One that you recall is of a day several months back where you were let down by a friend at the last minute after making plans together, resulting in you spending the night alone with Netflix and takeout. Except, this time, the movie you were watching was instead the scene of your final moments, watching yourself die all over again, seeing Astarion rushing to you, your name being called by your companions as you hit the deck.

In another, you are taken back to one of the first times you were called up by management for ‘poor performance’ – if being hassled by customers can even be called poor performance, that is. Except, instead of your mangy old boss, it’s Raphael hounding you, berating you as he tells you how you’ll never succeed without proper training and guidance. As you leave the room, it’s not the regular, snooty secretary sat outside, but Mizora, with that ever-apparent, sh*t-eating grin plastered on her face.

There was also another, one you can’t quite remember all the details of. It was when you had your first kiss, the both of you lovestruck young things, excited and inexperienced, hands grabbing each other with fervour. But instead of the person you remember having shared it with, it’s someone else you can’t quite place. The memory is fuzzy, your grasp on your unconsciousness slipping. Maybe, just maybe, you think you might recall some particularly sharp teeth on your bottom lip…

Suddenly, you bolt upright in the pitch-black expanse of the druids’ apothecary. The threadbare blanket that has been draped over you slides down your body, revealing the efforts of those who have been assisting you. The pain in your chest has settled to a dull ache, your ruined doublet no longer upon you, but your chest bound tightly with various bandages and a cape wrapped around your shoulders for warmth. You shiver slightly as your skin is exposed to the chill air of the cavern, and you look to your surroundings to try and find a light source. Thankfully, there is a torch just to the side of your bed, and you gently grab at the flint beside it to set it alight.

As you do, you huddle around it for warmth, allowing the pleasant feeling to seep into your bones and settle you. You breathe shakily, your battered lungs thankfully much more at ease, if not still slightly sore. Looking out into the room, you see very little in the dim illumination from your torch, but there is one thing you notice.

Laid in a rickety, wooden chair, neck hanging off the back and silver curls dangling loosely, is Astarion in a deep trance, his hands delicately turned upwards on the armrests. He is wearing the armour you suggested he grab in your delirious post-resurrection state, his body almost invisible in the low light. You can, however, see the faint rising and falling of his chest as he breathes, an instinct he no longer needs but seems to have been unable to relinquish. You notice he has a blanket of his own that has fallen to the ground; he must be freezing.

Delicately, you begin rising to your feet, trying to be as quiet as you can as you place the torch back in its stand. Your muscles ache as you move, but you are grateful for the fact that they are no longer screaming at you. As you reach your slumbering companion, you gently reach for the discarded fabric, placing it softly upon his body, ensuring you cover as much of him as you can. Astarion grunts softly; obviously, in his semi-conscious condition due to his trance, he probably knows exactly what you’re doing, he’s just not awake enough to confront you for it.

“Sorry,” you whisper, creeping back ever so slightly, “I just didn’t want you to catch a chill.” This earns you another quiet groan, so you decide to take your leave and return to your own bed – well, if you can even call it that. Thankfully, they’ve placed an additional covering over the solid stone, but it’s still just that: stone. However, you’re not one to complain, so you tentatively climb back in, wrapping yourself up once more between the cloak and blankets, and you find yourself quickly succumbing to your exhaustion.

-

When you awaken, sunlight beams through the cracks in the rock formation that makes up the cave, signalling the start of a new day. Halsin and Nettie are fussing over different concoctions, arguing over which herb or extract would be best. The archdruid believes they’re at risk of overdoing the Rogue’s Morsel; the healer thinks you can start increasing your dose. None of it means much to you, other than a faint recollection of its use in healing potions in the game. As your blurred vision begins to refocus, you notice the empty chair has been moved to the edge of the room, the thin blanket folded neatly over the back of it.

“Ah, little phoenix, good morning to you!” beams Halsin, walking over with a vial of unknown, violet liquid. It shimmers inside the small, glass bottle, reflecting speckles of light. He places it gently in your hands, his own grasping yours softly as he does. His warm grin encapsulates you, and you find yourself mirroring his expression. “Drink it, it should help with the soreness.”

Not one to turn down any opportunity to rid yourself from the lingering effects of your brush with death the day prior, you gladly unstopper the vial and down it in one big gulp. It tastes floral, almost like violet, and the heat in it radiates throughout your chest, seeping into your veins. You groan in relief as you feel the last of your residual pain simmer away, leaving you feeling totally refreshed.

“Oh, Halsin, thank you,” you sigh, placing a hand to your chest as you shrug your shoulders. “And thanks to all of you for looking after me. I’m sure I’d probably still be out cold on that courtyard floor if it weren’t for your efforts.”

He presses his lips together as he offers a tight-lipped smile, holding your face as he peers into your eyes, looking for any lingering sign of damage.

“Please, my friend. It is the least we could do after all you have done for us. And me, I should say. I, too, would still be at the goblins’ mercy if not for you, and this grove in smithereens from their onslaught.” For a moment, you see a brief flash of grief pour over his features, his hazel eyes melancholic, highlighted by the remaining scars from a battle long-since fought before he delicately blinks it away. You sigh softly, staring into them, as you gently place a hand on the arm that is still caressing your face.

“You went through a lot in there, Halsin. I’m just sorry we couldn’t get to you sooner.” You drop your hand as you sit back, flinging your legs over the edge of the bed. “I’m not typically one for retribution, I prefer the path of forgiveness and teaching. But what they did to you, to Liam, to all the poor souls who ended up on their doorstep… It was completely unforgivable. I’d kill myself all over again if I had to, if it meant stopping their reign of terror in these lands.”

He chuckles as he leans back, folding his muscled arms across his chest. Honestly, you really weren’t prepared for just how big he would be, how much his presence dominates the room. Yet, you feel completely at ease. His size is just that, his size. He can’t help how tall he is any more than the gnomes and halflings can help how short they are. He really is just a big teddy bear – fuzzy, soft, comforting. His wildshape is incredibly fitting for him.

“You sound like a kindred spirit, little phoenix. Nature teaches us that each creature has its place, its behaviours, temperament, its place in the world. Savagery like that, however, has no home anywhere, and I am deeply sorry that you got yourself caught in the crossfire on behalf of me and my people. But,” he starts, turning back to his workstation, “I am ever so grateful you did.”

“Don’t mention it, Halsin. But… little phoenix?” you enquire, tilting your head. “Where’s that come from, then?”

“Ah, a legendary bird. It is said to be a passive creature until provoked, but it can reign fire akin to a dragon when it needs to protect itself, or those it cares about. Plus, it always rises from the ashes when it perishes.” He looks back to you, a wicked gleam in his eye. “I wouldn’t say such a description would go amiss for yourself.”

You roll your eyes playfully, shaking your head.

“Ok, ok. Duly noted, Mr. Grizzly.” He lets out a raucous laugh at your unimaginative nickname, placing a hand to his belly. “Ok, maybe yours needs some work. Anyway, fill me in, what happened while I was out?”

-

Halsin lets you know about his discussion with Kagha after ensuring your safety, and the following stern words with the participants of the ritual for allowing themselves to get caught up in her arrogance. He explains how he had his best healers on hand to look after you, and how Nettie helped bandage up your chest. Even Kagha attempted to make reparations by disappearing into the night and harvesting most of the ingredients needed to make the elixirs that helped you heal; at least she can see the error of her ways, you suppose. Makes a change from the complete bitch you almost punched in the face just a week ago.

He takes his leave eventually so that Nettie can help remove your bandages and inspect your wounds – thankfully, other than a pale, pink scar along your chest bone, there is no other signifier to your fatal injury the day before. She delicately massages a salve into it, explaining that it should help the scar to fade, and passes you your camp clothes to change into. You find yourself wondering how she got her hands on them, until you remember your visitor from last night.

“Nettie,” you ask, slipping on the shirt with ease now your pain is gone, “when did Astarion leave this morning?”

“Come again?” she replies, raising a brow as she takes the blood-stained bandages away from you.

“Oh, the elf with the silver hair I’ve been travelling with. When did he leave? I imagine he’s the one who brought these for me last night.”

“Dear, there was just us here last night. Me, Halsin, and the other druids. I imagine someone must have passed them over at some point.”

Huh.

“Oh, uh, right. Never mind, then…” Strange. You definitely remember seeing him, laid in that same rickety chair, draping that threadbare blanket over him in the dead of the night. Although, you did have some pretty weird dreams… Maybe that was yet another one of them? You were pretty hopped up on whatever meds these druids pumped you full of. As you pull up your trousers, you think back to the one of Raphael berating you, giggling to yourself at the absurdity of the devil in a poorly fitted budget suit, yelling at you over KPIs and targets. A brief flash of the kiss flickers through your mind, but before you can recall much else, you hear Karlach’s booming laughter reverberate through the halls as she banters with Wyll.

“Haha! Honestly, Horns, you do crack me up. Can’t believe we were gonna try and mush each other into the dirt!” she exclaims, still loud enough for you to hear her before she comes into view. As she does, her eyes fix on you, lighting up with joy. “Soldier! You’re alive!”

She rushes over, her arms wide as if she’s about to pull you into the biggest bear hug she can muster, before halting briefly and lowering them, opting instead to just shake violently in glee as she dances on the spot. Oh, she’s far too precious. You can’t wait until you can finally hold her like she deserves, but sadly, that will have to wait a little while longer. Wyll, however, steps towards you, gently wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“There’s our little fighter. Hope your antics yesterday haven’t knocked you down too much,” he says, rubbing your upper arm affectionately. You rest your head on his shoulder, tucking your other arm behind his back and pulling him into a warm embrace. “What even happened?”

“Weirdly enough, all things considered, I don’t think I’ve ever felt better. I should die more often if this is how I come out the other end,” you chuckle. “Our mummified friend had something to do with me being able to speak to you after my arrow to the chest, but honestly, it was a whole thing that I’d rather get into later.” You offer a gentle smile before quickly changing the subject. “Anyway, how are you both? How are the others? It was a pretty big fight yesterday.”

“Well, we’re both totally fine! Honestly, taking down that troll in the courtyard was f*cking amazing, you should’ve seen how it hit the deck. Well, obviously, you couldn’t, you did too,” Karlach snorts, crinkling her nose. “But Gale and Shadowheart were completely knackered by the time they got back, think the magic use was a bit much for them. Poor Shadowheart, bless her, was so tuckered out by the time we got to camp that Lae had to carry her to her tent!”

“Wait, seriously?!” Your eyes go wide in shock; she must have been rough if Lae’zel had to help her out. “Is she ok? Did they try and kill each other or something?”

“Pfft, yeah, she’s fine. Lae too, no theatrics there. But when your chest kept ripping open, she had to keep trying to seal it shut. Not that she minded, of course. We tried to make you drink healing potions, but you just kept throwing them up. We really didn’t think you were gonna make it, soldier. But she was up and about this morning helping Gale with breakfast, and right now they’re helping get things ready for the party tonight.”

sh*t. Your heart pangs with guilt at the realisation that she completely over-exerted herself trying to keep you stable, but thankfully, you find it makes way for gratefulness at her willingness to try and keep you alive. All of these people put everything they had into trying to keep you safe; Halsin, the druids, Shadowheart, Karlach, Wyll, Gale, Lae’zel…

“What about Astarion? When did he make it back?”

“Oh, fangs? Um, I’m not sure, actually. Lae’zel brought the stuff back when we were having tea, but she said he’d gone to hunt for his own dinner. He hadn’t come back before we went to bed, and we didn’t see him again until we were cleaning up breakfast. Left again not long after, though. But he’s ok, I think.”

“Well, he seemed like his usual self. Walked right into camp and immediately told Gale to shut up as he was explaining the intricacies of goblin militia ranks to us…” Wyll ducks his head to you, whispering softly. “I was quite glad for the disruption, if I’m perfectly honest.”

Your brow furrows in confusion as you let out a soft chuckle. Well, he wasn’t at camp last night, but he apparently wasn’t here either… Surely, he didn’t sneak in to see you? No, no. He wouldn’t do that, it’s not like he’d have much reason to. And it’s not like he could have gotten past so many of the druids without being noticed, anyway. He probably just had his own sh*t to deal with, and you just so happened to dream about it. It’s just a coincidence. Yep, a complete coincidence.

“Right, ok. Well, let’s get out of here, anyway. I could use the fresh air, and I think my legs will fall off if I stay sat down for much longer. Plus, I’m guessing this party won’t set itself up.”

-

The warm, midday sun blinds you as you exit the dim chambers, but you feel like you’ve never been more grateful to see it after being cooped up for so long. You sigh in relief as you stretch your limbs, allowing them to bask in the gentle heat before making your way to the steps leading up to the tieflings’ residences. As you reach them, you notice Alfira is attempting to lift a crate of wine, struggling to get it more than a foot off the floor. Wyll graciously steps in, grabbing it off her.

“Oh Wyll, thank you. You’re such a gentleman-” she says, before she turns to notice you and excitedly yells your name. “Oh my goodness, I’m so glad to see you’re ok!” She steps towards you, grabbing your arms as she beams at you. Honestly, her energy is infectious, and you find yourself getting whipped up in her whimsy as you beam right back at her. “Thank you so much. Because of you, we’re safe. We wouldn’t have stood a chance if those creatures had attacked us, and now we can get to the city safely.”

“Oh, Alfira, please, don’t mention it. And honestly, it was all of us, and we couldn’t have done it without the support from all of you,” you reply, pulling her into a gentle hug. She clings to you in return, sighing heavily into your shoulder.

“Still, it needs to be said. We can sleep a little easier now. Anyway, Zevlor’s got me and Lakrissa on setup duty for tonight, we can’t wait! I’m glad you’re up and about for it, it would’ve been a shame if you couldn’t make it.”

“Oh, the party? Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you grin, releasing her from the hug.

“Well, I was wondering, you did such a good job helping me with my song the other day – would you mind playing something with me tonight? We would make such a good duet!”

You grit your teeth in alarm; it was one thing playing along with her while she practiced, and the goblin camp performance was a complete fluke that happened to work out in your favour, but performing with a fully-fledged bard? That may be a little out of your current abilities.

“I, uh- I don’t know, um, I’m very rusty, I’ve not played for fun in a long time. I’m sure you would be better on your own-” you start, before Karlach cuts you off.

“Whatcha talking about, soldier? You were amazing yesterday!” she grins, waving her hands animatedly.

“Yeah, don’t be silly! I’ll be there all afternoon making preparations anyway, I’m sure Lakrissa can cover while we rehearse. I’m happy to show you some stuff, too! Besides, there’s no bards here, I’d love to have a chance to finally play with someone else before we head out.” For f*ck’s sake…

“Um, yep, ok then, if you’re sure…” you sigh defeatedly. Clearly, there’s no changing her mind as she squeals in glee, clapping as she bounces in place.

“Amazing, it’s settled then! Let’s get some more of the supplies and get these to camp, then we can see what we come up with.”

This is going to be a long day.

