#loved the pause before Shadowheart's second line

[mistralsong]

S: So, Wyll with a 'y' - why? W: 'Y', that's right. S: ... But why? W: Why 'y'? A great-uncle's name, my father said. But I just figured he couldn't spell.

[mumms-the-word]

Choosing to Live

Pairing: Gale x Tav (you/reader POV) Summary: Shortly after Gale decides to defy his goddess and not self-destruct in the caverns below Moonrise Towers, you turn and see him struggling with the conflicting emotional fallout of his decision. CW: death, suicidal ideation, panic attacks, survivor's guilt (implied), coercion (implied) A/N: I was inspired by @gangstagandalf's emotional fanart of Gale and Tav just after Moonrise. It's not quite the same scene as their art but I just couldn't resist writing my own angst version. Check them out, their art is lovely! @gangstagandalf I hope you don't mind if I borrowed a few of your lines from your original post! (Pic is of my tav Dani because that’s all I got) UPDATE: Now on AO3 woooo

You watch as the husk of Ketheric Thorm collapses at your feet, a hollow shell of dessicated flesh and heavy armor. You’ve done it at last—you’ve defeated the Bone Lord’s Chosen, the first of three enemies who have enslaved an Elder Brain through the power of some sort of crown it bears. 

At the thought of the crown, you turn your head, seeking out the person who had first pointed out the crown to you. It was the thing that seemed to wake him from his reluctant obedience to his goddess’s command. There had been hunger in his eyes, more than you’d ever seen in him before, and for a brief moment you had thought yourself and him safe from the commands of the goddess of magic and mysteries.

But then he’d steeled himself. You’d watched as he physically and mentally struggled with the weight of the goddess’s demands, preparing himself for what he thought was inevitable.

Death. Destruction. Catastrophe. But one that would supposedly thwart mass enslavement at the whims of an elder brain and three evil Chosen. A noble sacrifice, but one that would kill dozens of innocent lives, too.

You don’t remember what all you said in those panicked seconds between him making his decision and you being dragged into a battle against Ketheric. You recall, vaguely, that you had clutched his robe in your hands and told him you loved him. There had been other words, too, but they were lost to your memory. Whatever it was, it had been enough. Because as of this moment, the elder brain has disappeared, Ketheric is dead, and you are not.

Your eyes find him, your love, your Gale, standing on a far platform where he had climbed to better aim and prepare his spells. He stands, leaning against his staff, panting, staring at the lifeless and inert body of Ketheric at your feet, and then his gaze shifts to you. You, covered in your blood and Ketheric’s black, fetid ichor, in bone dust and illithid matter. You probably look horrible, you think. You know you should bend down to examine Ketheric’s body and see what the glowing stone in his chest is all about, but you can’t look away from your love. Not now.

Not when you were so close to losing him to his goddess’s arbitrary and cold demand. 

But you didn’t. He’s alive. He’s alive. The thought pumps outward from your heart, warm and reassuring like the blood rushing through your own veins, reminding you that you too are alive. Your only thoughts now are of closing the distance between the two of you and peppering his face with kisses, telling him how proud you are of him, how brave he’s been, how much you love him. But as you take a step toward his platform, a shift in him gives you pause.

He slowly kneels down, still leaning heavily on his staff, and for a moment you think he’s praying, in the same way Shadowheart kneels to pray to her goddess. But no, his eyes are wide, staring, unfixed, not closed and reverent. After a moment, he sits fully on the ground, his staff falling with a clatter against the surface of the platform, and he buries his face in his hands.

You go to him immediately, using a last rare scrap of magic to misty step directly onto his platform. He’s shaking with fine, shuddering tremors as you approach, your steps cautious and soft but your heart aching and yearning to rush over. You reach out a hand, your own fingers trembling as they hover suspended above him, and you whisper his name uncertainly.

“Gale?”

You hear his voice but his words are muffled by his hands. You bend closer, making out fragments as his words tumble forth in a soft, whispered babble.

“Oh gods, oh gods,” he gasps. “I nearly—I almost—I could have—the orb. What have I done—”

“Gale,” you say again, finally kneeling in front of him and laying a hand on his shoulder. He jolts at the touch, stiff and startled by you, but you don’t let it deter you. You squeeze his shoulder in what you hope is a reassuring touch, even as the tears threaten to choke you as you watch and feel him tremble. “It’s all right. We’re safe. My love, you’re safe.”

He lowers his hands, one clenching the fabric of his robe over his chest, his breaths coming shallow and quick. His gaze on you is so different than before, all the warmth and steadiness and gentle, shy uncertainty that came with looking at you replaced with abject horror and unfocused panic. You get the sense he isn’t really seeing you, but staring through you to some theoretical what-if nightmare. One where you didn’t make it out alive. 

“I very nearly killed us all,” he mumbles, still clutching his chest. "I nearly killed you."

“But you didn’t—”

“I was so close to—to—th-the orb, I could feel it stirring, like it wanted me to—” He breaks off, his hand tightening in the fabric of his robe. The mark of the orb glows faintly, the barest hint of illuminated magic threading upward toward his eye, casting an orchid-purple sheen to his dark iris. He bends forward slightly, combing a hand roughly through his hair and clutching brown and gray strands tightly in his fist, his eyes wide. You half-expect him to be sick as he presses his other hand flat against his chest, breathing heavily. “And now I’ve defied my goddess. I—”

He turns suddenly, sharply, twisting to prop himself up on hands and knees away from you as his body rebels against him and he retches. Very little comes up—he hasn’t been eating well since you first stepped into Moonrise and he found himself faced with the very real possibility of sacrificing his life—but his body shudders and bucks violently as it attempts to dispel everything inside him. Not just the contents of his empty stomach but the fear and loathing and terror too. 

You don’t shy away from him. You shift closer, sitting on your knees at his side as his body settles into little shivers, his hands pressed flat into the surface of the platform. Your eyes are burning with tears now and you want to sob, your heart shattering for this man, your love, your heart’s song, but you have to be strong for him. You smooth his hair from his face, fingers brushing against his sweat-slick skin, and you cradle his feverish cheek in your palm. You say the only words you know to say and you repeat them as many times as you have to before they break through the haze of his clouded mind and resonate within him.

“Shh. You’re safe, my love. I’m here. I’m here with you. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, my love. You are safe.”

He leans into you and you gather him in your arms, rocking you both gently as he rests his head on your shoulder and wraps his arms around one of your arms. His shoulder is awkwardly pressed into your chest and he’s half-curled into your lap, weighing your knees uncomfortably down into ground, but you don’t mind. Discomfort and awkwardness don’t matter. What matters is that he is alive and so are you. You remind him of that in words, in your stream of murmured comforts, along with all the rest. 

It takes several long moments for his breathing to even out again, and another few for him to finally rest against you without an errant shiver wracking his body. But he calms at last. The tears on your face have since dried, but your heart aches no less than before. To think that your love would suffer so for making the right choice—the choice to live—but to suffer nonetheless out of a sense of guilt and fealty to a goddess that had thrown him aside like a broken toy.

It fills you with an uncommon rage. The gods are ever cruel, but the goddess of magic—you dare not even give her the honor of her name in your own thoughts—she is among the worst in your eyes. Even now, as your love struggles to compose himself, it isn’t a goddess’s arms or a goddess’s blessing that are there to comfort him.

The arms that are wrapped around him are your own. The comfort you have to offer is that of warm flesh and soft breath, mortal and precious. And it is better—better, you tell yourself with all the prideful conviction of a mortal soul—than anything an immortal, unfeeling goddess could offer.

He finally stirs, straightening up to look at you. Or look at your shoulder, rather, unable to meet your gaze. His expression is hollow, sorrowful, but calm. You know the road to him accepting and finding joy in his decision to defy his goddess is not yet over, and the path ahead may still be thorny.

But at least he has the chance to try and walk that path, rather than ending it all here.

"Forgive me," he says softly. He seems to want to say more, but the words don't come easily. You shake your head, not caring what he's trying to apologize for.

"There's nothing to forgive, my love. You made the right choice." You caress his cheek, wiping away the grime and the tear tracks that have collected there. “I love you, Gale.”

He finally meets your gaze and oh, your love, he looks so exhausted. But there is a flicker of his old self still there, a warmth that is familiar in his dark eyes. You press your forehead to his, still caressing his cheek, and close your eyes. 

He’s alive. That’s all that matters. You can figure out the rest as you go.

“I love you, too,” he whispers.

You have to get out of here, out of this cavern of flesh and stone and brine. You have to face the problems of the world at large, the threat of the elder brain and more. You know that. But you steal a few more moments for yourself, breathing softly with Gale, treasuring every breath as though they were more precious than diamonds.

———

You set out to leave the shadow-cursed lands at what you think is dawn the next day. Even with the curse waning, it’s hard to tell the time with the sun still obscured. But the hope is that as the land fades away behind you, you’ll be walking forward into sunlight and not more night.

You and Gale walk at the back of your little group, your companions moving on ahead. With each step, the shadow curse lightens. There are hints and signs of new life all around, tiny green leaves fluttering against once-dead branches, thin shoots of grass poking upward from the cold, dry ground. It restores your hope for good things to come. Not just for these lands, but for you. For your love.

He’s been quiet since the fight against Ketheric. Contemplative. Thoughtful. You had spent the night wrapped in each other's arms, counting his every heartbeat and breath until you were pulled into slumber, suspecting that he had done the same for you. When you woke you both pretended that sleep had cured you of the previous day’s torments and used the task of breaking up the camp to travel onward as your distraction from your concerns. But you watched him across the camp anyway, a knot of worry in your stomach.

Sometimes, both this morning and in the moments traveling now, you see that hunger in his eyes as you did when he first saw the crown atop the elder brain. But sometimes you just see a lingering sorrow. You haven’t been able to bring yourself to ask him about it. Not yet. It’s enough that he’s here with you, and you trust him to speak to you about what weighs on his heart in his own time. But you still worry.

Just up ahead, the shadow curse seems to fizzle out entirely, like a fog that dissipates as the sun burns it away. Beyond the threshold is sun-warmed landscape. Though scarred by the smoldering and abandoned remains of the Absolute army’s campfires and shelters, nothing has ever looked so inviting to you before. You rush ahead, eager to feel the sun on your skin again.

The difference in temperature alone is enough to reassure you that the shadow curse is behind you at last. One second you are enveloped in the chill and dimness of the shadows, and the next you are warm and bright in the light of the sun. You pause just a few steps into the sunlight, stretching out your arms and lifting your face toward the sky, drinking in the warmth. At last. You feel as though you can breathe freely again.

You turn to smile at Gale, but he is not at your side. He lingers in the shadows, watching you. The shadow curse is like a sheer black veil between you, obscuring his expression slightly, but as you step closer you realize his eyes are glimmering with unshed tears.

“Gale?”

He blinks, as if awakening from the depths of his thoughts, and quickly rubs his eyes. “Ah…my apologies. Lost in thought, I suppose.”

You hesitate to leave the warmth of the sun, but you sense this is more important than sunlight. You step onto the threshold of the curse, reaching out a hand to him. You want to pull him out of the shadows and into the light with you. He stares at your hand a moment before taking it, but he doesn’t move. Like he isn’t ready yet. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind, my love,” you say gently. “Tell me how I can help.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but for the first time, words seem to utterly fail him. He swallows, gazing at you with a stricken expression, and tightens his hold on your hand.

“It’s simply…I am…in awe,” he says at last. “Of you. And I am mortified with myself. No, more than mortified. I nearly…”

You sense the flow of his thoughts instantly, your minds connecting via the tadpole, his thoughts unconsciously opening up to you. At first he resists, his mind shutting down like a trap to spare you, but then the shields waver and fall away, and you are pulled into his memories. You feel the struggle within him as he stares at the elder brain. You feel the heat and pain of the orb inside, as if reminding him of his purpose. You see yourself through his gaze, the fear and love warring in your expression as you beg him not to go through with his sacrifice. You feel the moment he makes his decision, his resolve hardening like steel in flame, only to shatter, brittle and broken, the moment the brain disappears, the pieces transforming into needles of doubt that bury themselves in his psyche, his heart, his body.

As the familiar, terrifying sight of the colossal avatar of Myrkul rises into your vision once more, for one fleeting moment, you sense the desperate desire to end it all now, to end the storm of uncertainty in your mind, the pain of the orb, the fear of disobedience, the exhaustion of facing another battle with impossible odds. For one fleeting moment, you consider letting go and letting the orb obliterate you and everything around you.

And then the connection ends, and you are left standing at the threshold of the shadows with Gale’s hand in yours.

“I nearly killed us all with one rash thought,” he murmurs quietly. “The thought of my sacrifice never left my mind, even as I swore to you I wouldn’t go through with it.”

He takes a shuddering breath and a tear drips down his cheek. You catch it with your fingertips as you cradle his face with your free hand, your heart breaking for him all over again. His tears prompt your own and you struggle to hold them back, for his sake.

“And now,” he says, his voice altered, thick with tears. He swallows. “And now I see what I fool I was to doubt. To doubt you and your wisdom. To wish for death so quickly.” 

He meets your gaze and you see a thousand words he hasn’t said yet there in his brown eyes. A hundred apologies, a hundred ways to beg forgiveness, a hundred confessions of love, a hundred praises, all about and for you. It’s a torrent of love and longing and guilt in his eyes and your knees nearly buckle at the sight of it.

“I would have condemned the brightest of stars to death,” he says. “I would have robbed the world of its greatest treasure. And for what?”

“Oh, Gale,” you whisper. You abandon the sunlight to join him in the shadows and embrace him, holding him tightly as he struggles to regain his composure. “No more. You made the right decision. You’re here with me. I’m here with you. We’re alive, my love, because of you.”

“But I could have—“

“But you didn’t.” You pull back to cradle his face in both your hands and wait until he’s looking you full in the face. You want him to see your own resolve, but also your love, your faith in him, your pride for him. “You chose to live, my love. That is the most important thing. That is all that matters right now.”

He stares at you, letting your words sink in, until at last he smiles. Though it’s still tinged with sadness and guilt, it’s genuine. It soothes your spirit and settles some of your worries. 

“I don’t deserve you, you know.”

You shake your head. This isn’t about deserving, but you know that’s a battle you won’t win here. Instead you kiss him, your lips soft against his, and you let that suffice for words for a moment.

