#gale and karlachs laughter can be heard across camp

[timothylawrence]

Wyll being the youngest of the guys is funny to me

[fictionobsession]

Learning Hurts

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Tav

Summary: Tav totally wanted to learn how to handle a dagger.

Word Count: 2,232

Warnings: knives, blood, maybe ooc astarion sorry, not beta'd

A/N: This is my first time writing a full-length fic in... a minute, so please forgive anything that doesn't make sense lolol but the Astarion brainrot would not leave me alone so you get this, you're welcome or smth

--

The sun was just beginning to set on their little camp as Tav leaned back, hands folded behind their head, watching the routine the group had so easily fallen into. Gale was ordering Wyll to bring him various ingredients that had been left around the camp. Karlach was arm-wrestling Lae'zel for the hundredth time, the latter sporting a triumphant grin at her unbroken winning streak. Shadowheart was using the time for her nightly meditations. And Astarion, never helping or socializing unless explicitly asked, was sitting outside his tent sharpening his blades.

Tav didn't stop themself staring at the way he inspected his work, running a long, slender finger along the deadly edge. They didn't try to tear their eyes away as he twirled the dagger, paying close attention to the way the firelight danced across the metal. Astarion balanced the dagger on one finger, flipped it once, twice, like he wanted to be sure it hadn't lost its balance somewhere along the way. Flip, twirl, catch. Flip, catch, turn. Tav was mesmerized by the dexterous movements of hand and knife, not noticing the smirk that had found its way to the rogue's face, or the sudden increase in complexity of the knife's ministrations.

“I can teach you some tricks if you really find it that interesting.”

Tav's gaze snapped up at the smirk they heard rather than saw, and caught the teasing glint in those lovely red eyes across from them. Tav cleared their throat, trying to sound at least somewhat normal, cringing when their voice still came out as a squeak. “oh, uh, yeah? Yeah! The knife work is very interesting. That sounds fun!”

He motioned to the space next to him, but Tav was rooted in place, looking back and forth between his eyes and the gesture.

“Come on, darling. I won't bite unless you ask me to.”

Tav felt their mouth run dry, and they swallowed hard, trying to contain any reaction they most certainly did not have to that particular statement. They knew they had failed, though, when they heard the snort of laughter Astarion graciously attempted to disguise as a cough – an attempt that may have worked if not for the crinkles at the corners of his eyes giving him away. Tav glared at him in what they hoped was at least a vaguely threatening way before taking a deep breath and moving to hover in from of his tent, a respectable distance from the man himself.

The elf rolled his eyes, an unfortunately common sight for Tav, handing them his off-hand dagger and promptly closing the respectable distance. “Alright, darling, we're going to start very simple, since you're just as like to stab yourself as the enemy half the time.”

It was a joke, or at least mostly a joke (excluding that one time), but Tav's face went hot with embarrassment anyway. They held the dagger like it might try to jump from their grip, knuckles white from the pressure. Astarion raised an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for Tav to figure it out. They loosened their grip a bit, rubbing a thumb over the lightly worn leather on the hilt, the texture grounding them and letting some of their anxieties disappate. They tried a few different ways to hold it, almost cutting themselves more than once, before Astarion found himself reaching out to adjust their grip. Both pause at the contact, but Astarion quickly waved it off with a murmured excuse. “Wouldn't be much of a teacher if I let you hurt yourself in the first five seconds, would I?”

He took a step back, pulling out his own dagger and showing off a quick grip change that looked like a simple flick in and then out. Tav recognized it faintly as the way they'd seen him reposition after a stealth attack on an enemy. Not that they were paying attention to his hand positioning in combat, just simply watching for timing for the rest of the group, of course. “It's important to be able to switch like this so you can react to enemies from multiple directions without adjusting your whole stance,” he explained as he demonstrated a few more times. Tav started to move slowly, clumsily, tucking the blade back and down, then out again. They kept at it, increasing speed as they went, until they got it pretty close to what Astarion was doing. They looked up, pleased with their progress, just in time to see an unfamiliar expression swiftly disappear from his face. If someone didn't know better, they might've described it as fond. Luckily, Tav knew better. “Sorry that took a minute, I know it should've been easy. Could you show me how to do the flip thing you were doing earlier?”

Astarion's brow furrowed at the request, and he was already shaking his head before the question was finished. “Absolutely not. You can barely do this, and I will not be responsible for - “ he noticed the pathetic, begging, ridiculous eyes Tav was giving him. Normally, he would've been unaffected by anyone's big doe eyes, but something about Tav at that moment, he couldn't bring himself to say no. “Oh, alright. But when you hurt yourself, I will not be feeling sorry for you. Are we clear?”

Tav nodded fervently, afraid he'd change his mind.