-

When you finally reach camp, you’ve barely had a chance to put your things down before Alfira whisks you off to the waterfront to practice some tunes. Thankfully, she patiently instructs you on how to play a couple of songs, and before you know it, you’re there strumming along with ease as she plays the melody for Bard Dance, and then The Power. She really is a good tutor. You also find yourself grateful for all the hours you spent listening to the soundtrack back home, at least you don’t need to learn many lyrics for that one.

As the sun begins to settle on the horizon, Lakrissa pops her head over, complaining with faux annoyance at the two of you ‘slackers’, so you excuse yourself to go assist with the remaining duties and leave them to have some time alone. Luckily, the wine table has been set up, but you can see Gale is still slaving away at the food, trying his hardest to make some kind of charcuterie board out of the provisions you have left over. You slot right in beside him, shaping cuts of meat into little flowers and sprinkling fruits and nuts between them in an effort to make it look presentable.

You notice, however, that Astarion is still nowhere to be seen. You’ve been here a good few hours, where on earth could he have got to? Although, Shadowheart and Karlach have gone back to the grove to help shift extra furniture over, and Lae’zel has been dipping in and out with them when she hasn’t been setting up all the extra chairs, maybe he’s there with them? Well, whatever. He’s a grown man, he can do what he wants.

Your thought spiral is interrupted by a little black nose sniffing near your hands as they are busy separating sausage links. Chuckling, you turn your head to face the intruder, raising your brow at him.

“Scratch… You know you shouldn’t beg at the table, it’s unbecoming of a gentleman.” He begins whining, his deep, brown eyes fixating on yours as he tips his nose into the air. Honestly, he’s really good at making you feel like the worst person in the world. “C’mon, boy, it’s for the party! And you’ve already eaten your dinner!”

“Oh, go on, let him have a little. It’s a celebration, after all,” chuckles Gale, his eyes flickering to yours as he continues cutting thin slices of apple. Scratch lets out a soft bark, appeasing to your generous side.

“Ugh, fine,” you sigh, grabbing one of the chopped bits of meat from the table. “That’s all you’re getting for now. I’m sure there will be plenty of drunkards with no willpower throughout the night, so don’t you go over-indulging yourself.” You throw it up in the air, allowing him to jump and catch it with a snap. He laps at the scrap of meat happily before barking again and trotting off to see what everyone else is up to.

Just as he does, you notice your companions returning, a band of tieflings in tow. Lae’zel and Karlach are helping to pull a wagon with the final supplies and a pair of chairs, while Shadowheart is engaged in animated chatter with the tiefling whose legs you helped to heal after her run-in with Ethel. And off to the side, a scowl fixed to his face, is Astarion, actively trying to avoid talking to the tiefling children that have found themselves chattering away to him.

“But really, if you had to turn into a gnoll or a troll, which would you choose?” asks Mirkon, his head angled up to look at him. Astarion, taking a pause from his blatant ignoring of the kids, decides to look down, staring intently at the child, before grimacing at him.

“Death.”

Oh, for f*ck’s sake. Apparently, the children find this hilarious as they all break out into laughter around him, causing him to roll his eyes before pinching his brow.

“Mister Elf, you’re so silly!” cries Silfy, rubbing a tear of laughter from her eye. Your chest warms as you see them all surround him, besotted with his callous musings. Thankfully, Astarion is no longer the subject of their attention once they see you, abandoning him as they rush towards you, his final chance at solitude being much to his approval. You reach your arms out as you’re tackled by the tiny terrors, horns and tails consuming your vision as they pile on you in a fit of giggles.

“Oof, yes, hello everyone,” you strain, as Arabella, Meli, Mirkon, and Silfy each cling to a different part of you. The other children have also made their way over, smiles on their faces. Even Doni lingers close to the side, his hands flapping with glee.

“Miss, miss! Someone said you took down a whole camp of goblins by yourself!” cries Meli, his little face lighting up in awe.

“Yeah, yeah, and then you blew it up!” adds another.

“Don’t be stupid, she set it on fire and burned it to the ground!”

“Yeah, she burned it all down, and she kicked all the goblins right in the butt!”

You find yourself laughing raucously, amazed at the tales these kids have come up with. Honestly, you’ve never been the biggest fan of children, but there’s something about this little band of survivors that really tugs at your heartstrings, and you can’t help but fall in love with them. Even Mol and her little band of misfits have managed to weasel their way into your heart, despite their numerous attempts at fleecing you of your belongings.

“Ok, ok. I think we’re getting a little out of hand here,” you giggle, raising back to your feet. You enthral them all with tales of your adventures as the adults get settled in, and after an age of regaling them with your antics, several parents come over to retrieve them, allowing you to finally get some breathing space. You make your way to the drinks table, finally allowing yourself to join the party, and grab yourself a glass of a particularly sweet-smelling mead.

Downing half the thing in one go after the stress of dealing with your babysitting duties, you make your way into the crowd, looking for someone more age-appropriate to chat with. However, you suddenly feel a tap on your shoulder, and you spin around to find Shadowheart standing with a bottle of wine to herself, angling it towards you.

“Feel like sharing a drink with me?”

Chapter 23: Alright, What Now?

Chapter Text

Slipping out of the crowd, you and Shadowheart convene at a pair of overturned barrels, now fashioning themselves into somewhat acceptable chairs. Giggling like schoolgirls, you grab her bottle and take a swig, pulling a face at the bitterness of the drink. However, beggars can’t be choosers, so you sip a little more, grateful for the much-needed free gift. Honestly, after the ordeal you’ve been through in the last few days, it’s very much needed.

“Seems like everyone’s in high spirits,” smiles Shadowheart, looking across the various partygoers. Following her eyes, you see Rolan doing magic tricks, Bex and Danis huddled together and laughing, the children running around playing a game of tig, and you find a smile creeping across your face at this simple moment of peace. It almost feels like you’re not all neck-deep in a whirlwind of chaos, like the world is normal for a few short moments. “Strange… You know who I never thought I’d find myself caring for?”

“Hmm…” you mutter, angling your face at her. “A bunch of strangers, and some of the weirdest people you’ve ever met?” She laughs, shaking her head as she continues to watch the crowd.

“Well, I don’t know, when you put it like that… But, yes. Exactly right. Certainly not that bunch in the grove, yet we came through for them. We saved their lives.” She takes another swig from the bottle, her eyes glazing over as she ponders. “Odd.”

“Is it really? That odd, I mean. There might be some shadow, that doesn’t mean you don’t have a heart.”

Her head turns to you swiftly, her brow furrowing for a moment, before she erupts into uncontrollable laughter. You quickly follow suit, putting your head in your hands as you realise just how cheesy what you just said is.

“Goodness, you do have a way with words, I suppose.” She wipes a tear from her eye, her outburst settling. “Might be best leaving the poetry to our dear friend Volo. However… that’s more easily said by some than others. But nobody’s here to debate right from wrong.” She looks at the bottle momentarily before pointing it back towards you, a subtle look in her eye. “Care to share the rest with me?”

“Well, I suppose I could stick around for a bit more!” you beam, taking another mouthful. Shadowheart leans towards you, coming close to your ear, before whispering softly in your ear.

“We should wait a little while, until the others have drifted off.”

Oh. Oh no. This isn’t good.

How did this even happen? Why is she interested in you? You can’t believe you didn’t see this coming; you hadn’t even considered the ramifications of becoming involved with one of your campmates. But you can’t allow this to happen, she doesn’t even know who the f*ck you are! How on earth could you spend the night with her under false pretences, while you’re up to your neck in a lie of your own making. You have to end this before it gets any worse.

“Um, sh*t, uh- Shadowheart, I’m flattered, honestly. But it’s not a good idea, I promise. N-not that you’re, um- oh god-” You’re floundering, lost for words. Thankfully, she takes the hint, taking the wine back from you, giving an awkward, tight-lipped smile.

“As you like. Try not to tire yourself out too much.”

“Wait, Shadowheart-” you start, but she’s already standing up, stiffly twisting away from you as she walks off, chugging the bottle as she goes. God damn it. You rub your eyes in frustration, your elbows resting on your knees as you cover your face from the embarrassment. Honestly, she’s a beautiful woman, it’s not like you wouldn’t consider it under other circ*mstances. And you’ve been under a hell of a lot of stress over the last few days, an opportunity to relieve some of it would be more than welcome. But this isn’t right. You really need to tell them. You grab your own discarded goblet, swallowing the last few drops before moving off yourself.

You meander your way past a group of complaining children, clearly unhappy that the grownups have instructed them it’s time to leave. That at least makes you smile a little, remembering similar situations in your own childhood where you’d argue to stay up for just five more minutes, your crocodile tears pouring over the insult of having to go to bed. What you wouldn’t give for a good night’s sleep, now. You find yourself mulling over the nostalgia of youth as you reach the drinks table once again, grabbing at a bottle of some murky brown spirit – looks like you’re going to need something stronger to get through this night. Suddenly, an olive-green figure pops up in your peripheral vision.

“Oh, Lae’zel, hi! Enjoying the party?” you enquire, unstoppering the bottle and taking a cautious sniff.

“Hmm… It is adequate,” she huffs, reaching for a drink of her own. “But it is beneficial to see that you are recovering from your wounds. I was hoping we would get an opportunity to discuss.”

“Oh? And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I have seen the kith’raki tear a screaming neogi’s legs from its belly to fashion into blades.” Oh no. “Yet they could not match your nerve yesterday. Fighting until your last breath, it was enough to drive me to madness.” Oh, no, no, no. “I smell their blood on you, still. I smell your sweat.” Seriously?! “I mean to taste it.”

You hope that the screaming is just happening inside your head. Again?! f*cking hell, you thought she hated your guts only yesterday! Maybe the fact that everything you said would happen ended up being true has somehow swayed her into thinking you’re much more appealing than she initially thought? Was she turned on by the thought of you dying in battle or something?! At least you’ve had a few heartfelt moments with Shadowheart, but Lae’zel? You haven’t the faintest idea why she would even be interested in you.

“f*ck, Lae, I appreciate the sentiment, honestly-”

“There is no sentiment, only sex. A night such as this calls for flesh to feast on.” Sweet lord, have mercy.

“And I am honoured that you would think that, but seriously? Do you really think it would be a good idea, y’know, considering…” You shrug your shoulders, waving your hands to signify the unspoken reality she isn’t taking into account. “Who I am? What I know? Don’t you think that’s a bit of an issue?”

“Why, do you know any reason it might be?” she presses, scowling at you.

“I mean, yes? No? I don’t know. But that’s a lot of power for me to hold over you, especially when it comes to intimacy. Don’t get me wrong, you’re absolutely gorgeous-”

“I am aware.”

“-but, I just don’t think it’s in either of our best interests to pursue anything.”

“Chk.” She folds her arms across her chest, turning her head from you in frustration, or maybe even embarrassment. “Fine. Have it your way. But you will regret not jumping at the opportunity when you had a chance.” She takes a long sip of her drink as she continues to scowl.

“I’m sure I will, Lae’zel. Anyone here would be lucky to have you tonight. I just don’t think it should be me,” you sigh, offering a consoling smile. She rolls her eyes at you.

“You are correct. I will still have myself some fun, even if you are not willing to do so yourself. I will take my leave.”

And she does, leaving you standing alone once more. You groan exaggeratedly, dropping your head back as you frown, before taking a big swig of your own beverage. It burns as it goes down and tastes absolutely foul, but it’s desperately needed. You don’t get even a moment to yourself before Alfira bounds across to you, squealing excitedly. At least she’s already spoken for.

“Hi! I think now’s a good time to play, seeing as all the kids have gone now. I’ve been playing games for far too long, it’s time to let my hair down a little,” she chirps, grabbing at your free hand as she tries to lead you into a clearing in the crowd, not even giving you a chance to respond.

“Y-yep, ok!”

-

Thankfully, your performance is well-received by the partygoers, each person swaying in time with the music, some even breaking out into a dance. Through the crowd, you notice Shadowheart is busy talking to one of the tiefling scouts, and Lae’zel is speaking with one of their guards, so at least your mind is a little more at ease over having to reject their advances. Gale is stood to a side, tapping his toes to the beat, and Karlach is busy jigging on the spot as she twirls and waves her arms. You can make out Astarion’s silver curls just out of the corner of your vision, but you can’t seem to notice Wyll anywhere. Shame, he would’ve loved to have joined in for the dancing. You make a mental note to check on him when you’re done.

You lose yourself in your instrument, humming along to the melody as you make your way through Bard Dance with ease. As you start playing The Power, you offer a harmony to Alfira’s high-pitched melody, causing a wave of applause as you weave in and out of the main theme with ease. Lakrissa remains at the front of the crowd as she watches with awe, her eyes gleaming with affection at your fellow bard. As the song concludes, you bow together and allow Alfira to take the reigns – not before she pulls you into another heartfelt squeeze, mind you.

Stepping out of the crowd, you start making your way towards the waterfront where you imagine Wyll is lingering, but your journey is pleasantly interrupted as Karlach happily bounds up to you.

“Soldier, that was ace! You proper smashed it!” She scrunches her face in glee, excitedly shaking her fists.

“Aw, thanks Karlach. It’s always a bonus to have such an amazing crowd.” You mirror the wide beam she has on her face as she looks around, taking in the joy around her.

“Gods, would you look at this place? All these people, happy because of us. It’s nice to be somewhere where good is still possible.” Your heart aches for her as you imagine how lonely she must have been in Avernus, ten years of only having herself to rely on must have been torturous. And even now, when she finally has a glimpse of freedom, she still can’t hug or hold anyone lest setting them ablaze. You wouldn’t wish this on your worst enemy, never mind the most wholesome person you’ve ever met.

“Are you having fun? That’s the most important thing, after all. It’s all for you, for us. We’d better have as much as we can while we can.”

“f*ck yes!” she roars, punching the air. “I’m celebrating my freedom. And our friendship. And these folks’ bright futures. Besides, all I need now is a flame-retardant lover to get lost in ‘til sunrise.” She looks at you suggestively, a particular gleam in her eye. You are not even going to give her an opportunity to make you let someone down again, and especially not her.

“Well, I wish you all the best with that, Karlach.” Your eyes flicker to the canoe in the corner that your skeletal friend likes to perch himself by, and there he is, scowling at the hubbub of people in the normally peaceful camp. “Hm, maybe Withers has some funky fire-resistant robes on, think he might want to take you for a spin?” you chuckle, tucking your lips between your teeth as you try to stifle a snort. Karlach, however, is unable to contain the roar of laughter that escapes her as she bends over clutching at her stomach.

“Oh my gods! Y’know, I thought I saw him giving me the old eye the other night. Then again, maybe it was just an old eye!” You both erupt into a fit of giggles at that, tears streaming as you try to regain composure.

“f*cking hell… Right, enough of that, go enjoy yourself, Karlach. You deserve it.”

“You too, solider.”

Still chuckling away, you finally manage to break free from the rest of the party, looking for Wyll along the riverbank. When you do spot him, he wavers as he considers walking away, before ultimately deciding to turn to face you.

“Ah, hells. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice I was gone.”

You step towards him, your head tilting as you analyse his face. There is a distinct sadness etched in his eyes, a melancholy that hits you in your chest; you’ve felt this way plenty of times in your life, and you wish you could just give him the healing he needs. But, in time, hopefully you can help.