When you finally pull away, he seems a little restored. The love is back in his eyes and his smile isn’t weighed down as it was before.

“I love you,“ you say.

“And I love you,” he responds. “Immensely. More than I scarce dreamed I could love anyone.”

“We will find another way to deal with the brain and quiet the orb inside you. Some way that keeps us both alive and together. I swear it.“

“I believe you.” There isn't a trace of uncertainty in his voice when he says it. “I want that more than anything.”

“Want what?”

“To live. With you. To see the dawn of a new day with you, the dawns of a thousand more days. To know that the road ahead, whatever it holds, won't be spent alone, because I'll have you by my side.” He pauses, as if a thought is only just now coming to him. “I can...I can have that hope, now. Thanks to you.”

You smile. You take both of his hands in yours and step back, placing yourself once more on the threshold between shadows and sun. “Then will you join me in the sunlight?”

He looks at you, then at the sunlit road beyond, and then back at you. He nods, letting go of one of your hands but tightening his hold on the other. “Yes. I’d love to.”

Without another word, he keeps his hand in yours as you lead him forward step by step.

Away from the darkness and into the light.

[yoonkinii]

We Were Human

Pairing(s): Ascended!AstarionxReader

Part 2:

Synopsis: Astarion died as soon as he became something the world has never seen before. No one noticed the damage before it was too late and the Astarion everyone loved was lost to the new one. No one could notice when the turn was slow and silent. He slowly lost the playful glint in his eyes. Lost the love he gaze upon me with. Lost everything that made him the man I loved. Oh, how I would give anything to get him back. I would gladly give up my damned soul for him.

Aka you are transported back to the past in order to prevent ascended Astarion from losing himself the only problem? You don’t have a lot of time.

-

Masterlist

Warnings: Gore, blood, cruelty, cursing, death/murder, mentions of using oneself unwillingly, abuse. Its ascended astarion, prepare for the worse.

Note(s): For the sake of the plot- Astarion will not automatically be damned from the start. In this world, Astarion becomes lost to the ascension overtime until he becomes the ascended vampire we know him to be in the game. Another note that should be highlighted is that this story will be told from the first person perspective since it benefits the story more than any other perspective.

You will also notice various things being different from the game. For example, Karlach will be able to stay in the ‘human’ world and she fixed her heart. (I love my girl, I’m not sending her back), Szaars palace has a different layout cause the one in the game was stupid. There will be more that you will notice in the future so beware.

Thank You.

-

The water was warm against my skin, chasing away the chill that coated my flesh like second skin. After my whole breakdown with Astarion, he had to step out to assist Gale with Wyll. If I was remembering correctly, the city was being rebuilt by everyone still left alive and Wyll had taken on the position of Duke. Everyone in my little team ended up with a high ranking position, each controlling a certain decision when it came to rebuilding the city. Karlach was paired with Damon with rebuilding homes and stores. Shadowheart and Halsin took care of the injured. Lae’zel looked over people working so they don’t fall out of line. Jaheira and Minsc left the city looking for survivors that may have found misfortune. Gale was sort of Wylls advisor, using his vast amount of intellect when Wyll need it. And Astarion was the Lord of Szaars place, an already powerful figure just by title. Even more powerful when the very first ascended vampyre owned it.

Astarion left with Gale, muttering something alone the lines of ‘mortals can’t do anything’ but agreed to help regardless. It was a little strange to be back in the position of the hero of Baldurs Gate and not confined to one room. I can’t help but find myself waiting to wake up, to open my eyes and be greeted with the same dark ceiling. I wait and wait but I never wake up. None of it felt real and I was scared it wasn’t real; that I somehow died in my sleep and was just replaying my memories.

That was an absurd notion. He would never let me die. Not when my life was controlled by him in every aspect.

The door to the bathroom opened gently, a familiar face entering. She paused in front of the now closed door, eyes trained to the floor as she bowed slightly at the waist. Her green wide eyes glanced up at me nervously, orange hair pinned back with some clips.

“Lucinda.” I greeted her with a smile, singling her to come in with a nod.

Lucinda was one of the first servants we ever hired to serve in the palace. She lost her entire family in the final battle and was lost without a loved one or home. She was also the first spawn Astarion made- minus me.

Flashes of tangled limbs, Lucinda’s hair, and his dark gaze watching me flashed in my mind. I couldn’t help but grimace at the memory. I had walked into our shared room without a second thought only to be faced with him bedded with Lucinda. Even in the darkened room, I could see the love filled gaze Lucinda gaze into him while he watched me with a raised brow as if I was the one in the wrong. I sobbed my heart out that day- or my figurative heart out.

Lucinda tried to smile back at me but it looked strained- like her skin wasn’t used to moving like that. That was how she usually was. She was quiet but efficient and half the time she felt like a ghost, silently walking around the palace and doing what was expected of her without a single complaint.

Even as she got closer to me, I didn’t feel any hatred towards her. I knew she was one of his victims, knew that she fell for the false promises and loveless lyrics that danced on his tongue. I also fell for them.

Lucinda wordlessly assisted bathing me, gentle and nimble fingers making sure every part of my body was clean before offering me a towel to dry off. We were both silent even as she fit me into my gown for the evening. She tightened the bodice, pinned my hair up in a crown of braids, and dangled silver jewlery from my ears and neck. I stood before a mirror, eyes slightly widened as I looked back at my reflection. My reflection ws another privilege I had lost from him. It was so simple for him, taking things away from me without a second thought. He could give but he could also take. My throat tightened as I recalled how I was able to stand in the sun and now I could even see my reflection.

My eyes trailed over my gown and I had to admit that Lucinda picked something splendid for today. The maroon dress was made from rich, luxurious fabric that had a subtle sheen to it, adding a touch of opulence to the overall appearance. The bodice of the dress was tailored to perfection, creating a flattering and regal appearance for my body. Intricate silver thread adorned the neckline and cuffs, depicting carefully crafted whirls of life on the fabric.

The neckline of the dress was boat shaped, covering most of my chest but still exposing my collarbones. The sleeves were long and flowy, the cuffs of my sleeves almost creating maroon waves; swishing with every movement of my hands. The skirt of the dress was full and cascaded to the floor and even though it was long, I could still move freely. Just like the neckline and cuffs, the hem of the dress was adorned with the same intricate threading.

My lips were painted with color and my eyes lined with kohl to accentuate my features. Lucinda gingerly placed black heels before me- offering her hand to help me balance as I put on the heels. Once done, I looked at my reflection once, nodding with acceptance.

“Astarion is with Wyll still, correct?”

“Yes, My Lady.” Lucinda replied so softly that if there was any other sort of noise in the room, I would’ve missed her response. “Lord Astarion has not returned from the Dukes.”

“Thank you, Lucinda. I will be heading over there now.”

She nodded her head, bowing at the waist as I turned to leave the bathroom. Exiting the bathroom, I walked down the halls I had been locked away in. I noticed that some decorations were missing- we must have not gotten them yet. The palace was made up of two stories. Upon entering, a grand foyer awaits, featuring double sweeping staircases parallel from each other. The staircases were carpeted with a dark red runner leading to the second floor before continuing down the halls of the second floor. The walls were decorated with various tapestries purchased from various merchants. The double staircases create a sort of entryway to the reception room appointed with fine furniture and gilded fixtures.

After accessing the second floor via that staircase, it branches out left and right. The halls create a sort of square shape, if someone was to walk left and follow down the hall, they would end up at the opposite of the staircase they used to get up. The whole palace had dark wooden floors in every room and dark walls that constantly casted the palace in a permanent shadow, even with the windows open. The halls are lined with a series of private chambers and living quarters. The servants quarters take up most of the left side of the second floor, various rooms provided from them- even if Lucinda is the only current servant. Towards the second floor, in the middle of the two halls, lies Astarions study. An exquisite study with towering bookshelves and the same exquisite furniture that can be found around the house. The back wall of his study, across from the entrance to it, is made out of pure glass. Differing window panes were used to create a floor to ceiling window-wall that showcased the city below.

Our shared bedroom is down the hall from his office. If someone was to exit his study, take a left and walk down the hall until they turned the corner, the first door on the left would lead to our chambers. Upon entering, the canopied bed is pressed against the middle of the wall, black lace curtains offering privacy whenever needed. To the left of the bed, there were doors that lead to a private balcony that was large enough to adorn a small table and two chairs. I usually found Astarion reading there when he had enough free time. There wasn’t much in our room, other than the usual litter of Astarions book collection and a small work desk pressed against the corner of the wall next to the balcony doors. Astarion rarely ever used it, choosing to do his work in his studies. The walls were adorned with artwork but the most notable one was the portrait of not only Astarion and I but everyone in our small little team. All of us were wearing smiles on our faces, even Lae’zel who seemed to have a permanent frown etched onto her skin. That portrait hung above the work desk and there were a few times I had caught Astarion looking at it as he sat at that desk.

I finished climbing down the staircase, heels clicking against the wooden floor that was exposed from the lack of carpet covering it. I exited the palace and was greeted with the same scene I saw the first time I stepped out but less people were out. This wasn’t surprising since the sun was already starting to set. I followed the familiar path to where I knew Astarion would be, weaving and dodging people that were too busy to notice me passing by. A few did notice me, waving and calling out to me. I could only offer a small wave and smile back as I passed down various streets. The city looked almost unrecognizable with all the decimated buildings and death clinging to the air.

Finally reaching the building I was looking for, I opened the doors and was created with a long hallway with many doors lining the walls. It was somehow even busier inside than outside. People were walking to and from between rooms, carrying various things. Some were even running, expertly dodging those that weren’t in such a hurry. Voices merged, creating a muddle of echoes bouncing off the walls. I was only able to catch glimpses of conversation as I walked down the hall to the large wooden double doors at the end of the hall.

“No, no, we can’t use that material because…”

“What are we going to do about the limited space in the cemetery…”

“...funds are not being included when it should be you imbecile…”

Pushing the doors open, the hinges made no sound as I slipped through. Immediately, I was greeted with five males crowding around a large oval shaped table placed in the middle of the room. I only recognized three of them; Gale, Wyll, and Astarion. In my, I guess, other life, I had never stepped foot into this building when Astarion was called upon. I was too busy documenting expenses and checking who needed what in order to rebuild.

Wyll glanced up from where him and everyone else in the room was looking down at the parchment on the table. He smiled, tilting his head to the side- offering me to stand next to Astarion. Taking him up on his offer, I walked to where my husband stood, his back facing me. He didn’t bother looking behind himself to see who entered the room, he probably thought it was a servant coming in with new documents.

Gale spoke up from his position beside Wyll, his hand once again rubbing along his jaw in thought. His eyes flickered to me as I stood across from him next to Astarion. He nodded in regard before continuing with that was being discussed before I walked in,

“They have to be dealt with now before they are able to turn into something worse.”

A simple glance down at the table was all I needed to know what was going on. It was a map of Faerûn, several circles drawn indicating different camps strung out along where the shadow cursed lands were. Well, former shadow cursed lands were at since the land was cured because of Halsin and some of my help.

“What do you mean?” I ask, leaning slightly over the table to catch a batter look at the map. A hand trailed down the small of my back before resting on the right side of my waist. A soft kiss was pressed to my head as Astarion pressed his body against my left side of my own body- like being away from me was hard for him to do.

“Nothing too dreary. Just some Goblin camps that keep sprouting about the shadowed lands.” Astarion replied, sounding like there was nothing to worry about. I could hear the smile he wore on his face as he spoke. Rolling my eyes, a knowing smile took over my face as I crossed my arms, “Yes. Goblins congregating. Nothing serious.”

Wyll cleared his throat, “I know we have to deal with this situation soon but we don’t have any manpower to spare. Not with everything still in shambles. I am only suggesting to hold off until we have more able hands.”

“If we wait any longer, these damn things will already be in the city, wreaking havoc!” a deep and gruff voice cried out. I looked to the owner of the voice, his bright red hair contrasting against his olive toned skin. He was lithe and a little shorter than Astarion. His brown eyes almost feline like as he glared down at the table, his lips curled in a snarl. The manner and tone of his voice did not suit someone who appeared like him but then again, many things in this world didn’t suit it.

“Then what do you suggest, Doran?” Astarion replied, his voice laced with venom as he said Dorans name. Astarion eyed the younger male, raising a brow towards him mockingly.

Doran glowared, mumbling under his breath as he looked away from Astarion, fists clenching at his sides. A deep sigh resulted from the interaction, causing me to look at the final man in the room. He appeared older than the rest of us, graying beard lining his jaw, grayed hair sitting close to his skull, wrinkles from age sagging against his skin. He was shorter than all of us, his bear bell sticking out from under his clothes and thick arms massaged his temples in annoyance. I regarded him with a tilt to my head, wondering who he was and why he was here. I wondered the same thing about Doran but I knew they were meant to be here as well.

I cleared my throat, drawing everyone’s attention towards me. Licking my bottom lip, my gaze met Wylls, “They are right. These Goblins need to be handled immediately.”

Wyll opened his lips to retort but it died in his throat as I raised my hand to continue speaking, “I understand we don’t have the resources for this currently and that is why I am going to be handling this myself.” As I spoke, my mind flashed to what I knew from the future. I can only remember small glimpses of this situation and that’s because when it happened in my true life, I took no part in it.

The goblins were a problem, we didn’t have resources to deal with them and as a solution, Astarion went by himself to handle them. When he came back, he smiled less.

If I am here back in the past with a second chance, I was going to take advantage of it. If this is the first instance where Astarion took a step toward becoming him then I would do something I didn’t do in my time. I was going to go along with him.

“What?” Astarions voice rang out in the room, the hand on my waist tensing. “What do you mean?”

I looked up at him, brows pinching together in thought, “Well, it makes sense” I continued, “We don’t have enough people to spare to send out so why not spare me? I’m sure my skills are equivalent to at least ten soldiers.” I looked over at Wyll, brow raised in question. Wyll was in thought for a few moments, a breath being released from his pursed lips,

“Well-” He drawled, “It’s not a bad idea.”

I clasped my hands together in glee, before anyone could say anything else, “Then it’s settled!”

“Hold on. You must be a lunatic for thinking I am just going to let you go alone.” Astarion argued, his hand gone from my waist and now placed on his hip as he looked at me like I really was a lunatic.