“I said, are we clear? Use your words, darling, or I'm putting these away.” A quick gesture with his knife, that playful gleam in his eye. Tav knew he was trying to get under their skin, make them uncomfortable enough to walk away from their little lesson. But Tav, stubborn as they were, would never give him the satisfaction. They brought their eyes up to meet his, back straight, exuding a confidence they weren't sure they actually possessed.

“Yes, sir. Very clear.”

And if they allowed themselves a satisfied grin when Astarion almost dropped his dagger, well, nobody needed to know.

He blinked hard, face contorting into another unfamiliar expression, this one almost akin to his “I just got punched in the face” expression, before he resumed his normal aloof grin. He tossed his dagger, letting it flip twice in the air before catching it. He shook his head and tossed it again, only letting it flip once before catching it this time. He did it again, again, again. Finally he nodded approvingly and turned back to Tav. “Alright, you're going to try to flip it once, like this, and then step back. You want to flip it forward so it goes more away from you than towards you. Then you let it fall to the ground. I don't want you to try to catch it yet. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

They felt the weight of the blade in their hand and tried to avoid looking directly at Astarion, lest their hands start to shake. They took a deep breath, tossed the knife harder than anticipated, and watched as it flipped not once, not twice, but three times before gravity pulled it back down...point first. Tav's eyes widened as Astarion yanked them away, their back suddenly flush against his chest. The surprise wore off quickly, replaced by embarrassment when they felt rather than heard their companion's laughter from behind them. Astarion didn't try to hide it, forehead hitting Tav's shoulder as he shook with giggles. They pulled themself from his arms and stumbled to pick up the dagger from where it had stuck perfectly in the ground, glaring at the still-laughing rogue.

“Are you sure you want to learn this?” The elf managed to huff the question between bouts of giggles. Tav narrowed their eyes in his direction, causing him to throw his hands up in surrender. “Maybe try that a few more times before you attempt catching it then, if you think you can manage to not stab yourself in the head.”

Tav's outrage came out as a very dignified squawk. “You – I'm only distracted because you're watching! Quit looking!”

“I didn't realize I made you so nervous.” An eyebrow cocked in amusement. Tav fought the urge to stomp their foot in a childish fit of annoyance. “Fine, fine. I'll turn around. Just make sure you step out of the way, please. I really would hate to lose my favorite traveling companion.” A wink shot Tav's way as Astarion turned to watch the flames of the campfire.

He stayed facing the fire for what seemed like ages, listening in barely concealed amusement to the thumps of the knife hitting the ground, almost always followed by a huff or grumble of annoyance, until he heard the faintest oh instead. “What's wrong, my dear? Tired of dropping things yet?”

“Uhm...” His eyes narrowed as Tav trailed off. “Yes, I think I might... might need to practice more a different time.”

Their voice was shaky and weaker than usual, none of their confidence and joking nature present. Astarion whirled around, unmasked concern evident on his face. The first thing he noticed were the tears pooling in Tav's eyes. The second thing was the intoxicating scent of their blood hitting him full force. His lips dropped into a perfect o as he stared at the drip, drip, drip of blood falling from Tav's fingers.

“Astarion? I'm sorry, I know you said you weren't going to feel bad. It's okay, my fault for trying to catch it, really. Please don't be mad.” Their small voice brought him back to the moment, only slightly disgusted with himself for getting distracted.

“Oh, love, what have you done?” He took two long strides toward them, grabbing their hand. He rubbed a thumb so gently near the wound, gauging the depth and severity. His expression softened as he looked up at Tav. “I'm not mad at you, but it must hurt. Do you want me to go get Shadowheart?”

“No!” Tav winced at the forcefulness of their own words. “No, no one needs to know how ridiculous this was.”

“They are right across camp, I'm sure they'll know regardless. Besides that, you shouldn't have to be in pain just because you're clumsy, you know.” He pulled his hand away, and caught Tav watching him inspect the blood left on his thumb. He brought the thumb to his mouth and licked a bit of the blood off, smirking at Tav's nose scrunching up in response. “Delicious.”

Tav reached up to smack his shoulder lightly with their uninjured hand.

“Sorry, love. I just can't help myself.” He paused before continuing. “Hm. Well, if you're insistent on suffering, can I at least help you clean up?”

Tav's imagination immediately took over, providing detailed visuals of how Astarion might “clean up” a bloody mess, which did not help the tightness in their stomach caused by him licking the last of the blood off his own fingers. Their mind wandered from there, unbidden images of Astarion, always teasing, always flirting, using that beautiful mouth for licking, kissing, biting... They shook the thoughts from their head, just in time to see him emerging from his tent with a cloth too clean to be found anywhere nearby. He held it up to them, offering to literally just clean the wound.

Tav sighed, mentally reprimanding themselves for having those thoughts about a companion, a friend, that clearly just wants to help. It had been a while, they justified to themself, since they had found anyone as intriguing, mysterious, hilarious, attractive as Astarion. There was no crime there, right? It didn't mean anything, and certainly wasn't anything they would act upon. Friends could have the occasional thought about each other right? It didn't matter that it was always the same friend. Or that those thoughts were certainly becoming more than occasional at this point. Gods, they were fucked. This would definitely be a problem later.

