Chapter Text
“My beautiful, penitent child. You have already enjoyed my ministrations. Do not be greedy.”
Elorin flexed his shoulders, the burn of his back still screaming beneath his freshly returned robes, the slick of blood sticking them to him. His hands shook and yet he felt alive. Vibrant. He watched the bloodied priest, lit by flickering firelight, against the dark stonework of the ruins.
“That wasn’t actually what I had in mind,” Elorin said, still ever so slightly short of breath. He looked around the room as he swept a long white lock of sweat-soaked hair from his face and ignored the thundering of blood in his ears. There were goblins at the far end, out of earshot, and the moans of misery from elsewhere through the halls. “I was wondering if you might consider coming with us.”
Abdirak, the devoted and intriguing priest of Loviatar, raised an amused eyebrow at him. He opened his mouth ready to speak but remained silent as a cold hand fell on Elorin’s shoulder.
“Uh, excuse me,” Astarion said, the sing song theatrics of his voice dialled up particularly high. “Might we have a quick word?”
Elorin smirked and rolled his eyes but gave the priest a brief apology before stepping back to join a loose huddle with Astarion and Shadowheart. Karlach had wandered off again.
“Yes, you may wish to explain this one,” said Shadowheart, though she looked far more amused than Astarion did. Her arms were folded loosely, but her eyes twinkled.
“What’s to explain?” Elorin asked with a shrug, though the motion pulled the fabric of his robes across his shoulders. He kept his grimace hidden. “He's clearly not one of the Absolute and doesn’t belong with these goblins.”
“That doesn’t mean he belongs with us, darling,” Astarion said, putting a hand to his chest to emphasise the point. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed seeing you get flogged as much as the next man—maybe more—but that doesn’t mean we should be taking the flogger home with us. Just imagine it. Our own little avatar of torture. What could go wrong?”
“No, you’re right,” Elorin said in impenetrable deadpan. “It would be absolutely mad.”
“Thank you.”
Shadowheart put her fingers to the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. “That was clearly a trap,” she uttered.
“Almost as mad,” Elorin continued, “as making camp with a worshipper of Shar. Or a crazed Githyanki.”
Astarion’s mouth snapped closed, face a sudden scowl, but Elorin carried on.
“What about someone who makes deals with devils? Exploding wizards?”
Karlach’s shadow fell over them, the radiant heat from her warming Elorin’s sweat cooled flesh. She had finally plodded back over from a weapon rack she had been inspecting. “Whatever Withers has got going on,” she added with an enthusiastic bounce.
“Or even,” Elorin said, a wicked little grin on his face, “a vam-“
“Yes, yes, a vampire,” Astarion huffed, knotting his arms over his chest. “We get it, you’re very clever. Go on, make yet another mistake. Just pray our resident cleric is feeling extra generous with her healing.”
Elorin gave him a wry grin before starting back toward the priest.
Behind him, Karlach exclaimed: “Sweet” closely followed by: “So what’s going on?”
Abdirak had turned his attention back to his small altar, carefully cleaning Elorin’s blood from his instrument of worship. The drow caught his eye and he smiled, setting the mace on the altar next to a thick open tome, tucking his cleaning cloth away underneath.
“It seems your friends are not as enamoured with the idea as you are,” he said, eyes glittering. The man’s face was difficult to read but after the experience he’d just had, Elorin felt he knew the priest enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. Throughout the entire session, Abdirak had been nothing if not earnest.
“My friends are hypocrites,” Elorin said. “Especially Astarion. You’ve treated me with far more kindness than he did when I first met him.” Or at all, Elorin added on in thought. Abdirak’s sermon was unusual but exhilarating, and had left him feeling uplifted, which was far more than could be said than any encounter with a cleric of Lolth had ever done.
“It’s nice to meet someone who appreciates the fine arts.”
“That’s why I thought you might wish to join us,” Elorin pushed on. “These goblins don’t appreciate you, or your work. They want to take your skills and use them as a punishment on their enemies, or worse, a tool.”
Abdirak considered him, canting his head to one side. His arms rested loosely on his hips, accentuating his blood-spattered chest. Elorin continued.
“Have any of them even let you grace them with Loviatar’s love? Just imagine the opportunities that await on the road.”
Abdirak raised an eyebrow but Elorin could see the cogs turning in his mind. The man, in spite of his chosen deity, was amiable and intelligent, and it was difficult to believe that the company of these Absolute obsessed goblins had provided a particularly stimulating environment.
“I thought you shared these goblins’ ideologies,” Abdirak said carefully. “Are you not here as a True Soul? An agent of the Absolute?” His pleasant smile remained, but there was a warning in his eyes.
“I’ve come with an open mind,” Elorin replied with equal care, quietly adding: “A mind that is all my own.”
Abdirak’s eyes flicked behind Elorin, past the huddle of the drow’s companions and to a small cluster of nattering goblins near the entranceway to Abdirak’s little enclave. “Very well,” he said, silver eyes flicking back to Elorin’s. “You have... intrigued me. I will come for a visit. We shall see what comes of that.”
