I was wondering what inspired you to start writing?
Was it a specific book/author or something else entirely?
Love your writing btw ⭐
Howdy!!!
Thank you so much! 😵💫
You’re like the nicest person on tumblr btw I always wait for your comment when I post a new chapter cuz I know it’ll make my day.
I’ve been obsessively reading a book a week since I was like 10, and I’ve always wanted to write but I end up having about 800 ideas that my ADHD brain can’t filter and I never actually get anything done. I think that’s why I’m now so into fan fiction. It restricts me enough that I can’t sit and obsess over every minute detail, I can just take characters I love and give them a little extra story. I want to write an original story one day, but for right now I’m happy with and proud of what I’m managing to do in between college classes and my new mission to rewatch all of Bones 🤣
I can go on all day about the books I love though. I’m currently obsessing over Ali Hazelwood to an unhealthy degree.
Close Encounter is my favorite Astarion x Tav fanfic. In general, your writing style feels so vibrant. If you wrote an original book I'd absolutely read it.
WOOOHOOO I did it besties. College has been kicking my you know what but I managed to write another chapterrrrr.
Forgive any grammar errors please, most of this was written at 1am and I don't have an editor.
Hope you liiiiiiiiiike
pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4
Word count: 5.2k
Color bleeds into peaceful darkness like ink spilled in water. The transition from unconsciousness to lucid dream happens so seamlessly you barely register the shift. The world around you focuses and sharpens until you are once again standing in a desolate purple sky. Levitating chunks of rock are scattered as far as you can see. Some are massive, some are as small as river rocks. You realize, as you creep up to the edge of the floating island you’re standing on, that each one hovers above a terrifying void full of swirling dust and shining constellations. The stars look close enough to touch. You kick some loose pebbles off the side of your rock and watch them descend until they fade out of existence, having fallen farther than your eyes can see. A heavy feeling weighs on your stomach. There’s something off about this place. Your head is quiet, your chest hollow. You feel empty.
“Finally.”
You swing around, your hands raising on instinct to cast a defense spell. For the first time in your life you feel nothing when you reach for the weave. That hum of magic that has lived in your chest since you were too small to remember is missing somehow.
You drop your useless hands to your side and brace yourself to run instead as a figure approaches you. Their expression is placating, their hands raised in a calming gesture one would approach frightened animals with.
You try to look them over, but by the time your gaze makes it to their plain black boots and back up you realize they look nothing like you thought they did a second ago.
Their eyes are a different color, their hair lighter, and the shape of their jaw is different. You start over, determined to memorize every detail. You stop at their hands this time. Was their skin always purple?
That thought is yanked from your head with a lurch. You know there is something missing, but not what. Your chest tightens, your throat burns, your body reacts to some horrifying revelation that you can’t remember. The tadpole in your head squirms.
“Relax.” The creature says in a dozen different voices.
“I apologize for my unfinished appearance. You’re early, I haven’t had time to work on this form yet. I was trying to perfect one that would comfort you, or at least help you to trust me.”
You meet their gaze and watch their pupils widen and swallow the whites of their eyes. Bones shift subtly under their skin, their joints move and bulge. They grow a foot taller. Their bones audibly grind.
You take a panicked step back. The shapeshifting creature lunges for you, but it’s too late. Your foot comes down on nothing but empty space, and you lose your balance with a gasp. Gravity sucks you into the void below.
You don’t even have time to scream before it swallows you whole.
You startle awake, wrestling with the blanket that might as well be tied around you until you manage to kick free of it and sit up, your chest heaving with huge gulping breaths that somehow don’t provide you with any oxygen. The sweat that slicks your clothes to your skin cools in the night air and you hug your knees to your chest. The darkness of the night feels unnatural. Alive even. The large campfire set up in the middle of your bedrolls works valiantly to fight it off.
You see that your companions are set up in a circle around it. Astarion, Gale, and Lae’zel are all accounted for. Flickering shadows dance over each of their sleeping faces. Strangely, you notice there’s a fifth bedroll occupied on the opposite side of the fire. You squint to try and make out any details but darkness completely obscures the figure. Did one of your companions invite another traveler to join your group?
You roll to your feet and creep closer to the sleeping stranger, a vague outline of a body under blankets. They’re almost unnaturally still. As far as you can tell their chest doesn’t rise and fall with breath. Upon closer inspection, you see that it’s almost as if the light of the fire deliberately avoids them. The flickering orange light only touches the ground a hand's width from either side of their bedroll. You take another step, and then another, until the light of the fire abandons you too. The shadows here have weight. They lie on your skin and whisper in your ear. Hushed voices beg you to turn around, to go back to sleep, to forget.
You shake them off and hold up your hand, casting an orb of light. The shadows scream as they’re dispelled, and a thick silence befalls the grove. There is no crackling fire, or leaves shaking in the breeze, there is only the blood rushing in your ears and your pounding heartbeat.
There’s a human girl lying on her back under a fur blanket, pale and unmoving. She looks peaceful. Something about her seems so familiar. You kneel down to study her face, and wince when the leg of your pants soaks with something warm and wet. You hold the light over the bedroll and realize it’s drenched in a dark liquid. It reeks of rot and iron.
You’re kneeling in a puddle of blood.
Startled, you glance back up at the girl’s face.
Her eyes are open.
They’re clouded with death, but you remember them. The druid from the grove you couldn’t save.
A single tear falls from her eye.
The light in your hand winks out.
The shadows laugh.
You wake up with a gasp in your camp once more, tangled in your bedroll. The sky is decorated in the red and orange rays of the setting sun. Like before, the cold air all but freezes the sweat on your skin and wracks your body with shivers. The temperature drop from day to night was startling out here in the wilds.
“I think I’m in hell” You hiss through chattering teeth.
“I never imagined the nine hells of Baator to be so frigid, but I suppose considering our luck it is a possibility.” A familiar voice responds.
You turn to find that Gale is tossing chunks of meat into a cauldron of boiling stew over the fire you’re lying next to. The smell of it is so sinfully good you almost start drooling. You don’t trust it.
You stand on shaky legs and lean forward, poking Gale in the cheek.
Gale regards you with concern, his brow furrowed. He makes no move to push you away, but he looks deeply confused.
“I will admit, I haven’t exactly been a paragon of sociality these past few years, but I think I would have noticed if it suddenly became appropriate to greet someone by way of- whatever it is you’re currently doing.”
“As a paragon of sociality I must disagree, keep up the good work Tav.” Astarion calls from somewhere behind you.
Gale glares at the vampire over your shoulder, but you pay no mind to their squabbling. Gale’s skin is warm under your finger.
“You feel so lifelike.”
You grab him by the chin and tilt his head in every direction, looking for the flaw that will prove you’re still dreaming.
He swats your hand away and leans as far back as he can away from your grasping fingers.
“Ooookay. I think the whole stabbing situation may have had more negative consequences than we originally thought. You should sit down.”
That’s a good idea. You can just wait here. You’ll have to wake up eventually.
You nod and unceremoniously plop back down on your bedroll. Your eyes are stuck unfocused and staring at nothing at all. Your mind is curiously empty. You think you should be feeling something, but honestly you’re just numb.
A few moments later Astarion drops gracefully into a crouch in front of you, leaning down to catch your eyes.
“Hey Tav? What’s goin on?”
“I’m waiting to wake up.”
He doesn’t even wait for you to finish speaking before he strikes, bluntly flicking you between the eyes.
You rear back in shock and rub your stinging skin.
“This wouldn't be the first time someone's looked at me and assumed they were dreaming but you’re not asleep Tav.”
“What the fuck Astarion!?”
He smiles, eyes alight with smug satisfaction.
“There she is. You’ve been out of commission for far too long, hero. If I have to hear one more story about Gale’s glory days I’m going to beg you to kill me.”
Gale scoffs.
“Keep making comments like that and you’ll go to bed hungry.”
“He won’t be able to eat what you’re making anyway.” You attempt to remind Gale before you realize he doesn’t know about Astarion’s… special diet.
The vampire holds up his hand as if to flick you again, an evil glint in his eye.
You flinch back in genuine fear. Your forehead still stings, you’d like to avoid a repeat.
“Ah,” Gale nods in solemn understanding. “Allergies?”
“Something like that” Astarion agrees, glaring at you.
You clear your throat nervously and glance around.
“Where is Lae’zel?” You change the subject.
“Just listen” Gale responds and tilts his head toward the trees just outside your encampment.
Sure enough you can hear the rhythmic thwack of steel on wood.
“What is she doing?”
“We needed firewood, the Githyanki needed to violently take her anger out on a tree, everyone wins” Astarion shrugs.
“Didn’t she have a concussion?” You ask. Gale nods.
“I wouldn’t mention it if I were you. She’s rather put out about it. She’s fine though. The Druidic healers were most competent. All four of us have been thoroughly examined and healed of all ailments. Well, other than the tadpoles of course. We still have those. Other than that, any remaining injuries are purely psychological.”
You nod, reminded of your nightmares.
“And how do I fix those?”
Astarion reaches into his pocket and pulls out a flask, tilting it toward you in offering.
You frown and shake your head, the idea of drinking on such an empty stomach makes you nauseous.
“You asked” he shrugs and tips the remaining contents of the flask into his mouth. He stands and offers you a hand, which you take, and pulls you easily to your feet. Your shoulder throbs in protest, and you start to wonder how “healed” it really is.
Gale loudly announces that the food is ready, prompting Lae’zel to trudge out of the forest a few moments later dragging a small tree behind her. It wrenches the plants from the earth and leaves a deep trench in the ground.
Maybe you’ll avoid Lae’zel for the night.
She seems a little upset in a way you’re not equipped to deal with.
Astarion turns and strides into the forest, presumably to look for his own meal.
You serve yourself a massive portion and eat in appreciative silence, scarfing down the only food you’ve had since being kidnapped.
When you’ve scraped the bottom of the bowl for every last drop, you turn to Gale, a question you’ve been dying to ask on the tip of your tongue.