“Of course I noticed you were missing, Wyll. I’ll always notice. What kind of party would it be without the majestic Blade of Frontiers?” You smile up at him, noting the sorrowful one he returns to you as he tentatively rubs at his neck “You want to talk about it?”

“Oh, there isn’t much to tell, really. In truth, I don’t feel in a festive mood, and didn’t want to cast a grey cloud over the night.”

“You can tell me, y’know. ‘A problem shared is a problem halved’, or so they say,” you reply, your brow furrowing in sympathy. He hesitates a moment, weighing up whether or not to share, before eventually responding.

“I… I’m a devil. I love the people of the grove, but I unsettle them deep down, as I seem to unsettle everyone nowadays. You don’t want a devil at your party.” His gaze drops to the floor as he shuffles uncomfortably; you fight the instinct to rush over and wrap him in your arms.

“Wyll-”

“Claws will pop the balloons, you see. And the sweetcakes don’t taste half as good as raw eggs with this blasted forked tongue.”

“Wyll.” His puppy dog eyes meet yours, a thin layer of water threatening to break free over the edge. “Respectfully, you’re spiralling, and you need to snap out of it. Let’s think about this logically for a second – have any of us made you feel any less for changing?”

“No, but-”

“Have any of the tieflings made any comment about you, or treated you any differently?”

“Well, not really, but-”

“Ok, and let’s just think about the children. How do you think they feel, seeing someone like you that they look up to and respect, someone who has taken the time to train them and talk to them about their wants, dreams, concerns, when everyone else has shunned them, now has the same pointy horns and reddened skin that they do?”

“I, I don’t know-”

“Are they scared of you? Have they run from you in fear? Or, and just hear me out here, do you think maybe that you might be a positive role model for them, showing them that someone who looks just like them can do good and help others?”

Wyll’s mouth hangs open in protest, searching for some sort of rebuttal to your statement, but he can’t seem to find it.

“And yes, there will be bastards out there who will judge you based on your appearance, we can’t control that. Digging yourself a grave over it definitely won’t help. But you know what we can control?” You close the gap between you both, resting a hand delicately on his arm. “What we do. What actions we make. And anyone who will judge you based off a set of horns can respectfully go and eat sh*t, and we can prove them wrong.”

He stares at you, glossy-eyed and lost for words before reaching a hand up to wipe at the single tear that escapes. You sigh softly, wrapping your arms around his waist as you lay your head against his chest.

“I know it’s scary. If I’m completely honest, I’m glad I’m not in your shoes. You have a new body, one you didn’t ask for, and it was the price for sparing an innocent soul. It’s not fair.” You look up to him, but he struggles to meet your face. “People might judge, but it doesn't change you. You’re Wyll f*cking Ravengard, the famous Blade of Frontiers, and you’re one of the most kind-hearted people I know. And on top of that, you’re my friend.”

Wyll tilts his head back, sighing harshly as his grip on you strengthens. He takes a deep breath as he scrunches his eyes closed, before finally meeting yours.

“If only half the world had half the heart you do,” he breathes, finally offering a small smile.

“You’ll find that they likely do. Hell, there’s all sorts of strange and unusual people out there, a devil isn’t the weirdest thing they’ll likely come across. And besides,” you say, grinning devilishly, “they’ll have me to go through.”

Thankfully, Wyll chuckles as he shakes his head.

“I do suppose that anyone who has to face you might not come out entirely unscathed, if what you did to Mizora or Raphael is anything to go by.” He gives your arm a gentle squeeze. “I pity the poor soul who dares to upset you.”

“I’ve heard I have some pretty sharp claws, y’know,” you giggle, releasing him. “But genuinely, Wyll. I know it’s easier said than done, but try not to let others’ perceptions sway your opinion of yourself. You’re a good man, maybe one of the best. Don’t forget that.”

“I’ll try, friend.” He waves his arms, a faint smile ghosting his lips. “But anyway, don’t you be lingering around here with silly old me. There’s a party going on; have a drink, a dance, enjoy the festivities!”

“Ok, ok, I know where I’m not wanted,” you grin, playfully rolling your eyes. “I’ll just have to dance on my own. But don’t worry, take as much space as you need. I just wanted you to know that things aren’t as bad as you think them to be, and you’re not alone in this. We all have your back.”

“Thank you, genuinely.”

-

Leaving Wyll to his thoughts, you head towards the rocky archway to rejoin the party. As you do, you suddenly notice a flash of red flame and a burning smell of sulphur hit your nose as Korrilla promptly disappears from her hiding place. Raphael. You shake your head, sighing exasperatedly. Honestly, he’s so obsessed with you.

You keep going, spotting Gale lingering by his tent with a goblet of wine in his hands.

“Ah, hello! I was wondering where you’d run off to,” he chimes, tilting his head at you.

“Yes, sorry. Had to go see a man about a warlock,” you giggle. He peers over your shoulder through to the waterfront before offering a tight-lipped smile.

“Well, I hope all is ok. He did seem a little out of sorts when speaking to him earlier.” He stops to take a sip, looking briefly up to the sky. “A beautiful night, don’t you think? Nothing like a brush with destruction to make one appreciate the majesty of the celestial canvas.”

“You can say that again. Didn’t think I’d be able to see another, after yesterday’s antics.” You gaze up yourself, basking in the beauty of the inky blue-purple cosmos. You notice how the stars all seem to twinkle like Christmas lights, and you find yourself wondering what else might be out there in this weird and wonderful universe.

“No, that was a close one, I must say. But I’m glad we still have you here. I know I would’ve missed my sous chef – it would’ve been a nightmare to handle those kitchen orders on my own.”

“Honestly, I don’t know how any of you could cope without me. I imagine within 5 minutes, Lae’zel and Shadowheart would be at each other’s throats, Astarion would’ve pissed off half the camp, and Karlach and Scratch would’ve eaten their way through half of the remaining supplies. Maybe you and Wyll might fare ok, but I imagine once those final rations had dissipated, you wouldn’t have been able to hunt a squirrel between the pair you.”

Gale looks at you open-mouthed, leaning back as he places a hand to his hip.

“Now, listen here, you,” he chides, wagging his authoritative finger at you, “I would hunt just fine, thank you very much. Although, I am glad the others are here. Wouldn’t want to dirty my robes, of course.”

“Oh yes, it’s the robes that would stop you.” You wink at him, breaking out into another giggle. “Anyway, you having fun? This is a night to celebrate, after all.”

“Well, I am definitely enjoying the wine. A bit… unaged, for my tastes at least, but I won’t say no to a free bottle.” He smiles briefly before his eyes gloss over, losing himself in thought, his mind a million miles away from where he is right now.

“Something the matter, Gale?” you ask, tilting your head to him.

“Sorry? Oh, no, no. Just thinking of my companion. On a typical night like this, we would’ve been curled up by a crackling hearth, ancient tome laid between us. She much prefers the solitude, you see.”

“Ah, this must be the esteemed Tara, I presume? I recall you mentioning her when I had, erm, that feline affliction the other day.”

“Yes, indeed! She is my tressym, my assistant, a constant companion through all the ills and tribulations my hubris has thrust upon me. She’d be most impressed by our efforts saving these tieflings. Proud, even. And I’ve given her little to be proud of recently.”

“Gale, I’m certain that isn’t the case at all. The way you speak of her, it sounds like she genuinely cares for you. I think she’d always be proud of you.”

“Well, my friend, you’re still not fully aware of the ways in which my condition affects me.” Oh, if only he knew… “When I was first afflicted, I locked myself away in my tower for an entire year. I was inconsolable, wallowing in my… tragedy. I’d given up on myself. But Tara never did, and it was her encouragement, her research that led me to my treatment.”

“She sounds wonderful, Gale. I’m glad you had someone looking after you when you were struggling to look after yourself. I’d love to meet her.”

Gale lets out a sharp exhale, bowing his head slightly as he presses his lips into a thin smile.

“You know, I think she’d love to meet you too. You remind me a lot of her. You have her tenacity, her vigour. And you’re both forces to be reckoned with.”

“Why, does she also like to get into verbal assaults with devils?” you tease, gritting your teeth.

“Hmph, I can’t comment on that particular scenario, however I’m certain she’d seize the opportunity, should it arise. I wish she were here for me to make a formal introduction, but I would never ask her to undertake such a journey. She is safer at home. Besides, she was always telling me to spread my wings, so to speak. Find mort- more, friends. So that’s what I’m doing. I hope.”

You step closer to him, gently reaching out to pat him on the arm. His brown eyes flicker to your hand before gazing back up to yours, a soft resolve consuming them.

“Well, Gale, I hope you can count me amongst the friends you’ve made. I know I can count you as one of mine. But I have some news for you…”

“Oh? Pray, tell.”

“I’m actually a construct in disguise. I’ve been hiding it under your nose this whole time, so sorry about the whole ‘mortal friends’ thing.” You and Gale promptly start laughing, his face scrunching in amusem*nt.

“Would explain why that performance of yours was so robotic…” You gasp exaggeratedly, your jaw dropping as you clasp your hands to your cheeks. Gale’s eyes go wide in alarm. “I jest, I jest! Actually, your little show was quite fun to watch. I’ve grown fond of hearing you play – it, ahem, definitely makes the lonely nights a little more bearable.”

As he trails off, the air between you lays thick with his unspoken words, his eyes softening as he regards you. He breathes slowly, holding your gaze, his body tilting forwards, ever so slightly closing the gap between you. Is he…? No. No, he can’t be. Oh, for- not this sh*t, again!

“Well, uh, that’s very kind of you Gale,” you stammer, abruptly patting his arm as you smile through gritted teeth, “I’m glad to know I’ve entertained you. But, uh, I really should be getting back to the party, um, I’ve been away long enough-”

Gale, sensing the awkward tension that now lingers between you both, takes a step backwards as he inhales sharply.

“I- yes, um, you should do that. You should definitely do that. They’ll all be kissing-MISSING you, after all.” He can barely meet your eyes as his own try to focus on anything that isn’t you, his lips once again pressing into a thin line. You can see his cheeks beginning to redden in embarrassment, and it feels like yours are following suit, so you quickly turn to walk away.

“Uh-huh, but, um, thanks for the talk! Enjoy your night.”

Once again, you stalk straight to the drinks table, your eyes wide in frustration the whole time you trudge your feet towards it, and you pour yourself another hefty glass of the first liquid you find. You don’t even look at it before you swallow the thing whole, you don’t taste anything except the burn as it goes down.

What the hell have you done to have half the f*cking camp come on to you like this? You always found it amusing in the game, but in real life, it’s just… exasperating. You weren’t particularly used to this much attention back home anyway, so to have it from pretty much all of your companions is just too much to handle. You rub your brow in frustration, turning to the food table to grab at a rogue piece of bread; if you’re going to be pissed off, you might as well do it with some food in your belly.

You pour yourself another glass before continuing to graze at the table, trying to shift your attention away from the relentless antics of your companions. Picking at some fruit and cheese, you try and make small talk with some of the tieflings gathered around you, entertaining yourself with their tales of their travels from Elturel. Even Zevlor comes over to share a few words with you, thanking you for your assistance in clearing out the goblin horde.

After a while, you notice a mop of silver curls pop up in your peripheral vision, a pale hand reaching for a bottle of red wine on the table beside you. You turn to face him, watching as he uncorks it, sniffing the contents delicately and grimacing in disgust, before promptly taking a long swig straight from the neck.

“Hello, stranger. Was wondering where you’d gotten to, I haven’t seen you all day.”

“Gods, must I inform you of every move I make? I was busy.” He scowls at you, turning up his nose. Taken aback, you raise your brows at him, taking a sip of your own drink.

“Oooook…” you reply, exhaling sharply. “Well, good to see you here, anyway. You having fun, or is that something you’re allergic to?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll have you know, I can have plenty of fun. But you usually ruin it with one of your ‘No, Astarion! Don’t kill people, it’s not very nice!’ lectures.” He inspects the bottle in his hand, looking intently at the label. “But, maybe? I suppose. It’s been quite a joy watching Lae’zel attempt to flirt with those soldiers.”

Your eyes flicker to where she stands, scowling at the aforementioned tiefling as she has her hands folded across her chest. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you see a glimpse of fear cross the poor man’s face – or lust, possibly. Maybe both, it’s hard to tell. You chuckle softly to yourself; at least you weren’t the only victim of her desires this evening.

“It does look pretty intense, I’m pretty sure she’d destroy the poor thing.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second. I think I heard her threaten to behead anyone who can’t make her cum within 60 seconds earlier.” At that, you choke out a laugh, spluttering on the sip you were taking. Astarion grins as he watches you wiping furiously at the droplets dribbling down your chin. Then, his eyes turn to the rest of the party, watching as one of the tieflings smiles as she passes you both. “You know, I never pictured myself as a hero. Didn’t think I’d be responsible for saving so many lives.”

“Can’t see why, Mr. ‘Stab Everyone on Sight’.” You return a grin to him, resting your bottom against a gap on the table. “So, how does it feel? To be a knight in shining armour?”

“Honestly?” He takes another sip from the bottle, savouring the lacklustre flavour. “I hate it. This is awful.”

“Look on the bright side. You got to kill a camp full of goblins,

and we stole a hell of a lot of their sh*t in the process.”

“True…” he says, looking upwards in contemplation. “And all without your holier-than-thou tirade. It was… fun.” He smirks, and you playfully roll your eyes. “Still, I would’ve liked more to show for it than a pat on the head and vinegar for wine.”

“Oh well, at least it’s all free.”

“Also true. But I want to have some real fun.”

“And what would you suggest? I’m thinking we could loosen the legs on some chairs, or swap Shadowheart’s wine for salt water when she’s not looking, throw some meat at Withers and let Scratch go nuts-”

“By the hells, no. I’m talking about sex, my dear.”

Oh.

Somehow, this one stings more than the others. At least with them, it came out of a genuine desire for your company. But with him… You look to his face, and you see it. The blank eyes. The rigid smile. The perfectly poised mannerisms. He’s trying to use you, but even worse, he’s trying to defend himself. He’s using his charms as a suit of armour, his advances a swing of his blade, his body as a shield to protect himself. He doesn’t mean it. Hell, has he meant any of the things he’s said to you in your time together?

You feel a lump catch in your throat, acid in the pit of your belly. Your heart lurches as you take in the reality of the situation: before you stands a man, so battered and bruised, yet he wears the guise of the most confident person in the world. And he wants to use you for his gain, his protection, his motives. Even if he has valid reason for doing so, you can’t help but feel a sharp sting as you realise that you’re basically just another target to him. And you can’t even f*cking call him out for it.

He says your name, frowning at you, but you can’t find the words to say. How stupid were you for thinking he might’ve given at least a morsel of a damn about you, that he had actually come to visit you last night, that he even cared that you died. Hell, he didn’t even stick around to see you back to camp, he didn’t come and see you at all today. And now he wants to manipulate you into giving him your body, all so he can continue this damned manipulation tactic. And god knows you’ve been falling for it.

