jinxiethescribe - Tumblr blog

[jinxiethescribe]

Lyre - Wood Elf (she/her). Dark Urge Assassin (Rogue).

Campfires – Lyre's First Night 

Lyre had not been born yesterday. She knew in her bones that she’d had a relatively long span on this plane, but she couldn’t remember a damned moment before waking up on that ship. 

Well, that wasn’t strictly true. She remembered her name, and those flashes of red. Bodies. But nothing tangible, and to be frank, she’d seen more than one body in the past day so it could all be some kind of strange response to the situation she’d landed in. There was a mind flayer parasite in her brain, that was bound to cause some issues, right?  

She shifted, feeling the hard-packed ground under the bedroll. After the fighting, she would have preferred something softer, but it was surprisingly comfortable by the low campfire. Further off, her new allies had retreated into their own tents. They had not had a lot of time to get used to each other. It was an eclectic collection of individuals.  

There was Gale, the human wizard that they’d pulled out of a stone. He was certainly friendly enough, though maybe too fond of his own voice. He was a good cook though, making a lovely meal for the whole group out of their basic supplies. She’d not seen him in action, but a wizard would certainly be helpful in whatever was lying in their future. 

The Blade of Frontiers, Wyll was with them too. He was a good fighter, a warlock judging from his magic when the goblins had attacked. He was proud too, but amicable enough. Lyre wasn’t too sure about him, but he certainly was known amongst the people in Emerald Grove. They had a good opinion of him, so she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, despite the fact that he’d obviously grown up in wealth.  

Lae’zel, however, harboured similar doubts about Wyll and had called him a ‘benevolent burden’ earlier that evening. Privately, Lyre agreed with the young gith warrior. She liked Lae’zel and they had met on the nautiloid ship. She was a good fighter and seemed more...flexible than some of their other companions when it came to the morally grey areas of their adventure. Lyre certainly appreciated that, especially with the question of who she was under some considerable scrutiny. She liked the gith’s straightforward nature, even when it amusingly rubbed others the wrong way. Lyre found that she didn’t take any of Lae’zel’s barbs personally. 

Shadowheart was not a fan of Lae’zel though. Lyre thought it was a shame, since she liked them both. They’d both fought with her to get off the mind flayers ship and the cleric’s healing abilities had already proven exceptional. The half-elf was keeping secrets, but Lyre didn’t hold that against her, especially since Lyre was apparently keeping secrets even from herself. Shadowheart was more guarded than Lyre – which was an impressive feat – but she’d seen flashes of a good sense of humour and a formidable will to survive. The odd relic that Shadowheart carried was a curiosity, but there was more to worry about than what her companions had in their packs.  

Finally, there was Astarion. She gritted her teeth at the thought of pale elf. They had not started on good terms. He’d held her at knifepoint, she’d headbutted him in response. Grudgingly, she admitted that he was good at killing. His style was the same as hers- twin blades, swift attacks from the shadows and a tendency to make things a bit bloodier than strictly necessary. He had an easy charm and an annoyingly handsome face that Lyre badly wanted to hit. Again. His scarlet eyes seemed to see right through her as well. Where she felt that she could evade scrutiny with the others, Lyre got the nasty sense that she was completely transparent where Astarion was concerned. It did not endear him to her in any way. She wasn’t sure why he bothered her quite so much, but if he’d not been carrying the same kind of parasite as the rest of them, Lyre would have killed him on the spot.  

They were a dysfunctional group to say the least. The thin connection of the parasite nestled in each one of their skulls was all that held them together for the moment. Lyre also had the secondary concern of where in the hells her past had gone. From what she had learned of the others, they didn’t have the same kind of memory loss she did. Shadowheart had reminded her that there were more reasons to lose your memories than a parasite, but Lyre had the nagging sense that it was connected, somehow.  

She touched the long scar on her face. It felt out of place, like it was new. It certainly looked recent, still with traces of pink showing healing in the surrounding skin. It was a vicious mark and it bothered her deeply. She was grateful for the hair that she could hide it under.  

She sighed, shifting again. Being a wood elf, she was no stranger to long nights in forested areas, but her mind was slow to settle into the meditative state she needed to rest. Too much had happened, and her fragmented mind struggled to sort through it all. Mind flayers, tieflings, fiends all seemed to be involved in whatever was going on. All Lyre wanted was this blasted worm out of her head so she could get back to-  

Whatever it was that the mind flayers had taken her from. 