“Gale, you seem to know a bit about cera-“ you trail off as the name of your condition eludes you.
“Ceremorphosis?” Gale finishes for you, and you snap your fingers.
“Yes! Ceremorphosis. I was wondering if you knew how long we have to… well- live?”
Gale’s expression sobers. He reaches down and grabs a few dry twigs, tossing them into the fire.
“I only know what I’ve read, I have no first hand experience, but I’ve found the general consensus is seven days.”
You nod, placing your bowl on the ground next to you as the food sours in your stomach.
“Six days to find a cure then. Surely more has been done with less” you mutter.
Gale nods and leans back on his elbows, studying the night sky.
“We’ll figure something out. I won’t die this way. I refuse to.”
His conviction is almost strong enough that you believe him. Almost.
When the conversation dies out Gale retires to his tent to learn the spells etched into the scrolls he took from the grove merchant. Lae’zel pulls out her greatsword and begins hacking away at a wooden dummy, presumably left by one of the druids.
You turn your gaze to the crossbow haphazardly tossed to the ground near your bedroll. You had slept for hours after the battle, and Gale’s surprisingly good stew had energized you. There was no way you’d be able to sleep now. Out here on the sword coast the stars were bright enough to cast the grove in a soft blue light. Now was as good a time as any to learn a new skill. Besides, if you sit around wallowing in your impending doom for a moment longer you may take yourself out before the tadpole gets its chance to. You pick up the hefty weapon and stride into the forest, away from any potentially judgemental eyes. You walk for a long time. The dense forest is far too compact for you to practice with a ranged weapon in, so you hike until you stumble upon a small clearing.
You ready yourself and pull the bowstring back until you hear something click. So far so good. You load the bow with one of the five bolts that came with it and aim for the knot of a rather large oak tree. You pull the trigger and watch the bolt sail into the dark woods, far from the tree you were aiming for.
You shake it off, it’s your first attempt after all. You reload the crossbow, take aim, and once again watch as it disappears into the darkness. Maybe doing this at night in the forest wasn’t the best idea. Imagining digging through the bramble bushes to retrieve your missing bolts makes you wonder how bad ceremorphosis could actually be. As much as you don’t want to admit it, it rankles you that you’re terrible at this.
You lean against the nearest tree and slide down it, rubbing at your aching chest. You swear you can hear a clock ticking faintly in your ears. You have six days to live. The cold nights will give rise to the winter solstice in a month or two. If you had known last year’s celebration had been your last, maybe you would have actually celebrated it instead of locking yourself in your office and pouring over the mountains of paperwork your boss had asked you to look over. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, taking a deep breath through your nose. You allow the rustling leaves and the scent of the cool earth to calm you.
A twig snaps.
You freeze.
After a few moments of tense silence, you release the breath you’d been holding. You’re being paranoid. The most dangerous creatures in these woods are bears, and the druids seem to have befriended most of them. You’re safe.
You take a few more deep breaths when you hear it again, a branch snapping along with heavy breathing, from a rather large creature as far as you can tell.
You scramble to arm the bow with a bolt and hold it defensively in front of you.
You haven’t managed to hit a target once, but whatever roams these woods doesn’t need to know that.
The breathing gets louder as the creature draws closer, snapping branches and crunching leaves under its heavy feet.
You watch as a snout emerges from the bushes in front of you, followed by tusks. A boar shoves its way through brambles and into your little clearing. It spots you, then your crossbow. Its eyes widen with a recognition you didn’t realize boars were capable of. It squeals and whips around, its legs scrambling beneath it as it flees back into the dark forest. You breathe a sigh of relief and lower the crossbow, resigning yourself to the fact that you’ll need instruction if you ever hope to use it.
“What are you doing?” Someone asks so close to you, you feel their breath caress the shell of your ear.
You yelp in shock and drop the crossbow on your foot, letting out a slew of curses a sailor from the pirate isles would blush over.
Astarion is crouched behind you, one hand on the tree you’re leaning against, an exaggerated look of disappointment on his face.
“If I were a monster you’d be dead right now.”
“You’re an undead vampire, I think you qualify, and yet-” You pause to press two fingers to the pulse point in your neck,
“Yep. Still alive!” You shout.
The boar squeals in the woods somewhere, startling you. Astarion grips his stomach and laughs from somewhere deep in his chest.
“What is it with you and pigs?” You hiss.
“You’re lucky the wilds are full of those boars you know. I go long enough without feeding and our friends' necks start looking very appetizing.”
You sigh and throw your head back in exasperation, perhaps slightly too hard. Acting on reflex, Astarion catches the back of your head before it can slam into the bark of the tree behind you.
“You’re welcome”
“I don’t have the energy to banter with you Astarion. Leave.”
He promptly does the opposite and takes a seat next to you, leaning against your tree.
“What’s gotten into you?”
You close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose.
“Mind flayer larvae.”
“Ah. So all this moping is about the illithid.”
“I’m not moping.”
“Yes, you are, and you have every reason to.”
“So do you. According to Gale the tadpoles kill their hosts within a week's time. It doesn’t bother you that we might die soon?”
“My circumstances are… different.”
The response confuses you. The way you see it, everyone that survived the nautiloid is in the exact same situation.
“How so?”
Astarion presses the heel of his hand into his chin and cracks his neck on either side, stalling for time as he thinks of an answer. He sighs.
“If we fail, and I die in the wilderness somewhere a few days from now, I will have traded an eternity of darkness and starvation for a week of sunlight and freedom. Obviously I’d rather not die. I’d give just about anything to live long enough to give Cazador the brutal death I’ve been fantasizing about for oh- a couple hundred years now. But if I don’t get that chance, at least I will die as Astarion, not Cazador’s pet.”
You place a hand over your chest, genuinely moved and only slightly disturbed by that explanation.
“Astarion that was beautiful'' You turn and press your lips together in suppressed laughter at the regretful look on his face.
“No no no, you keep moping, your life has gotten dramatically worse. Continue being sad about it.”
“Well that was the plan but now I’m all inspired by your optimism in the face of imminent death.”
Astarion groans and pushes off the tree.
“That’s disgusting. I’m not an optimist.”
Your answering smile shows all your teeth.
“Could have fooled me.”
“I thought you weren’t in the mood to banter.”
“What can I say? You bring it out of me.”
He sighs, placing his hands on his hips and shaking his head. His face lights up with some epiphany, and he yanks two crossbow bolts out of his belt to wave them in front of your face.
“Missing something?”
You snatch the bolts from his hand with a grumbled thank you.
His expression remains passive but his eyes fill with mischief.
“How did you get these?”
“I was on my way back from my meal when I almost lost an eye to one of them.” He taps his finger against the razor sharp tip of one of the bolts in your hand.
“It’s how I found you in the first place.”
He motions toward the crossbow resting on the ground by your feet.
“I can show you how to use that. If you’d like.”
You were just thinking about how you needed someone to show you how to properly shoot the thing. Maybe a distraction is exactly what you need.
“I would.”
He leans down and picks up the crossbow. He loads and fires it within seconds, pinning a falling leaf to the trunk of a nearby tree.
You roll your eyes and he laughs.
“Just making sure it works.”
You expect Astarion to teach the way he does everything else, by flirting with you in a way that makes you wonder if he’s trying to seduce you or eat you. You brace yourself, but the witty remarks don’t come. Astarion simply shows you how pulling back the bowstrings unevenly can make it hard to aim, the timing of when to pull the trigger, and how to account for the wind. He’s a fantastic tudor, and he whistles loudly when you hit your target for the first time. You go from being unable to hit anything to being able to hit within the general vicinity of your chosen mark most of the time within an hour or so.
“That’s all the basics. Your aim isn’t exactly spot on but that’s not something I can teach you. You need to trust your instincts more.”
“My instincts are broken” You sigh.
“I’ve noticed,” he says darkly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve spent the last hour or so alone in the dark woods with someone you know would eat you alive given half a chance.”
“You wouldn’t hurt me, that would completely negate the whole saving me from the goblin thing earlier. Besides, you just had your fill of boar blood, you can’t still be hungry.”
“You adorable, naive little thing. I wasn’t talking about drinking your blood.”
You shove at his shoulder as hard as you can and he stumbles a step to the side, chuckling like the deviant he is. You’re almost relieved to have the relentless flirt back. The patient encouraging version of Astarion that taught you how to shoot a crossbow was harder to wrap your brain around.
He sobers quickly.
“Does it scare you?” He asks suddenly, as if he couldn’t hold back the words anymore.
“What?” You ask.
“What I am.”
Oh.
“Honestly?”
“Well I didn’t ask you to test your deception skills.”
“Yes.” You answer plainly, and Astarion nods, his expression intentionally neutral.
“Your instincts may not be so broken after all.”
As you gather the scattered bolts from the trunks of surrounding trees, an odd sensation builds in the center of you. You feel… guilty? Astarion both defended you and taught you how to defend yourself in one evening, and you hadn’t done a single thing for him. You feel like you owe him, and you hate owing people.
You know he despises being thanked, but maybe he wouldn’t mind exchanging one favor for another.
You place the bolts in your quiver and return to Astarion.
“I have something for you.”
His blank expression flickers with an emotion you can’t pinpoint.
“Should I be nervous?”
You reach into your pocket, pulling out the amulet you procured from the druid merchant. You hold it between you, watching the pendant sway instead of meeting his eyes.
“It’s a magical item. It allows a person, even someone not versed in magic, to use the spell contained within it. This one holds misty step. It’s a short-distance teleportation spell. You’re our archer, so I thought you could use it to find high ground in a fight faster than if you had to climb for it.” You brave a glance up.
Astarion reaches for the amulet, then drops his hand back down to his side. He looks almost scared of it.
“It won’t bite you.” You joke- an attempt to diffuse the tension.
“I just- I haven’t been given a gift in over two hundred years.”
Unfortunately, that doesn’t surprise you.
“I’d like to change that, if you’ll let me.”