“I, uh… Um…” you stammer, your breathing becoming unsteady as the familiar feeling of panic rises in your blood. Your heart is torn between the empathy you feel for him, why he feels he has to do this, the guilt at already having such personal information without his consent, but also the frustration, the anger that he thinks he can just use you, like you’re just a toy for him to discard when you no longer serve a purpose. Astarion dips his head closer to yours, his eyes full of concern. Or, at least it looks like they are. Who even f*cking knows anymore.

“Use your words, dear.”

You don’t know why, but that one little phrase breaks you. The same one you’ve heard him say so many times before, the one that he has used to ground you in your fear, the one to pull you from the depths of your internal spiralling, yet now, it thrusts you into it. Your chest blazes as the adrenaline floods you, the grief consumes you, and your hands begin shaking furiously.

“I- I have to go,” you murmur shakily, before you promptly spin around and break for the trees. You hear him call your name again, but you don’t turn around, you don’t acknowledge him, you just keep moving. Each step thrums beneath you as you find yourself moving faster, your mind absent as your feet carry you forwards. You have no clue where the f*ck you’re going until you get there.

You’re in the same clearing Astarion took you to when he first fed from you. The fallen tree trunk still lies dormant in the centre, the leaves rustling in the trees just the same as they did that night. Dear god, you let yourself become putty in his hands, knowing full f*cking well that this is exactly what he was doing. You feel so f*cking stupid, and you can’t even blame him for it. This is entirely your fault; you allowed this to happen, allowed him to drink from you, allowed him to worm himself into your defences.

You don’t even know why you’re so affected by this. It shouldn’t be a surprise – you knew this whole time. You knew about his abuse, his defence mechanisms, his prowess for self-preservation. And on top of that, he hasn't a f*cking clue that you're aware, that you hold so much knowledge about his trauma. But there’s something, deep inside you, something you’re struggling to place, that was hoping maybe things would be different. How wrong you were.

You sit on the bough, resting your head in your palms as you hold your breath.

One, two, three, four, five.

Just about every single one of your companions has made a move on you tonight, and they don't even know the real you.

Exhale. One, two, three, four, five.

You know so much about them that isn’t fair for you to know.

Inhale. One, two, three, four, five.

You can’t keep all of this sh*t to yourself, it’s killing you.

Exhale. One, two, three, four, five.

You need to tell them.

With the fire in your blood finally beginning to settle, you wipe a rogue tear as you sit up, stretching your aching muscles. You look up to the sky momentarily, grounding yourself under its light. You focus on one particularly bright star, trying to make your own constellation pattern around it in an attempt to distract yourself from your racing thoughts. That is interrupted, however, when you hear a rustling of leaves behind you.

“What in blazes was that about?!” yells Astarion, his face twisted in confusion. Your breath catches momentarily, but you remind yourself: One, two, three, four, five.

“N-nothing, it’s nothing,” you stammer, clenching your fists. He moves closer, still scowling as he looks you over.

“No, that was not nothing. There’s something going on, I know it."

You need to tell him.

Chapter 24: Hmm, What Could You Be?

Chapter Text

You try to avoid Astarion’s piercing glare as you collect your thoughts, but all you can feel is his scarlet eyes burning into you, scorching a hole into your chest. His perfectly angular face is pointed directly at you, his brows knitted together in annoyance. You close your eyes, placing your palms over them, trying to ignore him for just a moment so you can think straight. How are you even going to do this? What do you say?

“Um, excuse me,” he huffs, unnecessarily elongating the word, “I do not appreciate being ignored. What in the sweet hells is going on here? If you’re really that disgusted by my offer, you could let me down a little gentler, you know. My ego can only take so much, after all.”

You exhale sharply between shaky breaths; if only that were the case.

“N-no, it’s not- ugh, it’s not you. It’s me, I…” You trail off, your thoughts remaining unspoken. It’s the fact you know so much about him, it’s the fact he has no idea who you are, it’s the fact he thinks he can use you, it’s the fact he feels he has to. Hell, it’s the fact you think you might not even care if he does… You abruptly cut that thought short, willing whatever underlying feelings you may have to remain buried deep in the pits of your belly. This is no time to be indulging those kind of thoughts.

His scowl softens momentarily, his narrowed eyes opening a touch to reveal their natural roundness. He tilts his head as he regards you, scanning you from head to toe.

“Did… Did someone hurt you?” he asks, his voice quiet. His question jars you, you weren’t expecting that.

“No, no,” you say, shaking your head. “Well, maybe, but that’s not what this is.” You don’t even want to think about the things you’ve experienced back in your own world, but for once, it’s something entirely different that has you in such a mess. You take a deep breath. “There’s something… Something I need to tell you. Tell all of you. About, well, me.”

Straightening his back, his furrowed brow returns once more, that little crease becoming prominent again. You wonder momentarily how many times you’ve caused that particular feature to show up; you think it’s becoming permanent around you.

“Good gods, woman. Spit it out, then.”

“That’s the thing, I… I can’t. I want to, hell, I need to, but I just… can’t.”

Astarion sighs heavily, rolling his eyes at you.

“I’m sure whatever it is can’t be that bad. Unless you want to tell me that you eat babies, or that you write poetry. Now that would be unforgivable.”

“Astarion, I’m being serious,” you sigh, digging your palms into your temples. “I don’t think you would be able to look at me the same way.”

“I recall just a few nights ago you telling me ‘We’ve all got sh*t, Astarion. Some sh*t we can’t help.’” He imitates your voice in a shrill tone, grimacing sarcastically as he does. “You were gracious enough to accept me, fangs and all, and you stood up for me in front of the whole group. By the gods, we have a devil, a bloodthirsty space woman, an infernal fire demon, and a wizard who consumes all of our best magical items. We even have a damned skeleton hanging out by the lakeside! I’m sure that whatever ails you pales in comparison to all of that. Now, tell me, because I am really starting to question if you’re worth keeping around, if things are as bad as you’re making out.”

“Fine, fine, just… give me a minute.”

You clench your palms, inhaling slowly, readying yourself. One, two, three four five.

“Ok, so, you know how I have… struggled, with fighting and magic?” you ask, exhaling sharply. Astarion guffaws, throwing his head back as he does.

“Darling, that’s a bit of an understatement and you know it.”

“Ugh, whatever. But don’t you think it’s a little strange that as a bard I couldn’t even perform some of the most basic magic? Or even hold a sword correctly?”

“I must admit, it was a little unusual. I just put it down to living a pampered life, away from the perils of the real world.”

You scoff yourself, if only he knew how close to the mark he actually is.

“Well, isn’t it also weird how even my music sounds different, my songs aren’t the songs you know?”

His eyes narrow, his arms folding across his torso.

“What exactly are you getting at, here?”

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your blood flooding through your veins as the adrenaline pumps. Come on, you need to say it.

“I’m… not from here, Astarion.” Your eyes meet his, a look of perplexion etched upon his face.

“Okaaaay, so where are you from? Cormyr? Calimshan? Shaar? Thay?” he questions, his words laced with confusion.

“No, a bit further away than that, I’m afraid.”

“What, so somewhere across The Great Sea? Gods, I didn’t think the nautiloid would travel that far out-” You butt in, stopping him from continuing down that line of thought.

“Astarion, no. I’m not from Faerûn, I’m not even… from Toril. I’m…” Come on, you can do this. “I’m from another world entirely. One without magic, without about 90% of the creatures you have here, where there are only humans and animals. Where all of the wonders of this realm is fiction, fantasy. Essentially, a fairytale.”

Astarion freezes momentarily, his puzzled expression growing stronger before he delicately lowers himself to sit beside you. He remains silent, inhaling deeply despite having no physical need to. You watch tentatively as his chest rises and falls as he focuses his eyes on somewhere in the distance, deep in thought.

“So, none of this is real?” he murmurs, slowly turning to you. “This world is just something you’d tell a babe at bedtime?”

“Um, sort of. Not quite. It’s kind of hard to describe.”

“Well, that is most unusual, definitely not what I was expecting you to come out with. But I don’t see why you were so worried about telling us. Does explain why you’re so bloody weird, though.”

“Hey!” you object, before sighing exasperatedly. You wring your hands for a moment before continuing. “But that’s not the whole story. There’s something else you need to know.”

“Gods damn it, woman. Get to the point already.”

“God f*cking- I’m trying, ok?! This isn’t easy.” You rise to your feet, pacing nervously. “Look, when I say it’s all fiction, I mean, it all is. Including…”

Your voice catches in your throat, tears springing in your eyes. Why is this so hard? Why can’t you just say it? He needs to know. They all need to know. You can’t keep pretending that you can keep up this façade. You turn away from him, you don’t think you can even look at him while you say it.

“You. Us. The whole group. This stupid f*cking situation we’re stuck in with these rotten brain worms. It’s a story I’ve taken part in many times. I know so much about you, Astarion. I know of your past, your present, what’s going to happen over the coming weeks, what happens with each decision we make. I know it all.”

Tears begin to pour from you, a gentle sob breaking in your chest. Nothing. You hear nothing. You still can’t bring yourself to turn around and face him, if he’s even still there. You opt instead to clutch your arms around you, holding yourself upright as your chest heaves and you choke on your cries.

“That’s why I knew about your vampirism. Why I knew where to find you on that first day, why… Why I know you hadn’t fed from a human before me, even though you still haven’t told me that, even now. It’s why I knew Gale would want the magic items I’d been saving, and which ones would be best to give him. Why I always seem to find the best items when we’re looting. Hell, it’s why I knew we couldn’t let Wyll hunt Karlach, why I knew where to find iron for her heart, or why I haven’t been afraid to stand up to the devils. It’s because I know exactly what they want from us, and how we can get by without their help, but they don’t know that I know.”

You place a hand to your mouth as a particularly vicious sob tries to break through, the other still wrapped around your bicep in a vice grip. You hear the grass bristle as Astarion stands up behind you. At least he’s still here.

“I also knew exactly how yesterday would pan out. I’ve gone over the story multiple times, I know how each decision would affect what we did. It’s why I wanted to save the drow, she could have come in useful later down the line. It’s why I saved Volo, why I told you to poison the wine. It’s why I try and save each poor soul I find, it’s because I know how to. What’s the point in knowing what I know if I can’t help all those people that need us?”

You don’t know why, but you can’t seem to stop talking. It seems like now the secret is finally out there, you can’t help yourself from spilling everything you’ve been holding to yourself for the last few days. So you don’t hold back.

“I knew Lae’zel’s kin were looking for the artifact, and that our meeting would go to sh*t. I knew Shadowheart was keeping it secret. I knew The Absolute would come to us as soon as we stepped foot in that camp. I knew Ethel was a hag. I knew Gandrel would come looking for you. f*cking hell, I even knew you would go for that damned boar. Everything is playing out just as I was expecting it to. The only thing I didn’t know was why I was sent here, and it seems now I do. I’m supposed to help, even if I can’t do sh*t to help you all fight.”

You stare up towards the sky again, willing some of the tears back into your eyes, but it’s futile. They continue to roll their way down your cheeks as the cosmos blurs above you, your breath shaky as you try to steady yourself.

“You… knew. The whole time, you knew?” Astarion says, his voice clear of any emotion. Somehow, that scares you more than him being furious with you. At least you’d know how he felt.

“Yes.”

“About… Cazador, about what he put me through?”

“Y-yes,” you mumble, swallowing another cry.

“And why did you wait this long to tell me?” he hisses, the sound of his footsteps indicating him moving closer to you.

“I, I don’t know. I was scared. I was scared you would hate me, or you wouldn’t trust me, or, I don’t know, kill me or something.” You furiously rub the tears from your eyes, wiping your leaking nose onto the sleeve of your shirt. “In comes this stranger, doesn’t know how to fight, how to do magic, fresh off the same ship that kidnapped you where a bunch of squid people with psychic powers shoved a form-changing parasite in your eye, and she suddenly knows everything about you, about your past, your future, and says she can help you fight back? I wouldn’t trust that. I’d think she was one of them.”

“You’re right. I would think that. And I’m thinking that might still be the case.” You pause for a moment, confused, until suddenly, you’re lurched backwards as Astarion pulls you flush against his chest, a shining, silver dagger pushed against your jugular vein, its sharp edge digging painfully into your skin. “You are going to prove to me that everything you just said is true, or I will not hesitate to plunge this into your pretty little neck.”

You grab at his arm, trying to put at least a little space between you and the blade, but your attempts are futile. He is locked into position, his body frozen in place with his arms wrapped tightly around you, no opportunity for you to break away. You look over your shoulder to see the same face you’ve only seen once before, when he leapt through the air to kill Minthara. Fury. This isn’t like the first time he did this; he means to kill you.

“F-fine, ok! I will! Let me go, please, and I’ll show you. You know I wouldn’t win against you, and you’d outrun me. Just let me go,” you plead, your words shaky as tears continue to flow. Reluctantly, he does as you ask, but not before pushing you to the ground with a heavy thud. As you hit the floor, your face rubs into the dirt, the muck clinging to you as it does. While you’re not surprised, you can’t deny the sharp sting of sadness that washes through your abdomen at his reaction.

As you push yourself upright, you wipe the filth away with the sleeve sodden with your tears, turning to look to him once more. The rage and disgust in his expression pours into you, cutting you deep in your soul. Show him, he’ll understand. He has to. He needs to.

As hard as you find it with the anger Astarion is directing at you, you keep your eyes locked with his, focusing on the wriggling tadpole in your mind, urging it to awaken and link with his. You squirm slightly as the creature does so itself against your skull, creating that psionic link between you both. You look through your memories, trying to find ones of you at your game table with your friends, dice rolling, stories of dragons getting slain being told, skill checks being passed, spells being cast, cheers and yells as you succeed in your fight. Then, you try and focus your attention to your job, how you spent countless hours serving customers who treated you like sh*t, how you would take the bus home alone, to Percy. How you would load up your computer, open a new save file, make your characters. How you would wonder through the map to find Astarion.

As you come across his pixelated form, you notice the real one in front of you jolt, a soft gasp escaping his lips. You try your best to remember his introductory scene, how he drags you to the floor the same way he did when you first met him. How you stumble upon the boar. How he feeds on you that first time, nearly draining you. Then you go back again, show him how he kills you too. Suddenly, the connection snaps shut as Astarion roars, and you see him clutching at his skull, unable to shake what he has just seen from his mind.

“What in blazes was that?! That was me! How does this even work? How was I in that box?! What is that box?!” he exclaims, baring his teeth at you. You clench your own, swallowing the rising nausea threatening to spill out from your throat.

“It’s a computer, it’s kind of hard to describe. Since we don’t have magic, all of our stuff runs on electricity instead, and this is kind of like a non-conscious brain made from… construct parts, I guess would be the closest comparison? And the screen is kind of like a moving portrait that’s linked to it. But this is all a game to tell a story. Like I said, it’s… it’s fiction. It’s not real in my world. But it’s interactive, like a book with different chapters that describe different things, and the choices we make as the player affect how the story will play out, and there’s multiple different endings.” You clutch your arms for safety once more, the blood pounding in your ears as you watch Astarion continue to freak out in front of you. “But, that’s not to say this isn’t real. f*ck, is this real. I died. This is f*cking terrifying. But at least I can offer something that can help us as we go through whatever the f*ck is happening right now.”