I cooed, stepping closer to him so we were chest to chest, “And you are so cute for thinking I was going to go alone to begin with.” I pinched his cheek teasingly, nose wrinkly in delight, “You’re coming with me.” I said as I walked past him to the exit. A few seconds ticked by before he exploded in curses and whining about getting dirt under his nails.

-

“Darling, are you sure about this?”

Astarions voice questioned from across the room as he stood in front of a mirror hanging on the wall, fusing over his hair. The room was illuminated by several candles placed on wall mounted holders, the sun had gone an hour ago and casted the world in darkness.

I huffed out a small laugh, combing through my hair as I sat on the edge of the bed, “What do you mean? Of course I am sure. I thought you would jump for joy at the chance of leaving the city.”

Astarion eyes narrowed at me as he finally stepped away from the mirror and made his way towards me. “Me?” He placed his palm against his chest, “Be excited about leaving the city and all the comforts it has to offer. Oh, Yes, I am very excited.” His tone was filled with sarcasm as he sat beside me on the bed, my body bouncing slightly from his sudden weight being applied. He wordlessly grabbed the brush from my hand, gently running it through my locks and running his fingers through it every so often.

A slight pout formed on my lips, “What’s the big problem? You don’t want to spend quality time with me?”

He snorted, something only he would ever do with me, “Love, I would be chained to you if I was able. I just don’t find the whole ‘natures delight’ very appealing after being in it for so long.” I turned to face him, beaming at him with a smile,

“That’s what makes it fun! It will be just like old times, only this time you aren’t holding a knife to my throat.”

He gasped in mock shock, “How dare you bring that up? I needed help against an admirable foe and you told me to handle it myself. I was very hurt.” His chin lowered, accentuating the pout on his lips as he looked at me through his white lashes.

“It was a boar! Not an Illithid. You flat out lied to me.”

“Yes but that is beside the point. I needed help and you didn’t give it to me. I thought you were a kind soul.”

“I am a kind soul. I was just preoccupied with a whole worm in my skull.” I reasoned, refusing to look at him. I can’t lie, I may have come off a little rude when we first met. Sometimes even Shadowheart teases me for it since she just stood by and watched. My hair was pushed behind my shoulder, revealing the skin exposed from the new nightgown I had on. It was simply, just white satin that stopped mid thigh, the straps thin like most of my nightwear.

Soft lips pressed against my bare shoulder and my heart swelled. It was things like this that I missed most of all, the little things he would do to me. How he would reach over towards whenever I was near, the random kisses pressed softly against my skin like a butterflies touch, catching my gaze from across the room only to smile at me, to just be near me.

His lips were then pressed against my cheek before breaking away and going to his side of the bed. The sheets rustled under his movement as he peeled back the bedding and slipped under it. I moved to get under the sheets as well but froze as I turned. It somehow slipped my mind about his sleeping habits and how he used to sleep in only nightwear pants that hung low on his hips. His back was turned towards me as he reached over to place his shirt on a nightstand beside the table.

Silently getting other the covers and laying down, I couldn't help but reach over and have my fingertips graze over the abused flesh. He flinched like I hurt him and I flinched back in return.

“I’m sorry.” I blurted out, keeping my hands close to my chest.

He looked over his shoulder at me, ruby eyes dimly lit against the warm light. His features seemed warmer as well, he almost seemed to be kissed by the sun and not the pale vampire people are used to. I looked away from him, ashamed by my actions as I focused on watching the ceiling. My gaze snapped back to him as his fingers brushed against my cheekbone. He was now on his back, propped up by his forearms,

“It’s okay. You can touch it.”

That was all he said before he turned and exposed his back to me once more. I stared at his back wide eyed, not believing what was happening. Even in my true life, I had never dared to touch his scars. They told a story that I believe he would rather hide and ignore cause they serve as a reminder. Only a few people know about the scars and even then, they never bring it up so I didn’t either.

Shifting closer to him, I was meer inches away from his back as the tips of my fingers gently traced the part of a ritual carved onto his delicate skin. Mysterious word that I could not read regardless of knowing the purpose it served. A few minutes of silence passed as I traced his past with such a gentle touch. I was afraid that touching too hard would break him even when his tormentor was gone, he never really left. He lurked in the shadows of the halls, taunting Astarion. There were a handful of times I could remember Astarion breaking out into a cold sweat from seeing a figure in the corner of his eye, a scent that was too familiar, a phrase being said came from the mouth of a ghost. During those times, Astarion would lock himself away from the world and it was only once that I was able to enter the room and what I had found broke me into a million pieces.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the memory to fade away into the recesses of my mind. I sighed through my nose, pressing my forehead to his back as my hand draped around his waist. In an instant, his hand laid atop mine, squeezing it. Perhaps he was imagining a life without the freedom he has obtained, a life where he was never captured by the absolute, a life where he never pressed a knife to my throat, a life where none of this ever happened. Perhaps he imagined all that and squeezed my hand to remember that this was all real.

Perhaps I should’ve said something to him but I didn’t. Not as sleep dug its claws into my skin and pulled me under.

Word Count: 3966

[rinwellisathing]

Paint The Lines, Cut The Flesh: Part 13

As they entered the gauntlet, Sentry allowed Shadowheart to take the lead. As a paladin, he understood the importance of a pilgrimage like this and that she would want to prove herself fully to her goddess. He had to admit, her training was impressive. He watched as she easily crept through the darkness to solve the mechanism to open the doors. There was a heavy feeling of being watched, as though Shar herself were also keeping an eye on Shadowheart's progress. The path forward was dark and cold, the familiar smell of death filled the air as the party made their way into the main hall of the ruin. Ancient corpses littered the ground and the silence was all-encompassing. Sentry could have imagined the party were the only ones here, until he set eyes on a group of skeletal figures. Their construction was slap-dash and their gear was ancient. Some necromancer or another scavenging for scraps, he guessed. Still, the clattering creatures approached, holding up their hands as though to prevent the group from venturing forward. “Ugh...Myrkulites...of course there's loads of shoddy skeletons.” Sentry grumbled, narrowing his eyes at the creatures. “You trespass here...” The first skeleton accused in a noise that grated like metal on stone and earned an incredulous glare from Shadowheart, joining Sentry at his side. “No, it is YOU who trespass here in Lady Shar's domain.” She shot back, reaching for her mace. “Stupid worm infested cockheads!” The head skeleton hissed, drawing its own weapons. “Okay, nevermind, they're actually sort of charming.” Sentry chuckled, though quickly drawing his axe as he noticed several portals opening around them. ---

Jaina found she could do little but wander the tower and the balcony while she waited for her friends to come looking for her. She spent most of her time in the library. Ketheric had not left the roof top balcony since they had spoken up there, but he had given her run of the upper floors. Currently she sat on Isobel's old bed reading through some old letters and journals she had found in the library, smiling gently at the picture they painted of the girl who once called this room home. Isobel reminded Jaina of her mother, someone she could easily get along with as she read through story after story of the Selunite. Her eyes paused a moment as she glanced down at a page, reading a description of the day an emissary from The Moonmaiden had arrived in town. A daughter of Selune herself. The young woman's writing reminded her of so many romances she'd read alone in the dormitories at the school, both as a student and as a teacher. The way Isobel described the woman was like a knight in a storybook. 'Her silver armor shone in the light of the sun as she made her way through our town square and all seemed to come out to see the emissary our goddess had sent. Her skin was the porcelain shade of the moon itself and her hair was pale gold as starlight. She was of a powerful build and carried a sword made to cut down any evil that would eclipse her mother's light and in that moment as our eyes met, I knew I loved her.' The tiefling found herself laying across the bed on her stomach and reading intently over the next few pages, looking away only for a moment when a second body put pressure on the bed, the skeletal watchdog peering curiously at the book from beside her.

'Father does not believe Aylin's affections for me are true and he cautions me, but he is wrong. How could our love be false when we both feel it so intensely? Aylin, a daughter of Selune, has knelt before me as though I outshone her. She worships me in ways I cannot even worship my goddess. Such a love could be nothing other than true. Father will come to see that...' “Did you like Isobel's lover, Squire?” Jaina asked absently, patting at the dog's clean white bones. “What kind of a person was she?” The question was more towards herself than the dog, knowing that even when she had previously cast speak with animals, the dog was fairly resistant to small talk or indeed giving her much information at all. “Well, regardless of your opinion, she does sound quite dreamy...And anyway, dogs don't know about these things.” She decided before once more losing herself in the story of the priestess and the paladin. As she read on, a small part of her mind began to wander and imagine Wyll might come to her rescue. A smile slowly crept over her face and she closed her eyes, dreaming of him climbing through a window and tossing her a sword, the two of them fighting side by side and then back to back through The Absolute's forces, making their escape from the tower and pausing only for the kind of deep, intense kiss they only wrote about in story books. She sighed and nodded her head a moment, lost in the fantasy, until, blushing brightly, she shook her head and told herself she was being foolish. Wyll was an intelligent man and a sound strategist, he would never attempt something like that alone, but when she imagined Sentry, Lae'zel, Astarion, Octavia....mostly them, the others could at least operate with some subtlety...well, perhaps not Karlach, but she found Karlach's beautiful smile and strong arms were on her mind nearly as much as Wyll was, so her intrusion into the fantasy would hardly be an intrustion at all, but the other four that came to mind, they'd ruin any sense of romance with their style of combat...and then Sentry would, of course, say or do something unsettling... ----

“It's like I said, shoddy craftsmanship. Myrkulites are just no good at putting things together.” Sentry shook his head with a sigh as the party explored the crypt, the broken bodies of the skeletons scattered among the haunted armor of long dead justiciars who had attacked. “I could care less about some foul mouthed skeletons.” Shadowheart frowned. “I'm more curious as to why my Lady's own faithful would attack me. Is it some kind of test?” She seemed to fret as they approached a crumbling stairwell, stopping only as Halsin threw out an arm to hold Shadowheart and Sentry back, causing Astarion to crash into Sentry's armored back and hiss with complaint. “What in the sweet hells was that for?” He snapped, glaring at the druid. “Yeah, Halsin. I see the drop, I was gonna jump it...” Sentry explained, looking to the taller man for an explanation. Halsin nodded towards a dark figure at the bottom of the broken staircase, staring up at them with bright yellow-green eyes, its fur was so dark it seemed to absorb any light permeating the gloom around it. It regarded them only briefly and then turned to slink down the hall, barbed tentacles swaying from its back. “A displacer beast...” Sentry quirked a brow. “I mean...thanks for the heads up, Halsin, but I'm pretty sure we could've taken it.” The druid furrowed his brow. “And alerted what else in the process?” He chided, giving Sentry a chastising look. “I may dislike the Cambion as much as you do, but I listened well to his rambling and I haven't forgotten what he told us was down here.”

“Right...Orthorn...yeah...” Sentry nodded. “Well, we'd better go find it so we can get this over with and help Astarion. Besides, these 'trials of Shar' will be all the more difficult with him creeping around.” The tiefling hopped down to the lower level and followed in the direction the cat-like creature had gone. The others followed along and soon found themselves in a large open room decorated with bodies in various stages of preservation of decay, some flayed and turned into sculptures, some fully skeletal and made into trinkets, a bed of faces frozen in expressions of terror and pain gazed at the party from an alcove where the displacer beast now sat watching them with a smug sense of satisfaction. “You look lost, little rabbit.” A deep voice boomed from above. The party turned in unison to see standing on a balcony of shattered stone behind them was the hulking figure of the orthorn, his flesh red and bumpy with ridges and prongs, cunning yellow eyes glaring down at them as he trained his crossbow in their direction. “Ugh....rabbit, mouse....don't you devils ever get sick of imagining everything as a prey animal? What if I preferred to be a wolf? Or perhaps a snake? What then?” Sentry folded his arms across his chest. “A wolf would have been smarter than to stumble into my lair and a snake would have done so quietly.” The creature replied, not lowering the crossbow. The bridge of his nose wrinkled a moment and he sniffed the air. “Wait a moment...sulfur...and cherries...You're dealing with Raphael.” His lips twisted in a snarl of rage. “Not willingly, I promise.” Sentry scoffed, rolling his eyes. “But look, tell me something because I'm curious...maybe I'm weighing my options here? What's your history with that smarmy asshole?” “Raphael trapped me here ages ago with his damned contract.” The creature's nostrils flared, rage burning behind his eyes.

Sentry nodded his head, putting on a look of deep thought. “I see...And this contract, can I see it?” He noted the creature's incredulous expression. “Only, I'm a paladin and my friend here is a damned fine magistrate, perhaps we can pick up something you missed.” “Aha...one moment.” Astarion plastered on a large, false smile as he grabbed Sentry by the shoulder and pulled him in close. “What do you think you're doing!?” He hissed, “Just kill him already! Otherwise Raphael won't help me.” “I'm getting to it... I'm getting to it.” Sentry replied out of the corner of his mouth before turning with a huge grin up at the orthorn. “You can't 'see' it.” The orthorn frowned. “He gave it in the form of a song.” Astarion gave Sentry a withering look as if to say 'well now look what you've done' as the hulking devil paused a moment and began to sing, his tone flat and following no particular key to speak of. “Spill all the blood sworn to the night, Silence all prayers; smother each rite, Wander Shar's halls; hungry to slay, Leave no Justiciar alive to obey, Leave none to hear it, then be set free; This song is your oath, swear, swear it to me.” Sentry winced and gave an awkward half-clap. “Well, we won't be seeing you on any grand stages any time soon, but it gets the point across....” Shadowheart nudged Sentry and her eyes flicked towards the company of merregons flanking the party, they had stood silent and at attention the entire time. Sentry raised a brow and looked at her in confusion, just barely catching the sudden twitch of her ears. “Oh! Well, they've got ears, haven't they?” Sentry asked, gesturing to the small army. The devil looked at him, somewhat dumbfounded. “They are merregons, they are made only to follow orders, they don't have a thought between them.” “Thoughts, no, ears, yes.” Sentry insisted. “They've heard the song, and yet they're still here.” The orthorn seemed to ponder this a moment, but could not find fault in the tiefling's logic. He nodded to his soldiers and gave them a gesture and within moments, every single merregon had fallen upon their own blade. “It didn't work...” The creature growled, eyeing Sentry with a warning look. But by now, Sentry understood what Shadowheart had meant and he nodded towards the displacer beast. “Your companion has ears AND a mind to comprehend.” He continued.