[jinxiethescribe]

Campfires: Astarion

 The camp was slowly settling into the quietness of the evening – or what passed for evening in the perpetual twilight of the Underdark. Astarion discarded the book he’d been idly leafing through. He’d long since memorised it anyway, but it served as a helpful tool for keeping the others out of his business. His travelling companions were all slipping into sleep around him, and the night seemed peaceful, despite the chaos of their situation. It certainly made a change from the usual camp drama. 

Their merry little band had been travelling together a while now. Long enough to get a measure of one another. Long enough for them to know about his condition and begrudgingly, even accept it.  

Well, naturally not all of them truly accepted it, not yet. Astarion had seen the way Wyll’s hand strayed to the fiendish rapier whenever they were within arm's reach. Lae’zel outright threatened to stake him on a near-daily basis- but that could also pass for flirtation with the fiery gith. Even Gale had kept a closer eye on him than was strictly necessary. Gale, who had a voracious appetite for expensive, Weave-infused items and should really understand that we don’t always choose how we get to live. Gale, judging him for needing a little blood to merely survive. It was almost laughable.  

No, perhaps it was more accurate to say that Tav accepted him, and the others merely tolerated him for now. His gaze settled on them now, huddled in their bedroll and silhouetted by the dying campfire. Trusting him once again to take only what he needed and to leave them with their life.  

Astarion’s thoughts strayed back to that first night. He’d been so gods damned weak. Weaker than he could ever remember. The area he had landed in was forested and should have been teeming with animals, but between the goblins and the large camp around Emerald Grove, what little wildlife remained was tough to catch. He’d been relieved when he’d finally snared a boar that had been blundering in the forest near to their own camp. However, in his weakened state and in unfamiliar territory, he’d left the remains exposed, and so naturally the party had found them the very next day. Just as naturally, Tav had stopped, their attention caught by the unfamiliar sight. His luck in a nutshell. 

Despite his best efforts, Tav had seen his discomfort, and Astarion had found himself telling them about vampires. Not himself, mind you, he’d had about that much self-preservation left. But the word vampire had passed his lips before he’d really had a chance to rethink it. He promised Tav that he would keep watch and promised himself that he would not weaken any further. He could not afford to be exposed in this state.  

The same night, he’d tried to bite Tav, thinking that they might be a little easier to sneak up on than the others. In hindsight, he should have gone for Gale, just to prove a point to the smug bastard. He might be able to walk in the sun now, but his movements were slow, his thoughts were sluggish, and their situation was precarious enough. No, he needed strength, protection. He needed real blood. Then he might be able to formulate some kind of a plan. 

He really should have known better. He did know better in fact, but the temptation was right there and impossible to resist. Just how many of his master’s rules could he break now? He’d crept over, and despite his best efforts to stay silent, Tav had opened their eyes at exactly the most damning moment. He’d been caught with his fangs bared, quite literally, and so he’d done the only thing left to him – he’d confessed.  

Miraculously, he’d escaped getting staked on the spot. They’d even been understanding of his situation. He’d seen Tav slaughter goblins without blinking and face threats of violence from all kinds of folk with almost ruthless compassion. He never expected to see, in that dim firelight, the same compassion turned on himself. It was disconcerting, to say the least. 

“Gods, we even found the pig you snacked on,” Tav had shaken their head a little at that and to his utter shock, smiled. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  

Still stunned, he’d answered honestly. Perhaps a little more honestly than he should have, but they were being just being so gods-damned reasonable about all this. He was a vampire spawn. Turned by that vicious sadist Cazador and condemned to the shadows, to feed on insects or putrid rats for these past two centuries. Until now. As weak as he was, he could feel the sunlight again, cross running rivers, even enter homes without permission. Experiences that he’d not had since he’d been a magistrate in the city. 

Tav had taken his confession in their stride. If anything, they were entirely too reasonable, too trusting. Not that he’d cared too much at the time. He took full advantage and finally managed to sink his fangs into something worthy. 

After two centuries of starving, surviving on fetid scraps of thin, weak blood, it was indescribable. Better than water to a man dying of thirst. Better than food to the man starving to death. He’d been suffering both of those for these past two centuries, and then some. He could feel Tav’s emotions reverberating through their blood. Through him. There was a little fear, yes, but that only awoke something darker in response. There was something else too. When his fangs pierced their skin, it was like his own blood came alive for the first time in all these long years. He was barely aware of anything else as he drank, deeply. More deeply than he’d intended really, as long-suppressed instincts threatened to completely overwhelm his reason. Tav’s blood washed through him, connecting them. He could feel their trust and the power he held over them in that moment. It was utterly intoxicating.  