He holds out a hand and you drop the pendant into it. He examines it for a moment.
“I have no idea how to use this.”
You smile.
“I could teach you, if you’d like.”
~~~
“I’m beginning to think there is no magic in this necklace and you’re just testing how long I’ll fall for your tricks.” Astarion growls several minutes later from his meditative position on the ground.
You sit next to him, your legs crossed in an identical position, your head tipped back.
“As I said, magic casting isn’t a physical skill, it's a metaphysical one. If you can’t reach for the amulet you won’t move an inch.”
Astarion opens one eye to make sure you’re not looking and reaches for the necklace.
“With your soul not your hand.”
He drops his hand back into his lap.
“I don’t have one of those darling.”
“It’s a figure of speech darling.”
He opens one eye again and smirks.
“Careful” He warns in an eerily hypnotic voice, and the hair on the back of your neck rises.
You rub the tingling skin and fix your companion with an admonishing look.
“Keep your vampire mojo to yourself and focus.”
He closes his eyes and bows his head. His mess of curly white hair immediately falls over his face. He looks more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him.
“The magic in the amulet can be felt. It’s full of unreleased energy. It wants to connect with you. All you have to do is allow it. Imagine your consciousness can move independently of your body and reach out to it.”
Astarion’s face scrunches in concentration, and you wait patiently as he tries to connect with the amulet.
A twinge in your skull makes you wince, distracting you. It feels different from the tadpole’s usual antics. Something clicks into place, and you feel a new presence slide into your already crowded mind. Astarion had linked you two somehow.
You feel the exact moment he realizes he’s not alone in his own head. His eyes shoot open and the connection snaps as quickly as it formed.
“What was that?” You whisper.
“I think I reached too far.”
“I wanted you to use the amulet not possess me!”
“You possessed me back!”
“Okay, it’s fine, just- try again. Aim for the amulet this time.”
Astarion closes his eyes again and you stare up at the stars, praying to whatever god was listening for patience.
His gasp brings you back down to reality, and when you face Astarion again his eyes are swirling with silver light.
You scramble to your feet and hastily back up several paces.
“We only get one shot at this until your next rest so make it count. Focus on the ground in front of me and just take a step. You should end up exactly where you want to be.”
He stands slowly, and stares pointedly at the ground at your feet. He lifts his foot, and disappears.
He apparates again no more than an inch away from you, and you lurch back in surprise, stumbling over your own feet. You reach out for something to grab to slow your fall, the closest thing happening to be Astarion, and you take him down with you.
He lands sprawled on top of you with a groan, and you wheeze as the breath is knocked out of you.
Astarion pushes himself up on his elbows, your noses an inch apart. His eyes still glow, the after effects of the spell he cast. He looks almost like a normal elven man in the moments before his usual red bleeds back in, crowding out the silver. You think about his question from earlier, does it scare you- what I am? A vision of a non-vampiric Astarion fills your mind. His eyes metallic, his skin tone warmer, his canines short and dull. This version is in no way preternaturally graceful. His gait is hurried, even clumsy at times. The sharpest thing he ever handles is a letter opener, and occasionally, he slips up and slices his finger when he’s rushing to get done with his work. The sight of the red blood that drips onto the white paper makes him woozy, so he rushes for a bandage, hastily wrapping the wound while refusing to look at it. He isn’t the most observant, but he’s whip smart, and a talented orator. He’s a little cocky but with the bright future ahead of him he has every right to be. He ascends to the role of magistrate in no time. He makes mostly fair judgments, but the lower city of Baldur’s Gate is cut throat, and one night on his way back home from a long night, he turns down the wrong street.
For better or worse that elf died that night. The man you know is someone else entirely, and has been for centuries. It was the vampire, not the mortal, that saved your life earlier in the day.
Your shoulder throbs when your thoughts shift to earlier in the day. You see in your mind the goblin that sunk its jagged blade into your shoulder, and the murderous look in its dull yellow eyes. The arrow that pierced its neck had spared you a dreadful end.
As if he can sense your thoughts, Astarion’s eyes cut to your shoulder. His smirk fades, and he pulls down the collar of your shirt just enough to reveal your new scar. Slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, he traces the raised red line with his thumb. His cool skin feels amazing against the still-healing angry scar, and you can’t help the shudder that moves through you. Astarion’s gaze returns to yours, and you’re surprised to find his expression is absolutely wrathful.
“I killed that wretched creature far too quickly,”
“Personally I thought your timing was spot on.”
“Hmm.” Is his only response.
In a moment you become hyper-aware of every place his body touches yours. He’s settled on top of you, one leg between yours, most of his weight propped on his elbow, his other hand still stroking that damn scar. It’s becoming hard for you to think clearly. He on the other hand seems wholly unaffected, lost in his murderous thoughts. You clear your throat to get his attention.
“You can get up now.”
He seems to realize as you did the rather intimate position you two landed in, and a smile slowly creeps onto his face.
“I’m rather comfortable where I’m at”
You know he’s instigating, but the bait is too tempting.
“Move or I’ll move you.”
His smile turns devious.
“You think you can?”
There’s a challenge in that question. One you’re not entirely sure you can meet. Still, you lift your chin defiantly.
“I do”
He leans in, his jaw brushing your cheek as he brings his mouth to your ear.
“Very convincing.” He whispers, “I’d believe you if I couldn’t hear how fast your heart is racing.”
You can’t think of a witty retort.
You can’t think at all.
He leans back with a self satisfied look you desperately want to wipe off his smug face.
So, you reach up, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, and do the only thing you know will surprise him.
You bring his mouth to yours.
~~~~
Gettin shpoicy
Tag tiiiiiime.
@aoirohi
@tamwritesstuff
@smaranshakthi
@perseny
@stronglycoffeescented-blog
@hadesbabygurl
@y2cade
@screechingphantommaker
@whoopsitsloobis
@coratatum
@rando-no-5
@usuallyunlikelyfox
@kamartsu
@yaimlight
@h3ll0k1ttyl0ver333
@vulgarfuckinvirgo77
@ellie1725
@skittleabyss
@nari1837
@bitchyzombienacho
@otayz
@yggiboo
@alexandritgreylock
@grimissleepy
@raygunny
@thedevilssinner
@mythoughtsofinsanity
@olitheghost
Lemme know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tag list!
if i post a fic and get no kudos or comments in the first fifteen minutes i’m a failure and should never write again. but the moment i get 1 comment i’m the next stephen king
Hiiiiiiiii! Sorry this took a minute, It's midterm season and I just adopted a new cat because I can. It's been busy. Hope you enjoy :p
Word count: 4.7k
pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3
Lae’zel tilts her head, eyes closed, as she listens to the distant shouting. You open your mouth to ask her what’s happening, but even with her eyes closed she somehow senses what you’re about to say and holds up a hand, silencing you.
Patience has never been a virtue of yours.
You bite your tongue and bounce on the balls of your feet while you wait. A glance at Astarion reveals a similar image. His head is inclined in the same direction as Lae’zel’s, his eyes unfocused. It seems that you and Gale are the only two with inferior hearing. He at least seems much less frustrated by that fact. You watch as he draws some sort of glyph in the dirt with the toe of his boot.
In his defense, after the day you’ve all had, some shouting isn’t all that alarming compared to abduction and mind flayer parasitization.
Still, you can hear the differences in the voices even if you can’t quite discern what they’re saying. There are at least half a dozen people not far off from you, people who might be able to point you in the direction of a healer.
“We were right,” says Astarion after a pause that felt as if it spanned centuries, “There is a civilization up ahead.”
“Not for much longer,” Lae’zel drones in a bored voice.
“What?” You ask at the same time a horn sounds somewhere in the distance, followed by a rallied war cry.
“Goblins,” Astarion mutters.
Because why not?
You bite down on your bottom lip until you taste blood, weighing your options.
If a band of goblins takes whatever camp they’re attacking they’ll kill the only people you’ve managed to find after an entire day of walking. Your days are numbered now, and you don’t have many left. There doesn’t seem to be a choice to make. You turn to start down the path leading to all the noise when Astarion catches your arm.
“Wait.”
You try to pull out of his grasp but his grip only tightens.
“What?” You snap.
“Why do we have to play hero for every sad soul we come across? This will make what, the fourth life or death altercation of the day?”
“Those people will die without our help!”
“People die everyday! Your inability to accept that fact is going to get us all killed alongside them.”
You rip your knife from its sheath and flip it up, holding the blade an inch from his throat. A normal person would have let you go and backed away from the weapon aimed at their jugular. Astarion only raises an eyebrow in a silent dare. Not the response you expected, but it is nice to see him on the receiving end of a knife to the throat for a change.
Lae’zel, who seemed to be regarding your disagreement with a cool disinterest, perks up at the sight of a weapon drawn. She unsheathes a blade of her own and begins cleaning her nails with it, watching you and Astarion with a sort of wicked approval.
Gale, who appears to be the most reasonable one of the group, takes a step back. He eyes you both warily, but you get the impression that he's mildly satisfied to see Astarion in the same position he himself was in just a few hours earlier, a weapon aimed at his head.
As a group you are rather dysfunctional.
“Those people currently being slaughtered may know something about the tadpoles in our heads, or at the very least may be able to point us to the creche. We’ve been wandering the wilds for hours. We have days before these parasites rip us apart. If you want to leave the best chance we have stranded to be murdered by a pack of goblins, be my guest, but I’m not taking that chance. Let. Me. Go.”
Astarion’s eyes narrow, but he drops your arm.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Tav.”
“I hate to agree with him” Gale chimes in, “But it seems rather reckless to jump into battle without a plan.”
Lae’zel flashes the men a feral smile, gleeful at the prospect of bloodshed.
“The plan is to eliminate the goblin scourge. If that is too complicated for you, remain here until we return” She drawls
She turns and stalks away, following the sounds of screeching goblins and howling wolves.
Astarion tilts his head back and sighs deeply as you follow her, muttering something under his breath.