Tav's inner monologue continued as Astarion took the white cloth, folded it twice before taking Tav's warm hand in his cold one again and wrapping the cloth around the injury. He winced along with them as he tightened the bandage.

“'m sorry. I'll be done in a moment. I have to wrap it tightly enough to stop the bleeding.” Tav had never seen such a naked look of emotion on the man's face. They felt like they might faint, not from the blood loss, but from the sheer amount of concern present there.

“It's okay, Star. I know you wouldn't hurt me on purpose.” The smile Tav gave him could have outshone the sun. Astarion suddenly found himself with shaking hands, unable to identify what the hells this feeling was. He tried to finish the wrapping quickly, wanting to put distance between himself and the object of his racing thoughts. He turned Tav's hand, making sure the bandage was secure from all angles, and stalked toward the woods without a word.

Tav calling his name got only the slightest pause. “Thank you for trying to teach me. And for cleaning me up. You didn't have to do that.”

His steps stuttered, and he turned, not quite facing them, though they could see the pained look on his face anyway. “I think I did.”

He slipped out of view, leaving Tav standing, head tilted like a confused puppy, staring after him, completely unaware of the crisis of self they had just thrust upon the unsuspecting vampire spawn.

[thunderwavesolveseverything]

Personal Cost

[Astarion x Named Tav]

The smell of charred flesh and fervent zeal smacking them in the face. Priestess Gut stood before her congregation, her platform an altar of devotion, branding her followers with the mark of the Absolute.

One by one, the goblins approached, their eagerness to be marked a stark contrast to the group’s revulsion.

“Well, who wants to talk to her?” Phayelynn’s question hung in the air and met with silence. With a resigned sigh, she shouldered the burden of initiative. “Fine, I’ll do it since you’re all cowards,” she said under her breath, a twitch in her brow as she advanced towards the altar.

----

The party finally gets to the goblin camp, and things already start not to go their way....

----

This chapter was a lot of fun to writeeeeeeee!!!!

I love writing them all interacting with each other, and I got to give Phay and Gale another little moment--also they finally meet Volo!!! (which is based off of my first playthrough where I totally missed him in the druids grove and didn't see him until the goblin camp and was like yoooooo it's this guy lol)

once again, thanks for the support! 

(word count: 4,658)

Read on AO3 or below :)

Masterlist

leave me a like and a comment 💜

Personal Cost

 Raucous laughter and shouting greeted them as they walked through the gates, entering the goblin camp. Phayleynn cringed as a strange mix of smells hit her, ranging from roasting meat to the unmistakable stench of piss and grime. The camp was alive, a celebration in full swing, with goblins in every direction, their sharp teeth bared in excitement. 

Phayelynn didn’t know where to start. 

To one side, a trader had set up shop, displaying a variety of goods stolen from their pillaging, she could only assume. On the other side, a makeshift table was put together, a feast of questionable meats laid out, goblins slicing large chunks off the spit. 

Crude marking of the Absolute tainted the crumbling walls of the temple, reminding Phayelynn why they were here. 

“We should ask around.” She kept her voice low, “See if anyone knows where this pit is that the guards up front mentioned.”

“Keep it subtle, though. We don’t want to seem obvious about our intentions.” Shadowheart said while scanning around, eying a large Orc, keeping a watchful eye from across the courtyard. Shadowheart bit her lip before turning back to Phayelynn. She jerked her head towards the trader to their right and patted her side. “I’ll start with him. See if I can get anything out of him while unloading some of the junk weighing us down.” 

“I’ll go with you,” Wyll said. 

Shadowheart simply nodded before the two broke off, Lae’zel wordlessly following.

Karlach sighed deeply and clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Awe, man, that’s just cruel,” she muttered under her breath. 

Phayelynn turned to her friend, looking puzzled. “What’s cruel?” she asked. 

Karlach nodded towards the center of the courtyard, where a group of goblins gathered around a circular stage. “The gobbers stole themselves a bard,” she replied, eyes fixed on the scene before them. “Poor bastard.” 

Phayleynn followed her gaze, eyes landing on the stage, large horns lining around it, almost caging the man performing on it. Her expression changed from curiosity to shock. 

“Is that…Volo?” she exclaimed. 

“Who?” Karlach asked, looking the man up and down, but the man and his name meant nothing to her. 

“Volo!” Phayelynn replied, still staring in disbelief. Karlach shrugged, and Phayelynn tore her eyes away, nearly scoffing at the Tiefling. “Volothamp Geddarm! You’ve never heard of him? He’s a legend!” 