Finally, he had felt their hand on his chest. A gentle pressure, but their touch and their voice broke through the rush of sensations, telling him it was enough. He almost didn’t stop, but something made him pull back, every single one of his heightened senses blazing and painfully aware. He’d torn his eyes away from the smear of blood left on Tav’s neck and stalked off to find something to drain. Not that he needed more blood mind, but he needed to get his fangs far away from trusting necks. They had given him a gift that he could never repay, and he had just enough awareness left to thank them, and not take their life in return. He’d only crept back into camp as dawn was breaking, settling back into his customary spot moments before the others began to stir.  

Predictably, there had been questions. He’d honestly still expected to be chased from camp at the sharp end of a stake, but Tav had asked him to stay. Defended him even, when other members of the group had been far more condemning of the monster in their midst. And Tav had even invited him to feed on them again – blithely unaware at how close he’d come to draining them completely mere hours before. He’d felt echoes of his feeding for the whole day afterwards. Hells, he couldn’t remember ever feeling so good.  

Tav however, seemed to have had a rather different experience. They’d tried not to show it in front of him, but he’d seen nonetheless. Wincing slightly as they’d cleaned the dried blood from their neck. Their movements slower, their skin paler, as though they’d recently recovered from an illness. Clearly, their experience had not been as enjoyable and yet they still invited him back. They’d not treated him any differently. Questions, condemnation he had expected, but the acceptance was almost unnerving, and he certainly hadn’t trusted it. He saw it as useful though, and each night, with Tav’s invitation, he’d take what he needed, dragging himself away when he felt their pulse slow, taking it as his cue that it was enough. Each night, he fought that dark and unnameable urge to keep going, to drink deeper, and he’d stalk off to find something challenging to vent that urge on. Something with claws was preferable. Each morning, he’d watch as Tav washed the dried blood from their skin without a word passing between them about it. He’d see the pain in their movements, while pretending to read his book without a care. He could feel Tav’s emotions towards him changing, softening. He saw the opportunity and weighed it. Waiting.  

The camp had settled around their new nightly rhythm. He’d occasionally caught one of the others watching him as he stalked over to Tav’s bedroll in the night, but no one had intervened. They might not trust him, and he certainly didn’t trust them, but this group did trust Tav and so he was careful not to kill the one thing between him and the sharp end of his other companions.   

However, after one too many pointed comments from that prickly cleric, he was all too aware of how thin Tav’s protection was. They faced danger every day, and it would be all-to-easy for Tav to be killed, leaving him exposed. Shadowheart was certainly not afraid of brandishing a dagger in the night, as the gith had foolishly discovered. Once again, Tav had been there to diffuse the situation, and once again, he’d watched from the shadows. Calculating his own odds. Yes, Tav trusted him, but it was still a wary kind of trust. Tav might not show it on their face, but the suspicion was there, in the blood. There was still a risk that the trust would break and then he would be in real danger. He needed to bring them closer. 

And so, he’d done what Cazador had trained him to do when he’d needed to bring prey to the crypt. He’d sunken into that same despicable habit, the seduction falling from his lips almost unconsciously the very next day. He’d died a coward’s death when he saw Tav’s eyes light up and accepted his invitation for a private night, not seeing the lie behind his intentions. Not that Tav was unpleasant, far from it. Over time, he really had come to appreciate them as a person. Under other circumstances, he might have even pursued them for genuine companionship. But here, now?  

This was ultimately a calculated move to draw his few allies closer, even if he only admitted that to himself. Loathe as he was to admit, he played the part well. Though once again found himself unexpectedly exposed. Tav had the habit of making him feel like he was a lot more transparent than he liked. And now he was left with the additional puzzle of what in the hells Cazador had in mind for Infernal runes on his back. And the puzzle of Tav themselves. 

He found his eyes resting on their sleeping form once again, studying their features. The camp was sound asleep, right down to their dog and foundling owlbear. He could see all of their outlines as clear as day. By the fire, Tav shifted, their back to him. Still so trusting, even now. In their tents, Lae’zel, Gale, Karlach, even Wyll and Shadowheart now accepting him enough that they didn’t keep watch. The others were slightly further afield, but still putting no guard on him. He was, for all intents, a welcome part of the group. Not so long ago, he would have revelled in the power it gave him, wandering through the camp at night with absolute freedom to take whatever he wanted from them, down to their very lives. Now though, the thought of doing so left him oddly hollow. He walked past their forms on silent footsteps, no longer weak enough to wake them with his movements. No longer tempted to take anything from them, if he was being honest. Even if Gale did have some very nice shoes. 

He looked down at Tav, soundly asleep at his feet. The warm glow of embers highlighted the planes of a face that he knew would haunt him for the rest of his days, regardless of where this journey took them both. The taste of their blood, the echo of their peaceful dreams, still lingered on his tongue. Impulsively, he bent down again, pulling the edge of the bedroll back over Tav’s shoulder. Covering the evidence. 