Still, as you pass him you feel him silently fall into step behind you. Gale reluctantly trudges along, lamenting about how much he misses his library.
The noise of the battle grows louder with every step. Swords clang and wolves snarl loud enough to shake the ground under your feet. You break the treeline and find yourself at the narrow entrance to a small clearing in the middle of the dense woods.
To your left is a large rocky hill that overlooks the clearing. To your right, a cliff that connects to a massive wall split by a heavy wooden gate.
You stand in the bottleneck, watching chaos unfold in the field ahead. A horde of goblins- stout little creatures with razor sharp teeth and a bloodlust that probably rivals Astarion’s, are throwing everything they have at a human scouting party. A few tieflings stand on the wall, frantically shouting for back-up and returning fire when they aren’t being pelted with arrows.
The air is heavy with the smell of blood and smoke.
Astarion takes a deep breath through his nose and hums a low, pleased sound that raises the hairs on the back of your neck.
Lae’zel observes the carnage and laughs, a sound you admittedly didn’t know she was capable of making.
In a flash her greatsword is in her hands and she’s diving into the fray with all the murderous enthusiasm of a rabid displacer beast.
She blocks the swing of a bugbear’s club and throws it off balance, but misses her next attack on the creature as it throws itself to the side. She hisses in rage and stalks after it as it scrambles away on its hands and knees.
Her arrival doesn’t go unnoticed, and several goblins turn, redirecting their murderous rage towards your group.
You hear Gale begin muttering the sleep incantation and do your best to provide cover as he chants, launching magic missiles at any creature that comes too close. You do a decent amount of damage, knocking more than one goblin clear off its feet, but they don’t seem to notice the pain. They only seem to get angrier as they charge the humans at the gate. You could use an archer right about now.
Where the hell is Astarion?
You whip your head around, scanning the battlefield, but he has disappeared completely. Disappointment fills you when you realize he’s nowhere to be seen. You didn’t take him for a coward but it’s possible you misjudged him. You don’t have time to dwell on it now.
A flash of silver catches your eye in your search, and you’re momentarily distracted by a strange newcomer cutting his way through a throng of goblins. He’s not dressed like the other humans, his clothes are dark and well armored as opposed to the brown leather outfits woven with leaves the scouting party are wearing, presumably for camouflage. He’s brandishing a blood soaked rapier, and you can’t tell exactly what from here but you think there’s something off about one of his eyes.
He laughs as he cuts down a snarling goblin. There’s something so distinctly familiar about him, but now is neither the time nor place to find out what it is.
A goblin whose arm was singed by one of your missiles turns and locks eyes with you, smoke curling up from his burned flesh. The smell has bile rising up from your stomach. It lifts its scimitar above its head and screams a battle cry, sprinting for you with a promise of death in his eyes.
Time itself seems to slow as you raise a shaking hand. Your power recoils when you reach for it. Your vision swims. The strain sends a spike of pain through your skull. You’ve used all the magic you can.
The goblin is a few steps from you now. The rusted blade he holds above his head is dripping black blood, and so are the pointed shark-like teeth he bares at you in a snarl.
You suppose this ending is slightly preferable to becoming a mind flayer, though not by much.
You brace yourself as the goblin lunges for you, but a brief flash of light slams into it mid-air, and it drops like a stone at your feet.
You stare at it in stunned silence for a moment before an unexpected sound rattles its small frame.
Is it… snoring?
You whip your head toward Gale, whose eyes are glowing with pure white light. He nods at you and continues casting, launching magic missiles of his own at one of the goblin’s wolves.
You take the rescue for what it is and plunge your knife into the sleeping monster. It twitches once, and the snoring stops.
You’re out of spells. You have firebolt as a cantrip, but every time you use it your vision blurs and vertigo wracks your body. You wouldn’t know how to shoot a bow even if you had one. If you want to continue fighting the goblins you’re going to have to get a lot closer.
You leave Gale to his casting on the outskirts of the battle and cut your way towards the center, forgetting that you’re opening yourself up to fire from the archers positioned somewhere on the hill above you.
You realize far too late that you don’t have a shield, but you also notice that somehow the arrows that were previously raining down from the top of the hill have inexplicably halted, and you have a clear path forward.
You spot Lae’zel, who is battling a bleeding one-armed bugbear and a snarling bare-faced wolf. The wolf lunges for her, and she’s forced to dodge backward toward the bugbear who uses his one remaining hand to slam his metal club into the back of her head. She blinks dazedly and sways on her feet for a moment.
The wolf leans back on its haunches and prepares to lunge for her throat.
You won’t reach her in time.
You sprint for the creature anyway, fear for your companion fueling you, when an arrow sinks into the wolf's side. It yelps and frantically gnaws at the arrow, attacking the source of its terrible pain, ripping its own flesh in its panic. It provides just enough of a distraction for you to change course and leap onto the back of the bugbear, burying your knife in its throat. It gurgles for a second, choking on blood, and drops to the ground at Lae’zel’s feet. She turns with a shout and beheads the yelping wolf in one swift strike.
Panting, she turns to you. One of her pupils is blown wide, the other just a slit.
“I didn’t ask for your assistance” She growls.
“You’re welcome” You reply, which earns you an unfocused bleary-eyed glare from the concussed Githyanki.
An agonized scream pierces through the clang of weapons and the crackling fire. You turn just in time to see a human archer a few yards away staring down with horrified eyes at the grinning goblin who’s scimitar is buried in her stomach.
Fuck.
You change directions and lunge for the girl, hurling a firebolt at the goblin’s head in the process. It screeches, dropping the scimitar to swipe at the flames engulfing it's pointed face. Vertigo almost takes you to the ground, but you manage to clumsily catch the girl as she drops to her knees, her skin pale and clammy.
She babbles frantically as you lower her slowly to the ground.
“I can’t- please I’m only t-twenty I d-don’t wanna die”
Her hands are slick with her own blood and they clutch at your shirt as you assess the damage. The only healing spell you know is lesser restoration, and while that may buy her a few seconds of relief from the blood loss, the wound is still open. Even if you did know a healing spell powerful enough to save her, you couldn’t cast it in the state that you're in. You can do nothing to solve the issue of the blade protruding from her belly.
You apply pressure to the wound. There are only a few goblins left alive, the battle will soon be over, but every second the fight drags on feels like an hour as you hold this girl together with your bare hands.
“I’m sorry, I know it hurts,” You try to assure her, your voice shaky.
She swallows dryly and shakes her head.
“It doesn’t”
That can’t be good.
“That’s good. A healer is on their way. You’re going to be al-”
Before the last word can leave your lips something launches into your side, and the breath is knocked from your lungs. Your vision doubles and a formless black blob sways above you. You blink a few times and your eyes clear. The goblin you lit on fire smiles at you as best it can with the skin of its face crisped black and melting off. Your eyes shift sluggishly to the dagger raised above its head, just in time to watch it fall. You hear the wet squelch of the dagger ripping through the flesh of your shoulder.
It doesn’t hurt at first, it almost feels as though your arm has fallen asleep. A riot of pins and needles shoots down all the way to your fingertips and back up again. Then comes the explosion of pain so intense your body jerks under the goblin that still sits on top of you. It cackles as you tense in a silent scream, twisting the blade until your vision darkens around the edges.
It happens so suddenly you almost miss it. One moment the goblin is twisting the blade and laughing, the next it’s gurgling and choking on the arrow protruding from its throat. You reach up with your uninjured arm and yank the arrow free of the creature’s neck, watching the life fade from its yellow eyes as it pitches to the side and slides off you, leaving the dagger buried in your shoulder.
Your gaze snaps up to the top of the hill, where you see Astarion, his bow raised, eyes trained on the dead goblin that fell to your side. At his feet, two more goblins lie dead with their throats slit, their bows still clutched in their hands.
That’s the last thing you see before the world goes dark.
~
You fall through an endless black void. The wind rushing past your ears and whispering over your skin is the only indication you’re moving at all. The darkness is so potent you genuinely can’t tell if your eyes are open or closed.
You spread your limbs out as far as you can, hoping to feel something, anything, but you’re falling through open air.
Oh. You’re closer than I thought you were. I wasn’t expecting you so early.
A voice that is not your own bounces around inside your skull.
There’s a blinding flash of light, your eyes were open after all, and reality shifts. You don’t land but suddenly you aren’t falling either, you’re standing on a rocky island floating in an endless purple sky. In your cursory glance you find a shadowy figure sitting on the edge of the island, legs kicking over the vacuum of empty space below them.
You freeze, unsure where you are or how you got there.
“Come,” Says the same voice you heard in your head moments ago, “Sit with me. There is much to discuss.”
The voice is soothing, gentle, and you take a step forward.
~
With a crack you're suddenly yanked from the dream world and back into your body. You find yourself still sprawled on your back on the battlefield. There’s a sharp burning sensation in your cheek, and a shadow leaning over you, haloed in sunshine. It looks almost like…
“Astarion?”
The shadow sighs in relief.
“Yes! Thank the gods. This would have been really awkward to explain if you had amnesia.”
“I-” you reach up to rub your stinging cheek and groan when pain lances down your arm. You can’t move it.
“Did you slap me?”
You feel yourself fading away again, consciousness slipping out of your grasp.
The shadow that is actually a rather blurry vampire nods solemnly.
“I did. I’m about to do it again.”
“S’not nice.” You mumble.
“Tav, if you can stay awake for a moment longer I can get us out of here. I need you to look into my eyes. Can you do that for me?”
You aren’t entirely sure, your eyelids are so heavy, but you do try. Slowly, you manage to pry them open enough to meet Astarions eyes. Once your gazes collide, you wonder why you ever thought it was hard to keep your eyes open at all. It would pain you to look away now. His eyes are such a hypnotic shade of red. You think it might be your new favorite color.
“That's it Tav.” His voice is low- enticing. It satisfies something deep within you, and you find yourself holding your breath, hanging onto every word.
“You aren’t going to sleep anymore. You’re going to stand with me and walk through the gate.”