Astarion wrinkled his nose and retorted, “I wouldn’t go about throwing that title around so loosely, darling. Still,” he shifted, “I can’t help but wonder what a bard like him is doing here, of all places? This kind of unsavory debauchery wouldn’t strike me as his scene,” he asked, his eyes scanning Volo with disdain. 

Phayelynn’s brow furrowed as she responded curtly, “Not a bard.” Astarion narrowed his eyes at her in response. She rolled her eyes and continued, “He’s not a bard, though he has a way with words. He’s a wizard. And a famous writer. His books are the only ones I’ve ever read cover to cover.” 

Gale’s face twisted in pain, covering it up with a cough. He gave her a pitiful glance, trying his best to be gentle, “His works are…interesting,” 

Phayelynn was oblivious to Gale’s undertone and continued, her excitement blinding her, “Did you know he can drink an insane amount of alcohol without getting drunk?” she said, turning to face him with a wide grin. 

Astarion groaned, rolling his eyes, while Gale scoffed at the claim. Karlach looked up at Volo, nodding her head, impressed. 

Phayelynn’s attention was glued to the stage, and she shifted side to side, trying to get a better look. She chewed at her bottom lip, clasping her hands tightly together and holding them to her chest. Suddenly, she squealed in excitement, “Oh, I have to meet him!” 

Gale tried to grab her, but Phayleynn was already on the move, edging closer to the goblins and their captive. He let out a hiss as he grabbed air. 

As Phayelynn approached the stage, the sound of Volo’s trembling voice struggling to perform for his captors reached her ears. Her smile dropped as he stumbled over his words, eyes darting side to side. The goblins that now stood by her gathered around, some of them dancing and drinking while others brandished their weapons and jeered at their prisoner. 

“With fragulous crown, and with sceptre abrade, Dror Ragzlin short work of the innkeeper made!”

Volo proclaimed, his voice loud and boisterous but weak and hollow words, holding no substance behind them. The others followed Phayelynn cautiously, standing behind her and watching the show with a wince. Astarion gave a lazy clap, his mouth twitching slyly. 

“Oh yes, you were correct, my dear,” Astarion leaned forward close to Phayelynn, “Such a way with words.” 

“The inn burned to ash! The captives were many! Goblinkind had reduced them to cowering filfenny!”

Phayelynn grimaced, squinting at Astarion before looking back to Volo. The excitement was faded, an in its place, second-hand embarrassment formed. 

“So raiseth your goblets, and drain them with pride! Dror Ragzlin, the True Soul, hath led you galide!” 

Astarion laughed while Gale stood unsurprised. Karlach frowned, seeing Phayelynn’s disappointment, wanting to place a hand on her shoulder but couldn’t. 

“Awe, Phay, everyone has off days.” She said instead. 

“Hmm,” Astarion hummed, giving her a soft pat on the back while failing to hide his smirk. “You do know what they say: never meet your heroes.”

“He’s just making stuff up,” Phayelynn scowled, confused, gesturing a hand out towards the stage. Half of those words aren’t even real words.” 

She was the one struggling now, forcing back her disappointment, her lips forming a thin line. She read all of Volo’s books she could get her hands on. As a child, she even convinced herself that her tutor was a Malaugrym after rereading his book about them many times. 

Maybe his talent was limited to the written word. 

Or maybe it was the fact that he was performing while held captive by goblins. It had to be that. 

She glared at Astarion over her shoulder, “I never said he was my hero!” she paused, crossing her arms against her chest, and then muttered, “I guess…I guess it’s not terrible.” 

“Darling, I’ve heard better tales from a drunkard in a tavern.” Astarion laughed again. 

“Look at him,” she exclaimed, motioning around them, “He’s probably just nervous! I’d like to see you go up there and do better!” 

Before Phayelynn could continue her defense, a goblin woman pointed a sticky finger at them, “Hey! You lot, stop ‘ya yammering! ‘Ya interrupting the show. Makin’ my pigeon nervous!” 

“Please do be quiet. Do as she says,” Volo whispered, catching Phayelynn’s attention. He stood up straight, clearing his throat as the goblin looked at him. He shot Phayelynn a pleading look before trying to regain his composure, “Ahem, now where was I-” 

But the goblin wasn’t finished with them yet. Seeing Volo whisper something to Phayelynn, “Wait a tick,” she snapped her fingers and stepped closer to them. She narrowed her eyes at Volo, “These friends of yours?” 

“Certainly not!” Volo bristled at the suggestion. 

Astarion, waiting with a biting remark, chimed in, “With that fraud? Don’t insult us.” 

The goblin woman narrowed her eyes suspiciously but soon seemed to lose interest in them, turning her attention back to Volo. “Get on with it then!” she shouted impatiently. 

Phayelynn breathed a sigh of relief. Her breath caught in her throat as Volo’s attempt at poetry became even worse. 