He straightened again, frowning at the emotions the small action provoked. He forced the whole mess aside and physically pushed himself away. There were bigger things to worry about. Devils, mind flayers, hells just their camping spot alone put them in peril. He stalked back to his tent in irritation, deliberately sitting so that Tav could only be seen in his periphery. His awareness remained on them though, as it often did. He was determined to keep the whole blasted lot of them at bay. He could not lose this chance to finally break free. He would not be chained to another soul again, no matter who they were or what they offered.  

Dawn never really arrives in the Underdark. However, the low light of the fungi around them might have brightened a little and the camp began to stir. In the deep shadows of his tent, Astarion’s eyes glittered, unreadable as they followed Tav’s every move while they readied themselves for another day.  

“Hello, beautiful.” His mouth smiled as they greeted him. Tav brightened and he tried not to feel his guts tighten. Guilt was an emotion he had no use for. 

“You can feed on me tonight, if you like.” Always, he felt the surprise. Always, he refused to let it show.  

“Then I’ll see you tonight, you sweet generous thing.”  

He pretended not to see Tav’s answering smile as they sauntered off, falling into conversation with Shadowheart as they prepared for the day ahead. Astarion felt the smile slide right off his face. Hells, he truly was in danger with that one around. 

[jinxiethescribe]

Campfires: Astarion

 The camp was slowly settling into the quietness of the evening – or what passed for evening in the perpetual twilight of the Underdark. Astarion discarded the book he’d been idly leafing through. He’d long since memorised it anyway, but it served as a helpful tool for keeping the others out of his business. His travelling companions were all slipping into sleep around him, and the night seemed peaceful, despite the chaos of their situation. It certainly made a change from the usual camp drama. 

Their merry little band had been travelling together a while now. Long enough to get a measure of one another. Long enough for them to know about his condition and begrudgingly, even accept it.  

Well, naturally not all of them truly accepted it, not yet. Astarion had seen the way Wyll’s hand strayed to the fiendish rapier whenever they were within arm's reach. Lae’zel outright threatened to stake him on a near-daily basis- but that could also pass for flirtation with the fiery gith. Even Gale had kept a closer eye on him than was strictly necessary. Gale, who had a voracious appetite for expensive, Weave-infused items and should really understand that we don’t always choose how we get to live. Gale, judging him for needing a little blood to merely survive. It was almost laughable.  

No, perhaps it was more accurate to say that Tav accepted him, and the others merely tolerated him for now. His gaze settled on them now, huddled in their bedroll and silhouetted by the dying campfire. Trusting him once again to take only what he needed and to leave them with their life.  

Astarion’s thoughts strayed back to that first night. He’d been so gods damned weak. Weaker than he could ever remember. The area he had landed in was forested and should have been teeming with animals, but between the goblins and the large camp around Emerald Grove, what little wildlife remained was tough to catch. He’d been relieved when he’d finally snared a boar that had been blundering in the forest near to their own camp. However, in his weakened state and in unfamiliar territory, he’d left the remains exposed, and so naturally the party had found them the very next day. Just as naturally, Tav had stopped, their attention caught by the unfamiliar sight. His luck in a nutshell. 

Despite his best efforts, Tav had seen his discomfort, and Astarion had found himself telling them about vampires. Not himself, mind you, he’d had about that much self-preservation left. But the word vampire had passed his lips before he’d really had a chance to rethink it. He promised Tav that he would keep watch and promised himself that he would not weaken any further. He could not afford to be exposed in this state.  

The same night, he’d tried to bite Tav, thinking that they might be a little easier to sneak up on than the others. In hindsight, he should have gone for Gale, just to prove a point to the smug bastard. He might be able to walk in the sun now, but his movements were slow, his thoughts were sluggish, and their situation was precarious enough. No, he needed strength, protection. He needed real blood. Then he might be able to formulate some kind of a plan. 

He really should have known better. He did know better in fact, but the temptation was right there and impossible to resist. Just how many of his master’s rules could he break now? He’d crept over, and despite his best efforts to stay silent, Tav had opened their eyes at exactly the most damning moment. He’d been caught with his fangs bared, quite literally, and so he’d done the only thing left to him – he’d confessed.  

Miraculously, he’d escaped getting staked on the spot. They’d even been understanding of his situation. He’d seen Tav slaughter goblins without blinking and face threats of violence from all kinds of folk with almost ruthless compassion. He never expected to see, in that dim firelight, the same compassion turned on himself. It was disconcerting, to say the least. 