You’re nodding before he’s even finished speaking.
Vaguely, you know what this is. Vampires, and apparently vampiric spawn, have the ability to compel creatures. Some are better at it than others, and some creatures are harder to compel than others, but you make it easy. You don’t even try to resist, knowing this compulsion might just save your life.
That is until you accept Astarion’s lended hand and stand, looking down to see the glassy, lifeless eyes of the human girl you were trying to save before the goblin stabbed you.
Her arm is stretched toward you, a look of despair frozen on her face, as if she reached out to you in her final moment.
You reach for her, praying to anyone that will listen that she’s not actually dead, when Astarion catches you with an arm around your waist.
“There’s nothing more that you can do for her. Walk.”
Your resolve is weaker than it’s ever been, and the compulsion takes you completely. Your legs move on their own accord. Astarion keeps an arm around your waist and pulls your good arm over his shoulder, bearing the brunt of your weight as you make slow progress toward the gate that everyone is fleeing for. You see Gale and one of the tieflings carrying an unconscious Lae’zel on fabric stretched between two long branches. They place her on the ground just inside the entrance and rush to find a healer.
You stumble inside after them. Every heartbeat triggers a fiery explosion of pain that leaves you gasping. Astarion half-drags you to a wooden stump and sets you down on top of it, his compulsion fading along with the rest of your energy. He crouches in front of you and inspects your shoulder, tsking softly.
“Go'head” You say, your words somewhat slurring together.
His expression turns wary as he motions something over your shoulder.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean by that.”
“Say it.”
He shakes his head in confusion, and you try again, pushing the words out through shallow huffs of air.
“Say ‘I told you so’”
“Ah” he smiles “As much as I would love to, it’s beneath me to kick a lady while she’s down”
“I’ll show you who’s down.” You attempt to threaten, but when you lean forward a wave of nausea hits you, and you double over, pressing the hand you can move to your mouth as if you can push back the rising bile.
Astarion positions you back upright with a hand on your good shoulder, something resembling concern in his voice as he calls for a healer. It’s becoming very hard to breathe.
You hear someone rush to his side, but you don’t even have enough energy to turn your head to see who it is.
“Is she ready?” The stranger asks.
“She’ll have to be. She’s losing a lot of blood. I can hear how hard her heart is beating to pump what little she has left.”
He taps your face as you begin to nod off and you open your eyes, unsure of when you closed them.
“This is going to hurt.” Is Astarion’s only warning before he rips the dagger out of your shoulder.
You open your mouth to scream, but someone presses a large bottle full of thick red liquid to your lips and you drink instead, desperate for the relief a health potion will provide. You grimace both at the metallic taste of the potion and at the itchy sensation of your muscles knitting themselves back together. The wound closes and the pain subsides, but your shoulder still tingles savagely with pins and needles.
Some of your energy returns to you, and you glance up at the stranger that gave you the potion. The dwarven druid returns your nod of thanks with one of her own before turning her attention to an unconscious Lae’zel, who you notice was moved to a cot sometime between when you stumbled through the gate and now. You peel your bloodstained shirt off your shoulder and see for the first time the angry red scar that remains despite the magic of the healing tonic. You cringe and pull your shirt back over it.
When you look over at Astarion, he is staring at the bloody dagger he pulled from your shoulder with an intensity that unnerves you.
“Astarion?”
He startles as he’s pulled out of his thoughts and drops the dagger on the ground at your feet. He bares his teeth in an expression you think was meant to be a smile, but doesn’t quite make it past a grimace. He stands fluidly, and you scan him from head to toe for injuries. He doesn’t seem to have a scratch on him.
Relief and annoyance battle it out in your head as you follow suit, standing on shaky legs.
“Thank-”
He turns and glares so angrily you shut your mouth with an audible click.
“I don’t want your thanks. We had a deal, Hero, all I did was hold up my end.”
You remember the deal you made with the vampire.
You watch my back, and I’ll watch yours.
Interesting.
“I don’t think I like that nickname” You frown.
“Oh? I can think of a few more you might like better.” He winks, and your eyes widen in genuine fear as you imagine what he could possibly mean by that.
“No no, hero is good- great even.”
Astarion chuckles in sadistic delight and ushers you further inside the grove toward Gale, who you see also looks mostly unharmed other than a gash above his eyebrow. Upon closer inspection however, you see the same bone deep fatigue you feel mirrored in his eyes. Magic takes energy to cast, and the toll exacted on a caster for pushing their limits is merciless.
“Glad to see you’re okay Tav,” He says by way of greeting. He gestures at the older tiefling man he was speaking to when you approached.
“This is Zevlor. He’s offered to allow us to make camp inside the walls of the grove until we recover from the battle.”
The tiefling nods and places a hand over his heart bowing his head at you and Astarion. In your current state, drained of magic as you are, the tadpole seems to have more control than it did before. Your mind is drawn to Astarion’s like metal to a magnet, and when the connection clicks into place, you feel his awkward uncomfortability with Zevlor’s gesture. It seems Astarion is inept at accepting thanks from everyone, not just you.
“I cannot thank you enough for your assistance out there.” Zevlor begins, “There surely would have been many more casualties if you had not done what you did. Your friend Gale of Waterdeep-”
A pulse of sadistic amusement bridges the gap between yours and Astarion’s mind and you watch his mouth twitch as he suppresses a smile. Gale’s lips press together in thinly veiled annoyance. Zevlor continues on, completely oblivious, “-tells me you’ve been searching for a healer. Our main healer left with the scouting party you saved today and hasn’t returned, but his apprentice Nettie is more than capable of healing most ailments. I’m sure she’d be happy to counsel you in the morning once all the wounded have been tended to. We’ll point your Gith friend your way once she wakes up.”
You nod gratefully and Zevlor is called to help someone else before anything more can be said. The link between your mind and Astarion’s buzzes with energy and he turns to you with a horrified expression as he’s suddenly bombarded by everything you’re feeling.
“How are you standing up right now?”
“I have no idea. I can’t feel my legs.”
Gale flashes you an alarmed look. He notices your shaking limbs and holds out an arm. You consider his offered help for a moment before shaking your head. You don't want to be a burden to this man you've just met. You'll be fine as long as you can sit down sometime in the very near future. Gale drops his arm but not his concerned expression.
“A healer I am not, but I don’t imagine trembling with every step is a sign of anything good.” He warns
You wave off his concern with a weak smile and continue walking. Astarion and Gale follow, a little too close for your liking, as if they're waiting for your inevitable fall.
Astarion responds to Gale's warning for you.
“If I didn’t pity whoever's waiting for you back home before, Gale of Waterdeep, I do now.”
Gale’s face scrunches in annoyed confusion.
“I don’t have a partner... anymore.”
“I bet I know why.”
"You most definitely do not."
“Would you two shut up for a second?” You hiss.
You're passing a merchant’s table littered with armor, camp supplies, magical artifacts, dyes, and weapons. A crossbow catches your eye, and you remember earlier on the battlefield wishing you had a bow that you knew how to shoot. Maybe none of this would have happened if you had more than a puny knife to fight with. You stop in front of the table. Astarion and Gale nearly crash into the back of you.
“How much?”
You ask the dwarven merchant digging for something in a box behind the table, pointing at the crossbow.
Astarion raises his eyebrows, but says nothing.
The dwarf’s head snaps up and his eyes widen as he takes in your blood-soaked ragged appearance. He sees the pale elf and the human wizard behind you and something clicks.
“I know you. The other druids won’t shut up about you. You saved the grove.” He says with a certain measure of awe.
“Tell ya what. I need to get rid of most of this stuff before the grove gets sealed shut in a few days, and we do kind of owe you our lives. Take whatever you want. On me.”
You feel guilty accepting gifts from this kind stranger, but you are in desperate need of camp supplies. Astarion doesn’t seem to share your hang-up. He begins grabbing things to stuff in his pack. Another dagger, two small hand-held crossbows, Black armor of some sort. Gale peruses the magical scrolls lined up on the other side of the table. You take the crossbow you originally asked about, intending to take it and it alone, when an amulet catches your eye. A simple black metal chain holding a small silver medallion. Ferre procul is engraved neatly along with a rune you vaguely recognize on the pendant. Upon closer inspection you realize it’s emitting a faint silver light. You think it's a magic storing item, one that would grant its wearer the ability to cast misty step. You pocket the amulet, and thank the merchant profusely before you follow Astarion and Gale toward your new camp. You nearly weep with joy at the sight of a fire already made, and the bedrolls laid out around it. You don’t even spare a glance at your companions. You toss your bag to the ground and collapse onto the nearest bedroll. Sleep claims you before your head hits the pillow.
----
Tag tiiiiiime.
This list is getting long 0-0
@aoirohi
@tamwritesstuff
@smaranshakthi
@perseny
@stronglycoffeescented-blog
@hadesbabygurl
@y2cade
@screechingphantommaker
@whoopsitsloobis
@coratatum
@rando-no-5
@usuallyunlikelyfox
@kamartsu
@yaimlight
@h3ll0k1ttyl0ver333
@vulgarfuckinvirgo77
@ellie1725
@skittleabyss
@nari1837
@bitchyzombienacho
@otayz
@yggiboo
@alexandritgreylock
@grimissleepy
@raygunny
@thedevilssinner
@mythoughtsofinsanity
@olitheghost
Okay I think that's it. Lemme know if I missed ya.
Hi, how are you? Can I be tagged in the Close Encounter series, pretty please? I just inhaled all the three chapters and fell in love 💕 it's really good and the banter between Tav and Astarion is just *chef kiss.*
TYSM Of course you can! Just in time too I’m hoping to get the next chapter out by tomorrow :p
I really love the idea of Tav drawing Astarion to show him what he looks like, could you maybe write something about that? ^-^
Hiiiiii! I can indeed thank you for the request :b
Welcome back to another episode of Abby tries to write something short and can't make it less than two thousand words.
