Chapter Text

I’m dreaming that dream again. The smell of smoke, the flames, the desperate windmilling of my arms as I run down, down the hill, paying no mind to everyone that needs to be pushed out of the way. The Fist barring my way, pushing me back, holding tightly and I’m beating against his chest in a pointless attempt to get … in? Out? Away?

Sorcha fell to the floor, dazed, her knuckles bleeding as she looked around at what could only be described as the inside of some creature’s stomach. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the fog and the nausea. How in the hells had she been swallowed up by whatever this was?

A wave of panic overwhelmed her and she ran to one of the walls, releasing bolt after bolt of fire in a vain attempt to break through. Eventually she hit, well, she didn’t even want to think what that was, but an opening appeared and she dashed through into another similar chamber.

Falling. Falling and burning? Must be another dream, don’t you feel like you’re falling when you’re about to wake up? WAKE UP!

Ah. Still burning then. Though not as badly as that poor soul over there. Nice beach if it wasn’t for the flaming carcass and corpses next to it. Wonder where I am?

She had vague memories of a fight in the sky, nightmare creatures, things with teeth burrowing into her eye, ambulant brains, demons and sea monsters and of fighting beside a cleric and some sort of frog alien.

Sorcha groaned as she sat up and took some time to assess her injuries. Only a few burns and some cuts. Luckily she still had a healing potion stashed in her sleeve so between that and a bit of river water she was definitely not on fire now.

Sorcha took a deep breath and headed in the direction with least squid. As she walked through the wreckage she tried to recognise landmarks but nothing looked like anywhere she knew from around Yartar. There was a body that looked familiar though, the half elf that had been in her dream.

She carefully walked over and saw that the woman stirred. Long-lashed green eyes looked up at her. “You’re alive. I’m alive. How is this possible?” the woman said with confusion.

It was finally dawning on Sorcha that this hadn’t just been one of her more colourful dreams. Her stomach churned at the realisation.

"Does it matter? We survived," she replied.

The woman, Shadowheart she remembered, suggested that they stick together to find a healer who could remove the godawful nightmare things from their eyes. It seemed to Sorcha that having someone with her to separate hallucination from reality would be a very good idea.

They had crashed on a riverbank, and it was likely that there would be a settlement close by due to the scattered equipment and bodies of fishing crews. Although it was unpleasant, they decided that checking the bodies for useful items had to be done. After this grim task, they sat down and took a tally: thirty-two gold pieces, a healing potion, two daggers, some lockpicks, a truly ugly hat and a few fish.

“It’s not much, is it?” Shadowheart sighed. 

“I wouldn’t say that” replied Sorcha. “That’s probably more gold than I’ve ever seen in one place. Are you from some wealthy family then?”

Shadowheart’s previously open face shut down instantly. “I don’t want to talk about it right now” she mumbled.

“Fair enough, I won’t pry. I was just making conversation, seeing as we are to be travelling together. Shall we try over by the cliffs next?”

There was a promising looking door at the left of the beach, with tall oak doors and fancy ironwork, but they could neither get an answer nor manage to pick the lock. The cliffs towered above, looking difficult to climb, so they were left with only one option, to go back into the carcass and look for a way to the other side. It was, unfortunately, not completely devoid of life - the brain things still skittered about. They both crouched low and tried to bypass the creatures but a pool of acid sent Sorcha’s feet out from under her and she landed heavily, alerting the brains. Shadowheart shot her a look of irritation and then turned to fight.

There were only three of the creatures, but they still managed to put up a nasty fight. For some reason the spells that would usually come easily to Sorcha just weren't there when she reached for them. Maybe it was just because she was exhausted, maybe it was something to do with the creatures in their heads. She gritted her teeth and managed a couple of Bone Chill cantrips to finish them off. 

"Shadowheart, are you as shattered as I am? Can we rest for a while, my spells aren't coming as easily as usual."

"Of course" said Shadowheart. "Mine don't seem to flow that well either, we need to get out to open air and then eat something".

On the other side of the Nautiloid was a pleasant cove, with sheltering trees and a view over the river. It seemed peaceful apart from the distant sound of the fires still crackling and occasional gusts of dark smoke. However the two women managed to relax a little and let their injuries recover somewhat.

After this quick rest they continued walking along the meandering path, sandwiched between the river and the crashed ship. In the distance a voice started to make itself known.

"Hello? Can you help me? Hello?"

The voice came from a once well-dressed elf. The fine clothing looked a little worse for wear, charred at the edges but still obviously a well-to-do character. He had finely chiselled features and curly white hair, and was beckoning them over.

Oh great, some city toff all ready to get us fetching and carrying for him no doubt. But he might have gold so best to play along for now.