“Gods, we even found the pig you snacked on,” Tav had shaken their head a little at that and to his utter shock, smiled. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  

Still stunned, he’d answered honestly. Perhaps a little more honestly than he should have, but they were being just being so gods-damned reasonable about all this. He was a vampire spawn. Turned by that vicious sadist Cazador and condemned to the shadows, to feed on insects or putrid rats for these past two centuries. Until now. As weak as he was, he could feel the sunlight again, cross running rivers, even enter homes without permission. Experiences that he’d not had since he’d been a magistrate in the city. 

Tav had taken his confession in their stride. If anything, they were entirely too reasonable, too trusting. Not that he’d cared too much at the time. He took full advantage and finally managed to sink his fangs into something worthy. 

After two centuries of starving, surviving on fetid scraps of thin, weak blood, it was indescribable. Better than water to a man dying of thirst. Better than food to the man starving to death. He’d been suffering both of those for these past two centuries, and then some. He could feel Tav’s emotions reverberating through their blood. Through him. There was a little fear, yes, but that only awoke something darker in response. There was something else too. When his fangs pierced their skin, it was like his own blood came alive for the first time in all these long years. He was barely aware of anything else as he drank, deeply. More deeply than he’d intended really, as long-suppressed instincts threatened to completely overwhelm his reason. Tav’s blood washed through him, connecting them. He could feel their trust and the power he held over them in that moment. It was utterly intoxicating.  

Finally, he had felt their hand on his chest. A gentle pressure, but their touch and their voice broke through the rush of sensations, telling him it was enough. He almost didn’t stop, but something made him pull back, every single one of his heightened senses blazing and painfully aware. He’d torn his eyes away from the smear of blood left on Tav’s neck and stalked off to find something to drain. Not that he needed more blood mind, but he needed to get his fangs far away from trusting necks. They had given him a gift that he could never repay, and he had just enough awareness left to thank them, and not take their life in return. He’d only crept back into camp as dawn was breaking, settling back into his customary spot moments before the others began to stir.  

Predictably, there had been questions. He’d honestly still expected to be chased from camp at the sharp end of a stake, but Tav had asked him to stay. Defended him even, when other members of the group had been far more condemning of the monster in their midst. And Tav had even invited him to feed on them again – blithely unaware at how close he’d come to draining them completely mere hours before. He’d felt echoes of his feeding for the whole day afterwards. Hells, he couldn’t remember ever feeling so good.  

Tav however, seemed to have had a rather different experience. They’d tried not to show it in front of him, but he’d seen nonetheless. Wincing slightly as they’d cleaned the dried blood from their neck. Their movements slower, their skin paler, as though they’d recently recovered from an illness. Clearly, their experience had not been as enjoyable and yet they still invited him back. They’d not treated him any differently. Questions, condemnation he had expected, but the acceptance was almost unnerving, and he certainly hadn’t trusted it. He saw it as useful though, and each night, with Tav’s invitation, he’d take what he needed, dragging himself away when he felt their pulse slow, taking it as his cue that it was enough. Each night, he fought that dark and unnameable urge to keep going, to drink deeper, and he’d stalk off to find something challenging to vent that urge on. Something with claws was preferable. Each morning, he’d watch as Tav washed the dried blood from their skin without a word passing between them about it. He’d see the pain in their movements, while pretending to read his book without a care. He could feel Tav’s emotions towards him changing, softening. He saw the opportunity and weighed it. Waiting.  

The camp had settled around their new nightly rhythm. He’d occasionally caught one of the others watching him as he stalked over to Tav’s bedroll in the night, but no one had intervened. They might not trust him, and he certainly didn’t trust them, but this group did trust Tav and so he was careful not to kill the one thing between him and the sharp end of his other companions.   

However, after one too many pointed comments from that prickly cleric, he was all too aware of how thin Tav’s protection was. They faced danger every day, and it would be all-to-easy for Tav to be killed, leaving him exposed. Shadowheart was certainly not afraid of brandishing a dagger in the night, as the gith had foolishly discovered. Once again, Tav had been there to diffuse the situation, and once again, he’d watched from the shadows. Calculating his own odds. Yes, Tav trusted him, but it was still a wary kind of trust. Tav might not show it on their face, but the suspicion was there, in the blood. There was still a risk that the trust would break and then he would be in real danger. He needed to bring them closer. 

And so, he’d done what Cazador had trained him to do when he’d needed to bring prey to the crypt. He’d sunken into that same despicable habit, the seduction falling from his lips almost unconsciously the very next day. He’d died a coward’s death when he saw Tav’s eyes light up and accepted his invitation for a private night, not seeing the lie behind his intentions. Not that Tav was unpleasant, far from it. Over time, he really had come to appreciate them as a person. Under other circumstances, he might have even pursued them for genuine companionship. But here, now?  