EVERYBODY LOOK AT THIS GIF CUZ KJNKBJHGFRRETFO
Sorry I think I got possessed for a second there
Word count: 2.1k
The night sky had never been this gorgeous in the city. In Baldur’s Gate, the upper city was illuminated by mage lights that adorned the cobblestone paths. The light was bright enough that the citizens split into two factions, the night life and the day. Even those without dark vision could operate solely at night in total comfort if they chose to. In the lower city, fires were always burning, sending plumes of rich smelling smoke into the air constantly, obscuring the night sky.
But out here, under the blue light of a full moon, you can see every star and constellation in vivid detail. A soft purr-like snore hums against your back, and you brush a hand over the downy feathers of the owlbear cub you rescued from the goblins. He was getting so big. If he gets half as big as his mother was it is going to become a challenge to travel with him. It’s a sacrifice you’re more than willing to make. Besides, you could always cast the reduction spell on him in a pinch if any problem arose. He sleeps curled around your back, alongside his friend Scratch the dog, whose fluffy white head is resting in your lap.
The campfire crackles a few yards ahead as Wyll adds a few logs, humming a Baldurian tune you recognize but can’t quite recall the name of.
For the first time since the nautiloid crash you feel peaceful. Safe.
You turn your gaze to Astarion’s tent, probably for the thousandth time tonight, and stare at his profile as he flips through the pages of the seemingly sentient necromancy tomb you had discovered a few tendays prior. A faint green light curls from the pages like mist, illuminating half his face and casting the rest in shadow. You’d never really understood the saying “so beautiful it hurts'' until you met Astarion. An unknown emotion compresses your chest in a way that makes it hard to breathe sometimes when you look at him. You think it started out as empathy. Every detail of Astarion’s story he revealed to either warn you about vampires or shock you for his own amusement painted a picture of a horrific life full of trauma and misery that you found hard to reconcile with your enigmatic companion. He was always the first to crack a joke. He laughed loudly and on a constant basis. From an outsider’s view he’d appear almost carefree. Happy even. You wondered now how much of that laughter was real, and how much of it was the armor he’d donned a couple hundred years ago when he breached the surface of his own grave. You recall a conversation you had with him a while back about vanity. In his two hundred and forty years, give or take, he’d only been able to see his reflection for thirty nine. An incredibly young age to die for a high elf, and a small fraction of his life-span. Even if any fuzzy memory remained of that past life, it was no longer accurate anyway.
He was something different now.
Your eyes slide to your pack. You had found something yesterday- something rare indeed. A merchant selling art supplies outside of the city. You had everything you needed to give Astarion something you took for granted every day. His reflection.
Slowly, both as to not disturb your sleeping friends and not alert the elf in question to your actions, you slip a hand inside the bag. Your fingers find a pencil easily, the paper next, and you begin to draw. At first you draw him as he is, using his current unmoving form as a model, but you had been quite the artist in your time in Baldur’s gate, and you finished that drawing almost too quickly. So, you draw him again from memory, this time with his head thrown back, face scrunched with laughter. Then you draw his frown, his smirk, the condescending expression he so often gives Gale, the softer one you don’t quite understand that he reserves for you. You don’t hide or downplay his vampiric traits. You draw him exactly as he is, blending colored chalk to capture every shade of red in his eyes. Time falls away as you lose focus on everything but your work. Eventually, some time much later, the cramps in your muscles wake you from your trance. You stretch, and your knees, shoulders, and spine crack loudly. Scratch wakes up, stands, shakes himself off, and trots into the bushes. Your owlbear notices, and trills a soft sound before standing too, following him into the woods. You smile as you watch them amble off, happy they get along so well. You turn back to your drawings and examine them with new eyes. You expected to feel excitement, pride maybe, but instead a cold feeling ties your insides in knots as you realize you can never give these to Astarion. The drawings are some of your best work, but they’re also… reverential. A glimpse of Astarion through your eyes. Anyone who saw them would think you had drawn your lover, not your less-than-trusting involuntary traveling companion. He would take one look and realize exactly what you’ve been hiding from him since- well since you met him. You were infatuated with the vampire, and somehow, miraculously, despite the fact that you’d slept with him once already, he seemed to be unaware.
He was going to find out.
You eye the campfire, half tempted to toss the whole pad of paper into it.
In your panic you turn your gaze toward Astarion’s tent.
He’s not there.
His tent is open, and no one is inside it. You can see that from here.
Somehow- maybe it’s the tadpole, or maybe it’s because you’ve spent so much time with the rogue, you realize you know exactly where he is.
Slowly, as if to avoid instigating an attack from a stalking predator, you turn your head to find Astarion standing behind you, peering over your shoulder.
Even though you were expecting it, you still startle out of your skin. Astarion drops to his knees on the ground in front of you and claps his hand over your mouth just in time to muffle your screech. You both look at eachother with wide eyes before turning slowly and in unison towards a sleeping Lae’zel. She’s frowning in her sleep, which isn’t unusual for her. She twitches, and then rolls over to her other side, sound asleep. You sigh in relief, through your nose because your mouth is still covered by Astarion’s hand. You swat it away and throw him a withering glare.
“What the in the hells is wrong with you?” You whisper-shout.
Astarion presses his lips together and turns his head away from you for a moment, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
“Oh yeah, laugh it up. If she’d woken up we’d be dead right now.”
“Look it’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention. You haven’t moved in almost four hours, I wanted to know what you could possibly be writing.”
You clutch the drawing pad to your chest and swallow nervously, eyes darting around for any glimpse of something you can use to distract him.
Unfortunately as you’ve come to realize, regardless of what they used to be, once turned vampires become lethal predators. Astarion sees your darting eyes, catches the scent of your fear, and you see the shift in his demeanor.
His movements become slower, more fluid, as he tilts his head in malicious curiosity.
He reminds you sometimes of the big cats that roam the mountains of Faerûn. Once something captures his attention, there’s little use in trying to pull him off the hunt.
Still, you’re going to try.
“I’m not writing.”
His eyes flick to your hands, dusted in red powder, then back up. He hums.
“Drawing then. What have you been drawing Tav?”
His voice is darker now. Persuasive.
“It’s- uh… personal.”
Astarion lowers himself fully to the ground and stretches his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his arms.
“A personal drawing?” He purrs, “Well now I have to see it.”
“No-” You cover your face with your hand, “That’s not what I meant and you know that Astarion.”
A moment of silence passes, so you lift your hand away from your face.
Astarion is gazing at you with that unknown expression again. His eyes look earnest, a soft smile on his lips, when he speaks the words that are your undoing.
“You can trust me, Tav. I already know how talented you are, you don’t have anything to worry about. Just show me.”
You sigh, and his smile grows. He knows he’s won.
Bastard.
“Fine you can see my drawings, but I need to tell you-”
The drawing pad is already out of your hands, your permission apparently all that was keeping Astarion from snatching it away from you.
Your heart stops at his first look at the paper. He stills, flipping through the drawings slowly, his eyes tracing every detail with excruciating slowness.
Finally, he puts you out of your misery.
“I-” He clears his throat, not meeting your eyes. “These are...”
He grips the paper tightly when you attempt to take the drawing pad back from him. You’re confused, and a little… well actually very hurt for a reason beyond your understanding.
Does he hate it? Did you overstep?
“What are you thinking?”
Astarion finally looks at you, his expression guarded. He points to the drawings.
“Who is this?”
Oh.
You’re shocked silent. You should have anticipated this. Of course Astarion wouldn’t recognize himself in your drawings. That was the entire reason you drew him in the first place.
“He’s um-” You fall silent again.
Astarion looks both terrified and heartbreakingly hopeful. You’re sure he already knows the answer. You’ve spoken to him at length about what he is. You know that he knows he’s the only vampire spawn you’ve ever met, and you’ve been traveling together without much separation ever since.
He still needs to hear you say it.
You stare at your wringing hands in your lap and take a deep breath.
“I remembered that conversation we had about how you don’t know what you look like, you just have to go off of what other people tell you, and I bought these art supplies earlier and I haven’t drawn in so long, I used to all the time but with everything that’s going on- and I meant to just draw you once but I wanted you to know what you looked like when you smiled too and then I got a little carried away I’m so-”
You don’t hear him move. Your rambling speech stutters to a stop at the sensation of a hand on your cheek. Astarion hooks his thumb under your chin and lifts your head just enough to press his lips to yours.
Your eyes widen in surprise and then flutter closed. All thoughts cease, replaced by a languid warmth that melts you into a puddle on the ground.
You tilt your head and kiss him back, a tingling sensation racing down your spine. His hand slides from your cheek into your hair, and he gently pulls your head back, deepening the kiss in a way that steals the air from your lungs.
All too soon he pulls back, just a few inches, and smiles.
A real, genuine smile that shows his teeth and lights his eyes. You think you would do terrible terrible things to see that smile more often.
He brings his other hand up to frame your face, holding you in place as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away.
“Thank you.” He says simply, his voice hoarse.
“This is a gift. I won’t forget it.”
He repeats the words he said to you what feels like centuries ago, the night you found out he was a vampire and agreed to feed him.
“You’re welcome.” Is all you can think to say.
With absolutely no warning at all Astarion drops his hands to your shoulders and yanks you toward him just in time. A pillow, rather violent in its velocity, grazes the back of your head in its catapult into the forest. Somewhere in the dark woods, Scratch yelps.
“Next time it will be my sword Isticks”
Growls Lae’zel from her bed roll on the other side of the campfire.
You turn back to Astarion with an amused but also terrified expression, and he smiles knowingly, rolling his eyes.
He picks the drawings up off the ground from where they’d been scattered at some point and gathers them in one hand. He stands, hoisting you up with his free hand, and practically drags you across the camp to his tent.
Hello beautiful people! I have so many ideas for a camp / long rest scene but we gotta collect the companions first so please enjoy the obligatory Gale and Lae'zel chapter.
pt 1 | pt 2
Word count: 3.8k
You must be seeing things. You blink and rub at your eyes but when you open them again nothing about the morbid scene in front of you changes. There’s a mind flayer on the ground ten feet from you.