“Kill Nessa? But...” The orthorn paused a moment, gazing mournfully at the sleek, shadowy creature. He sighed heavily and leveled his crossbow. “Hold still, my beauty...” As the beast collapsed to the ground, lifeless, he snarled with rage. “And still I remain!” The voice in the back of Sentry's mind solved this quandary, urging the paladin on. “But sir, you've heard the song as well...” The devil's eyes widened and a hollow laugh escaped his throat, his expression a mask of rage. “Of course...that bastard would....” He shook his head and glared down at Sentry. “If this doesn't work either, I will return from the hells and hunt you to the ends of the earth...” He snarled as he drew a dagger and handily disemboweled himself, his body slumping over lifeless as his innards spilled. “Well...that's one way of getting the job done...No need to find Raphael, I suppose...he usually does a good job of finding us first...” Astarion folded his arms, taking in the scene of carnage. “Told you I wouldn't let you down.” Sentry smiled confidently. “You certainly do have a honeyed tongue, Sentry.” Halsin remarked, gazing somewhat uncertainly at the havoc that tongue had wrought. “Shall we look around? He's bound to have had some kind of treasure, maybe a powerful weapon or two?” Sentry suggested. “I mean, waste not, want not and all?” “See, I knew there was a reason I liked you.” Astarion smirked. --- Back at camp, Kroger stole nervous glances towards the corner where Arabella had immediately latched onto the camp's mysterious benefactor. She bombarded Withers with question after question and showed no fear towards the undead being, seeming to regard him as an indulgent grandfather almost.

“I should tell her...I shouldn't keep it to myself, it's cruel to let her hope for so long...”The ghustil frowned to himself, inhaling deeply as he tried to work up the nerve to tell the child what he had seen in the house of healing. After all, there was no leniency or indulgence for githyanki children, they were forced to confront such things far younger and far more viscerally. But no, Kroger remembered those feelings, he remembered being expected to handle so much so young. His upbringing told him it was meant to make him strong, but his instinct as a healer told him he had needed, more than that, deserved tenderness. There was too little tenderness in his world when he was young and too little in this girl's world right now. “Brother?” Kroger was shaken from his thoughts by Octavia's interruption. “Sorry to startle you, it's just the others are returning, I thought you might want to see to any injuries, especially considering how you only just finished treating Mr. Ojeda not too long ago.” She continued before making her way to where Gale was cooking a meal to help him. Kroger nodded. Yes, the distraction he needed. He slowly rose to his feet and met the returning party at the fire. He noted Sentry had a large grin across his face and looked slightly dazed. Pressing a palm over his eyes and inhaling deeply, Kroger braced himself to hear what the group had gotten themselves into. “Well, we came through it mostly unscathed, actually.” Shadowheart assured him. Then her expression fell, nose wrinkled in disgust. “And then Sentry had to taste a dead spider we found and he's been weird ever since.” Kroger sighed and shook his head, approaching Sentry. He produced a small wand of light from his pouch and waved it at differing angles in front of Sentry's eyes, deactivating the spell and putting it away, taking out a small metal rod and looking up at the tiefling. “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue, Mr. Ojeda...”

Once Sentry had been examined and Kroger was satisfied the effects of the strange ingestion were temporary, Sentry joined Astarion at his tent and the familiar scent of sulfur and cherries filled the air. Yugir was right, that really was a disgusting scent, Sentry thought.

“Do you know what happens when a devil is struck down on this charming plane of existence?” The cambion mused, striking his usual self-important pose. “It returns to The Hells. To the very point where it last stood before venturing into whatever Devilforsaken plane it died on...” He gave a chuckle and a nasty little smirk. “In the case of our friend Yugir, the Orthorn you so handily dispatched in the Temple of Shar, he manifested in my House of Hope.” “Uh-huh...None of which has anything to do with us. The deal was kill him, we did that. Now tell Astarion what he wants to know.” Sentry demanded, arms folded across his chest. The tiefling was unimpressed with Raphael's posturing and pretty poetry. He still wasn't sure why, but he had less trust, less tolerance for this man than the rest of the party did. Something scratched and gnawed at the back of his mind that even before the incident with Mol, he had reason to dislike Raphael. “Yes, exactly! We did as you asked, now I want what I'm owed. We had a deal.” Astarion glared at Raphael, impatient and irritated that the cambion would, of course, drag this out as much as possible. Raphael's smirk widened. “Indeed we did. I discovered all there is to know about those scars of yours. Rather a grim tale, even for my own tastes...” “Sure, I'll bet.” Sentry snorted. “You're just trying to frighten him so you get something for nothing.” Astarion nodded. “I don't care how gruesome it is, I need to know.” Though he did for a split second seem a big apprehensive, did Sentry note fear in his eyes? “As you wish...” Raphael chuckled darkly. “ Brace yourself, Astarion! We are about to uncover your destiny.” The cambion gestured grandly. “Carved into that ivory skin of yours is one part of an infernal contract between the archdevil Mephistopheles and your former master, Cazador Szarr.” Sentry grimaced. He was afraid of that. The wording did seem official, though he had chalked that assumption up to his own lack of experience in legal matters and hadn't wanted to hazard a guess and risk being wrong, frightening the other man for no reason. He looked to Astarion, checking to see if he was still alright. The vampire was listening intently.

Raphael continued. “In full, the contract states that Cazador will be granted knowledge of an infernal ritual so vile it has never been performed....” Raphael's expression grew dark and serious as he intoned nearly reverently. “The Rite of Profane Ascension.” Sentry and Astarion looked at one another, Sentry's expression one of concern, saying without words that he was here, that Astarion was safe. Astarion for his part held a look of equal parts fear and fascination. “It promises to be a marvelous ceremony, very elaborate, incredibly ancient, and entirely diabolical.” Raphael smirked, his gaze remaining on his captive audience. “If he completes the rite, he will become a new kind of being-- The Vampire Ascendant!” “And what would that entail?” Sentry raised a brow. “All the strengths of his vampiric form will be amplified, and alongside them, he will enjoy the luxuries of the living.” Raphael replied smugly. “The arousals and appetites of man will return to him, and, unlike Astarion, he will have no need of a parasite to protect him from the sun.” “The catch? I mean, apart from it being Cazador and all...” Sentry asked, impatiently. The nasty gleam in Raphael's eyes grew brighter. “Ah yes, the ritual has a price, as do all things worth while...” He leaned in closer. “ Lord Cazador will need to sacrifice a number of souls, including all of his vampiric spawn if he is to ascend...” The cambion laughed aloud. “Imagine, then, how he felt when one of those spawn simply disappeared into thin air...” “Well, I guess it's not a problem then. He won't be ascending because I will never allow him to lay a hand on Astarion.” Sentry replied, instinctively taking a protective step in front of Astarion.

“Either way, our business has concluded and I have much to do elsewhere.” Raphael smirked, Sentry's protective nature was almost adorable. With a snap of his fingers he disappeared in a cloud of red smoke. Astarion frowned, looking at the ground pensively, his eyes fearful but with intense thought behind them. Sentry reached out to him, not touching, not without permission, but leaving his hand open just inches from his shoulder if he need him. “I meant what I said, that rancid old shit won't touch you ever again.” Sentry assured him. “You've got not just me, but all of us. We're stronger together.” The paladin smiled gently. “Cazador wouldn't let me slip away so easily when I was just another plaything, now I know he'll never stop hunting me....” Astarion replied. “He'll keep coming after me until the end of days...” He inhaled deeply. “The only way I can be safe is to kill him.” Sentry's expression brightened. “You know me, I'm really good at that! I'll be right by your side when the time comes.” Astarion smiled and finally allowed himself to lean into Sentry's touch. “Thank you.”

----- After a night's rest, the party had returned to their explorations of the temple ruins. Several uneventful encounters with skeletons and ghostly justiciars led to a strange room, which Sentry half-way recognized as a necromancer's lab of some sort. Ghouls skulked about tidying and replacing incredients, and a large man in a black robe stood at a table guarded by an even large creature of twisted flesh. “Hmm...Not many True Souls could make it this far...” The man gave a wicked smile in Sentry's direction. “You should be proud.” The man looked so familiar, Sentry was sure he had seen him before, even just in passing. Something about him struck a similar chord to Raphael, that instant visceral dislike. “I am Balthazar, advisor to General Thorm...and since you have made it this far, I can only assume you're here to assist me in aiding him...” The man continued, steepling his large, wormlike fingers.

As he spoke, Sentry's eyes drifted to what seemed to be a specimen shelf and his eyes fell on an odd little bottle. Inside there seemed to swim a brain in a viscous green liquid. The colors were enchanting, so charming together. Sentry's mind swam with ideas, the textures such a brain could make as a painting tool and the tint that greenish liquid could give to the right shade of paint. Or, another sculpture, perhaps one of those creatures he had encountered on the nautiloid. He was barely aware of what the necromancer was proposing. “Yeah, yes...we came to help...um...from Ketheric.” Sentry nodded. “If you want to go over the details further with my companions...” He began to inch towards the shelf, by some miracle, either the necromancer didn't notice or assumed Sentry wouldn't do anything. “Yes, I'll take the details. I'm far better at keeping them in mind, our friend is a bit absent minded.” Shadowheart easily picked up with a cover story, her Sharran training on full display as she pretended to be another agent of General Ketheric here to retrieve his artifact. As the necromancer explained the details to Shadowheart, who nodded along and occasionally asked what could have easily been a pertinent question, Sentry palmed the bottle and slid it into his pack before making his way back over. “Fascinating specimens, really just top notch...and that fleshwork you've got there, did I hear you tell my accomplice he was your brother? Amazing.” Sentry nodded with approval, looking up at the creature. “In part, yes—my unborn twin. Mother always resented me for it, said I strangled him in the womb if you believe such tripe.” The necromancer sneered. “Ah, yeah, I've heard similar, I had a sister once with seven twins...um...I feel like there's a word for that, but anyway, she killed them all too...of course, they had already been born at the time, I think she was twelve years old, as she told me...Still, similar stories.” Did he have a sister like that? Or was it just an old story that popped into his head? For some reason, the beautiful smiling elf from his fractured memories came to mind and he made a mental note that she was probably dangerous.

“At any rate, once I developed my powers, I fetched him from the graveyard, brought him back—gave him a new, better body...” The man sighed and shook his head. “Alas, mother was not pleased...” “That's too bad, you know, sometimes parents just don't understand real artistry. That certainly is phenomenal work on his new body...I hope she eventually understood.” Sentry gave a sympathetic nod. “And how's your mother now?” “Oh, we're still close.” The necromancer grinned wickedly. “She's in that jar on the shelf over there.” He blinked and paused as he noticed the jar was missing, his eyes widening. “This jar?” Sentry asked innocently, producing the one he'd stolen from his pack and holding it up. The necromancer sputtered a moment, reeling with angry. “ What the...!? Give me back my mother this instant!” “But she has so much potential...” Sentry frowed, drawing the jar back to himself, holding it up to his face and gazing through the green liquid at the necromancer.. Shadowheart was hiding a mirthful grin behind her hand and Astarion looked ready to burst out laughing. Halsin looked rather ill. The necromancer cried out and aimed a ray of green energy at Sentry, who quickly leapt out of the way. “Damn! And here I thought you were a fellow artist!”

----- Octavia frowned. Usually Gale would be starting to cook by now, but there was no fire prepared and the smell of food was uncharacteristically absent from the camp. She looked around for any sign of him, and finding none, she approached his tent, coming face to face with a shimmering simulacrum instead.

“Greetings! I am here on behalf of Gale of Waterdeep, he wishes you to join him at another location, I can take you there when you are ready.” The figured beamed. “Oh...um...yes, I'm ready.” Octavia nodded and took the figure's hand, finding herself in a clearing beneath a sky full of brilliant stars. Gale sat not far from where she had arrived and she walked over to join him, sitting beside him and smiling. “What a beautiful place!” She beamed. “You imagined all of it?” She breathed, gazing in awe at the stars. Somewhere far beyond them was her home. “Yes....having time to contemplate one's mortality will often make a person sentimental...” Gale nodded, leaning back. “I...I wanted to thank you for traveling with me, for all you've done...” “Of course! For a charming man like you? Anyone would have.” Octavia beamed, joining Gale in reclining a bit more. “Gods, this is such a perfect night...is it one you remember distinctly or just what you might imagine one to look like?” She continued. Gale gave her a small, sad smile. “I've spent much of my time absorbed in study and entwined in the weave itself, so I must confess this is put together from what I've read and from what I've seen on our journey.” Octavia nodded gently, her fingertips softly brushing his hand. “Then you are a powerful wizard indeed to conjure this from imagination.” “You could as well, Octavia. The power and potential you've shown while we've traveled together, the brilliant mind you possess....” He began and then sighed. “You make me wish I had more time...” He shook his head. Octavia gripped his hand, squeezing it tightly, she frowned a bit. “And you don't because Mystra decrees it?” She looked up at him with those wide, eloquent eyes.

Gods, she was giving him the reproachful look Tara gave him so often, usually when he was doing something foolish. “It's the only way to defeat The Absolute....” “Is it?” Octavia cocked her head to one side curiously, “Because did Mystra not also decree that her followers, and especially her chosen should preserve magic in all its forms?” Gale opened his mouth to respond, but Octavia held up a hand. “Why then are you being punished for trying to do just that, Gale Dekarios?” Gale thought a moment, lowering his head and exhaling deeply. “Let's...let's not talk about that just now...I actually brought you here because I wanted to confess something...” He took both of Octavia's hands in his, his deep brown eyes meeting her bright lizard-like blue eyes. “I love you, Octavia of Creche K'liir...and I wanted to spend just one night with you before...before the end.” Octavia blushed, smiling softly. “Oh Gale...There were signs, certainly, but I have made errors before, so I said nothing, but...” She pressed her forehead to his. Her skin was smooth and cool to the touch. “I love you too...and though it doesn't seem it now, there will not BE an end, not so soon...but you're right, for now let's simply enjoy one another's company.” The world around them faded and reformed, a beautiful, cozy study taking the place of the quiet glade. Octavia's face lit up as she gazed around in awe. A real wizard's tower! She had only seen them in books or a few lesser ones once or twice when a curious fellow mage would invite her to share knowledge and a meal. Gale's was beyond all of them, however, books lined every wall and more still were stacked on desks, comfortable chairs, ornate statues, and even out on the sun drenched balcony which overlooked a beautiful harbor. “I could stay in this place forever....” Octavia breathed, leaning against the balcony rail and gazing out at the sky. She smiled, pressing her body to his as Gale slid an arm around her waist and leaned in close.