This was ultimately a calculated move to draw his few allies closer, even if he only admitted that to himself. Loathe as he was to admit, he played the part well. Though once again found himself unexpectedly exposed. Tav had the habit of making him feel like he was a lot more transparent than he liked. And now he was left with the additional puzzle of what in the hells Cazador had in mind for Infernal runes on his back. And the puzzle of Tav themselves. 

He found his eyes resting on their sleeping form once again, studying their features. The camp was sound asleep, right down to their dog and foundling owlbear. He could see all of their outlines as clear as day. By the fire, Tav shifted, their back to him. Still so trusting, even now. In their tents, Lae’zel, Gale, Karlach, even Wyll and Shadowheart now accepting him enough that they didn’t keep watch. The others were slightly further afield, but still putting no guard on him. He was, for all intents, a welcome part of the group. Not so long ago, he would have revelled in the power it gave him, wandering through the camp at night with absolute freedom to take whatever he wanted from them, down to their very lives. Now though, the thought of doing so left him oddly hollow. He walked past their forms on silent footsteps, no longer weak enough to wake them with his movements. No longer tempted to take anything from them, if he was being honest. Even if Gale did have some very nice shoes. 

He looked down at Tav, soundly asleep at his feet. The warm glow of embers highlighted the planes of a face that he knew would haunt him for the rest of his days, regardless of where this journey took them both. The taste of their blood, the echo of their peaceful dreams, still lingered on his tongue. Impulsively, he bent down again, pulling the edge of the bedroll back over Tav’s shoulder. Covering the evidence. 

He straightened again, frowning at the emotions the small action provoked. He forced the whole mess aside and physically pushed himself away. There were bigger things to worry about. Devils, mind flayers, hells just their camping spot alone put them in peril. He stalked back to his tent in irritation, deliberately sitting so that Tav could only be seen in his periphery. His awareness remained on them though, as it often did. He was determined to keep the whole blasted lot of them at bay. He could not lose this chance to finally break free. He would not be chained to another soul again, no matter who they were or what they offered.  

Dawn never really arrives in the Underdark. However, the low light of the fungi around them might have brightened a little and the camp began to stir. In the deep shadows of his tent, Astarion’s eyes glittered, unreadable as they followed Tav’s every move while they readied themselves for another day.  

“Hello, beautiful.” His mouth smiled as they greeted him. Tav brightened and he tried not to feel his guts tighten. Guilt was an emotion he had no use for. 

“You can feed on me tonight, if you like.” Always, he felt the surprise. Always, he refused to let it show.  

“Then I’ll see you tonight, you sweet generous thing.”  

He pretended not to see Tav’s answering smile as they sauntered off, falling into conversation with Shadowheart as they prepared for the day ahead. Astarion felt the smile slide right off his face. Hells, he truly was in danger with that one around. 

[jinxiethescribe]

“All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle.”

— Francis of Assisi

[jinxiethescribe]

astarion is either sad or he was caught cuddling and is now hiding his face in embarrassment

[jinxiethescribe]

Campfires: Astarion

 The camp was slowly settling into the quietness of the evening – or what passed for evening in the perpetual twilight of the Underdark. Astarion discarded the book he’d been idly leafing through. He’d long since memorised it anyway, but it served as a helpful tool for keeping the others out of his business. His travelling companions were all slipping into sleep around him, and the night seemed peaceful, despite the chaos of their situation. It certainly made a change from the usual camp drama. 

Their merry little band had been travelling together a while now. Long enough to get a measure of one another. Long enough for them to know about his condition and begrudgingly, even accept it.  

Well, naturally not all of them truly accepted it, not yet. Astarion had seen the way Wyll’s hand strayed to the fiendish rapier whenever they were within arm's reach. Lae’zel outright threatened to stake him on a near-daily basis- but that could also pass for flirtation with the fiery gith. Even Gale had kept a closer eye on him than was strictly necessary. Gale, who had a voracious appetite for expensive, Weave-infused items and should really understand that we don’t always choose how we get to live. Gale, judging him for needing a little blood to merely survive. It was almost laughable.  

No, perhaps it was more accurate to say that Tav accepted him, and the others merely tolerated him for now. His gaze settled on them now, huddled in their bedroll and silhouetted by the dying campfire. Trusting him once again to take only what he needed and to leave them with their life.  