You turn to signal as much to Astarion, who must have fallen behind on the way up the hill, and jump out of your skin when you realize he’s standing an inch away- if that.
“Good Gods you scared me!”
“You should be paying more attention. What if I were a blood thirsty vampire trying to sink my teeth into your pretty neck?” He teases.
You point to the clear blue sky with raised eyebrows. The sun is mercilessly beating down on you both. The waves of heat are visible if you squint hard enough, and sweat slicks your clothes to your skin.
“I’d say under normal circumstances that would be unlikely.”
“True. And yet,” he grins, leaning down and snapping his teeth so close to your throat you feel his breath kiss your skin. Some self preservation instinct kicks in and sends you flying before you even process what’s happening. You jerk so hard you surely would have hit the ground if he didn’t catch you by the arm, cackling with self satisfied laughter.
You rip your arm out of his grasp and glare.
“That wasn’t funny.”
“Aw come on, it was a little funny.”
“Can we focus please? There’s a mind flayer up ahead.”
The amused look is wiped off of Astarion’s face, replaced with surprise and then accusation.
“Why didn’t you say something?!”
“I’m saying something now aren’t I?” You hiss, returning your gaze to the twitching mass of purple amidst the wreckage up ahead that you believe to be a mind flayer.
“It looks injured. I’m gonna talk to it” You decide, more speaking your thoughts out loud than anything else.
“I'm sorry, did you say you were going to talk to it?! It doesn’t even have a mouth- get back here!” Astarion protests, but it falls on deaf ears.
You step toward the mind flayer, its tentacled face limp. This thing knows more than anyone how to get the worm out of your skull, and it is dying. Before you even decide to do it, your feet are carrying you forward. Astarion follows reluctantly behind.
The mind flayer is a disturbing looking creature. Purple in hue, covered in a film of viscous slime, oozing wine-colored blood. You turn to Astarion, a curious look in your eyes. You wonder if there are creatures even a vampire wouldn't drink from.
“I would rather starve.” He answers the question you hadn’t even asked yet, his nose wrinkling as he glares down at the monster.
That answers that.
You turn your gaze back to the mind flayer, and notice its one visible orange eye is rolling in its socket. You resist the urge to put your knife through the twitching pink flesh of its brain. You need information more than you need revenge. You take a few steps closer, just a foot from it now, and when you glance back at its face you see that orange eye is now focused unblinkingly on you. You can’t look away. It looks pitiful, the poor thing, mangled by wreckage and its own crushed armour. When it comes to creatures who consume the life forces of others, miraculous things can happen when they feed. Perhaps you could find someone to sacrifice to this dying creature. No- it only has minutes to live, you need to sacrifice yourself. It’s for the greater good. This mind flayer has powers beyond your understanding, and you are but a lowly mortal.
“Tav?” A voice somewhere very far away echos.
You ignore it. The fledgling that’s taken up residence in your brain would have turned you into a mind flayer within a few days anyway. Wouldn’t you rather save a life than create a new one? Your mind made up, you take another step towards its welcoming embrace.
An arm catches you around the waist. Someone pulls you backwards, away from the mind flayer. The tadpole in your brain wriggles violently in a way that causes splitting pain inside your skull. You wince and fall back into something, someone.
“It’s in your mind” They whisper, or shout, it reverberates in your pounding head regardless.
You wrestle with your battling emotions, the real contempt and the imposing compassion. The influence of the tadpole lessens now that you have been made aware of it, and you tamp it down to a dull throbbing at the base of your skull. You’re still connected to the mind flayer. You feel its disgust and hatred toward you. Similarly to what happened to you on the path with Astarion, your consciousness is ripped from your body and thrust into the mind of the dying monster. It is fantasizing about your subjugation. It wants to whip you and your companion until the skin is ripped from your backs while you bow before it. The rage you feel destroys whatever vestiges of influence the thing still had over you, and you use it to dive intentionally into the mind flayer’s intellect, searching for answers. You see through its eyes flashes of its story, its rebirth from man to monster, its care for the pool of tadpoles that now live in the brains of the ship survivors, and you feel its fear.
It is terrified of death.
You feel it’s consciousness slipping away quickly like sand through your fingers. Its brain is shutting down and misfiring. You have no idea how to pinpoint the information you’re looking for in the hurricane of foreign memories flashing before your eyes. Still, you are in control here. The mind flayer’s tadpole was meant to kill you, but as you stand over the dying illithid, holding what’s left of its life hostage in your hands, you realize that along with a time bomb in your skull it has gifted you a fraction of the power it wields. A sick sadistic pleasure fills you when you realize you could bend the mind flayer’s will to your own, just as it had done to you. The feeling terrifies you.
You let go of your grip on its thoughts and are flung back into your own body once more. The creature's eyes are unfocused and dim. With an angry shout you lift your foot and drive the heel of your boot into its squishy head.
It jerks, and then falls still- dead.
There is still an arm around your waist you realize, once you've come back to your senses.
You look down to find a pale hand, fingers splayed across your abdomen. You glance up at the owner of that hand, and find Astarion looking at the mess of a mind flayer carcass with a comically shocked expression. He glances at you, then back at the body.
“Perhaps I should do the talking from now on darling.”
You roll your eyes and step out of his hold, striding toward the path again, but as you turn Astarion grabs the strap of the supplies pack flung across your shoulder and uses your momentum to turn you back around again.
“Well hold on just a second! What was that?”
“What was what?” you bluff.
Astarion drops the strap of your bag to cross his arms over his chest.
“Oh so we’re going to pretend I didn’t just watch you offer your brain up for a snack, change your mind, practically pass out, then wake back up again moments later and squash the mind flayer’s head like a cockroach? Great. Carry on then.”
You shrug, nod, and turn on your heel.
“I was obviously being sarcastic!” He shouts, jogging to catch up with you.
“Are you mad at me for killing a mind flayer?”
“Quite the opposite, I quite enjoyed the little show you put on. I just want to know why I had to restrain you from letting that thing snack on your skull. If you want someone to take a bite out of you darling I guarantee you’d have much more fun with me.”
“I can’t imagine how being exsanguinated would be fun in any way,” you deflect. He takes the bait and smiles.
“No need to imagine it when I can show you,” his voice drips with a dark promise that heats your blood. Intrusive thoughts bombard you with images of him following through with that promise, and you dig through your pack for a bottle of water, taking several long sips. He tosses his head back and barks a laugh at your nervous reaction.
“This is fun. I’ve spent two hundred years hiding what I am, smiling with closed lips, hoping my charm or the dim lighting of a tavern was enough to distract whoever I was talking to from the fact that my eyes are crimson. There’s no reason to hide what I am with you, you already know. It’s nice to just be as I am.”
You stop so suddenly it takes Astarion a second or two to realize you’re no longer next to him. He tosses you a worried look over his shoulder and turns around to face you.
“Did I say something wrong?”
A warm feeling you’re not entirely familiar with but could get used to fills your chest. You’re honored to be the first person Astarion has been able to be himself with, even if that person is a relentless flirt with fangs. In a way, you feel the same. You have a lot of experience pretending to be someone you aren’t too, and Astarion seems to be bringing out a whole new side of you. Whether that's a good thing or not has yet to be determined. You have a feeling he wouldn't want you to make a big deal about this, so you say the first thing that pops into your head.
“They’re not crimson." You clarify when he gives you a confused look, "Your eyes I mean. They’re brighter than that, like this.”
You hold up one of the poppy-red colored health potions.
“What?” He asks in a low tone that you can’t quite decipher. The purple runes on the boulder you both stopped in front of begin to glow, but you don’t perceive any magical threat from them, so you return your attention to the vampire.
“Your eyes… they’re bright red. Startlingly so.”
Astarion places a hand on his chest. He looks absolutely devastated.
“Please tell me you’re lying,” He begs.
“I… I’m lying?”
“Oh this is bad. Really really bad.” He begins to pace a short line back and forth. You’ve never been so confused in your life.
“Do you not know what color your eyes are?”
He stops pacing and looks at you incredulously.
“Of course I don’t! I haven’t been able to see my reflection since this happened!”
He pulls down the collar of his white undershirt and reveals two perfectly spaced scars on his neck. A bite wound.
You nod, still confused.
“Right… that makes sense.”
“I can’t believe no one told me my eyes were bright red. I'm going to have to throw away an entire wardrobe.”
Your concerned expression drops instantly, and you close your eyes, pressing your fingers into your temples.
“For the love of- please tell me you aren’t freaking out right now because your eyes don’t match your outfit.”
Astarion doesn’t appear to hear you, he continues to pace, muttering to himself.
“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“What?” You shout, and he finally stops pacing, startled to a stop.
You genuinely can’t tell if this is an elaborate bit, or if he’s being serious.
“You were enslaved for two centuries and the worst thing that has ever happened to you is that you found out your eyes were a slightly lighter shade than you thought they were?”
Astarion doesn’t break your stare, he holds your gaze and without any discernible hint that he’s lying or telling the truth he says,
“Absolutely.”
You shake your head in mute disbelief, and reach into the bag you took off one of the dead passengers from the beach.
“What are you looking for?” Astarion asks, peering over your shoulder.
“Holy water.”
“Now wait just a minute-”
“Ahem”
Both you and Astarion leap into action at the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you.
Astarion whips the short bow off his shoulder and knocks an arrow so quickly you would have missed it if you blinked.
You follow suit and pull your knife from your belt, turning to face the newcomer.
Your knife arm falls to the side, forgotten, when you take in the sight before you.
The glowing purple runes of the boulder were now spinning around a black hole, and sticking out of that void is a man’s arm.
An impatient and strained sounding voice, as if the owner is somewhere far away and has to shout to be heard, echoes out of the hole in the stone.
“I seem to be interrupting something, but I could really use a hand… anyone? Please?”