"I've got one of those brain things cornered", he said, a pathetic look on his face. "You can kill it can't you? Like you killed the others?"

Sorcha stepped up to look, while Shadowheart hung back more cautiously. As a boar burst from the undergrowth, the elf suddenly flipped her onto her back and held a dagger to her throat.

Stupid, stupid, what in the hells has happened to your basic training? But he shouldn't be able to move that quickly, even Nareen couldn't best him at that speed. 

"Ssh, not a sound. Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours," he threatened. "Now, I saw you on the ship, didn't I? Nod."

The elf was so very very pretty from this angle. The sunlight gleamed through his perfect curls. But really, she should escape, he did have a knife to her throat after all. 

Her head burst with a flash of unfamiliar dark streets and fear, but not her memories, no fire, just gut wrenching terror. The elf startled too.

"What was that? What's going on?"

Sorcha took the opportunity to whisper a quick lightning cantrip, burning his hand and he leapt back in alarm.

"I saw into your mind … they took you too. And to think I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. Apologies," the elf said, hands raised in a gesture of peace.

"Can't blame you," said Sorcha. "I was looking forward to seeing yours".

"Ah, a kindred spirit! My name's Astarion. I was in Baldur's Gate when those beasts snatched me".

"A pleasure. I'm Sorcha and I was in Yartar. You're welcome to join us while we look for a healer who knows about these things."

Oh, Sorcha, you ridiculous creature, "a pleasure" indeed … how obvious can you get? Drag your mind from the gutter and come up with a viable plan. . Get this worm out, get him as a useful contact for protection in the Gate, get myself back to Yartar.

Chapter Text

Astarion had been thrown clear of the wreckage when his pod crashed. He woke to the glorious feeling of dappled sunlight on his face, and drifted contentedly for a few minutes before reality came knocking and he leapt up, bolting for the nearest shade.

Sunlight. Even if this isn't real, I'd almost forgotten how good it feels on my skin. What in the hells has happened to me?

He gingerly poked a finger out into the sunlight, then a hand, marvelling at the sensation of gentle warmth. He remembered the Nautiloid, and a nightmare worm heading directly for his eye, but was at a loss to explain where he was now and why he wasn't burning up. He certainly wasn't in the Gate though, and for some reason he couldn't feel the link to Cazador. He heard voices in the distance and quickly brushed himself down as well as he could, running a hand through his curls as he decided which persona would work best for him in this unexpected circumstance. Helpless noble was probably best, yes, they would underestimate him and maybe he could play to their greed too.

The voices resolved into two women, a half-elf in some sort of cleric's armour and a human wearing robes - a magic user maybe? He was sure that he'd seen the woman briefly on the ship. She certainly didn't look like she could easily fight him so he distracted her and then smoothly pushed her to the ground. The idiot didn't even put up a fight, just gazed into his eyes as he questioned her, right up until the worm melded their minds and she singed him.

It was, he decided, a sensible choice to join up with them. No one would attack him first with such obviously easy targets in front of him.

They ended up having to cut back through the nautiloid, there was no other way through. He took care of a dying mindflayer with a well placed bolt to its forehead and they walked out onto a road meandering through a leafy forest. This was all quite pleasant, like a gentle walk in the park, he imagined. As long as it didn't turn into a nighttime walk in the park, that is.

Up ahead the other two had stopped at some kind of portal. Wait, what? He hurried up just as one of them reached in and pulled a bearded human through. By the gods, did these women have NO sense of self preservation? The man looked to be a wizard; even without the hat, you could tell by the sense of overblown self importance. Astarion tried to listen but it was as bad as a bard's tale, using fifteen words when two would have done.

"How about you? How did you survive the fall?" the man said, finally taking a breath.

"I took control of the ship, landed it safely and saved the day," the sorcerer said with a completely straight face. Astarion snickered, he just couldn't help himself.

The wizard noticed him, and looked a little put out. He'd probably been having fantasies of travelling with a little harem, he looked the type to be desperate for some physical contact. No, magic was all very flashy, but there'd be no competition with Astarion's tried and tested lines.

"Let me introduce myself - I'm Gale of Waterdeep", the wizard pronounced pompously, obviously expecting people to have heard of him.

"Charmed, I'm Sorcha, of Yartar" said the sorcerer

"Shadowheart" the cleric muttered. Now there was a made up name if ever he'd heard one, she was probably called Doris or Jane or some such, and had picked this to seem mysterious and edgy.

There was some sort of building up ahead, although it appeared ruined the closer they got to it. Sounds of a lively discussion echo around the stones. A gnome was arguing with a half-elf about whether to investigate the crashed ship. Personally he would have been happy to leave them to it but a loose stone under Gale's foot alerted the bandits and a fight ensued. There were only four, two fighters, an archer and a mage, easy enough to deal with although Astarion was starting to wish someone other than himself had fighting experience. Two magic users and a cleric left him doing all the heavy lifting.