Astarion’s thoughts strayed back to that first night. He’d been so gods damned weak. Weaker than he could ever remember. The area he had landed in was forested and should have been teeming with animals, but between the goblins and the large camp around Emerald Grove, what little wildlife remained was tough to catch. He’d been relieved when he’d finally snared a boar that had been blundering in the forest near to their own camp. However, in his weakened state and in unfamiliar territory, he’d left the remains exposed, and so naturally the party had found them the very next day. Just as naturally, Tav had stopped, their attention caught by the unfamiliar sight. His luck in a nutshell. 

Despite his best efforts, Tav had seen his discomfort, and Astarion had found himself telling them about vampires. Not himself, mind you, he’d had about that much self-preservation left. But the word vampire had passed his lips before he’d really had a chance to rethink it. He promised Tav that he would keep watch and promised himself that he would not weaken any further. He could not afford to be exposed in this state.  

The same night, he’d tried to bite Tav, thinking that they might be a little easier to sneak up on than the others. In hindsight, he should have gone for Gale, just to prove a point to the smug bastard. He might be able to walk in the sun now, but his movements were slow, his thoughts were sluggish, and their situation was precarious enough. No, he needed strength, protection. He needed real blood. Then he might be able to formulate some kind of a plan. 

He really should have known better. He did know better in fact, but the temptation was right there and impossible to resist. Just how many of his master’s rules could he break now? He’d crept over, and despite his best efforts to stay silent, Tav had opened their eyes at exactly the most damning moment. He’d been caught with his fangs bared, quite literally, and so he’d done the only thing left to him – he’d confessed.  

Miraculously, he’d escaped getting staked on the spot. They’d even been understanding of his situation. He’d seen Tav slaughter goblins without blinking and face threats of violence from all kinds of folk with almost ruthless compassion. He never expected to see, in that dim firelight, the same compassion turned on himself. It was disconcerting, to say the least. 

“Gods, we even found the pig you snacked on,” Tav had shaken their head a little at that and to his utter shock, smiled. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  

Still stunned, he’d answered honestly. Perhaps a little more honestly than he should have, but they were being just being so gods-damned reasonable about all this. He was a vampire spawn. Turned by that vicious sadist Cazador and condemned to the shadows, to feed on insects or putrid rats for these past two centuries. Until now. As weak as he was, he could feel the sunlight again, cross running rivers, even enter homes without permission. Experiences that he’d not had since he’d been a magistrate in the city. 

Tav had taken his confession in their stride. If anything, they were entirely too reasonable, too trusting. Not that he’d cared too much at the time. He took full advantage and finally managed to sink his fangs into something worthy. 

After two centuries of starving, surviving on fetid scraps of thin, weak blood, it was indescribable. Better than water to a man dying of thirst. Better than food to the man starving to death. He’d been suffering both of those for these past two centuries, and then some. He could feel Tav’s emotions reverberating through their blood. Through him. There was a little fear, yes, but that only awoke something darker in response. There was something else too. When his fangs pierced their skin, it was like his own blood came alive for the first time in all these long years. He was barely aware of anything else as he drank, deeply. More deeply than he’d intended really, as long-suppressed instincts threatened to completely overwhelm his reason. Tav’s blood washed through him, connecting them. He could feel their trust and the power he held over them in that moment. It was utterly intoxicating.  

Finally, he had felt their hand on his chest. A gentle pressure, but their touch and their voice broke through the rush of sensations, telling him it was enough. He almost didn’t stop, but something made him pull back, every single one of his heightened senses blazing and painfully aware. He’d torn his eyes away from the smear of blood left on Tav’s neck and stalked off to find something to drain. Not that he needed more blood mind, but he needed to get his fangs far away from trusting necks. They had given him a gift that he could never repay, and he had just enough awareness left to thank them, and not take their life in return. He’d only crept back into camp as dawn was breaking, settling back into his customary spot moments before the others began to stir.  

Predictably, there had been questions. He’d honestly still expected to be chased from camp at the sharp end of a stake, but Tav had asked him to stay. Defended him even, when other members of the group had been far more condemning of the monster in their midst. And Tav had even invited him to feed on them again – blithely unaware at how close he’d come to draining them completely mere hours before. He’d felt echoes of his feeding for the whole day afterwards. Hells, he couldn’t remember ever feeling so good.  

Tav however, seemed to have had a rather different experience. They’d tried not to show it in front of him, but he’d seen nonetheless. Wincing slightly as they’d cleaned the dried blood from their neck. Their movements slower, their skin paler, as though they’d recently recovered from an illness. Clearly, their experience had not been as enjoyable and yet they still invited him back. They’d not treated him any differently. Questions, condemnation he had expected, but the acceptance was almost unnerving, and he certainly hadn’t trusted it. He saw it as useful though, and each night, with Tav’s invitation, he’d take what he needed, dragging himself away when he felt their pulse slow, taking it as his cue that it was enough. Each night, he fought that dark and unnameable urge to keep going, to drink deeper, and he’d stalk off to find something challenging to vent that urge on. Something with claws was preferable. Each morning, he’d watch as Tav washed the dried blood from their skin without a word passing between them about it. He’d see the pain in their movements, while pretending to read his book without a care. He could feel Tav’s emotions towards him changing, softening. He saw the opportunity and weighed it. Waiting.  