Astarion pauses, his nostrils flaring as he inhales sharply. He runs a hand through his ruffled, silver curls, blinking furiously as he tries to collect his thoughts.

“So, what, our lives, my life, is just some game for you to indulge your whimsies in? Some light entertainment?” He waves his hands furiously, pacing back and forth as he tries to take it all in.

“Well… yes, I guess, if I put it bluntly. But it’s so much more than that. People resonate with you, they can see themselves in you. Plus, based on what I’ve seen of you since I’ve been here, the game makers have got you down to a T. I have no f*cking clue what freaky interdimensional stuff happened to make it so, but it’s scary how well they’ve managed to capture you.”

“Oh, well isn’t that just delightful. Good for me, the fake Astarion is just like the real Astarion!” he cries sarcastically. You rub nervously at the spot where your face connected with the dirt; this really isn’t going well.

“Look, Astarion, I’m sorry. I know this is a massive invasion of privacy on your part, and if I could undo any knowledge I have, then I would. It’s not fair. God knows it’s been weighing on my mind since I got here, so I can only imagine how you might feel being the victim of this intrusion. But that’s the thing – I can’t change it. I can’t help it, it’s just what it is. I promise I won’t breathe a word of anything to anyone, you can trust me on that, but I can’t help knowing any more than I can help the fact that I have also been thrust into a world that’s completely different to my own, taken completely away from my own life, with nothing to help me figure my way except a hefty dose of foreknowledge. I'm a victim of this messed up situation too.”

Astarion paces a few steps more before returning to sitting on the log, scraping his nails through the curls at his temples as he does, his eyes widened.

“Because that is all I can offer right now – knowledge. I can help us figure out the best course of action, the paths that will help us fight this stupid sh*t and get these worms out of our brains. And I have zero intention of playing god or telling you all what to do, you’re your own people who can make your own choices. But I’m here and I know things, which is something at least. It’s certainly better than going into all of this completely blind.”

“Well, I suppose you’re right on that, at least. It’s good to take every advantage we can take.” Astarion leans back, resting his arms behind him on the bough as he continues to absorb it all. “But, tell me, how does this all play out?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at you.

“What do you mean?”

“What happens to us? What choices do we need to make to get through this? Can we take control of these tadpoles, use them for our own gain? Can we use them against Cazador, take him down?”

Oh. You hesitate as you think over your response. Knowing full well what choices he’ll need to make down the line, you don’t think you can tell him. How is he supposed to react to the news of Cazador's pact, the ascension, all those souls that he’ll be responsible for the fates of, when he’s still so stuck in his self-preservation survival mode? He would almost certainly take that pathway right now, freshly freed from the chains of his control, no regard for anything except saving himself, and he’ll become exactly what he fears. Should you tell him? Or is not telling him exactly what you just said you wouldn’t do: playing god? This is so f*cked up.

“Astarion, I… I don’t think I can tell you.” He goes to interject, but you raise a palm to stop him. “It’s not that I don’t think you should know, or because I want to control you. I want you to make your own decisions, but when the time is right, and I can tell you then. Take Wyll and Karlach. Do you think if I told Wyll that letting Karlach live would mean Mizora would do what she did before we went to find her, he still would have spared her?”

“Hmph. Possibly not.”

“Exactly, and that would mean we would have had to kill her. And then we’d have no Karlach, with her goofy quips or impressive strength.” Astarion sighs dejectedly, rolling his eyes.

“Ugh, I suppose. She is quite amusing.”

“And do you think if I had told the group when we first met you that you were a vampire that they would have welcomed you so easily?”

He doesn’t respond, he just scowls.

“Exactly. As I said, I’m not opposed to telling you what will happen when the time is right. But too much information too early can disrupt everything I know. It can be catastrophic. It can change everything. We’d lose our advantage.” You step closer to him, staring up into those piercing, scarlet eyes of his. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way. But I didn’t choose this. Never in a million years did I think it would be possible for this to happen, even in my wildest daydreams. But I’m here, and I have what I have. As much as I want to tell you, as much as you deserve to know what’s coming, I can’t. I hope you understand.”

Astarion scoffs, rolling his eyes once more.

“Fine, have it your way. What can you tell me, though? You must be able to give me something.”

“All I will say is, I promise that when the time comes to decide on whatever may happen, I will have your back. We all will. You can trust me on that.” You smile softly at him, but he elects to tut at you in frustration as he exhales sharply.

“Eurgh, fine, enough of that wishy-washy nonsense. What information can you give me that is actually going to help?”

You ponder for a moment, thinking of something that won’t upset the status quo.

“You should look into studying some of the skills of a Gloomstalker Ranger and pick up some hand crossbows, it makes you an absolute fiend against enemies in the game.”

He purses his lips for a moment, thinking over your suggestion, before slightly nodding his head.

“Duly noted.” Astarion looks down at you, his sanguine eyes flickering to your jaw. “You should wash your face by the way – you’ve got some dirt on you.”

“Thanks, arsehole. Does this mean we're good?”

He continues to stare at you, scowling slightly before sighing.

“Ugh, I suppose.”

-

After making him agree to keep your secret until the morning so you are able to tell the remaining campmates when they are sober enough to listen, you both awkwardly begin making your way back towards camp. That, however, doesn’t stop Astarion from asking you a million questions.

“So, am I everyone’s favourite person in this game then? I can imagine I would be, considering how handsome and charismatic I am,” he says, shaking his curls loose as he grins wickedly. You sigh, pressing your lips into a thin line. He really is an egotistical prick, but at least he’s not pissed off with you anymore.

“Actually, Shadowheart has one of the highest fan approval ratings,” you reply, giggling at his look of abhorrence.

“What?! Not with that fringe, she can’t be. Have they seen my luscious locks, my dazzling smile? I think you might have been given the wrong information, dear.”

You can’t help but burst out into laughter at that; he really is something else.

“Nope, it’s Shadowheart. Closely followed by Karlach, I believe. I will say, though, you do have the most dedicated fans out of all of them.”

“Well, it’s understandable, really. I don’t see how anyone couldn’t absolutely adore me,” he drawls, inspecting his nails. You shake your head as you pinch the bridge of your nose, which only eggs him on more. “Tell me, am I at least more favoured than the wizard?”

“You know, I’m not actually sure. I think so? You definitely were a big reason for a lot of people picking up the game, the initial attraction. But Gale has his own charms, I guess, and a lot of his own fans.”

“By the gods, has everyone from your world lost their minds?” Astarion exclaims, his face twisting into a grimace.

“Oh, absolutely. We unwind from the monotony of daily life by pretending we don’t exist in it, none of us are ok.”

“Well, it does continue to explain your… quirks.”

“Excuse me, I resent that!” you exclaim, your mouth dropping open. “But you’re not wrong, I guess.”

“Pfft, when am I ever, darling? Tell me, though, who was your favourite?”

Oh, hell no, you’re not answering that. You’ll never live it down.

“I think I’ll keep that to myself, thank you very much.”

“What, afraid to tell me it’s me?” he teases, lowering his head towards you.

“Why, are you afraid it might not be?” you chime right back, matching his mocking tone, pouting playfully at him. He straightens his posture, turning his head sharply away from you.

“Never. I hope it isn’t, I don’t have the energy to deal with your whiny affections.” He gives you a sideways glance, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards slightly. You push at his shoulder in protest as you scoff at him, earning yourself a sly smile as his mouth continues to stretch. “Besides, my money is on Wyll. You two seem particularly… close.” He spits his final word at you, the statement laced with disgust as his face mirrors it.

You raise your brows to him in intrigue, angling your head upwards to meet his eyes.

“Oh, really? That’s interesting…” you ponder, raising your brows in thought. You’ve only ever seen Wyll a friend, but you can’t deny that his company on this journey hasn’t been unwelcome. Astarion’s face falters for just a moment, but before you can register what it shows, his usual devious expression returns.

“Well, it seems like I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

“You’ll take that as a nothing, Astarion. My answer dies with me.” You stare him down assertedly, before his grumpy face makes you crack just a little, causing you to grin softly.

“Gods, you’re no fun.”

“I know. It’s just one of my many ‘quirks.’”

-

You continue to walk in silence, no sound around you other than the rustle of grass beneath your feet and the leaves bristling in the night air. The remnants of your anxiety is slowly fizzling away, a new sense of relief finally taking its place, and it’s the first time you feel you can breathe easily since you got here. You allow yourself to actually feel the night air against your skin, take joy in the calmness of the evening, the comfortability of strolling through the forest with the person you were most afraid of telling. You find yourself smiling, one of the first genuine ones since you’ve been here, now that you finally have some sense of freedom.

As you return to camp, you notice that the tieflings have left, and most of your companions have disappeared; whether that’s alone in their tents or in the arms of another partygoer is to be discovered in the morning. You notice Halsin has fallen into a deep sleep with one of the spare bedrolls over in the corner of the camp, and you wave Karlach goodnight as she climbs into her tent. Scratch also demands a final scritch as you arrive before he wanders into Wyll’s tent, choosing him as the victim for his nighttime snoring habits this evening. You’re glad he has some company, at least.

You begin gathering your things to prepare for sleep; you’ve got a lot to do in the morning, and you’d rather do it without sleep deprivation. You notice, however, Astarion hasn’t returned to his own tent, and is instead shifting uncomfortably near to you.

“Everything ok?” you ask, laying your bedroll flat by the fireside. You know, you really need to see about getting a tent of your own – just because it never rained in the game doesn’t mean you won’t fall victim to it here, and when the fire dies out, those chills can be a killer.

“Yes, erm, I was wondering if I could ask you something.” He meets your eyes briefly before looking away, frowning.

“Sure, go ahead.” You look at him with concern; it’s not like him to be this way with you.

“Well, considering, erm, what you know…” he whispers, his eyes flittering around for eavesdroppers, “I was hoping you could give me some intel on something. But, then again, you might not even know, so there’s really no point-” he huffs, beginning to turn away. You launch to your feet and grab at his arm, stopping him from doing so.

“No, please. Tell me. I want to help.” You smile softly. He rolls his eyes.

“Ugh, fine. Do you… do you know about the scar? On my back?”

sh*t.

“Y-yes, I do.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me?”

You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment.

“No.”

“Oh. Well, my sincerest of apologies for the intrusion. Good evening, then-”

“Astarion, I can’t tell you. But… I can show you.”

Chapter 25: Watch Your Back

Chapter Text

You find yourself incredibly thankful for picking up that abandoned sketchbook the other day; the others had teased you for taking it, and Lae’zel had even made a comment about painting with ‘the blood of our enemies’ since that’s likely the only paint you’ll find out here, but you’d simply thought it might be nice to get some doodling done on your downtime. Give you a chance to unwind, take your mind off things. Yet here you are, using it for the first time to show Astarion a physical image of his scarred skin as a result of the cold-heartedness of his master. At the time, you’d wondered briefly if it may end up being used for just this scenario, but you’d hoped you would have at least got some recreational use out of it first. You grab the book from your tent, along with the chunk of carbon you’d found close by to it, and head to his own.

As you enter through the flap and stoop your way inside, you notice just how threadbare it actually is in here. The outside is decorated with candles, mirrors, plants and pillows, all the indicators of glamour and finery, of someone who cares highly for themselves. Yet, in here, with just a plank of wood to protect him from the dirt, a threadbare blanket, a flattened pillow, some jars of blood, and a single lantern, it screams the opposite. His complete disregard for his own comfort, his lack of belief in his wellbeing away from the eyes of the rest of you is… well, it’s pretty upsetting, actually. Once again, his need to keep up appearances, to dissuade others from seeing how he truly views himself, it breaks your heart. He can’t even offer himself solace where he f*cking sleeps.

“Jeez, Astarion, no disrespect but it’s a sh*thole in here. We need to get you some new bedding or something-” you start, before he grits his teeth at you.

“My sleeping quarters are just fine, thank you. Now, hurry up before someone gets the wrong idea of what’s going on in here.”

Taking the hint, you stop your words in their tracks and elect to try and lighten the mood instead.

“The wrong idea? Weren’t you asking me earlier if I’d come and spend the night with you, anyway?” you tease, carefully perching yourself atop his single pillow, attempting to avoid the low ceiling of his tent before you find a blank page to work from. He tuts at you from his cross-legged position at the other side, turning away as he begins to undo the laces of his shirt.

“Well, considering your reaction to my asking, I would suppose we’re long past that now. And I am not going to be accused of sleeping with you if I don’t even get anything out of it. I’d like to protect what I have left of my dignity, if I may.”

Your mouth drops open in shock; how dare he?!

“Wooow. Nice. Well, I wouldn’t want to be seen dead with you either, I’d take Withers before I took you,” you retort, scrunching your face at him. Astarion stills, his head tilting before he slowly turns to you, his face full of mischief as he looks over his shoulder.

“Oh, darling, what makes you think he’d even be interested? Thinking a bit much of yourself there, aren’t we?” He grins devilishly, his sharp fangs reflecting in the lamplight. At that, your annoyance is peaked, and you find yourself throwing the book to the ground as you clamber off the pillow.

“Ok, that’s it, you little sh*t!” you exclaim, grabbing the cushion fiercely with both hands. You raise to your knees, swinging it directly at Astarion’s head as you laugh raucously. “Take- that- you- bastard!” Your words are punctuated by your barrage of pillowy attacks as he flinches, yelling with each hit, the tent shaking vigorously as it gets caught in your crossfire.

“H-hey!” he shouts back, trying to grab the pillow back from you as he also attempts to cover his precious curls. Eventually, his slender fingers manage to wrap themselves around the edge of it, and with a harsh tug, he pulls the thing free from your grasp and turns the assault back to you. You continue to screech with giggles, holding your arms up to protect yourself as he whacks you just as you had him. “There! Not- so- bloody- nice- is it?!”

You continue to squeal in protest as your knees give out, and you fall to the ground in a near-foetal position, swinging your arms out wildly to try and regain control of the pillow, but it’s futile. Seeing his advantage, Astarion climbs over you, locking your legs into position as his thighs trap your own, stopping your attempts at trying to kick him away.

“I- should- smother- you!” he hisses, continuing to hit you. “Then I’d at least get a moment’s peace!”

“Not if I smother you first!” you retort, trying to shove away his arms. At that, he guffaws, throwing his head back as he pauses momentarily.

“Good luck with that – don’t need to breathe, darling. Remember?” He flashes his sharpened teeth at you, his mouth twisting into a wicked grin as he hits you one final time. You try to grab at his wrist, but instead, your hands end up being the ones to be restrained as he throws the pillow beside him and grips your own, rendering you completely incapable of fighting back.

Exhausted, you drop your arms to the floor either side of you with his hands still clasped around them, your hair fanning around your face as you lay flat on the ground, your chest heaving as you recover from the giggle fit you just fell victim to; still, you find you still have a few soft chuckles left in you.

“You’re insufferable,” you breathe, your eyes locking with his own. His eyes flicker over you for a moment, that smug look on his face showing his pleasure at winning your little debacle.

“Oh, I’m insufferable? That’s rich, coming from you.” At that, you let out a soft laugh, Astarion opting for a wry smile.