“There's more I can show you, if you like....wonders of the weave itself that even few wizards experience....” He smiled gently. “Then show me. I'm eager to learn.” Octavia gave a coy, playful smile. “And don't be shy, I have loved before, even if never in the way you're suggesting...I like to try new things.” ---- “You know, my memory isn't all that great, but when I became a paladin I don't think I had to jump through nearly as many hoops.” Sentry groaned as the party picked their way over the fallen undead justiciars and made their way into the library's vault to retrieve the sacred weapon which was said to lie within. “Well, that's simply because Ilmater is not as discerning as my lady.” Shadowheart replied, placing the correct book on the pedestal and standing before the massive golden embossed door, waiting as it lowered and stepping in to claim her price. The magnificent spear glimmered before her along with a set of beautifully crafted armor and she breathed deeply as her trembling fingers brushed the shaft of the weapon. Sentry rolled his eyes. “Pretty rude for someone who still needs me to cover them in battle.” The tiefling murmured. He glanced at the weapon and whistled. “That IS a pretty fine weapon, though...the blade looks particularly nasty...” “If all the pomp and circumstance is through with can we PLEASE find this Nightsong and get out of here? I'm all for the whole gloomy crypt look, but even I'm getting tired of this place.” Astarion whined, folding his arms across his chest like a petulant child.

“Far be it for me to complain, but this place truly is far from welcoming.” Halsin added. “We're almost through, I can feel it. My destiny awaits.” Shadowheart took a deep breath as the party made their way back up to continue on. After making use of the strange glowing baubles they'd found in each tedious trial, they crossed the black expanse on another floating platform. Sentry marveled at the statues they passed. Not his preferred medium at all, but he recognized the craftsmanship that went into depicting the goddess of night and every painstaking detail of her elaborate garb and beautiful yet cruel face. They made their way through a final door and into what appeared to be an ancient baptismal bath. The silence was oppressive, but still Shadowheart went to her knees in the water and began to pray. Astarion rolled his eyes impatiently, but Sentry and Halsin both gave him a look which plainly said 'this is important, do not interrupt her.' Sentry understood all too well communion with one's god, and though he wasn't sure he'd ever heard Ilmater's voice, he was well aware the anger he'd feel if he was disrupted while speaking to Commander Ojeda's spirit. Finally, Shadowheart rose to her feet and inclined her head. “Thank you for your patience. We'll press onward now...” And the party ventured forward into the water, slowly sinking, the darkness enveloping them until they emerged on the other side into what felt like a tempest. Shadowheart led the way over the craggy terrain and across the daunting gaps in space. Spirits of past justiciar hopefuls whispered their wisdom on all sides and the storm grew louder. Finally, the party alighted on the final platform, where a pale woman in rags, her body struck through with gold scars, struggled against phantasmal bindings.

“Another would-be Justiciar come to seek the praise of your wicked goddess, come to drive a dagger through my heart...” She woman spat, pacing the floor and glaring at Shadowheart as she regarded her distrustfully. “Not a dagger, a spear.” Shadowheart replied forcefully, hefting the beautiful weapon she had acquired. “My Lady Shar's spear!” Shadowheart turned to Sentry and looked intensely up into his eyes. “Her fate is mine to seal, let me handle this!” The woman shook her head and frowned. “The fate you seal is your own, to be a Dark Justiciar is to turn your heart from everything but loss. You will know no love, no joy, only servitude.” Sentry felt a gnawing in the pit of his stomach at those words. The love he couldn't remember, the sharp jolts of pain throughout his entire body while he saw only red agony, the compulsions that tormented him, the nagging voice in his mind urging him towards evil. He felt a chill through his body, but he took a deep breath. This was Shadowheart's choice, whether he liked it or not. “Until your mistress inevitably discards you...” The woman continued, her expression softening, her eyes held a look of truth to them, she did not seem to care about saving her own skin, only warning Shadowheart away from this awful fate. “And there is much she does not tell you-- a terrible blood price which may extend beyond my own death...” Sentry looked to Shadowheart uncertainly. There was hesitation, she didn't seem certain anymore. Behind that look of determination, there was doubt. If she did this, Sentry worried for her, what her future would be. He had felt this worry before, he realized, though the memory of who it was for was shrouded. He reached out to her. The woman was eyeing Sentry curiously, clearly it was obvious to her that he was not a Sharran, but she seemed to hold no expectation that he would intervene, only that his presence here meant something was very different than the trials of justiciars past.

Sentry inhaled deeply and placed a hand on Shadowheart's shoulder. “I trust your judgment, Shadowheart, I know you'll do what's right.” The half-elf paused a moment, gripping the spear tightly in trembling hands and squeezing her eyes shut tightly. She bit her lip as though fighting back a thought clawing at her mind and for one awful moment, Sentry's own mind raced with excitement, eager to see celestial blood spilled, but he forced it down, no, he didn't want this. But it was Shadowheart's choice....And as he waited with bated breath, he saw his trust was well founded. “...for I know you, a lost child frightened by wolves in the dark...” Shadowheart gasped. “What did you say?” “Much has been promised to you, but what do you know of your own heart, of your own life?” The woman asked. She gazed at Shadowheart, pale grey eyes locking with bright green. “I sense more in you than you know...” The spear flew over the edge of the platform as Shadowheart hurled it into the abyss below them, breathing heavily, eyes wide as it dawned on her that she had betrayed Shar. She had failed her goddess. Sentry offered her am arm for support. “I can't belief I just did that...defied Lady Shar....she will disown me...” Shadowheart murmured, still trembling. “What will happen to me?” “Not what will happen, what will you do...” The Nightsong corrected her gently. “Your past is not yet lost and your future is not yet fixed.” She explained. She knelt before Shadowheart, even going as far as to bow her head in trust to the girl who might have killed her. “Lay a hand on me in friendship, not-quite-Sharran, and I will fight that battle that has awaited me this last century. And then, oh then, we shall have much to discuss.”

Sentry took a step back, allowing the two their space, and he kept watch beside Astarion and Halsin as Shadowheart hesitantly approached, laying her hand on the woman's shoulder. The air around them grew cleary, the darkness abating even if only a little. It felt as though strains of reverent song rang out through The Shadowfell as the woman's fist connected brutally with the ground in rhythmic succession and her rags were transformed in glimmering armor the color of pure moonlight and inlaid with blue gems and glass. A beautiful sword appeared in her hands and pristine golden wings extended from her shoulders. Shadowheart gazed in disbelief at the figure before her and Sentry was unable to hide his awe as a fellow paladin. She was a creature of legend, a true being of light. And with one final glance down at her rescuers, she inclined her head gracefully and flew off at great speed from her prison. A shimmering portal appeared in her stead and the party made their way towards it. “You know, I'm kind of surprised Shar is this quiet about being defied, I'd always heard what a jealous goddess she was.” Sentry mused as his eyes darted around the relatively unchanged domain. “Still, I guess better safe than sorry, we should probably leave.” “A fair point...I shudder to think what's in store for me..” Shadowheart whispered, gazing fearfully behind her as the party left the Shadowfell.

[mumms-the-word]

A Macabre Masquerade - Ch. 6

Ch. 6 - For My Next Trick...

Characters: Tavs (multiple), Gale, Astarion, Karlach, Wyll, Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Halsin, Minthara + other OCs Plot: One year after defeating the Netherbrain and saving the city, Dani and Gale receive a mysterious invitation to a masquerade ball. The invitation specifically invites them to participate as the Heroes of Baldur's Gate. However, when they get there, they soon realize they aren't the only Heroes of Baldur's Gate that got invited. A/N: This chapter gave me FITS and I think it could be better but we're gonna keep this ball rolling right on along anyway. We've got more weird mirrors, and now we've got a suspicious magic show. What could possibly go wrong?

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Something was off about the mirrors in this manor, but Dani was almost too scared to find out what.

“Gale,” she said suddenly. “What do you see in the mirror?”

He stared at her a moment before turning to face the mirror. He must have sensed this was serious for her, because instead of a silly quip or a cute flirtatious line, he glanced between their reflections and said, “I see the two of us.”

“What do we look like?”

A pause. “Well...we’re both wearing blue, and you have a feather wrap and I have a purple sash. I’m in an owl mask and you’re wearing a songbird mask. The whole of the painting gallery is reflected behind us.”

“You don’t see…there isn’t an elven woman or…” She trailed off, realizing how mad she must sound. None of the guests currently in the room looked remotely like the green-clad, blonde half-elf she had seen just seconds ago.

Gale looked at her—not her reflection, but her, at his side—with an obvious look of concern. “Are you sure you’re all right, my love? Are you feeling any ill effects at all, magical or otherwise? From the mask, the room…anything?”

She wanted to brush him off and say she was fine, but it was too late to hide how rattled she was. Besides, aside from maybe Karlach, Gale had always had the best listening ear among her companions and was usually the first with well-meant, often practical advice. She could tell him anything. Even something as crazy as this.

She glanced back at the mirror and then took his arm, leading him away from it to a corner where she couldn’t see her reflection in either glass that stood in that room. “It’s these mirrors. I keep seeing people in them that aren’t in the room itself.”

Gale frowned, and she knew that behind his mask his eyebrows were surely knit together as he put his mind to work. “You mean…phantoms? Illusions? Some kind of major image spell?”

It was something of a relief to hear him taking her seriously right out of the gate. She took his hand, mostly just to hold it while she spoke, but shook her head. “I don’t know. Just now, when I went to look in that big mirror, I saw someone other than me. It should have been my own reflection, but it was someone else entirely. Someone I’ve never seen before. But it only lasted a few seconds before the reflection went back to normal again.”

“Most strange,” he murmured.

“And in the trophy room, I swore I could hear and see Halsin.”

“Halsin? But he told us he wouldn’t be attending.”

“Exactly. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Hmm…” Gale brought his free hand up, resting his chin on his knuckles, deep in thought. Then he shook his head slightly. “It could be anything. Illusion magic cast on the mirrors, for one. Perhaps it’s part of some strange game our host is trying to play. A gimmick to trick and beguile the guests. Or perhaps, on a more sinister note…perhaps there are guests trapped in the mirrors themselves?”

“Is that possible?”

“My love, with magic, a great many things are possible,” he said wryly. 

She supposed she couldn’t argue. Between the two of them, he had always and ever been the student of the Weave and its boundless possibilities. Even while married to her and following her around Baldur’s Gate, trying to rebuild and restore buildings and businesses, or poke and prod the authorities at large to do good instead of ill, he always returned home to study some arcane thing or another. Whereas she was content to play her music, or write letters, or songs, or pages for some book she wanted to publish one day, following one silly venture that kept her entertained after another, he remained a scholar.

It was just another thing she loved about him, even if she felt she herself would never understand half of what he grasped in an instant. It was always worth it to see the way his eyes lit up when he felt he had made some kind of breakthrough in understanding another small facet of complex magical theory.

But they didn’t have his books or notes here at Dormire’s manor.

“What do we do about it?” she asked, thinking back to the mirrors. “Nothing?”

Before he could answer, another brilliant flash of light and a great bang! exploded from the doorway of the next room, causing Dani to jump despite herself. 

“What the hells—”

“Oh, that must be the finale,” Gale said, unfazed. She shot him a disbelieving look and he shrugged. “It seems Lord Dormire has hired a few…shall we say…meager magical minstrels for the evening.”

“A magic show?” She couldn’t help but laugh, despite her lingering concerns about the mirrors. “You can’t be serious. Is it any good?”

“Oh I’ve no doubt you can do much, much better, darling,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and giving her an affectionate squeeze. “With your musical talent, a few handy spells you’ve picked up from me, and your fine taste in entertainment in general? You merely need to wave your hand and they would pale in comparison to you.” He gestured toward the open doorway. “Shall we? We can watch the show while we ponder these strange mirrors.”

She’d rather forget the mirrors entirely if she were being honest, but she nodded. “Sounds good to me. After you, love.”

The next room was as large as the dining room, but devoid of furniture save for a newly constructed platform along one wall—a wall that was nearly covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors spanning the width of the stage. Of all the rooms on the first floor, this was the most popular, the crowd of guests here standing nearly shoulder to shoulder in front of the makeshift stage. With both them and the stage filling the room, there was barely enough space to maneuver around the edges, much less try to make it to the doorway that led back into the foyer.

From her vantage point in the doorway between the gallery and this room, Dani craned her neck to try and look over the crowd. After a moment, she spotted Shadowheart’s pure white hair and silvery mask on the other side of the crowd. Somehow she had secured a glass of wine and was sipping from it as she watched the performers on stage. Beside her, Lae’zel stood with her arms crossed, her lips in a frown, her eyes glued on the performers with her usual intense stare. Neither looked on edge and a glance at the mirrors behind the performers showed no signs of strange figures or differences at the moment, so...perhaps everything was relatively normal in this room.

Or maybe she was the only one crazy enough to see anything in the mirrors.

She and Gale took up a position along the back wall, furthest from the stage, to watch the show. Like every other guest and servant here, the two performers were also in masks, wearing full white faces with painted smiles and arching eyebrows. Their clothing was more akin to bard attire than wizard robes, though Dani noted that she didn’t see any musical instruments or boxes of theatre props. She didn’t catch what they were saying to their rapt audience as she and Gale were walking in, but they settled in just in time to see the next trick.

The two performers lifted their hands, summoning a colorful light show of glimmering orbs that danced and wove through the air. When one of them snapped their fingers, the orbs cracked open to release several vibrant, ephemeral finches that swooped and flew over the audience, their little cries and birdsong cheerful and bright. The finches split into two groups, trailing after each other in fluid lines, eventually overlapping and combining to form two larger, even more exotic cranes.