“Dror Ragzlin, Dror Ragzlin..we, erm… Dror Ragzlin, umtumptous, Dror Ragzlin…erm…”

“This is too painful; I can’t watch this,” Phayelynn said, taking a step back and shaking her head. “We have to help him.”

Karlach nodded, “I got your back, Phay, just say the word and-”

“You conspiring to steal my pigeon?” The goblin’s harsh voice made Phayelynn jump. She started marching back over to them. She sneered at Volo, “You told me you didn’t know this meatstick!” 

Phayelynn gulped. 

Volo’s eyes frantically darted from his captor to Phayelynn, rushing to deny the accusation, “I don’t! Truly! I’ve never met these people in my life. They’re most likely crazed fans- Gods, just look at them.” 

“Hey!” Karlach gasped. 

Volo gave her an apologetic look. 

The goblin woman narrowed her eyes, “You lyin’?” 

“To you? Never!” Volo swore, but his voice shook with panic. “Come now, let’s continue our ballad- Droz Ragzlin, we…pray..we…erm..we…” 

The goblin let out a wail of frustration, climbing up onto the stage and scurrying behind him. She forced Volo off the stage with a swift kick that would have been almost comical if it hadn’t looked so pathetic. 

“Wait!” Phayelynn called out, “Where are you taking him?” 

The goblin looked at her as if she were stupid. “Where do ya think? ‘Ya broke ‘im! He’s going back to his cage!” 

Phayelynn looked mortified as Volo was led away. Astarion found it hilarious, doubling over and holding onto his stomach as he laughed. Gale just groaned and shook his head. 

Karlach frowned. 

“Don’t worry, Phay,” she consoled her, “She probably took him where they’re keeping that druid guy, yeah? We’ll save him, and maybe he can sign your lute or something?” 

Phayelynn sighed. 

----

The creaking sound of the large dooring opening echoed through the temple as they entered. Phayelynn closed the doors behind them, wincing at the sound. 

She looked amongst her companions, gave them a quick thumbs up, earned a few eye rolls and scoffs, and received a thumbs up back from Karlach. 

“Here goes nothing,” she said nervously before leading them forward. 

They’d hardly gotten a few steps in when Gale winced, clutching his chest in sudden pain. Everyone halted and stared at the wizard. 

“Now?” Shadowheart hissed, eyes narrowed in concern and annoyance. 

“I-I’m sorry.” Gale, struggling to maintain his composure, replied. 

“Don’t apologize,” Phayelynn quickly hushed him, placing a hand on his shoulder and looking at Shadowheart. “It’s okay. Do you need another artifact?” 

Astarion scoffed, “Already? Gods,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. 

Shadowheart began rummaging through their bag of holding, searching for something they could manage to part with. 

“We have that flail from the gnoll—we’ll never use it. Gale can eat it!” Phayelynn suggested, pointing to the bag. 

Shadowheart nodded, reaching into the bag further, and, within seconds, pulled the flail out, holding it out for Gale to take. “Here, this should help.” 

They watched as Gale grabbed for the flail, absorbing the magic from within it, a wave of purple magic surging through him. Karlach and Wyll shared confused looks. 

“Am I missing something?” Karlach asked, eyes darting between the flail and Gale. 

“It’s a long story.” Shadowheart’s brow creased, her voice a mix of irritation and urgency as she replied. Once Gale finished, she took the flail back and put it back into the bag—she could still get something for it somewhere. 

“Thank you,” Gale’s breath came in labored heaves as if he’d been running for miles. His hand patted Phayleynn’s, a silent show of his thanks. His lips barely moved, but the words spilled out like a dam breached: “Three artifacts should’ve silenced the hunger, yet it’s like I’ve supped on air. I’m still famished.” A heavy sigh escaped him, his gaze sweeping over his companions. “I must confess something now.” 

“Really?” Astarion’s sneered interjected, his eyes narrowing to slits as he looked Gale up and down, his eyes lingering a second longer on his hand still resting atop Phayleynn’s. “Must you? Now? It’s not like we’re not in the middle of something.” 

Unfazed, Gale’s glare silently challenged Astarion before he turned to Phayelynn, his posture rigid. His eyes, however, betrayed a vulnerability that gave away his structure. “Please,” he implored, “It’s paramount. I cannot continue to travel together and keep this a secret. It would be unfair of me.” 

Phayelynn’s heart hammered against her ribs, a cacophony amidst the whispers of secrets and confessions that seemed to permeate the air amongst her companions. With a reluctant nod, she gulped, “Okay.”

Her eyes darted to the guards striding down the corridor, their makeshift armor and weapons clinking softly as they talked between themselves, seemingly having not noticed them yet. Phayelynn didn’t trust their track record for that to remain the case for long, though. 

Gale inhaled deeply as if drawing strength from the stones beneath their feet. He stood still for a moment, his hands falling to his sides as if releasing the weight of his secrets. 