You lay there on the rock-hard surface of the wooden board, the discomfort you feel overshadowed by the heavy energy in the air that lingers between you both. As you meet his piercing, scarlet eyes, you find you can’t really place what he’s thinking, yet you feel… peaceful, despite the burning in your abdomen from the exertion of your laughter. Burning, yet also a softer warmth. It feels safe, like home. Like this is where you’re meant to be. For the first time in a long time, your thoughts quieten, and you take comfort in this little escape from the rest of the world. Your chest continues to rise and fall heavily, your face softly warming as your blood courses through you. Astarion looks to his hands, his cool, slender fingers wrapped delicately around your veins, his icy fingertips resting gently over your pulse points. They linger there a moment before his eyes wander over your body, taking in your frame locked into place beneath him, before leading back up to your face.

You know you shouldn’t be enjoying this. You know it’s wrong. You know this is a bad idea – a terrible idea. But there’s a quiet voice, a whisper in the back of your mind, that begs you to hold onto this for as long as you can.

Stop. Nothing is ever going to happen here. It can’t happen. You’re only going to get yourself hurt.

You look to his silver hair, the usually perfectly coiffed ringlets now in complete disarray. His pale skin is glowing with the soft amber of the lamp you, by some form of miracle, have managed to not smash into pieces, and you take in his features. His sharp cheekbones, his plump lips, his sculpted nose, his pointed ears, the soft creases around his eyes… Each part of him looks like it was sculpted by the gods, a gift that you don’t feel worthy of receiving. He looks like he should be on display, marvelled at from behind a piece of glass, somewhere where nobody can hurt him, damage him. You hold your breath as you continue to marvel at his beauty, and you feel the pressure of his fingers tightening their grip ever so slightly around your wrists. Your thoughts linger to them, where they are placed, where you’d like them to be…

But… what if something could?

Suddenly, just as you find your thoughts drifting, Astarion’s grip loosens as he releases you, and he scuttles backwards quickly as he frees your legs too. Despite his lack of warmth, you feel cold as you mourn the loss of his body, the sharp sting of your temporary peace cut short ringing through you, replacing the heat you were feeling moments before. It’s your own fault, you know. You should know better. You sit up, smoothing over your hair quickly before grabbing the sketchbook again, haphazardly trying to find the clear page once more.

“Ahem, er, we should…” you stammer, your fingers slipping against the dry paper as your dexterity fails you.

“Yes, let’s get this over with,” Astarion murmurs, returning to the opposite side of the tent. You keep your eyes glued to the page as he fumbles with his shirt, trying to ignore whatever the f*ck it was that just happened. You can feel your face going crimson, so you’re pleased he’s at least turned away from you. Your embarrassment thankfully falters a moment later, but not for a reason you’re thankful for.

As he removes his shirt, that same scar you’ve laid eyes upon hundreds of times before is revealed to you, but here, in the flesh… it’s horrid. It’s not pale and neat and perfectly healed over like the game’s version was. It’s marred, scarlet, messy, angry. This wasn’t carefully scribed; this was mutilated into his skin with no regard for him at all. There’s no care, no precision, just hatred. Even despite the real meaning behind it, your heart aches just from seeing the thing itself, imagining the pain he must have been victim to in order to receive it. You can see plenty of furious scratch marks around some of the lettering; you can only imagine how many times Astarion has clawed at the script, attempting to read it, to see it, decipher it. Your eyes immediately fill with tears; you’re going to kill Cazador yourself, even if it kills you. He deserves to rot.

“Oh, Astarion…” you whimper, your hand immediately going to cover your mouth. He stirs, his head turning over his shoulder as he regards you, his brow twitching as he sees you.

“That bad, is it?” he asks, his voice soft, melancholic. Your hand finds itself stretching out, wanting to soothe it, offer comfort, but you quickly lower it.

“I won’t lie, it’s… much worse than I expected.” You suck in air, trying to steady your voice. “This… This is violent. It’s not the same as what I’ve seen before. He- he did this to you?”

“Yes, he… He had me chained. It took hours, and I screamed the whole time. He said he liked my screams the most. They sounded the sweetest. So, he took the most time on mine.” His words are laced with venom, his hatred for his master ringing loud and clear.

Your breath catches, the tears spilling over your lids and rolling down your cheeks. This poor man… What he must have been through, the torture he’s experienced, seeing it firsthand with your own eyes, it’s almost too much for you to handle – but this is it, this is reality. His reality. This is just what he said he’d been through all those times you played the game. However, now it’s real, and this broken, tormented soul is sitting here in front of you, and all of the horrors you’d heard about aren’t just a story anymore. This is his truth, and he’s allowing you a glimpse at it, so you intend to be as careful as you can with it. You try to swallow the lump building in your throat.

“I’m so sorry, Astarion. You didn’t- you don’t deserve this.”

He huffs in annoyance, his head whipping back around, facing the tent wall away from you.

“Can you just hurry up?” he snips, his back hunching as he folds his arms.

“Yes, yes. Sorry.”

You begin sketching, following the circle patterns first before attempting to follow the intricacies of the lettering. Due to the heavy scarring, you struggle to make out some of the finer details, so Astarion begrudgingly allows you to trace the difficult ones with your fingers to feel for the keloid bumps. He flinches at first, like your touch is poison, but he assures you grumpily it isn’t hurting him when you ask. Thankfully, he slowly stops responding so adversely to your contact, but you still make sure to only do so when needed, making him aware each time you do. Other than that, the silence hangs thickly between you, and you do your best to silence your cries, lest you risk annoying him even more.

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity of flicking your head back and forth between the page and his back, you finish off the more intricate elements and put down your carbon. You blow the dust from the page, eyeing it up one final time, and wipe the last remnants of your emotions from your cheeks.

“Astarion?” you whisper. He simply hums in response. “It’s done.”

At that, he turns slowly, reaching out his hand for the book. You delicately pass it over, as if it might disintegrate if you don’t take the correct care, and watch as he takes it just as carefully from you, his brow furrowing as he analyses the design.

“What in the hells…” he mumbles, his eyes flickering over the design. “What did he do to me?!”

You elect to remain silent, allowing him a moment to process what’s in front of him. You find yourself holding your breath once again, as if any noise from you at all might just destroy this whole moment for him. His frown deepens into a scowl before he looks up, meeting your glistening eyes.

“Tell me, now. What is it? What does it mean?” he demands, his jaw locking as he grits his teeth. You try to think about what you can tell him at this point, your mind vaguely remembering the dialogue options from a tiefling Tav.

“It’s Infernal. It’s… broken, though. Fragmented text. But it does mention oaths, and fires below, if I remember correctly.” You pull your knees to your chest, looking for any sense of comfort you can as the weight of his stare bears down upon you.

“Infernal? That bastard… This must be part of a pact.”

You bite your lips, willing any bluffs or slips into the back of your mind as you attempt to neutralise your face. You can’t risk slipping up now. Astarion’s eyes return to the page, as if looking it over any further will improve his understanding of the squiggles on the paper.

“And if so… what have I run off with? It must be very valuable, if he’s willing to scar it into me like he has. Oh-ho-ho, is this interesting…”

As he turns back to you, you can’t even meet his eyes. You can’t risk telling him about Cazador’s deal, about Mephistopheles, about the thousands of spawn waiting beneath the streets of Baldur’s Gate for their fate to be decided. You feel sick to your stomach, your palms sweating as the tension continues to build.

“I’m supposing you know what this is all about, then?” he enquires, staring at you through a dipped brow.

You simply nod.

“And you’re not going to tell me?”

“I, I can’t-” you start, turning your face away from him.

“Yes, yes, messing with destiny and all that drivel,” he cuts in, rolling his eyes. “But you will tell me eventually, yes?”

“Yes. When the time is right. But like I said, I don’t know what will change if I tell you now.”

“Ugh, you’ve said that enough times already. Doesn’t make it any less annoying, though.” He continues staring at the page intensely, his fingers tracing the patterns you drew. “You know, 200 years and I’ve had no idea what’s on there this whole time. And now, it’s here, right in front of me.”

“I’ve done my best. It’s a little more… refined, I would say, than the actual scar. He really did a number on you.”

“Well, better than nothing I suppose.” He inhales sharply, his eyes flickering to you. “But thank you. This isn’t your mess – you didn’t have to get involved, you know.”

A small smile creeps its way across your face as you hold his gaze, your chin resting atop your bent knees.

“Doesn’t matter – I wanted to help. Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.”

You think, for the first time since you landed in this mess, you see Astarion offer you a genuine smile. It’s small, barely there, but it’s beautiful.

“Regardless, you have my thanks.”

“Any time, fangs.”

You try to hold onto the moment for a little while longer as you witness this rare occasion, but it is abruptly cut short as he turns to grab at his shirt, pulling it back over the marred skin on his back.

“Ahem, it is rather late, and I’m sure you’re going to have us go save some kittens from drowning or rebuild an orphanage come sunrise,” he jests, tightening the laces.

“Ooh, so close. We’re saving drowning orphans and rebuilding a cattery, actually. But you get a point for trying!” you tease back, crawling towards the entrance of the tent.

“Ah, keeping score, are we? I would suppose I get a few more for winning our little tussle earlier, then?”

You co*ck your head to him, a devious glint in your eye.

“Is that how it’s going to be? I’m happy to go for best two out of three.” You exaggeratedly make a point of reaching your hand back towards the pillow, your mouth twisting with glee.

“Get out! Being a sore loser isn’t a good look for you, you know.”

“Believe me, I’ll get you back.” You clamber out of the tent, stretching your leg muscles as you stumble upright, before dipping your head back to the open flap. “Goodnight, Astarion.”

“Goodnight, dear.”

He closes the tent as you make your way back to the fireside, your trusty bedroll waiting for you already. The flames of the campfire are now dwindling out, a small ember left in the pile of ash and charred wood. Wanting to avoid late-night shivers, you turn to the pile of firewood nearby, grabbing a medium sized log to help stave off the chill of the evening.

Turning back, you notice that your bed is no longer empty, and sniffing his nose into the fabric is the owlbear cub, mussing up your neatly laid sheets. You gasp as you recognise his ruffled feathers, his cute little beak, those big amber eyes, and you can’t help but melt at the scene before you.

“Well, hello little guy!” you coo, walking cautiously towards him. You notice an abandoned plate with half a sausage link left upon a barrel next to you, so you make sure to grab it. “You hungry?”

The cub’s eyes light up as he recognises you, and he lets out a little chirp as he notices the food in your hand. You throw it to the ground between you, and he happily bounds up to it, giving it a gentle sniff before wolfing it down whole. Then, he makes his way towards you, sniffing at your feet before rubbing his head against your legs, much like a stray cat. Your heart can’t take it, and you squeal giddily at him, running your hands over his soft little body as he chitters into you.

What you don’t expect, however, is Astarion leaping out of his tent, yelling your name cautiously as he scans the camp. When his eyes land on you and the cub, his stern expression drops, bewilderment taking over.

“Oh, my! I wasn’t expecting this.” He places a hand to his chin, resting his weight on his back leg as he places the other arm across his chest. At his intrusion, the cub panics, bolting back towards the treeline as fast as he can.

“Wait, come back!” you yell, but the little thing has already scarpered before you’ve finished your sentence. You turn to Astarion, pouting grumpily at him.

“Tut, look what you’ve done. You’ve gone and scared him off,” he taunts, grinning at you.

“Me?! You’re the one who had to go and make him jump like that!”

“Pish-posh, darling. You’re the one who was making all that noise. Now, go to sleep before you invite half the forest to come and join us.”

You groan loudly, flipping him off as you stalk back towards your bedroll, and you hear his high trill of a giggle as he closes the flap once more.

Arse.

-

After finally restoking the fire and offering yourself a meagre amount of warmth, as well as calming your rage at Astarion’s infuriating remark, you tuck yourself into your bed, your mind spinning as you ponder how your companions are going to react come morning when you finally give them your big reveal. However, you imagine that it can’t go much worse than what you’ve already been through, and by some act of divinity, you seem to have come out relatively unscathed so far. Hell, how many knives and swords have already been shoved up against your neck at this point, anyway? What’s a few more? Yep, this will be ok. It will definitely be ok. It will absolutely, one hundred percent, be ok.

… Won’t it?

Chapter 26: There Is No Right Or Wrong, Only Truth

Chapter Text

Your slumber is restless, your dreams flitting in and out of all the possibilities of what the morning may hold. In some, your companions are uninterested, electing instead to ignore your confession and take more interest in discussing the weather. In others, they each take turns at driving a weapon through your body after chastising you for your betrayal – hell, even Astarion and Lae’zel, both already fully aware of your situation, decide to rescind their understanding and take part in the slaughter. Each time, you awaken in a cold sweat, heart racing and gasping for air, not fully convinced for a few moments that they weren’t successful. At least the one where they were all turned into animals before attacking gave you something to chuckle about; Wyll as a Labrador and Gale as a housecat were quite amusing, plus, the frog with amber eyes and the goose with a mop of silver curls were certainly things you’re not going to forget about soon.

After waking for what must have been the 15^th time this night, you notice the sun is beginning to creep over the edge of the horizon as you stir once more, signalling the start of the day ahead. Defeatedly, you find yourself rolling out of your sheets, staring wistfully at the golden sunrise before you.

Stupid sun. It doesn’t have to deal with this kind of bullsh*t, it gets to just sit in the sky looking all pretty and sh*t.

Well, it looks like your sleep deprived state might be having an adverse effect on your mood, so you figure you might as well treat yourself to the small ration of coffee you’d looted at the village the other day. You’d been so surprised to actually find some, you’d imagined that something like this wouldn’t even exist in this world, and you’d wanted to save it for a special occasion. Better use it now than risk pissing off your companions right as you’re about to paint yourself as a giant, red target. Nothing more special than telling all your new friends you’ve been lying about your whole identity, right?

You choose to sit on one of the boulders on the lakefront, watching the sunrise in something akin to peace as you figure out how you’re going to explain things to each of them, delicately sipping the sludge-like liquid. Still better than nothing. Should you tell them one by one? Altogether? Does Halsin need to know just yet? Well, probably, considering he’s definitely going to be tagging along until you fix the Shadow-Cursed Lands, at least.

f*ck. You still have all of that to deal with, too. How you’re going to get there, the Underdark or the Mountain Pass, the horrors you’ll face when you do. How you’ll feel when you find those tieflings… The tieflings! You’ve done next to nothing to prepare them for this journey, your little rendezvous with death and the damned party taking all your attention away from the actual adventure itself. Thankfully, you’d saved some scrolls and some extra items that they may find useful, intending to pass them over before they left. You quickly down the last of your drink, rinsing it quickly in the river, and grab your clothes and soap for a quick wash before you go. Annoyingly, the dirt from Astarion’s shove is still lingering on your face, and you’d like to avoid whatever accusations may come from that.