You sheathe your knife and step forward, glancing back at Astarion. He nods at the hand, his bow aimed at the swirling sigil. The unspoken message is clear. If anything goes wrong Astarion will shoot.
Comforted by that thought, you sidle up to the portal, an impulsive thought taking hold of you.
What if you gave him a high-five?
You slap the hand.
Astarion snorts behind you, and the owner of the hand wags a finger at you.
“Perhaps I should have clarified. A helping hand please? I’m not sure how much time I have left before this portal closes, or what will happen if it closes while my arm is on the other side of it.”
With that in mind you abandon any notions of using magic to calm the sigil and just grip the hand in both of yours, pulling with all your might. There’s a terrifying moment when your grip slips, and you’re pulled partially into the portal as the owner of the arm falls back, but you regain your footing and try again.
This time it works, and a man launches through the portal a moment before it seals closed.
He lands half on top of you. Raising up on his arms, he looks down at you in wonder.
“You did it! I can’t believe that worked.” He laughs, sounding relieved.
“Ahem” Astarion clears his throat, much like the strange man did earlier.
His bow is trained on the stranger’s chest, his face passive, but in his eyes you see something darker than you’re used to seeing from him.
The stranger scrambles back on his hands, standing quickly and dusting the dirt off of his robe. It looks expensive, the fabric is a thick rich purple overlaid with brown leather around his shoulders..
Astarion shifts the bow into one hand, and reaches the other toward you, eyes never straying from the man you just saved. You take his hand and allow him to pull you up, dusting yourself off as well. The man waves awkwardly at you both.
“Um. Hello. I’m Gale of Waterdeep.”
He lunges forward to grab your hand for a shake, but quicker than a snake strike Astarion’s bow is drawn again and aimed at his eye. He stumbles back, hands raised, and clears his throat nervously.
“Thank you for the rescue. My apologies, I’m usually better at this.”
“No need to apologize.” You place a hand on Astarion’s shoulder and he reluctantly lowers the bow.
“I’m Tav. My friend with the trust issues here is Astarion. Don’t worry, he warms up quickly. Are you okay?” you ask Gale.
“You were on the nautiloid weren’t you?” Astarion asks before he can answer, and now that you take a closer look you can see that yes, Gale does look familiar.
You study him for a moment. His shoulder length brown hair is swept back, revealing a silver earring in one of his ears. Your eyes travel down to his well kept beard, and further to a fragment of a tattoo that starts at the base of his throat and ends somewhere under his robe. He looks remarkably put together for someone who just fell out of the sky.
“I was about to ask you the same. Back on the ship, you too were on the receiving end of a rather unwelcome insertion in the ocular region were you not?”
You and Astarion both nod.
“This insertee that we speak of, the parasite - are you aware that after an excruciating gestational period it will turn us into mind flayers? It’s a process called ceremorphosis, and let me assure you: it is to be avoided.”
Astarion side-eyes you, his eyes seem to convey a message.
I don’t like him.
You give him what you hope is an admonishing glare in response.
Be nice.
Gale doesn’t seem to notice.
“You don’t happen to be a cleric by any chance do you? A doctor? A surgeon? Uncannily adroit with a knitting needle?” He asks with a hopeful lilt to his voice and a flourish of his hand.
“Oh yes, Astarion here can knit with the best of them. Can’t you Astarion?”
The vampire twirls an arrow between his fingers and levels Gale with a bored look.
“Define ‘needle’.”
Gale to his credit only eyes that arrow for a few moments before moving on.
“Well that’s not exactly what I had in mind. We’re most certainly going to need a healer, and soon too. How about we lend each other a helping hand once more and look for a healer together?”
You nod and smile at the charming, if not a little long winded stranger.
“I say the more the merrier. Astarion?”
Astarion turns to you, a bit taken aback.
“You’re asking my opinion?”
“Yes.”
Astarion looks at you, then at the grinning stranger in the purple robe, and sighs.
“Fine. You can keep the wizard, but if he has an accident I’m not cleaning it up.”
Gale furrows his brow.
“What is that supposed to mean? And how’d you know I was a wizard?”
“Because you smell like a library-” You clap a hand over Astarion’s mouth and immediately regret it when his eyes light up with what you know is the urge to bite your hand.
You pull away before he can make up his mind one way or the other.
“Ignore my pale friend here, he gets cranky when he’s hungry, we should get going.” you say to Gale in an overly cheerful voice, who is now looking at you two with thinly veiled suspicion of some sort.
“You two seem close.”
You laugh, a bit hysterically.
“Would you believe me if I told you he tried to kill me an hour ago?”
Gale looks the pale elf up and down. He's still deftly twirling an arrow in his hand.
"I would actually." He says.
“I wasn’t trying to kill you, I was just prepared to do so if you didn’t answer my questions.”
“Oh okay, you should have told me that sooner Astarion that makes all the difference.”
You begin trudging along the path before you, unlikely companions in tow.
Astarion nods, his expression serious.
“I knew you’d see it my way.”
Gale walks in conflicted silence for a moment before curiosity seems to get the best of him.
"So if he tried to kill you, why are you traveling together?"
Astarion addresses the wizard before you can.
"Strange times make for strange companions Gale of Waterdeep."
~
The sun lowers steadily in the sky as you walk. It feels like walking is all you know how to do at this point. Gale and Astarion bickered for a little while over Astarion's refusal to call Gale anything except his full title "Gale of Waterdeep" but even that had died down as the heat and exhaustion caught up with them, too. Your legs burn and the temptation to turn in for the night plagues you, but you know the wilds of the sword coast are no place to sleep, and you repeat the mantra that has pushed you along these last few miles.
One more step. One more step. One more step.
You're brought out of your thoughts by a hand on your shoulder.
Astarion holds a finger to his lips and tilts his head toward the rocky hill in front of you. He hears something. Someone.
"Zorra was right. Yellow as a toad, and twice as ugly." a masculine voice spits.
"The thing's dangerous. Leave it for the Goblin's to kill." pleads a feminine one.
You reach the top of the hill. Shock freezes your blood when you see the thing they are arguing about. It's your Githyanki ally from the nautiloid, suspended in a tiny cage several feet off the ground above two tieflings. Your tadpole squirms as she meets your eyes, and this time instead of swapping minds, your minds seem to connect. She stares at you intently. Her lips don't move, but you hear her next words all the same.
You again. Get rid of them.
Well. The Gith are not exactly famous for their manners so you suppose the abrasiveness is to be expected.
"And if it escapes? How will you- oh. It appears we have guests."
The man catches your eye as you step into view.
You raise you hand in greeting and nod toward the trapped Githyanki.
"Oh she'll escape alright. The Gith are horribly tenacious creatures. Incredibly dangerous too. We have some experience with them. Why don't you leave her to us and we'll take care of it."
You lie through your teeth. Astarion and Gale nod along, but the three of you make a rather odd little group. Astarion looks the part of a Baldurian noble high elf, except his pupils are red and there's dried blood on his hands. Gale, the human wizard, would have no reason to have any experience with the Gith. And you, well you look like you just fell from the sky.
The tiefling hesitates. He's obviously suspicious of the three odd strangers who have appeared seemingly out of nowhere and offered to solve his problems, but the desire to no longer have the problems wins out and he nods, turning to his companion.
"She's right. Let's go. We need to check out that blast."
Your curiosity is piqued, but you want them gone as quickly as possible, so you don't ask about the blast. They take off down the path.
You turn to Lae'zel, suspended in what appears to be a goblin trap.
"Enough gawking!" She barks, "Get me down."
Maybe you're gaining some confidence out here in the wilds, maybe it's Astarion's influence, but the next words out of your mouth shock you.
"Say please."
Astarion laughs.
Lae'zel is less amused.
She rears back as if you just insulted her.
"Never."
You shrug, turning back to Astarion.
"Those teiflings looked well fed. I'll bet you there's some sort of civilization near by."
"I'll make that wager." He turns towards you, hiding his face from Gale, and gives you a devilish watch this smile.
"What say you Gale of Waterdeep?"
"If you say 'Gale of Waterdeep' one more time I will incinerate you."
Astarion winks at you before rounding on Gale, hand over his heart in mock betrayal.
"That's rather rude Gale of Waterdeep. I thought we were friends."
"Free me from this cage before I slaughter you all like the chattering animals you are!" Lae'zel hisses.
You look up at her with a frown. She sighs deeply.
"Please" She mutters.
Recognizing that's as good as you're going to get, you raise your hand, aiming for the ropes that tie the base of the trap to the rest of the cage.
"Ignis!"
Flame shoots from your hand and snaps the flimsy ropes. The bottom drops out of the frame and with it an angry Githyanki.
She lands in a crouch and stands slowly as you approach. You have to admit the move is pretty badass.
"It appears the tadpole hasn't scrambled all of your senses. Auspicious. But the longer we wait, the more it consumes. My people possess a cure for this infection. I must find a creche, you will join me."
How curious. You know a fair amount about the Gith, and you're quite sure lending a helping hand to others is not written in their doctrine.
"And what exactly is a... creche?" Astarion asks.
Lae'zel turns her withering stare to him.
"It is many things. A hatchery, a training grounds, a shelter. Githyanki protocol is clear: When infected with a ghaik tadpole, we must report to a caretaker for purification."
Gale crosses his arms.
"A simple thank you for saving your life wouldn't be amiss"
Lae'zel glares at the wizard, and he takes an intimidated step back, raising his hands.
"Or not."
She smiles, satisfied with that response.
"You might as well suggest a wyvern bow to worms. The cure I offer you will suffice as thanks."
It seems almost too easy, a solution to all your problems stands before you.
"I'm not so sure about this." Astarion mutters, and Lae'zel scowls.
She doesn't get a chance to respond, however, before the sound of pounding footsteps somewhere further in the distance has you all pausing to listen.
That's when you hear the screaming.
--------
Tag tiiiime
If you asked me to be tagged and I didn't include you please let me know, and if you didn't asked to be tagged and you are ~ You're stuck here now and I'm not sorry :b