He began, his voice a low thrum, “You have to know who I really am—what I really am. As a child, I didn’t merely harness the Weave—I shaped it, molded it,” he motioned towards Phayelynn. “Akin to how a bard coaxes melodies from the strings of a lute. Such prowess did not go unnoticed by the mother of magic herself, the Lady of Mysteries.” 

“Mystra?” Phayelynn’s breath hitched. 

“The very same,” Gale confirmed, his gaze distant, as if he could see the goddess standing before him.

Phayelynn’s frown deepened, her mind racing with the implications. 

Gale continued, “She revealed herself to me and became my mentor and, in time, my heart’s muse. And yes,” his voice lowered, a congressional hush, “my lover.” 

Phayelynn’s eyes widened, memories flooding back of the night she had caught him staring at his conjured image of Mystra. His adoration for her and his passion for the Weave made much more sense now. 

A soft gasp escaped her, a sound of dawning comprehension.

He had loved her. Perhaps he still did.

Karlach didn’t pick up on his tone like Phayleynn had, but Phayelynn couldn’t blame her-yet she still winced as Karlach’s laughter left a jarring note hanging in the air as she spoke, “Sleeping with a literal goddess? Nine hells man, I may not understand a single thing that just happened with the whole ‘eating magic’ thing, but you are one lucky bastard!” 

Phayelynn sighed in relief as Karlach’s boldness seemed to bolster Gale. His stance relaxed, a spark of pride flickering in his eyes. “Oh yes. We enjoyed each other’s company—body, mind, and soul.”

Karlach’s whistle cut through the air, while Shadowheart’s nod conveyed a silent respect. Astarion and Lae’zel’s eye rolls spoke volumes of their skepticism and disinterest. Phayelynn and Wyll exchanged glances, a quiet understanding passing between them—they sensed the bittersweet tang of Gale’s tale.

His face contorted with nostalgia and regret as he continued, “But my ambitions outstripped even her generosity. For all our power, we mortals remain infants fumbling at the hem of the Weave. Mystra enforces her edicts, her boundaries laid out for us clearly. But I’ve gazed into the wonders beyond, yearned for its forbidden knowledge—I dared to cross her boundaries.”

Astarion’s voice was laced with admiration, a spark of excitement igniting in his gaze. “Your ambition is commendable.”

Phayelynn’s expression knitted with concern, her voice soft with uncertainty, “You defied her boundaries? But she’s Mystra—a goddess… why?”

Gale’s expression was haunted, “I tried to persuade her. I vowed that my ambition was only to service her grandeur. But she merely offered a smile, a gentle chiding to cherish the gifts bestowed. And though it seems unfathomable now, I lay beside a goddess, yet I was still restless. I sought to prove my worth to her. And now, we stand at the precipice of my greatest folly. Shall I unveil the tale in its entirety? Or shall we leap to the grim conclusion?”

As Phayelynn’s gaze drifted, catching the wary glances of goblins lurking ahead, she gnawed at her bottom lip. They were starting to draw attention to themselves. 

Before she could make a decision, Astarion, ever the provocateur, urged Gale to go on, waving his hand eagerly, “Color me intrigued, please, do continue,” he waggled an eyebrow. 

Gale hesitated, irked by Astarion’s morbid curiosity. He cast a glance at Phayelynn. She met his eye, seeing him search hers for guidance and awaiting her answer. She licked her lip, spurring him on with a silent nod. 

“Forgive my lack of a bard’s flair,” Gale said, his chuckle tinged with humility, before telling them the story of a lord who sought to unsurp Mystra and ascend to divinity.

Phayelynn’s heart twinged with guilt, her attention torn between Gale’s narrative and the unnerving sensation of unseen eyes upon her. As Gale went on, revealing the chaos wrought by the lord’s ambition and Mystra’s subsequent mending of the Weave, Phayelynn’s gaze darted about, seeking the source of her disquiet.

The goblins down the corridor seemed engrossed in their own conversation, oblivious to the group. Her companions, meanwhile, were captivated by Gale’s account, their eyes fixed upon him with rapt attention—even Astarion and Lae’zel were drawn in by his words.

“I endeavored to restore this lost shard to Mystra,” Gale concluded, his declaration pulling Phayelynn back from the edge of her anxiety.

Shadowheart’s quip sliced through the tension, her words light yet pointed. “What’s wrong with chocolates and flowers?”

The jest left Phayelynn with a twinge of regret for the moments of the story she had missed. Yet, the feeling of being watched persisted, a silent specter that refused to be ignored. Phayelynn’s instincts screamed that something—or someone—lurked, a hidden observer.

Gale’s lips quirked in a rueful smile, “My gestures can never be grand enough. I believed that returning such raw power, cloaked in romance, would convince Mystra to take me to her forbidden domains. I was mistaken. The book was mine and with it…” He trailed off, extending his hand to Phayelynn. “Allow me to show you,” 

Phayelynn hesitated, but the earnest plea in Gale’s eyes compelled her to accept. As their hands met, a shiver ran through her, the tadpole responding to Gale’s touch. Through his memories, Phayelynn saw it all: a tome, its bindings strained, then flung wide to reveal not pages but a maelstrom of the darkest Weave. It surged forth, a beast of shadow and hunger, melding with his being.