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The rest of the day had been rather busy. And... explosive. The goblins had taken exception to something Astarion had said (and stolen), and before their troupe had returned to camp it wasn’t just Elorin who was sodden with blood. The iron of it still filled his nose several hours later, along with the scent of smokepowder, which was apparently a nightmare to get out of hair. They did now have a Grove of very happy druids and a camp full of drunk tieflings though, so perhaps it had worked out for the best. Camp was bustling, with music and chatter and joyous laughter.
“You can’t hide all evening, you know,” Gale said. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and he had a giant ladle in his hand as he leaned over a vast pot filled with stew.
Elorin was tucked inside Gale’s tent, crossed legged with an untouched carafe of wine and a book that had been liberated from the ruins. His back was damp from his hair, still drying after a lengthy wash. “Watch me. What’s everyone else up to? Astarion hasn’t tried to bite anyone yet, has he?”
Gale chuckled and looked out over the camp, lifting his chin and rising to his tiptoes as he tried to take everything in. “Shadowheart appears to have taken a leaf out of your book and is hiding away somewhere. Karlach hasn’t stopped dancing since the music started. Wyll is surrounded by a horde of children who probably should have been in bed a few hours ago. And Lae’zel appears to be arm wrestling people, whether they want to or not.”
Elorin laughed quietly. “At least the kids have stopped bothering Withers.”
“I do notice how I was the one talking to angry parents about that,” he said. There was a brief quiet, followed by: “Hmm.”
Elorin looked up, Gale’s curt hum suddenly sounding serious. “What is it?”
“There’s a light up at that little ruined chapel just beyond the camp.”
Elorin sat up straighter, brow furrowed, and closed the book on his lap. I wonder... “I’ll check it out,” he said, putting the book to the side and stretching as he rose. Several joints popped in interesting ways.
“Would you like some back up?” Gale asked, wielding the ladle. “I can be quite formidable when I need to be.”
Elorin grinned, the firelight catching his stark white teeth, making them stand out all the more potently against his near-black, grey skin. “I doubt it’s trouble,” he said. “Probably just someone seeking a touch of solitude. Better safe than sorry though.”
“Very well. Scream if you need us.”
Elorin stuck to the outskirts of the camp, making his way quickly and avoiding everyone that he could. The chapel was just beyond the camp, across a ford that could easily be leapt should one wish to keep their feet dry. Elorin did just that, despite the weary ache in his bones, and landed far less gracefully than the fleet-footed drow normally would. Someone stirred within the ruin. The light coming from within was soft, and Elorin could hear nothing but the gentle babble of water, the raucous voices behind him, and the sweet melody of Alfira’s lute.
“Evening,” Elorin said. His instincts told him he was in no danger, and he hoped they were correct. It had been a long day.
A familiar pale face appeared from behind the crumbling stone wall. Piercing grey eyes, a shock of white hair, and a proud hawkish nose. Abdirak.
“Ah, you decided to join us.”
“The goblins became even less interesting after they were no longer breathing,” said the priest.
Elorin smiled but grimaced with it. “Sorry about that.” He still maintained it was Astarion’s fault, regardless of the fact that they were likely to have to kill the goblins anyway.
“Not at all. I had been thinking about your proposition before all of that. Though now it does seem even more tempting.” Abdirak’s smooth voice coated his words with honey. He looked past Elorin, to the crowds of dancing tieflings, and back again. “Though I do rather hope it is not always this busy.”
“I promise, it isn’t. I wouldn’t be here if it was. May I join you?”
“Please do.”
Elorin approached and stepped past him, Abdirak regarding him closely as he went. The ruin was just that, without a roof and barely walls, crumbled at the tops. The worst of the debris had been cleared away, and the ground was mostly flat and earthy. Inside, Abdirak had already set up a bedroll, a small fire, and an altar like the one he had previously, a dagger, a tome and a matching pair of candles together with a pendant bearing Loviatar’s mark. Elorin turned back to Abdirak, to find the priest stood just a step away.
“You know, I do not believe that I thanked you,” he said, and on seeing Elorin’s confusion added: “for the invitation. It is not often that Loviatar’s devotees are welcomed with open arms. Not without a motive, at least.”
The corner of Elorin’s mouth quirked and the dull ache from his back throbbed just a touch more prominently than before. “You made quite the impression. And it’s certainly not a lie to say you’ve been one of the most welcoming people I’ve met recently. I’m glad to return the favour.”
“Forgive me for saying so,” Abdirak began, “but I did not expect such an altruistic attitude from one of your kind.”
Elorin grimaced and turned away, hiding his eyes, heart dropping. “I’ve no business with the Queen of Spiders or Her ways. I'm here to make my own path.”
There was a sudden warmth on Elorin’s forearm, and he looked back sharply to see Abdirak’s hand there.
“I do apologise.”
A small smirk quirked at the corner of Elorin’s mouth. “Don’t. We all have our demons, don’t we? I can’t say I blame you for being a touch suspicious.”
Abdirak smiled, his rich voice warm and comforting. “That we do, my dear. That we do.” He removed his hand, leaving a lingering heat where his calloused fingers had been, and bent to retrieve a skin of wine from among his things. He nodded at one of the walls. “On the other side, there is a pleasant spot with a good view of the water. Perhaps you would join me for some quiet contemplation. The goblins did not know how to pick a venue with a view.”
Elorin grinned with teeth. “Yes,” he said. “I think I’d like that.”