The camp had settled around their new nightly rhythm. He’d occasionally caught one of the others watching him as he stalked over to Tav’s bedroll in the night, but no one had intervened. They might not trust him, and he certainly didn’t trust them, but this group did trust Tav and so he was careful not to kill the one thing between him and the sharp end of his other companions.   

However, after one too many pointed comments from that prickly cleric, he was all too aware of how thin Tav’s protection was. They faced danger every day, and it would be all-to-easy for Tav to be killed, leaving him exposed. Shadowheart was certainly not afraid of brandishing a dagger in the night, as the gith had foolishly discovered. Once again, Tav had been there to diffuse the situation, and once again, he’d watched from the shadows. Calculating his own odds. Yes, Tav trusted him, but it was still a wary kind of trust. Tav might not show it on their face, but the suspicion was there, in the blood. There was still a risk that the trust would break and then he would be in real danger. He needed to bring them closer. 

And so, he’d done what Cazador had trained him to do when he’d needed to bring prey to the crypt. He’d sunken into that same despicable habit, the seduction falling from his lips almost unconsciously the very next day. He’d died a coward’s death when he saw Tav’s eyes light up and accepted his invitation for a private night, not seeing the lie behind his intentions. Not that Tav was unpleasant, far from it. Over time, he really had come to appreciate them as a person. Under other circumstances, he might have even pursued them for genuine companionship. But here, now?  

This was ultimately a calculated move to draw his few allies closer, even if he only admitted that to himself. Loathe as he was to admit, he played the part well. Though once again found himself unexpectedly exposed. Tav had the habit of making him feel like he was a lot more transparent than he liked. And now he was left with the additional puzzle of what in the hells Cazador had in mind for Infernal runes on his back. And the puzzle of Tav themselves. 

He found his eyes resting on their sleeping form once again, studying their features. The camp was sound asleep, right down to their dog and foundling owlbear. He could see all of their outlines as clear as day. By the fire, Tav shifted, their back to him. Still so trusting, even now. In their tents, Lae’zel, Gale, Karlach, even Wyll and Shadowheart now accepting him enough that they didn’t keep watch. The others were slightly further afield, but still putting no guard on him. He was, for all intents, a welcome part of the group. Not so long ago, he would have revelled in the power it gave him, wandering through the camp at night with absolute freedom to take whatever he wanted from them, down to their very lives. Now though, the thought of doing so left him oddly hollow. He walked past their forms on silent footsteps, no longer weak enough to wake them with his movements. No longer tempted to take anything from them, if he was being honest. Even if Gale did have some very nice shoes. 

He looked down at Tav, soundly asleep at his feet. The warm glow of embers highlighted the planes of a face that he knew would haunt him for the rest of his days, regardless of where this journey took them both. The taste of their blood, the echo of their peaceful dreams, still lingered on his tongue. Impulsively, he bent down again, pulling the edge of the bedroll back over Tav’s shoulder. Covering the evidence. 

He straightened again, frowning at the emotions the small action provoked. He forced the whole mess aside and physically pushed himself away. There were bigger things to worry about. Devils, mind flayers, hells just their camping spot alone put them in peril. He stalked back to his tent in irritation, deliberately sitting so that Tav could only be seen in his periphery. His awareness remained on them though, as it often did. He was determined to keep the whole blasted lot of them at bay. He could not lose this chance to finally break free. He would not be chained to another soul again, no matter who they were or what they offered.  

Dawn never really arrives in the Underdark. However, the low light of the fungi around them might have brightened a little and the camp began to stir. In the deep shadows of his tent, Astarion’s eyes glittered, unreadable as they followed Tav’s every move while they readied themselves for another day.  

“Hello, beautiful.” His mouth smiled as they greeted him. Tav brightened and he tried not to feel his guts tighten. Guilt was an emotion he had no use for. 

“You can feed on me tonight, if you like.” Always, he felt the surprise. Always, he refused to let it show.  

“Then I’ll see you tonight, you sweet generous thing.”  

He pretended not to see Tav’s answering smile as they sauntered off, falling into conversation with Shadowheart as they prepared for the day ahead. Astarion felt the smile slide right off his face. Hells, he truly was in danger with that one around.