She tried to pull away, the vision overwhelming her senses, but it clung to her relentlessly.

“What is it?” Astarion leaned in, curiosity alight enough to cover his concern, “What do you see?” 

The vision was too much. It’s teeth, it’s claws- unstoppable. Finally, Gale released her, and the vision dissipated as abruptly as it had seized her. Phayelynn staggered back, clutching her chest, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“You’re a bomb!” she exclaimed, the words torn from her throat.

“What?” Shadowheart was quick to demand clarity, her voice sharp with urgency.

Gale’s reply came through gritted teeth,  “This Netherese curse, this orb within me, demands sustenance from the Weave to remain dormant. But should it starve…”

“You’ll explode.” Phayelynn finished for him. 

Gale nodded gravely. “I don’t know the exact magnitude of the eruption, but given my studies, the blast could raze a city the size of Waterdeep.” 

Phayelynn recoiled, her retreat mirroring the shock that rippled through the group. “I’m sorry,” she stammered, her apology a reflex.

“No, I’m the one who should apologize,” Gale countered, his voice a lamentation of regret. “This must feel like a betrayal.”

“We all have our secrets,” Phayelynn murmured, her gaze dropping to her feet.

“Yeah!” Karlach exclaimed, trying to ease the tension and lighten the mood, “We’ve only known each other for a short time. Don’t be so dramatic; this isn’t something you say while exchanging introductions.” 

Phayelynn’s spirits lifted slightly at Karlach’s presence, her nod to Gale firm. “Exactly.”

Lae’zel didn’t share their sentiments; her fury was evident, and her aggressive step forward. “You thrice-damned rotten bastard! You’ve been the greatest threat to our lives all this time!

Karlach attempted to temper Lae’zel’s wrath. “Isn’t that a bit much?”

Gale accepted the anger directed at him, “No, she’s right. Speak the word, and I shall part ways.” 

Phayelynn’s look was a silent challenge, daring him to consider leaving them, “No, she’s not right.” She shot a glare towards Lae’zel, “We stick together. We’ll just keep feeding you magic.” 

“Stick together? Keep feeding him magic?” Astarion’s retort was a hiss of dissent. “We should be distancing ourselves from this ticking Netheres Jack-in-the-Box!”

“Agreed,” Lae’zel’s voice was fierce. “Let us be rid of this menace.” 

“Together, we stand stronger. I agree with Phayelynn.” Wyll’s tone met Lae’zel’s just as fiercely. 

Karlach and Shadowheart both nodded in agreement. 

“Why should we turn him away when we’ve put up with the pair of you?” Shadowheart’s gaze was accusatory. “A vampire and a gith? At least Gale’s… condition…. has a solution.”

The argument was poised to escalate when Phayelynn once again felt they were being watched. Her attention snapped back to the goblins, and she was almost relieved to see their eyes now fixed on the group. 

She turned back to her companions, “Gale stays. And we can’t talk about it anymore. Not here. We’re gaining an audience.” She jerked her head back towards the guards. 

Astarion’s huff was a mix of frustration and resignation, while Lae’zel’s tongue click signaled she’d drop the matter.

 For now. 

Shadowheart’s gaze lingered on the goblins, a silent calculation behind her eyes before she turned to Gale with a resigned exhale. Delving back into the depths of the bag of holding, her fingers found the enchanted gloves, their magic still pulsing with untapped potential. She tossed them to Gale with a deft flick, who barely managed to snag them from the air.

“Just in case you need another snack,” she said, her nod carrying a mix of camaraderie and sarcasm. 

“Thank you,” he smiled gratefully, “Thank you all. Whether you stand with me or against me, I am humbled. I promise I will not let you down. Now, let us ventu-”

Their moment was abruptly cut short by the guard’s booming voice. “Oi! You lot! What’re you doing here? This ain’t no place to party! This is a sacred ground for the work of the Absolute!” 

Phayelynn’s tadpole flared, a silent beacon behind her eye, yet it elicited no response from the guard’s tadpole—her illithid power seemed to wane. Stepping forward, she mustered her courage, bolstered by Shadowheart’s whispered incantation of guidance.

“We have an audience with the one in charge,” she said, her voice steady despite the uncertainty flickering in her heart.

The guard eyed them with suspicion and indifference. “Right, well. You ain’t the first outsiders to come ‘round here. But you’ll need to be more specific, mate—The Absolute has many favorites.”

Phay’s mind raced, recalling Szaazza’s words. “We’re here to see Priestess Gut.”

The guard’s smirk was a crooked line in the dim light. “Are ‘ya now? She’s through the main doors—just follow the stench of charred goblin arse,” he chuckled, waving them through.