The cranes flew low over the audience, causing a couple of guests to duck and shriek with delight. As the cranes reached the stage once more, they combined into a glowing, fiery phoenix that blasted a ray of fire over the heads of the audience.

Illusory fire, Dani noticed. She felt none of the heat that would have come with an actual fire.

She thought she saw Lae’zel faintly roll her eyes.

Though their tricks were all flash and no substance, they were at least marginally more entertaining than the trio that often set up shop just outside of Sorcerous Sundries—Salamander and the two Astoundos or whoever. Dani had cast silence over them more than once just to give the plaza a minute of calm and quiet because they were so godsdamned loud with their magic tricks. They always threatened to call the Flaming Fist on her when they stepped out of the silence bubble, but every Flaming Fist stationed in the plaza was more than happy to ignore the trio’s outrage. Rolan, the great wizard of Ramazith Tower and new owner of Sorcerous Sundries, was also content to turn a blind eye whenever it happened. 

The perks of being one of Rolan's best friends, of course.

As the phoenix balled itself up into one large orb that exploded into glittering fireworks, Dani giggled and leaned closer to Gale to quietly say, “It reminds me of Rolan’s magic show back at that party we held in camp. After saving the Emerald Grove? He was doing those silly prestidigitation light tricks for Cal and Lia, remember?”

“Mm, my memory of that night is a little hazy on details such as those,” Gale admitted, turning to give her a gentle smile. “I spent most of the evening watching you and wishing I had a touch more courage to tell you how much I admired you.”

She could feel her face warming under his unexpectedly sincere words, but she smiled and lightly tapped the beak of his mask. “You did. I distinctly remember you comparing me to Tara.”

“It was a compliment—high praise, in fact!” 

She just laughed, looping her arm with his again. He shook his head at her, torn between amusement and sincerity.

“Trust me,” he said. “There was so much more I wanted to say back then. So much more I wanted to do. But with all that was going on…and the orb so unstable at the time…” He trailed off. But he didn’t need to finish. She understood.

“It all worked out in the end,” she said, brushing the backs of her fingers along his bearded jaw. She tilted her head to accommodate their masks and kissed him sweetly as the fireworks over the audience showered down glittering sparks. She felt him smile against her lips as he followed one kiss with another, and then another. 

There was love in every movement of his lips and she tried to convey as much love back. To let him know that no matter what he might think, there was nothing to regret about the choices they made, the choices that led to them being there, in that moment, sharing a kiss beneath a shower of sparkling fireworks.

But of course it couldn’t last.

“Goodness me, a year together hasn’t damped the fires of passion, I see. I’m almost nauseous.”

Dani pulled away from Gale to roll her eyes affectionally at Astarion, who had conveniently reappeared, smirking, at her side. “If you want me to kiss you, you can just ask, Astarion.”

She knew he wouldn’t, or that if he did it would just turn into banter that would make Gale’s ears blush. It was one of her favorite ways to tease her husband, by poking at his secret jealous side.

Sure enough, Gale coughed slightly, trying to turn it into a clearing of his throat. “Dani—“

“Or did you want a kiss from my husband? All you have to do is ask him. He’s right there.”

“Dani. Gods above…”

Astarion chuckled and adjusted his gloves. “As tempting as both offers sound, I will have to decline. Only the most deserving get a kiss from these lips, you know.”

While Dani feigned an offended scoff, he flicked his crimson gaze over the crowd before leaning in and lowering his voice. “I don’t suppose you’ve discovered anything interesting?”

She sobered quickly. “Just some creepy mirrors. You?”

“Not a single hidden room or juicy secret on this first floor, and I find that highly suspicious. These people wouldn’t know scandalous gossip if it was twirling its frilly underclothes beneath their noses. Everything they talk about is so...mundane.” He paused. “What’s wrong with the mirrors? I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary.”

Dani briefly explained some of the figures she had seen, but when the three of them looked at the mirrors in this room, none of them saw anything strange. She could just barely see her and Gale’s masked faces behind the crowd, and Astarion, of course, didn’t reflect at all. 

With her attention directed back toward the stage and the mirrors behind it, she couldn’t help but focus briefly on the performers as they cleared the air of magical light shows and accepted the crowd’s smattering applause with gracious bows. She glanced between them and their reflections to try and catch any differences, but there were none. She pursed her lips and focused on the performers instead, tuning in a little late to the words they were saying.

“—our final act,” said one of the performers, “a daring, dangerous, diabolical little trick for only the bravest of souls. Who will volunteer? Who will risk it all to become the star of the masquerade? We assure you, a great reward is in store for the brave soul who steals the show with this last trick!”

The star? A great reward? Dani couldn’t deny she was more than a little tempted, despite knowing she shouldn’t trust anything that was happening in this upside-down masquerade ball. She turned to Astarion instead, giving him her best eyebrows-raised, expectant, you will won’t you darling? expression that her mask could let her have, hoping he would get the hint. He blinked back at her, nonplussed, before understanding lit up his eyes.

“No. No. No.” He held up a finger. “I won’t fall for that again. I refuse to repeat the Dribbles debacle.”

She sputtered a half-indignant laugh. “I volunteered for Dribbles. Under threat of death. From you,” she lightly poked a finger in Astarion’s chest, “not Dribbles.”

“And you got a thigh full of Buddy’s sharp teeth for all your, ah, heroic efforts, as I recall,” Gale murmured, looking amused.

“Exactly, and I still have the scars to prove it. So it’s Astarion’s turn.” She batted her eyelashes playfully at him. “Please?”

Astarion groaned. “Must I? Didn’t you say it was Shadowheart and Lae’zel’s job to investigate this room? Why not convince one of them to risk their necks?”

“As if either one of them can be bullied into taking part in a corny magic show.”

Astarion pointed to himself with both hands, looking incredulous. “And I can?”

“Come on, how bad can it be?” Dani asked, grinning and gesturing toward the stage.

As if on cue, the main performer beckoned to the audience. “Come, come, there must be someone brave enough to try? All we ask is for one courageous volunteer to dedicate one minute of their time. One single moment.”

“There, a minute,” Astarion said, flinging out his hand toward the stage and only barely missing an audience member. “Seems right up your alley, Dani, entertainer that you are.”

“Ooh, scared you won’t last a minute, Astarion?” Dani teased, grinning and elbowing him in the side. “Worried you won’t be able to perform?”

Gale stifled a laugh behind another cough while Astarion gave an exaggerated gasp and pressed his splayed fingers to his black-and-red-clad chest, saying, “Excuse you, darling, but these days I only perform for those I deem worthy of my time and attention. I wouldn’t give those two the time of day, much less anything more.”

“I know, I know,” Dani said, giggling. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

Astarion clicked his tongue in faux disappointment as he turned to face the performers again, only for his expression to shift. “Oh gods,” he murmured. He suddenly looked a little ill. 

Dani followed his gaze back to the stage, her smile faltering. Sometime during their banter, the performers had removed the cloth over the object on stage to reveal a tall, skinny wardrobe, exactly the height and width to fit an average person. When the performer opened the wardrobe door, the darkened interior beckoned like an empty coffin.

Dani bit her lip. All desire to tease and cajole Astarion into volunteering vanished in an instant, faced with the cramped interior of the wardrobe on stage. Even she wasn’t blunt or cruel enough to suggest he be the one to step inside such a small space, given all he had been through in the last 200 years. She wasn’t even willing to step in there herself, and she couldn't profess to have been locked in a coffin-sized space before.

He could.

“On second thought, someone else should volunteer,” she said. She lightly took his arm, loose enough that he could pull away if he wanted to, but trying to silently comfort and apologize at the same time. But he barely seemed to notice, his gaze warily fixed on the performers and their conjured wardrobe.

After a second or two, someone raised a gloved hand over the heads of the audience and the crowd of onlookers broke into a brief applause. The main performer bowed low and beckoned the volunteer on stage. 

“At last! You, my friend, are surely the bravest man in the room. Come up and prepare yourself.” 

Whoever he was, the volunteer was a man of average height and build, his features hidden entirely by a full-faced mask that was mostly square, save for the sharp point of the chin. Once on stage, he bent his head to listen to the second performer whispering instructions to him while the first addressed the audience.

“Watch and be amazed, honored guests, as this courageous man steps inside the wardrobe to await his fate” the performer said. “Ah, but which fate? A miraculous escape or a wretched demise?”

As the crowd cheered and hissed their approval or disapproval of either option, the atmosphere of the room seemed to shift. No longer did Dani feel like she was in a room of bland, boring attendees. She was a little alarmed when many of them seemed in favor of the man’s wretched demise. Who were these people?

“This is but a simple piece of furniture, my friends,” the performer continued, knocking on the side of the wardrobe, their knuckles rapping sharply against the wood. “It’s made of sturdy mahogany, with no tricks, no magical reinforcements, no false backs, no hidden panels, no secret teleportation runes, and more importantly, no way out once we’ve locked it up tight with a little arcane lock. Just watch the mirrors if you think we’re trying to fool you! If our brave man emerges unscathed, a great prize from Lord Dormire is his for the taking. The question is…will he survive long enough to claim the reward?”

The crowd murmured and shifted with interest, but Dani’s stomach was in knots. She tightened her hold on Astarion’s arm and reached for Gale’s hand, weaving her fingers with his and holding on tightly. 

If this were any other magic show, any basic street performance, any other party, she could convince herself that this trick wouldn’t go horribly wrong. She’d seen more than her fair share of street magic and illusion shows. But Dormire’s servants had already magically fastened masks to their faces and locked them inside the manor to await his appearance. There were strange things going on with mirrors, and probably other mysterious things she hadn’t even noticed yet. All of it screamed danger to her, and she wasn’t sure whether to prepare for a horrible accident or to ready an offensive attack.

Gale’s hand tightened on hers and Astarion shifted his stance, not pulling away from her touch but placing himself at the ready. Both men on either side were tense, their eyes glued to the wardrobe, just the same as her. For now, all they could do was watch.

The man climbed inside the wardrobe, facing the audience. There was no way to guess what he was thinking behind his blank mask as the performers closed the door over him and cast arcane lock, the glyphs illuminating the surface of the wardrobe. She could only hope the second performer had given him good instructions and reassured him he would be somehow safe.

She wasn’t sure how much the audience was aware of the various properties of specific spells, but she had spent too much time around Gale not to know a thing or two. The arcane lock would reinforce the wardrobe, she knew, so it would take twice as much strength or power to damage the wardrobe now—from the outside or the inside. If the man hoped to brute force his way out, he would be practically helpless. But it also meant that whatever the performers did to the wardrobe would be less effective…in theory. 

The main performer gave a flourish with one hand, conjuring a small hourglass in their palm, and then held up one finger with their other hand. “One minute. Our brave volunteer need only survive one teensy little minute. Let us see what he can endure in so brief a time.”

Dani clenched her teeth together. One minute had been a joke to her before, but she knew how long a minute actually could be. One minute in battle could sometimes feel like an hour. There were moments when time seemed to slow down as she fought to cast spells and dodge attacks. But at the same time, a minute was so blessedly quick she was almost hopeful this wouldn’t actually end badly.

She held her breath as the main performer turned over the hourglass, stepping back to give the audience a full view of the wardrobe. The second performer flung out their hands with dramatic flare, casting a version of magic missile that somehow, impossibly, created dozens of missiles in various colors that swirled around the wardrobe before striking the wood with colorful bursts and loud bangs. Though the doors rattled and the wardrobe shook, it didn’t splinter or move.

Gale gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Just an illusion, my love. A more creative variation of their earlier light shows.”

She nodded, but dared not look away just yet. Despite his words, she could feel the tension in Gale’s arm. He wasn’t letting his guard down yet, either. 

The audience clapped as the lights and bangs from the missiles faded, revealing an unscathed wardrobe, only for many of them to gasp as the second performer snapped their fingers and the wardrobe burst into flame. It was only a small comfort to realize that despite the convincing sound of crackling flames, she couldn’t feel the heat of the fire. Just like with the phoenix flame, it was just another semi-convincing illusion. She flicked her gaze between the wardrobe and the hourglass, watching the sand stream down into the lower bulb of the glass. About thirty seconds left, she guessed.

A glance at Shadowheart and Lae’zel showed the two of them watching with intense looks, as well. No more blithe or feigned interest. Both looked ready to attack if need be.

She focused back on the wardrobe as the audience clapped again, the flames whirling around the wardrobe and disappearing with a wash of smoke that hovered around the stage. The second performer took a second to bow before turning to face the wardrobe once more. The sand in the hourglass was running low. With only seconds left, what could they possibly—

She gasped involuntarily as the performer made one last gesture and a swirling tornado of spectral daggers surrounded the wardrobe. Alarm bells rang off in her head. Cloud of Daggers? That spell ignored armor to cut deeply into whoever stood or walked into the vortex of spinning blades—it would surely pass through the wardrobe to cut through the person inside.

If it were not an illusion. The problem was, it was much harder to tell this time around.

She tightened her hold on Gale’s hand and Astarion’s arm, gripping almost painfully as she watched the daggers spin and whirl around and through the wardrobe. There were no cries of pain, no screams of anguish, so maybe…?

“It’s just an illusion,” she whispered to herself. “Just an illusion, just an illusion…”

The audience was rapt with attention, all eyes on the wardrobe and the cloud of daggers as the seconds ticked by, until at last the first performer holding the hourglass held up a hand.

“Enough!” 

The second volunteer snapped their fingers, banishing away the cloud of daggers. Dani dare not look away now. If that volunteer had so much as a single scratch…

“One minute, as promised,” said the first performer, reaching for the latch of the left-side door. “Shall we see how our bold volunteer has fared?”

Dani held her breath as the second performer reached for the other latch. Together, they swung open the doors revealing—

A perfectly unharmed man in a mask. Not a scratch to be seen.

The audience burst into applause and Dani finally relaxed, loosening her hold on both Gale’s hand and Astarion’s arm. So the daggers had been an illusion after all. She half-smiled, ready to admit that she’d been fooled, as the performers dismissed the wardrobe into thin air.

Only to stifle a scream as she saw, reflected in the mirror, a different man than the one that had volunteered, one who was covered head to toe in deep, lacerated wounds, his blood flowing freely onto the stage below. A white-scaled dragonborn clad in black, he collapsed to his knees with such force that his blood flecked onto the glass. 