-

When you’re finally ready, the sun is still barely risen and the camp still fast asleep. You definitely know that Gale is still asleep, at least, as you could probably hear his snoring from all the way over at the goblin camp, and Halsin is still tucked up in a corner, snoozing softly. You grab one of the many pieces of paper you’ve hoarded and begin writing a note for the camp: ‘Gone to the grove, be back soon’ before signing your name on the bottom. Just as you begin collecting your things, you notice a blur of white enter your peripheral vision as Scratch moseys up to you, sticking his nose into your face.

“Well, good morning to you too, boy,” you mumble, his pale fur getting caught in your mouth. “Fancy coming on an adventure?” The pup pants excitedly, bowing his body in confirmation. You chuckle to yourself, grabbing the piece of paper once more, and adding ‘Scratch too!’ to the message. You grab the final thing you’re looking for, Komira’s locket, and you set off together towards the grove.

-

You arrive successfully, the road surprisingly clear thanks to the work you and your companions have put into protecting the area since your arrival, save for a few bunnies and a rogue squirrel you had to convince Scratch not to chase. The tieflings’ carts are still stationed near the entrance to the village, the area empty save for a few of the druids milling around. It is still pretty early, after all, and after the amount they all drank last night, you imagine you won’t hear a peep out of them for a little while longer. Well, you’re here now, so you may as well stick around until they wake up.

With not much else to do, you decide to take Scratch for a little wonder down through the grove, grabbing sticks and other fauna to toss for him, his happy little tail wagging furiously as he graciously chases them down. You find yourself wandering up to the spot you’d sat with Alfira on your first day, sitting atop the comfy cushions as you watch the golden sun brighten over the grove.

You’re going to miss this place, you think to yourself as you take solace in the peace of the early morning. Even for all its unnecessary drama, you can’t help but love it here. The greenery, the love and respect for nature, the animals roaming free amongst the people… A place could never exist like this back home. We’re too greedy, too angry. Some f*ckers would come along eventually and ruin the whole thing.

At that, your thoughts linger back to your own world and the people you left behind; the few friends you had, your family, your coworkers, your home. While you can’t deny that your life has certainly been more interesting since your divine arrival, you can’t help but find yourself missing some of the things from your old life. Like, how your bed always felt like your safe space, your favourite place to go when you felt overwhelmed, ordering food when you were too tired to even think about cooking – you wonder if when this sh*t is all over, if you’re still here, you might invest in setting up a BaldursEat just so you don’t have to slave over a cooking pot each night.

You think back to some of your fondest memories and think about how you might never see those people again. Do they even know you’re gone? Did that world just cease to exist when you left, or did you just disappear without a trace, your whereabouts unknown? Or did someone have to find your body, slumped over in front of that computer screen, possibly rotting and decaying more and more as each day passes while you’re here? Have they found your body?

You shudder at the thought, shaking your head vigorously as you try to remove the image from your mind. Sensing your discomfort, Scratch crawls into your lap, laying his fluffy head against your chest. Whatever this little creature is doing happens to be working, it seems, so you allow yourself to lean back against the stone wall and rest your eyes a moment, succumbing to the tranquillity of the running river and soft bird calls.

-

Eventually, your eyes open as Scratch laps at your face, and you realise the sun is much higher in the sky than it was previously – maybe that was a few more moments than you were expecting. You rub the sleep from your eyes before affectionately rubbing at the dog’s head, looking out to the grove below. Across the way, you see that the tieflings finally seem to have started preparing for their journey, so you quickly grab the pack of supplies for them and you both rush to them.

You spot Zevlor passing a crate over to one of the soldiers atop the cart, so you make your way over, calling to him cheerfully. As he notices you, his mouth spreads into a wide grin as he calls your name back to you, turning to face you.

“Well, I didn’t think we’d get a chance to speak again after last night. I tried to grab you before we left, but you seemed, ahem, a bit busy.” Zevlor raises a brow suggestively as he says his final word, and your face goes scarlet.

“Oh, no! No, no, no, ahem, er… no. I was just, um, a little overwhelmed,” you mumble, wringing your hands together in embarrassment. Of course he thought something happened. What sort of damage control are you going to have to do today? “I just needed to get some air. But I was sad you were gone when I came back, I was hoping to talk to you.”

“Ah, my apologies, child. Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were. You’re young, at least much younger than I, after all,” he chuckles. “And you’ve been through a hell of a lot over the last few days. How are you holding up after your injury?”

“Oh, I’m feeling fine, thank you. Weirdly, better than I was before it happened!” Your hand glimpses over the fatal wound, a faint sensation running through your chest as it does, but you’re telling the truth – other than whatever psychosomatic sensations you might get when you’re actively thinking about it, it’s completely healed over, the only evidence of it even occurring being the faint tinge of pink along your sternum.

“Well, that’s good to hear. I can’t express enough how grateful I am to you and your friends for your assistance with those pestilent creatures – we wouldn’t have stood a chance of making it out of here alive if you hadn’t stepped in.”

“Honestly, Zevlor, it was my pleasure. You and your people have been through enough, and who knows what else is in store.” You shift the backpack on your shoulder. “And that’s what I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Oh yes, my apologies. I just wanted to make sure you know that you and the others have our most sincerest of thank-yous.” At that, Zevlor’s eyes catch sight of something behind you, and you find yourself turning to find what he’s looking for. “Speaking of, here they are!”

As the heavy gate to the grove closes, you notice that the full camp has come through. Lae’zel and Karlach are chattering away about something, last night’s antics clearly having had a limited affect on them. Gale and Shadowheart, however, are hanging back slightly, their eyes squinting in the sun and a particular air of fatigue lingering over them whilst they walk in silence – it seems the night weighed a bit heavier on them. Wyll is engaged in conversation with Halsin, and Astarion is scanning the area, a grumpy scowl on his face. Like that’s anything new. He continues to look around the area until his eyes land on you, and somehow, his frown deepens – you didn’t think that was possible. What the hell have you done, now?

The group makes it way towards you, Karlach, Wyll and Halsin smiling warmly as they regard you. The others, however, don’t seem particularly impressed at the sight of you. You wonder if your rejections last night might have something to do with it, but now is not the time to dig into that. Maybe back at camp.

“Hello, adventurers! Good to see you all in one piece.” Gale and Shadowheart groan at Zevlor’s words, Gale holding a hand to his aching head. Maybe he should’ve gone a little lighter on the free wine. “So, my friend, what did you want to discuss with me?”

“Ah, yes, I have some things for you. And some advice.” You rustle through the bag on your back, grabbing the scrolls and magical items to hand over. However, you notice the looks of alarm on your friends’ faces, and particularly so on Gale, who really doesn’t seem happy to see you giving away a decent number of magical items.

“Um, that’s quite a lot of stuff you’ve got there,” he says, his words thick with implication. “How… generous of you, giving that all away. You sure there’s still enough for us at the end of it?” He laughs nervously, his brows twisting as his lips press into a thin line.

“Don’t worry, I’ve taken full stock of everything, and we still have enough to spare,” you smile, willing him to understand. He raises his hands in resignation, gesturing to you.

“If you say so, my friend. Just, aha, wouldn’t want us to struggle. Not that you lot don’t deserve some of these things, of course. I’m sure we’ll be, erm, just fine without them!” His words stammer, his embarrassment at calling you out in front of the paladin becoming apparent as he tries to smooth things over.

“He is right, there’s quite a few things here.” Zevlor analyses some of the scrolls you’ve passed to him. “Are you sure that you’re ok giving all of this to us? We would be most appreciative, we will gladly accept anything you can offer, but you need to look after yourselves too.”

“Honestly, Zevlor, it’s fine!” You notice the looks of resignation on your campmates’ faces; at least when you’ve explained things, they’ll understand, right? “Besides, you’ve got a lot of non-fighters. I’d feel more at ease knowing you’ve got as much as I can give you. But on that note… What route are you planning on taking to the city?”

“Well, I’m not too sure of the direct path, but my best estimation is that we will either go wide of the Shadow-Cursed lands to avoid its perils, but that will leave us wide open to attacks from all sorts of creatures, or we can skirt close to them and hopefully miss most of the threat.”

Just as you thought.

“Right, well, if you do get close to the Lands, I need you to understand just how messed up things are out there. Do you have spells of blessings, any magical light sources?”

“Well, yes dear, I’m a Paladin,” he chuckles, gesturing to himself. “I’ve got quite a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“You’re going to need every trick you can get. There’s stuff out there that can really mess with your mind, and there’s a lot of you. It’s really not a good place to be.”

“She’s right, Zevlor,” says Halsin, stepping forwards. “The Shadow-Cursed Lands are not a place to be taken lightly. All light has forsaken it, and it has been consumed by creatures of the dark. It is a place of loss and ruin, and many have been consumed by the curse, never to return from it. Nature has abandoned it, the gods turned away. But I’m surprised you’re so aware of it, little phoenix. Most don’t understand the horrors that persist there.” He looks at you in intrigue, his gaze heavy as he regards you. You can feel the blush beginning to tinge your cheeks.

“Oh, you know. Research, stories, I like to try and, um, look up local history, I guess.” Giggling nervously, you turn to Zevlor once more, trying to avoid the weight of Halsin’s stare. “But, yeah. Not a fun place. We at least have a smaller group, so it’ll be easier to manage, but there’s just so many of you to transport, and the kids too. I just want to make sure you really understand how gruesome it is out there. Plus, there’s the damn cultists to deal with, too.”

“Hang on,” interjects Karlach. “You mean to tell me we’ve got to shift our arses through this place? Why can’t we just go round it, too?”

Ah, sh*t. Halsin hasn’t told us yet. This… this is not good.

“Oh, um, yes. I’m sure, uh, that we can…”

Lae’zel and Astarion look to you, their faces mirrored as they consider you with interest. You nervously look between them both, but thankfully, Halsin speaks up once more.

“Well, there is something I wish to discuss with you all when we return to camp. About your upcoming journey.”

Oh, thank goodness.

“And I think our friend here has some things she would also like to share with the group, isn’t that right?” Astarion chimes in, his face twisted in mischief. That little sh*t.

“Yep, of course! When we get back to camp, though,” you say through gritted teeth, staring daggers at him. Lae’zel also turns to look at him, her expression full of curiosity. “I’d like to say goodbye to everyone first. Who knows when we might run into them again?”

-

You make sure to hand items out to as many of the tieflings as you can, also making sure that they have enough torches to stave off the darkness. You go through each of the children, making sure to give them all a big hug before you leave, except for Mol, who instead threatens to stick a knife in your thigh if you even think about putting an arm around her. Mattis is also initially unreceptive to your offer, but quickly attaches himself to your leg as soon as the others turn their backs. Silfy, however, begs you to come with them, and your heart breaks as you tell her you can’t. Even Doni flaps his hands excitedly as you wish him luck on the journey.

Your main priority, however, is seeking out Arabella and her parents. You find them huddled around a crate, the child perched atop it, discussing their plans for when they enter the city.

“I think I’d like for us to set up a bakery, just like mum and dad had back home,” says Komira, giving Arabella a gentle smile.

“That sounds like a divine plan, my love,” replies Locke, leaning down to give his wife a soft kiss. “What do you think, Bells?”

“Aw, yeah, that sounds awesome! I love your sweetbreads, mum. I miss them, I can’t wait to have one when we get to the city.” Arabella beams up to her mother, her eyes full of love and admiration. You find your heart panging as you swallow the lump in your throat, furiously blinking back the tears that threaten to prickle in your eyes; you can’t let them follow the same fate you know. You can’t.

“Oh, it’s you!” exclaims Komira, standing up to grab your hands as you move closer to them. “I still can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for us, gods only know what would’ve happened to our little Bells if you hadn’t stepped in. And the goblins – my, I do hope you’re feeling better”

You squeeze her hands gently as you return her infectious smile, glancing over to her husband who is also looking at you with such warmth. This f*cking sucks.

“Seriously, it was nothing, I’m honestly fine. I couldn’t let them get away with harming her. And I just wanted to make sure you were all safe.” At that, you reach into your pocket, pulling out the same locket she gifted you on your first day. “On that note, I need to return this to you.”

Komira and Locke look to you in confusion, unsure of your reasoning for giving back their gift.

“Oh, um, is it… not good enough for you? Would you like something else? We don’t have much, but I’m sure we could find something…” asks Locke shyly, his face twisted with concern.

“Oh my god, no, it’s a wonderful gift! I’m so honoured you would give it to me, but…” Your mind wanders to the image of the two of them, laid out on that bed in the House of Healing, surrounded by rot and darkness, their bodies tended to by that creature of a nurse. “Believe me, on this journey, I think you’re going to need it much more than I do.”

“That’s… very kind of you. How about this – we’ll hold onto it for now, and then when we meet you again in the city, we’ll give it back to you?”

“I think that’s a pretty good proposal. I guess I’ll see you in Baldur’s Gate, then?” you ask, placing the locket into Komira’s hands.

“We’re sure you will.” The two of them pull you into a hug, and you inhale deeply as you try to stop yourself from becoming overcome with emotion. Please, let them be safe.

“And me too!” yells Arabella, jumping up from her seat and looking affectionately up at her. You can’t help yourself from kneeling down and wrapping your arms around her, rubbing her back as she places hers around your neck.

“Of course, you too. But you’re going to have to keep that little nose of yours out of trouble from now on, ok?” You delicately boop her as you say it, eliciting a giggle from her.

“Gods, fiiine. It was one time!”

-

The walk back to camp is tense. Clearly, some of the others aren’t happy at your sense of charity, save for Karlach, Halsin, and Wyll. Gale has been particularly avoidant of you, and you’re not sure how much of that is due to your offloading of magical items or due to the harsh rejection from the night before. Shadowheart, at least, seems somewhat less forlorn than the wizard, but you note that she has purposefully sped up to talk with the others while you make your way back. So, you find yourself walking by yourself, excluding Scratch’s company. At least he doesn’t seem to dislike you right now. You can’t deny that between everyone’s standoffishness and the dread of the conversation you need to have, you would certainly rather be swallowed up by the ground right now.

After a while, Astarion seems to slow his steps, his pace dropping until he matches yours, choosing to walk by your side.

“My, my, my, you seem to have caused some upset this morning. What on earth have you done to them all?” he asks quietly, raising a brow to you.

“Ugh, I don’t know. I don’t think they appreciate me giving the stuff away, and most of them… Well, let’s just say you weren’t the only one interested in my company last night.”

At that, Astarion looks to you in confusion as he thinks for a moment, then suddenly lets out a bellow of a laugh, causing some of your companions to turn and look to you, before promptly focusing back on the road ahead. He exaggeratedly wipes a tear from his eye as the other hand clutches his belly.

“Well, that’s just about the funniest thing I’ve heard all morning. Go on, tell me, who was it? No, wait, let me guess! Was it Gale? I bet it was Gale.”

You scowl, rolling your eyes at him.

“Maybe… Might’ve been Shadowheart and Lae’zel, too.”

He begins to roar once more, and this time, you feel a slight pull on your lips. He might be absolutely infuriating, but at least he’s settling some of the anxiety that’s settled in your stomach.

“Oh, that is fantastic. Look at you, miss popular. Three of them?” he cries, looking at you with delighted awe. You simply rub your temples in frustration. “Y’know, you’re brave turning down Lae’zel. Surprised you lived to tell the tale, to be quite honest.”