With a nod, Phayelynn moved them through the archway, the smell of charred flesh and fervent zeal smacking them in the face. Priestess Gut stood before her congregation, her platform an altar of devotion, branding her followers with the mark of the Absolute.

One by one, the goblins approached, their eagerness to be marked a stark contrast to the group’s revulsion. 

“Well, who wants to talk to her?” Phayelynn’s question hung in the air and met with silence. With a resigned sigh, she shouldered the burden of initiative. “Fine, I’ll do it since you’re all cowards,” she said under her breath, a twitch in her brow as she advanced towards the altar.

Gale and Shadowheart trailed behind her, a silent show of support, while the others held back, wary and watchful.

As they approached, Gut appraised Phayelynn with a predator’s interest. “Ah, touched by the Absolute, aren’t you? Priestess Gut needs to touch you, too—hold out your arm, and I’ll make you one of us.”

Phayelynn hesitated as her instinct to recoil, battling with the necessity of their mission. “Wait, what? No, thank you. I’m not here for that today,” she laughed, a nervous edge to her voice as she rubbed the back of her neck.

“It’s a sign of faith, a magical bond visible only to the faithful,” Gut insisted, her fanaticism undisguised. Her gaze narrowed. “Unless ‘ya ain’t faithful, hmm, True Soul?”

The pressure mounted, an invisible force nudging Phayelynn towards a decision she dreaded. “I-I——” she faltered, the weight of the fear of jeopardizing their chance at finding a cure heavy upon her.

Phayelynn’s brow furrowed, a silent rebuke to her hesitation. With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and extended her hand, reaching the altar. The cold dread settled in her spine, but her face remained resolute—a mask of determination to see this through. 

“Okay,” she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper as the chill of apprehension crawled up her back.

The hushed protests of Gale and Shadowheart buzzed in her ears like distant echoes, and Astarion’s forward step was a blur in her peripheral vision.

As she extended her hand upon the altar, Gut’s warning was a grim prelude to the pain to come. “Ready yourself,” Gut intoned, her grip firm on Phayelynn’s hand as she stripped away the bard’s glove. “This will sting.”

“What are you-” Shadowheart’s objection began to form, but a single look from Phayelynn quelled it. They had to maintain their guise as True Souls, devoted followers of the Absolute.

Gut pressed the branding iron to Phayelynn’s skin, and as the pain clouded her thoughts, their minds intertwined. Phayelynn realized Gut, too, carried a parasite.

 Phayelynn’s vision swam with images of Gut receiving instructions from a man—one of the chosen,  his features now evident in her mind. It was the same man who had signaled Vizdos in Baldur’s Gate. The vision faded, leaving Phayelynn in the temple, her hand searing with pain.

Gut’s faith surged into Phayelynn, a wave of ecstatic fervor. “I feel ‘ya probing,” Gut sneered, a twisted smile on her lips. “It works both ways. Saw some strange shadows in your head. Maybe I can help. True Souls must stick together.”

Gale, seeing Phayelynn’s distress, stepped forward. “Can we speak privately? This is a sensitive matter.”

Phayelynn could only nod, grateful for the intervention. Her head reeled. She didn’t know if she could take another forced vision today. 

“Let’s go to my chapel,” Gut proposed as her eagerness to isolate this particular True Soul was evident.

Shadowheart’s concern was barely concealed as she urged Karlach, Wyll, and Lae’zel to stay nearby and remain vigilant. She had a terrible feeling about this all. 

The group followed Gut, with Shadowheart leaning in to whisper to Phayelynn, “You shouldn’t have done that. Why did you do that?”

“I-I didn’t want to ruin another chance at a cure.” Phayelynn winced, her hand throbbing. 

Shadowheart frowned before she whispered a healing spell, offering what relief she could. 

As they walked, Phayelynn spoke in a hushed tone. “She has a parasite, like us. They’re all infected.”

 “Why do they believe they’re speaking to a god?”Gale pondered the implications as they met a stairway. 

Shadowheart glared at the back of Gut’s head, “Goblins aren’t known for their intellect.”

“What about those humans and the dwarf? On our way to hunt Wyll’s ‘devil’. Were we meant to end up like them, deluded into thinking they were talking to a god?”Astarion pondered.

Phayelynn looked him up and down as he kept a close pace behind her. He caught her gaze, his eyes darting down to her hand before going away in seconds, causing her to wonder if he was concerned. 

Reaching the chapel, Gut halted them and pointed at Shadowheart, Gale, and Astarion. Her following command stood clear, “No spectators. True Soul matters are private.”

Phayelynn cut off any potential protest from Shadowheart. “Right, of course.”

She saw the hesitant agreement on her companion’s faces, but Phayelynn couldn’t chance this not going their way. She had to make sure they found a cure this time, no matter the personal cost.