She heard Gale swear and Astarion stiffen with shock, but she couldn’t look away, even as some part of her was relieved to know they saw what she was seeing too. They watched, horrified, as the dragonborn reared back his head with a silent roar and turned to swipe in his clawed hand at one of the performers. The audience in their room was clapping and whistling as the masked volunteer took a bow and accepted something from the performers, the sound out of touch with the horror playing out in the mirrors' reflection. How did no one else see?

In sharp contrast, the audience in the mirror became a tangle of jeering onlookers and frightened guests pushing and pulling at each other while the performers tried to dodge the frenetic attacks of the white-scaled dragonborn. All at once he pulled a dagger from somewhere inside his black coat, the movements spattering more blood on the glass.

One masked man pushed his way to the front of the crowd, leaping onto the stage and taking hold of the second performer. Dani gasped as the new masked figure pulled the performer’s head back by their hair, baring their neck, her mind at once too shocked to make sense of the sight and yet recognizing exactly who he was, right as he sank his fangs into the performer’s neck.

Astarion.

Her vampire best friend was visible in the mirror's image.

[rinwellisathing]

Paint The Lines, Cut The Flesh: Part 11

As the party approached the towers, Sentry at the front, the guards at the steps inclined their heads. “W...Welcome back, sir!” Sentry blinked as he looked at the two. Completely unfamiliar to him, a pair of humans he couldn't recall seeing before in his life. But then again, if they claimed to recognize him, that could be useful, a way in without too much trouble. “Ah, thanks. Brought a new group of True Souls and all that. Praise the Absolute.” He gave a care free little salute as he walked past. The rest of the party followed somewhat hesitantly, confusion apparent on their faces, but as they weren't stopped and the guards didn't offer a second glance their way, it seemed unwise to question it. The entrance hall was vast with high ceilings and various groups of people milling about up to a wide array of tasks from buying and selling to drinking, to playing games of chance. Sentry paused a moment, unsure of which doorway to enter, scratching the back of his neck as he thought it over, turning his head as he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Kroger, Karlach, and I are going to go look for Jaina.” Wyll whispered, his expression solemn and determined as he tilted his head subtly in the direction prisoners were being led in. Sentry nodded his approval.

“That makes sense...Huh...guess I'll head the other way then.” He turned his eyes towards what appeared to be a kitchen. “I'd better follow along and make sure you don't drink something toxic again.” Astarion's fingers brushed Sentry's arm as he joined him, walking side by side with him through the doorway, leaving Lae'zel, Octavia, Gale, and Shadowheart in the entryway together. “I would love to figure out if they've got a library here.” Octavia suggested, bouncing on the soles of her feet eagerly. “Not a bad idea, with any luck we'll find some information about what makes this General Thorm tick.” Gale agreed, looking in the direction of the meeting hall ahead and its winding stair case. “I would hazard a guess it's upstairs and far from the prying eyes of this group.” Lae'zel frowned, but followed the two wizards, Shadowheart close behind. Both knew leaving a pair of curious wizards unattended in a necromancer's den was not a particularly wise course of action. --- Sentry peeked through the doorway of the kitchen, his lips curling into a delighted smile at the sight of three large, healthy gnolls milling about stirring pots and occasionally sweeping absently at the floor. “Oh! They're beautiful! Look, Astarion! Those markings, the fur texture...this breed comes from a little wooded area near Neverwinter. They're fiercely loyal and did you know there's a legend that one of their matriarchs nursed a great hero?” “How is it you don't remember how you got aboard the Nautiloid, but you've an encyclopedic knowledge of gnolls?” Astarion raised a brow, staring in disbelief at Sentry. “Well, I remember about gnolls. I feel like I've got a sort of kinship with them.” He explained. “They just feel like family to me, I can't really explain it...I'm going to go introduce myself.” Before Astarion could yank him back or remind him to exercise just a little subtlety, Sentry was walking into the kitchen and towards the gnolls, pausing briefly and turning his head as he noticed a gnomish woman chastising one of them.

“Now Barnabus, we use a spoon to stir the soup, forget the axe, love.” She cooed. “Well, maybe the axe gives it more flavor, did you think about that?” Sentry cut in, arms folded across his chest. “Gods, we're finished.” Astarion clapped a hand across his face and shook his head as he watched Sentry insert himself into the conversation. “Also Barnabus isn't a common name for a gnoll, it's hard on their mouth shape. Why're you calling him that?” Sentry added. “It's the power The Absolute gave me. I've civilized these gnolls, taught them a kinder, gentler way. Would you like to see?” The gnome folded her hands with a smile Sentry found particularly unsettling. Sentry was about to reply, his expression incredulous and indignant, but Astarion grabbed Sentry's arm and stepped up beside him. “We'd love to. Show us your gnoll taming tricks.” The vampire gave an unctuous smile, pouring on the charm as he whispered to Sentry through gritted teeth “Don't start something we can't get ourselves out of, darling.” Sentry gave a sour frown and rolled his eyes, but stood there beside Astarion, watching the gnome intently. “Oh, what shall I have Barnabus do?” She asked, tilting her head in thought. “I know!” Sentry felt the woman's mind connecting to the gnolls and in that moment, he felt a moment of weakness in her hold. He could see himself in his mind's eye reaching out to caress the strand of consciousness connecting her to Barnabus and without hesitation, he gripped and tugged, snapping it like an overused lute string. The gnoll fixed his gaze on the gnome, a growl escaping his lips as he raised up his claws to attack, the gnomes eyes widening as she staggered backwards, stammering out a protest that died on her lips as she was mauled. Sentry gave a contented smile and looked up at the gnoll. “Stunning, really just amazing creatures you are...” He patted the gnoll's shoulder fondly, the feeling of the fur beneath his fingers was familiar, comforting. “Maaaaster retuuurns.” The gnoll cackled. “Mooore prey sooon?” “Anything you want, sweet boy.” Sentry nodded his head. “Ti'ka be happy tooo see youuuu....We tell heeeer you back.” The gnoll licked Sentry's face, leaving a long, slimy trail of slobber, which the tiefling didn't seem to mind at all, gently patting at the gnoll's snout with a happy smile and laugh.

Astarion folded his arms across his chest, watching the scene before him. He should have been disgusted, he should have been annoyed, but he had to admit, he liked seeing Sentry like this. It was...dare he admit it? Cute. --- The smell of blood was heavy in the air when Wyll, Kroger, and Karlach made their way down the stairs into the dungeons. The floors were running red and the bodies of the guards were strewn across the stone floor, weapons broken, bodies seemingly trampled and punctured as though with hundreds of tiny spikes. A wooden door to the left had been bashed in as though by massive hooves and strange prints were visible in the blood. The three looked to the room, approaching slowly. Before they entered, a tiefling woman, tall and imposing, loomed in the doorway, holding an injured drow woman gingerly to her, one arm slung over her shoulder. Her bright violet eyes stared straight ahead at the party and an unnatural cold seemed to engulf her deep purple skin and her pale white braids. The silence was deafening and seemed to last terribly long. She regarded the group like a hunting predator and then took a step towards them, her eyes meeting with Wyll's. “They say the enemy of my enemy is my friend....Ketheric Thorm and my sister made an enemy of me when they hurt her....” The tiefling began. “Let her recover in your camp, I will join her there and tell you what I know...” Wyll paused a moment, considering the offer. They needed all the help they could get, but then again, he recognized the drow. She had been one of the leaders back at the goblin camp, one of the ones who would have killed the tiefling refugees as well as the druids. Still, if this woman could help, if the information she had could rescue Jaina, that was worth it. He nodded. “Alright.”

The tiefling woman nodded in reply before pausing to add. “Oh, the warden is dead as well, by the way...There are digging tools in her old office belonging to some of the prisoners...Behind the walls there was a dock, perhaps they can escape by boat...no one is here to stop them anyway.” “Thank you.” Wyll replied quietly. --- Sentry gently pushed open the door at the other end of the kitchen and slowly walked through the door, Astarion still behind him. Immediately, both men paused, pupils dilating as the scent of blood hit their nostrils. The room was relatively clean apart from the clutter of storage crates and alchemical tools, and yet the scent permeated the air. Sentry closed his eyes and let himself drift a moment as another memory swam into focus. He was young, maybe fifteen or sixteen, and he sat cross legged on a stone floor with a girl five or six years younger than he was, everything about her pale and colorless except the red marbling of her white skin and the pale gold of her hair. “Now see, Orin? The blood goes into this mixture, which keeps it from drying up too quick....” He held up a small glass bottle. “Cork it like so...” He popped a cork into the top. “And then we simply shake it to mix it all up.” He grinned, passing her a vial of a clear liquid and gesturing to the limp corpse of a dwarf beside them. “Now you try.” The little girl copied Sentry's instructions slowly and carefully, her brow furrowed with concentration to get it just right. “Like this, slaughter-kin?” She asked. “Yeah, that's it! Maybe Tomi even has something to play around with the colors a bit too, but you've got it!” He beamed. “I can't wait to see what you make with it.”

The memory faded and Sentry found himself back in the present, watching a drow woman working at a bench laden with mixtures and vials. She noticed him and approached with an unsettling smile on her face. “Ah, True Soul...I wonder if you might be willing to assist me in an experiment. You would be adequately compensated, of course.” She grinned. Sentry noticed her eyes danced past him to Astarion fairly often, the vampire hadn't quite noticed yet, but Sentry instinctively stepped in front of him. “That depends entirely on what sort of experiment.” Sentry folded his arms across his chest and looked over at her work bench, trying to get an idea of what she was playing at. “I need blood that has been touched by The Absolute...”She began. Sentry's eyes fell on bits of discolored brain matter and chopped up tendrils on the bench and he raised an eyebrow. “Don't play coy, you know about the tadpoles. You want blood from someone who's been infected by a mindflayer. That's why you're messing around with intellect devourer parts. But fine. A little bit of my blood won't kill me and I suppose I could use every advantage I can get.” He held out his arm to her. “Wonderful...You may feel a slight pinch....just a little prick...There!” She drew a small amount of blood from the tiefling and turned, bringing it back to her table. The clink of glass and the bubbling of liquid was the only sound for a moment and then she returned, handing Sentry a potion. “For your troubles....although...I do have a far more powerful potion, one of a kind really...and I could offer it to you if only...well, that vampire, he's yours, is he?” She nodded towards Astarion. Sentry blinked, looking back to Astarion and then to the woman. “He's a person.” “That's not what I asked.” The woman replied. “You're his master?” “No, he can do what he wants.” Sentry was beginning to like this woman less and less with ever passing moment as he bristled with annoyance. He looked back at Astarion, noticing that he was now paying full attention to what was going on. “Well, any way ever since I was a little girl, I've wanted to be bitten by a vampire...if he'll bite me, I'll give you the potion I mentioned.” She continued, gazing past Sentry at Astarion with a look of intense lust in her dark eyes.

Astarion gave a hollow laugh and shook his head. “You want me to bite you?” He looked incredulously at the woman for a moment, then at Sentry, and finally shook his head. “Hmm no...sorry, I'm afraid I'll have to decline.” His eyes focused on Sentry for a moment and the tiefling noted a look of fear in his eyes. “What?! But this is a one of a kind offer.” The woman scoffed, turning to Sentry. “Talk to your pet, make him see reason!” Sentry glared down at the drow, drawing himself to his full height and folding his arms sternly across his chest. “He said no. That's the end of it.” There was a threatening edge to Sentry's voice, one that brooked no argument. Astarion visibly calmed, but stayed behind the paladin for the moment. “Fine. It's your loss.” The woman sniffed, turning back to her work. As the two men left the room, Sentry paused and turned to look Astarion over, he could see the vampire was shaking just a bit and frowned. “Are you alright?” He asked, his expression softening to a look of a concern. “That woman was....a lot...right?” Astarion winced, looking away. “Let's....let's talk about this later...somewhere less open.” The tiefling nodded his head. “Yeah, sure. Sorry. Should we go find Wyll and the others? If they've found the prisoners, they could probably use some help.” Astarion gave a small nod, following Sentry.

--- Sentry had to focus intently to fight down the anger at the way that woman had treated Astarion. He could feel it boiling in his veins. It gnawed at him, painfully dragging another long forgotten memory to mind.

He was small, nowhere near the imposing figure he cut now. He felt a tightness at his chest where he could feel thick linen bandages wrapped, binding it down. The feeling of heaviness at his chest beneath those bandages sent a wave of nausea and wrongness through him. His body ached and he could feel a cold, hard floor beneath him in the small, dark room he was contained in. His silver hair was long and hung limp down his back and over his face, which had yet to gain its prominent burn scar. He was vulnerable, naked except for those bandages and a small sash wrapped around his waist. He heard voices approaching the room. A hissing whisper of a woman's voice, eager and excited first. “It is an honor you've come to us, my lord! I assure you, she is ripe and ready for you.” The woman simpered, voice quivering in awe as the footsteps drew closer to the door. “Hm...good...and do not worry if she should put up a fight...I think I would prefer it.” A deep male voice replied. The door swung open and Sentry could see a tall, imposing figure in armor standing beside a tiefling woman with horns like his, her head shaved and marked with Bhaalist symbols in ink and scar. Her deep violet eyes gazed down on him with a mixture of pride and envy. The man's yellow eyes held a terrifying lust that made Sentry's stomach turn as he scurried back against the wall, his back pressing against the hard stone with nowhere else to go. “No...please...I...I can't...I still hurt....Mother, please....” His voice was high and young, and he knew that he was afraid, beginning to panic. His tail was raised and twitching back and forth and his mismatched eyes were wide in terror as he looked at the man who was so much larger than him. Even if he did try to fight back, it wouldn't matter. His sharp nails dug into the ground beneath him. “Hush, girl! This is an honor. Lord Sarevok himself has come to make use of you. Imagine the bounty you would provide your father if this union bears fruit.” The woman's smile was manic and wild as she stepped back, letting the armored man enter the room and then shutting the door as she left.

Sentry closed his eyes tightly and bit his lip, his heart hammering in his chest as the man's footsteps approached and a large, thick hand wrapped around his throat. “Come now, Vereena...Do as father commands. He made you for this.” The man's voice was like the growling purr of a predatory jungle cat, his grip was iron, inescapable. Sentry's only choice was to let his mind drift away as he became vaguely aware of his body being laid down on the cold, hard ground, and his legs being spread. And then there was only pain. --- “Sentry?” Sentry's eyes blinked rapidly and he gave a sudden yelp of surprise before realizing he was standing face to face with Karlach and Wyll, Astarion still standing by his side and Kroger staggering back, releasing his wrist which he'd been holding.