“You and me, both. I’m hoping she found some other poor soul to occupy her time. And besides, it was four, actually.” You raise your brows at Astarion, reminding him of his little suggestion before everything went down. He rolls his eyes, ignoring your comment.

“You know, it’s a wonder that Wyll didn’t profess his undying love to you or sweep you off your feet, whisking you away into the woods. That would have been on my list of expectations for the evening.” He grins at you mischievously, but you notice a certain stiffness in the gesture.

“For f*ck’s sake – this again? Astarion, how many times do I have to say it? Wyll is just a friend.”

“Pfft, a friend. He is your favourite, after all.”

“And what makes you say that?”

Astarion looks ahead to the warlock, currently laughing with Karlach about some shopkeeper back in Baldur’s Gate, his eyes narrowing as he regards him.

“Well, the two of you have certainly built a… bond. And he suffers with that same terminal case of ‘bleeding-heart fool’ as you. It’s insufferable, really. You’re both so sickly sweet.” He pauses a moment, lost in thought. “You know, Wyll is very much one of those fairytale prince-types I would’ve dreamed about… When I was 13, mind you.”

You can’t help but giggle at his words, imagining a young Astarion writing in his diary about his schoolboy crush, staring wistfully through his bedroom window.

“Sounds like you’re the one with favourites, here. Not me.”

He shrugs you off, tutting at you.

“Not in a million years, darling. Besides, I noticed you disappeared last night to go look for him. And you were gone quite a while, mind you. You’re sure you don’t have any tantalising tales for me? How’s the forked tongue?”

You groan loudly, pushing his shoulder as he guffaws at you.

“I’m not sure what it’s going to take for this to permeate through that thick skull of yours, but there is nothing between Wyll and I, and nothing certainly happened last night, ok? If you recall, I ended up spending most of my evening with you.”

“Gods, when you say it like that, darling, it almost sounds naughty.” He drawls his words, sneering. “But anyway, knowing that most of the camp attempted to get in your breeches last night, I’m not surprised you scarpered this morning. I wouldn’t want to wake up to that many awkward stares.”

“I simply went to go give the tieflings the stuff before they left. I am perfectly capable of handling whatever drama gets thrown my way, thank you very much.”

“Hmm, definitely. That’s why you disappeared alone, carrying a bag full of valuable items, despite lacking any sense of self-preservation or defence, when you simply could have waited up for the rest of us and avoided the possibility of yet another untimely death?”

You tilt your head to him, your face expressing your surprise at his comment.

“What, concerned for my safety, are we?” you tease, your eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Not at all, darling, I couldn’t care less what happens to you.” He smiles cheekily at you as you scrunch your face at him in annoyance. “I was, however, concerned for the rather expensive cargo you were carrying with you. And the dog, of course. He’s a dab hand at keeping rodents away from the tents.”

“Ugh, have I ever told you that you’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met?” you seethe, glaring at him.

“You might’ve mentioned it once or twice, darling.”

-

The rest of the journey back consists of you and Astarion making jabs at each other, and by the time that you return, you think you might just stake him through the heart. You don’t think you’ve ever met someone who can really get to your core like this frustrating, aggravating man does, yet somehow, you still find yourself somewhat amused by your verbal sparring matches. At least your anxiety over the conversation ahead has somewhat simmered, now replaced by the overwhelming urge to rub garlic all over Astarion’s pillow. You’re not fully certain it will do anything other than leave a significant scent, but regardless, you figure it couldn’t hurt to try.

As everyone begins to offload their extra gear so you can make plans for the day ahead, you shuffle nervously near your pack, fretting over how you’re going to broach this whole thing. Teehee, I’m from another world where you’re all make believe characters that I can make do whatever the hell I want! Whoopsie, sorry I didn’t mention it before! I just know all your deepest, darkest secrets, your past, present, and future… no biggie, though! You sigh frustratedly; this will not be fun.

As you pace uncomfortably, Lae’zel finds her way over to you, that ever-present grumpy scowl presiding over her face.

“The elf seems to be spending extended time with you today. He did so last night, as well. I thought your intentions were not to bed any of us, or is that reservation just extended to myself?” she huffs, folding her arms across her chest. You splutter uncontrollably; you weren’t expecting her to say that.

“f*cking hell, Lae, god no. Nothing happened last night, I swear.”

“Really, you expect me to believe that when the ruckus from his tent could be heard for miles? And now he wants you to discuss something with us?” She moves her hands to her hips, her eyes locking with yours. “Do you take me for a fool? For a babe unversed in the ways of the world? Tsk’va, I would’ve thought better from you.”

“No, Lae’zel, I promise, nothing happened. Like, he did come onto me, but I turned him down, too. I kind of freaked out, and then…” You trail off, not sure how to verbalise your thoughts.

“Well? Did he make you feel better by fornicating your brains out? It did not seem to last very long – I am sure you would have been more satisfied elsewhere.”

At that, your eyes go wide in shock as you clasp a hand to your mouth, but it doesn’t stop the uncontrollable wave of laughter that goes through you, ripping at your insides with its intensity as you begin doubling over.

“LAE’ZEL! Oh my god, no!” You stop to wipe a tear from your eye; this is priceless. “I panicked, so he followed me, and I ended up… telling him. He asked me to… help with something, and he pissed me off during it, so I hit him with a pillow. That’s all that happened, I swear.”

She looks genuinely taken aback; she was so sure you had lied to her, that you had pushed her away with some wishy-washy explanation to avoid being direct, that you hadn’t… wanted her, as you had said so the night prior. Then, her face twists into a grin, her hazel eyes glimmering as her gaze flitters from you to Astarion who is currently searching through a pile of stacked books by his tent.

“Well, that certainly clears up my confusion. I am sure Astarion deserved whatever punishment you gave him for his insolence, he can be unbearable at times.”

“Yeah, I got him, alright. I mean, he did get me too, but that’s not important. I don’t know what he did to you for you to give him that scathing review, though.” You both chuckle, glancing over to the aforementioned elf who is currently looking at you both in confusion from the other end of the camp. As you and Lae’zel meet eyes once more, you both begin laughing together, eliciting a rather unattractive snort from you.

“So, another of our camp is aware of your… condition,” she asks, raising a brow to you. “That means the conversation he spoke of…”

“Yes. It’s about time, I can’t keep it to myself anymore. They deserve to know, it’s not fair. It’s just…”

“You’re afraid.” She stares at you, her eyes flicking over your whole body as she analyses your stance. You’re bouncing on the spot, wringing your hands, your back stiff. You must look like a nervous wreck.

“Well, you put a sword to my neck, he put a dagger, I’m not sure how I’ll fare against a mace, a rapier, an axe, and Gale unloading a wave of fire at my face all at the same time, if I’m quite honest.”

“Don’t be so soft, ra’stil. They would be unwise to be so rash. Your intel certainly came to be of use in the goblin camp, and I am willing to offer words of support. I imagine their fear of my sword will be greater than their desire to cause you harm.”

You look at her in surprise, your mouth dropping open in shock.

“Seriously? You’d do that for me? I thought you couldn’t stand me.” You chuckle nervously, rubbing harshly at your neck.

“Maybe at first. Your lack of physical or magical prowess was… infuriating to see. Especially from a she’lak. But I cannot deny, there is a spark in you that shows your dedication, and I can at least spare some admiration for that. You have begun training, trying to improve, which leaves us all in a better position. Plus, that fiery tongue of yours has certainly made itself useful in our journey together. I would like to keep you around, if not just for your intel, but also to see you offload at the devil-scum once more.”

You stare at her dumbfounded, a million thoughts racing through your brain. Have you honestly earned her respect? And enough so that she is willing to stand up for you? You almost can’t believe it, but the sincerity in her tone and eyes is enough to convince you it must be so. You half smile, your brows softening in gratitude.

“Thanks, Lae. It means a lot, I’m glad to have you on my side. Guess I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do, then.”

“Yes, you must. And there is no better time for it than the present.” She turns away from you, your body stilling momentarily as you process what she is doing. Suddenly, she calls out to the group, instructing them to gather around you, and you try to grab at her arm to stop her. She simply shrugs you off. “Your presence is demanded. Our friend here requires your utmost attention.”

“Lae’zel!” you hiss, your eyes going wide, but it’s useless. Your companions begin meandering over; Gale is still hesitant to look at you, and Shadowheart seems a little reserved, but the others surround you by the unlit campfire and start making themselves comfortable. Astarion remains standing, electing to remain behind them all, his gaze fixed on you with a look of intrigue.

“Ah, I assume we are here to talk about the next steps, then? I have some information that would be most beneficial to your decisions,” says Halsin, his large frame towering over the others, even from his seated position. You plonk yourself down on one of the barrels, facing the rest of the group, the adrenaline in your veins causing your hands to shake.

“Yeah, so, about that. Um. I need to tell you all something.” You continue to rub your hands together, trying to quell the tremors, but you just find yourself giving yourself a minor friction burn. Wyll looks to you, his heterochromatic eyes watching you as you stir.

“Are you alright? You look like you’re about to set yourself on fire.”

“Y-yeah, just, er, yep. I’m ok. I just, uh, f*ck…” You continue to writhe, uncomfortable under the gaze of your peers looking at you with much expectation. You inhale deeply, trying to settle yourself, but your nerves are really starting to get the better of you. You bite your lip furiously, your teeth picking at the dry skin, and your mind races. You can’t do this, you can’t do this, you can't do this, you can’t do this-

“Darling,” drawls Astarion, his soft trill commanding your attention. You meet his gaze, his claret eyes meeting yours as he links his mind with you, your tadpole squirming furiously against the confines of your skull.

Use your words.

With that, you release the stiff breath you were holding, your mind stilling just long enough for you to remember how to move your mouth. Your eyes remain fixed on him as you nod, the corner of your mouth twitching to offer your gratitude.

“So, you may be aware that I am… particularly unskilled, when it comes to battle and stuff.”

“Aw, soldier, don’t put it like that! You’ve been trying your best, not everyone can be as tough as me.” Karlach flexes her muscles, a wicked grin on her face. “We’ve all gotta start somewhere, mate.” You can’t help but release a soft chuckle; she’s far too precious.

“Thank you, Karlach. But just bear with me here, it’s leading somewhere. You might also have noticed that I’m a bit, different, I guess? Like, my music, my speech, mannerisms…”

The group looks to each other in confusion, a sea of furrowed brows laid before you.

“I don’t know, I mean, have you met Gale?” asks Shadowheart, side-eyeing the wizard. He gasps, that unmistakable chastising finger raising to wag at her in rebuttal.

“I will have you know, Shadowheart, that there are many who appreciate my charm and mirth. Well, maybe not so many as there used to be, but it certainly makes for more pleasant conversation that some of the other characters I’ve had to put up with in the last tenday.”

“Will the two of you save your incessant chatter for later? You can discuss who is the most tedious of the two of you once we hear what she has to say.” Lae’zel stares down the both of them, who in return promptly scowl and return their focus back to you.

“Thank you, Lae’zel,” you murmur, grimacing slightly at the harshness of her words, but appreciative, nonetheless. “So, um, there’s a reason for that. I’m not, um, from round here, I guess. Or anywhere close by. Or, uh, this universe either. Maybe. Most likely. Or, er, definitely not. At all.” You grip your hands together furiously, your knuckles turning pale through the sheer strength in your grip. You slowly look up to your companions, seeing each of their faces twisted with confusion.

“Hang on, hang on, you’re from another universe?” questions Gale, his face scrunched as he processes what you’ve just said. “How in blazes did you end up here, then? I know nautiloids can travel the planes, but another reality? It would take an extraordinary amount of power, of magic, to pull off something like that! This would have to be some kind of divine intervention!”

You find yourself looking to the abandoned boat by the waterfront, your skeletal pal staring at you from across the way. Withers remains still for a moment, before tilting his head slightly as he nods to you. Say what thou must.

“Uh, yeah, probably. You remember back to those first days, when we found the crypt, when I had that big freakout?” you ask, scratching at your neck. “Do you remember what Withers said?”

“Something about bringing you here for this journey, wasn’t it? I just imagined he meant the reason you were picked up from wherever you were, the reason you were doing whatever you had been doing when you were captured. But this…” Wyll frowns, looking over his shoulder to Withers. He, in turn, turns away from all of you to look over at the riverbank.

“No, I was a billion light years away, or wherever the hell my world is from here. Where I’m from, magic isn’t real, neither are elves, tieflings, orcs… we just have humans. And so many less of the creatures that you have here. Owlbears, bugbears, goblins, none of it.”

“What, not even dogs?” questions Karlach, her head tilting in confusion. At least this gives you a little giggle.

“No, we have dogs, don’t worry. And cats. But we can’t speak to them at all. And we can’t cast any spells, most people are not trained fighters, unless recreationally or for the military. All of this, Faerûn, magic, adventures, dragons, it’s all not real. It’s all stories we make up.”

“That bloody explains it!” yells Shadowheart, her eyes widening as she points at you. Your mouth purses, your own eyes widening. “You don’t trance! I thought you were just a bit weird, if I’m honest, but you can’t, can you?”

sh*t, she has a point. You’ve no idea how to use any of the racial abilities you should have; you haven’t been able to see in the dark, you’ve been sleeping like you normally would, hell, even your eyesight hasn’t really improved since you got here. Your mouth hangs open in shock at the realisation; it’s not really like you would’ve noticed on your own, either. You’re just experiencing things the way you normally would back home.

“f*ck, y-you’re right. I can’t. I don’t really know how this all works.”

“So, if you’re like, not an elf, why are you an elf, then?” Karlach is scanning you, looking for any telltale signs of your apparent condition. “Surely there must be some reason you look like that?”

“Well, that kind of brings us into the second part of this, I guess. So, like I said, all of this isn’t real in my world. It goes a bit deeper than that, though. That includes…” Deep breath. “All of you. As in, you’re all part of a story. This whole quest, back in my world, it’s all just a game. A role-playing game. One where you make your own character and join the lot of you in figuring out this mindflayer bullsh*t, and it gives you all different directions on where the story goes, and your choices affect the ending and what happens.”

“Wait, so you’ve already been through this all before? But in a game?” questions Wyll. He runs his hands along the side of his locs, gripping the back of his skull.

“Yes. And I’ve played quite a few times. But that means I know everything about what’s happened so far, what’s happening, and what’s going to happen. That’s why I’ve been able to help us find some pretty useful paths to take, and why we’ve remained relatively unscathed so far. But that’s not limited to just what happens in the adventure.” You pause, closing your eyes, inhaling deeply. When you open them, they fall first upon Astarion, who simply nods to you once more. “That includes all of you, as well. I know so much about each of you.”

You watch everyone’s eyes go wide in shock as they process what you say, but that’s not before you hear rustling from behind you. As you whip your head to the intrusion, you see a mop of curly black hair and surprised brown eyes for a fraction of a second, before the short figure quickly becomes encased in flames, a rush of wind and a sharp odour of sulphur taking its place as the embers burn out.

Korrilla. Raphael’s right-hand woman, his spy, his confidante, has heard everything you just said. Your whole confession, your story, your leverage against the devil.

He knows. He f*cking knows.

sh*t.