“When did I get here?” Sentry asked, rubbing his head awkwardly, fingers brushing over the stubble of the shaved areas and the jagged, cruel scar at the back of his skull. “We were on our way to look for the others and you were oddly quiet and pensive, so I just followed along, I assumed you had another of your headaches or something.” Astarion explained. “Then, when we ran into Karlach, you proceeded to just stand there and stare into space, the others arrived and you still didn't react, so the good doctor here decided to examine you.” He gestured to Kroger. “It was all quite dramatic.” “You okay, soldier?” Karlach asked, examining Sentry's face closely for signs of pain or illness. “You didn't look so well and then you kinda just cried out a bit...I guess it's a good thing we're in the dungeons so that sound isn't out of the ordinary to hear.” “Any sign of Jaina?” Sentry asked, looking around the entry way, taking in the blood and corpses that still littered the floor. Wyll shook his head, worry obvious across his face. “Not a trace of her...But, we did find the Iron Hands as well as some of the Tieflings, they're working on breaking through the walls to get to some docks on the other side, we can guide them to Last Light across the water once we have access to a boat.” “It was our task to ensure all the guards were well and truly dead and the scrying eyes were inactive.” Kroger added. “Not that it was much work, considering someone had arrived before us to free a prisoner and slaughtered most of them.”

Sentry looked past Kroger, his eyes focused on the damage to the corpses. Slowly, he slipped past the rest of the party and knelt down, examining the wounds. “These guards were trampled...The thing that killed them was giving off an abnormal chill...and on top of that, it had something sharp extending from its hooves...” He explained. “Look, some of the blood is even frozen...Whatever did this is not something to be played around with...” He frowned curiously, trying to consider what kind of creature it may have been. He had a feeling he'd encountered it before, but his scarred and damaged brain couldn't quite remember. The sound of stone collapsing interrupted any attempt at further thought as the party turned in the direction of the noise. A familiar dark haired tiefling woman poking her head out from the cell and calling to them. “We've broken through! Are you coming?” “Hells yeah!” Karlach pumped a fist triumphantly. “Let's get these guys back to the inn and regroup.” She hurried towards the cells and the newly formed hole in the wall, Sentry following close behind with Astarion not far behind. “But what about Gale and Shadowheart? And my sisters?” Kroger frowned, looking back towards the stairs. “If you prefer, you and I can rejoin them. After all, the boat already seems quite full.” Wyll offered, placing a hand on Kroger's shoulder. “Just one moment...” Kroger nodded. “Sentry!” He called after the paladin, who stopped and turned around. “I found this in the House of Healing! It's got the name Octavia mentioned carved in it. Bring it to Halsin!” He removed a small lute from his pack and ran a few paces forward, tossing it to Sentry, who caught it and nodded his understanding.

“Thanks, doctor.” Sentry turned and continued on his way to the docks. --- Ketheric regarded Jaina solemnly, absently running a hand over the smooth, skeletal head of his faithful hound which padded up alongside him. “Miss Thalassia, you make it a point to assure me I can't be a monster because I am a loving father, but that's just it...it is possible to be both, it's only a matter of how far a father is pushed for love of his child.” Jaina gave a gentle frown and took another sip of wine. “I didn't imply that, I only meant that it's never too late.” She explained. “You can make a different choice, follow a new path. Isobel is alive and well now and if she's all that matters to you, which I truly believe she is, then her love and approval are more important than whatever promises you made to Myrkul, to this Absolute.” Ketheric gave a hollow smirk and shook his head. “You don't even know what The Absolute truly is and you presume it couldn't rip my daughter away from me as easily as she was returned?” “Any evil can be defeated.” Jaina replied matter of factly. “It's only a matter of knowing it and discerning its weaknesses. Besides, even in fighting a god, numbers and resources matter.” “You truly don't know what you're suggesting...”The general shook his head. “But anyway, your friends still haven't come to your rescue, so indulge me in another story to pass the time.” Jaina thought a moment and nodded her head. “As I mentioned, my twin brother and I grew up on the island my father's crew called home. We were happy there, safe.” She smiled fondly, toying with her glass in her hands as she recalled. “We wanted so much to be pirates like our parents when we grew up...My father used to set his cutlasses at the blacksmith shop to be tended to after every voyage and the blacksmith was an older man, prone to aches and pains, and so Tibs and I learned how often he needed to sit down out of view of the counter and we stole the cutlasses to play with....We fought across the beach...”

Their swords clashed together on the beach as they ran after one another, their laughter echoing across the sands. Jaina's long sunshine colored hair rippled in the wind behind her as she played. Tibs own sandy hair was pulled back into a ponytail out of his face and both were dressed in simple linen tunics and trousers, barefoot as they dashed across the warm sand. “Surrender, villain!” Tibs laughed as he thrust his sword forward, his laughter faded and his bright smile slid into a look of horror, his eyes wide as they fell on his cutlass slipped directly through his sister's chest, blood blossoming on her white tunic as she staggered backwards and slid to her knees, blue eyes going cloudy as her hand shakily moved to the wound, staining her grey-blue skin with blood as she collapsed into the salty surf. “No...Oh no...Jaina...please don't die...please don't die, I'm gonna go get mom and dad!” The boy sniffled, staggering back from his sister's limp body and turning to run, kicking up a cloud of sand as he run, tears streaming down his face. “Such a worthless sacrifice....Small, weak, just a slip of a thing...” A voice hissed from behind Jaina. Her eyes flew open and she was beneath the waves, deep in the dark and floating, her long hair floating above her as she hung suspended there. Her skin's shark-like qualities becoming far more obvious under the sea. Strange finlike growths bloomed from her elbows, wrists, and ankles as she floated there. Long black hair swished like seaweed past her and a face with deep, eloquent black eyes examined her intently and the thin, fish-like lips curved into a wicked smile, the grin revealing long, sharp, needle like teeth. The woman's legs ended in long tendrils like an octopus' legs and her body was covered in shimmering scales and elegant fins.

“And yet....you come from oh so loyal a family line...And you've a capacity for rage....What a fine conduit you could be, my little guppy...”The woman cooed, a long nailed finger, the texture of a jagged, shattered seashell tapping Jaina's tiny, freckled nose, the woman's expression clearly savoring Jaina's look of fear. “Yes, I think that suits me....” She turned and waved a hand carelessly as she began to swim away. “Now run along, child...mother is calling.” Her laughter echoed as Jaina's vision began to blur and fade again. “And when I woke up, mother was cradling me in her arms and trying with all her strength to heal me.” Jaina explained, raising her head to look Ketheric in the eye. The half elf regarded the young tiefling, his expression empty, unreadable as he looked her in the eyes. “But you see, there is the difference between myself and your own parents, miss Thalassia...You were returned to them....It took me three gods to bring my Isobel back. Only Myrkul did not deny me...And as such, he has never had a more faithful servant.” --- As the boat pulled into the docks of The Last Light Inn, Sentry climbed out first and held out a hand for the other passengers, helping them each out in turn. Karlach grinned and laughed out loud when it came to her turn. “Well thank you, Sir Ojeda. Makin' me feel like a damn Princess here.” Karlach chuckled, grabbing Sentry's hand and pulling herself onto the docks before them. She gave him a joking little curtsy as they joined the rescued prisoners on dry land. Sentry folded his arms and rolled his eyes as the Harpers checked the prisoners for tadpole influence, though he had to admit that he was relieved when they found none and he smiled as he watched them make their way into the inn to rejoin with their loved ones. He watched Alfira and Lakrissa hug eachother tightly, he watched Rolan and his siblings reunite, sure to stand back from them and avoid interrupting. He examined the lute Kroger had given him and took a deep breath, making his way towards the makeshift infirmary where Halsin was waiting, still tending the unconscious Flaming Fist.

“Hey...”He smiled gently at the druid, reaching out gently to him. “Kroger found this in Reithwin...It's got this guy's name on it, maybe it could help?” Halsin beamed at Sentry. “Music can often trigger memories, so perhaps it could serve to wake him up as well. Play a few notes.” He suggested, the excitement in his voice far from hidden. Sentry bit his lip, about to protest. He wasn't much of a musician, but seeing Halsin's eyes on him in this moment, he had to try. With a deep breath, he plucked the strings gently a few times, watching anxiously for just a moment before the human jolted upright in his bed. “Thaniel is in danger! He's still trapped in the Shadowfell!” The man gasped. “Whoa, hey....calm down, buddy...Halsin is a druid, he can help your friend.” Sentry assured the man, patting his shoulder gently. “Halsin?” “Any information you can give me will help me to find him, any small clue to where he might be...” Halsin added gently but urgently. The man thought a moment and took a deep breath. “There...there was lavender...every time Thaniel was near, I could smell lavender.” He recalled.

“I can work with that.” Halsin nodded, standing up and looking to Sentry. “You've done so much for me so far, but I'm afraid I must rely on you once more, my friend.” He took Sentry's hand in his, the tiefling blushed and looked up into Halsin's eyes, vaguely considering how seldom it was that he was the one looking up. --- The two made their way out to the edge of the water behind the inn, Sentry watched as Halsin climbed up on a small hill and turned to face him. “I have communed with Silvanus for years to learn this spell...it is something that I, and I alone must do.” Sentry regarded him with concern, reaching out to Halsin. “But you'll be by yourself...what if there's trouble....please, there has to be a way I can help...” The tiefling took the larger elf's hand gently. Halsin gave Sentry's had a reassuring squeeze and looked deeply into his eyes. “You will be the light that guides me home.” A smile crossed Sentry's face and he nodded. “You can count on me...I mean...I am a paladin, being a guiding light is kind of my specialty.” He grinned, gently letting go of Halsin's hand as he walked off into the portal leaving Sentry standing before it. Sentry watched the portal anxiously, waiting for Halsin's return, until he heard a sound behind him and turned around to face several shadow creatures skulking towards him. He cursed quietly under his breath and drew his axe.

It felt like hours and Sentry was battered and bleeding, down on one knee in front of the portal, blood dripping from his nose and mouth as the shadow creatures closed in on him, but he couldn't give up, Halsin had not returned yet. He gripped his axe tightly and winced, staggering to his feet, swaying slightly. “I made a promise...I'll defend this portal till my last breath.” He spit blood onto the ground in front of him, the coppery taste still filling his mouth, and he braced himself for another attack. Then, as quickly as it had begun, a blinding light issued from the portal and with a feral screech, the creatures fell to ash around him as Halsin stepped out of the portal, an unconscious child in his arms. Sentry looked up at him with relief and smiled before he collapsed on the ground at his feet, the world spinning out of focus. --- When Sentry opened his eyes, he was laying on a bedroll in the camp, Halsin was kneeling beside him while Astarion stood by, arms folded across his chest as he gazed with worry at Sentry. Karlach was tending the fire and it seemed the others had made their way back to camp as Kroger approached with his pack and sat down next to Sentry, beginning to apply various salves to his wounds.

“What I don't understand is why neither of you thought to ask any of the rest of us for help. Sentry's not a one man army and he isn't invincible. You put him in serious danger expecting him to guard you alone!” Astarion frowned. “Is that concern I hear?” Sentry grinned. “Oh don't give me that, you know damn well I need you for whatever Raphael intends to ask of me.” His red eyes darted away from Sentry, but the tiefling could tell he was covering up how he felt. “Nope, you were worried about me.” Sentry chuckled. “Admit it, you'd be upset if I died.” “I believe most of us would be.” Halsin cut in. “I'm sorry I put you in danger, Sentry...But now I'm free to accompany you and do my part in ending this curse. Once you've healed properly, I'll be by your side should you need me.” “I'll be fine, you're all fussing over me like I'm fragile.” Sentry slowly began to sit up only for a deceptively strong green skinned hand to press him back down. “Stay. You're going to re-open your wounds, I haven't had a chance to close them yet because they need to be disinfected first.” Kroger insisted. “You are worse than a child.” “Speaking of children, Halsin, how's that kid you rescued?” Sentry asked as Kroger continued to clean and disinfect his wounds before slowly beginning to close them with his magic. Halsin sighed and shook his head. “Thaniel is stable, however it's like there's a part of him missing...We must find it...But rest assured, I will be at your side every step of the way.” “But that is a task for tomorrow, for now, sleep.” Kroger insisted as he packed up his supplies and got to his feet, his large, luminous green eyes staring Sentry down as he pointed a finger accusingly at him.

Sentry rolled his eyes with a sigh, but laid back down on his bed roll and closed his eyes as the rest of his companions dispersed to their various sleeping spaces. --- Sentry's eyes flew open only a few hours later and he could feel the world spinning around him. He looked over at the mat Astarion lay meditating on and began to walk towards it as though in a trance. His hand wanted to go for his axe, but he pushed the urge down and roughly shook the elf, who blearily shook off his trance. “Hello darling, looking for a cuddle?” He gave a charming smile as he sat up, looking up at Sentry. “No time for joking, you're in real danger...That curse...the one that made me kill the bard....it wants me to kill you...if we don't stop me, you'll die...I....I don't want you to die...” Sentry bit his lip nervously, his body beginning to tremble a bit. Astarion raised a brow. “I see...That certainly IS a dilemma...” He paced around Sentry for a moment, frowning deep in thought. “One moment...” He headed back to his tent and returned shortly with a length of rope. “Astarion, this is no time for kinky games.” Sentry frowned. “You're in danger!” The elf sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. “Rope has many, many uses, dear Sentry. Right now, we're going to use it to keep you from doing anything you'll regret, now arms behind your back, darling. I promise I'll be as gentle as I can.”

A moment later, Sentry as bound like a tightly packed bed roll and laid on his side, a gag of white cloth tied around his mouth as he struggled and squirmed, drooling and snarling. Every now and then he managed to break through the haze and give Astarion an apologetic look or a sad smile. The elf, to his credit, never left Sentry's side, even occasionally running a hand through his silver hair comfortingly despite the risk. The last thing Sentry managed before falling unconscious fully was a grateful smile.