It was impressive how the sorcerer had sounded so convincing that the dumb idiot on guard had just unlocked the door. There was some real talent there. They could make quite a team - a charismatic sorcerer to distract people while he snuck round the back and robbed them all blind.

The room had a stale scent, a long dead, dusty feeling without the usual smell of the dead. It was dry, paper like with no rot. It didn't smell like any crypt he's been in. There was a long table, laden with supplies, and a few pieces of silverware worth taking. He also found a handsome painting of an undead man, which he stashed in his pack. It could fund a few luxuries which might distract him from what was otherwise shaping up to be a dismal trip.

"Are you really going to haul that hideous painting around with you?" Shadowheart queried.

"Darling, if I sell it to a passing trader then we could get quite a few gold for it. I certainly don't see you volunteering to pay our way," he said.

He could hear a few more bandits through another door, loudly complaining about the quality of the loot.

He motioned to the others, and they readied themselves to attack as he pulled the lever to open the inner door. Taking the bandits by surprise paid off as they were mostly gathered by an oil barrel, a perfect target for Astarion's fire arrow. Everyone else focused on the mage at the back of the group, the only bandit who had completely escaped the conflagration. The rest were still dealing with the shock of their burns when he finished them off with his blade.

There was very little of substance in the room that the bandits had been looting but his keen eyes noticed a lever buried into the wall, shaped to resemble a skull with a scroll in its mouth. He checked carefully for any hidden trap mechanism, and finding none, pulled the lever. There was a grating sound in the distance.

A door had opened into an antechamber of some kind, with two doors leading off it. The party walked to the left and cautiously opened the massive door. It appeared to be a tomb chamber, with several sarcophagi including a splendid central tomb topped by a stone effigy which looked extremely promising. He walked up to investigate, noticing some sort of vent in the floor. "Stay back! " He gestured to the vent and scanned the room, his eyes alighting on a button on one of the pillars opposite. A quick click and the somewhat disappointing contents of the room were safely collected up. There was a key, a strange metal coin, and a spear that Gale said was magical, but very little that would sell well should they find a trader.

The other doors opened with the key he had found. The room appeared mostly empty, give or take a few skeletons. There was a central courtyard overgrown with moss where a pale light filtered damply down upon a statue of an undead holding a scroll and quill. "That's Jergal… I didn't know anyone still worshipped him" whispered Shadowheart.

On both sides of the statue were steps which apparently led to nothing more than jar storage areas. He left Sorcha rooting through the broken jars while he investigated a chest placed on the balcony.

"Another button!" she exclaimed, pressing it before he could intervene. There was a skittering, clattering sound and a burst of sickly green light as the skeletons rose and attacked them.

It finally became obvious where Shadowheart's strength lay when she managed to turn three of the undead, giving them a chance to deal with the others first. Gale did a nice move with some sort of lightning spell that took out another. Astarion could hear screams of frustration coming from Sorcha though, it seemed like almost none of her spells were working.

"Darling, the bad guys are over there. You should know, seeing as you woke them up. Maybe try aiming?" he quipped.

She eventually hit one with a sphere of lightning but honestly, if it wasn't for his knife skills Astarion was sure they would all be defeated.

To top off this truly wonderful experience a bandaged mummy had risen from the sarcophagus in the secret room and started asking riddles. Astarion had a riddle too; "Could this day get any worse?". The mummy looked at him and replied "No."

Sorcha had sat heavily on one of the stone benches once the skeleton had left the room. "I'll search the rest of this room, you all go on ahead" she said. Gale and Shadowheart wandered off to a side room while he picked the lock on the last remaining chest. The skeleton pottered about, talking to himself. There was another sound though, a faint, gasping sound, coming from the back room. Stupid human had probably woken something else up.

He stepped quietly back towards the doorway to investigate. It almost sounded like crying. Curiosity warred with distaste within him. Weakness always made him feel disgusted, reminded him of his lowest points, those times that he much preferred to remain buried. But if Sorcha was crying it could be something he could use, a weak point, a way in. "Nimbus, where in the hells are you?", she whispered between sobs.

Astarion sauntered in and made a show of surprise. "Darling, is everything alright? What's got you in this state?"

Honestly, she wasn't a pretty sight. Humans didn't have the advantage of the chiselled features that elves usually had, but add in a red, moist nose and puffy eyes, with makeup running down her cheeks and it was a particularly unappealing picture.

"Oh, I was just … I … I just … I don't know where all my magic has gone!" she said between sobs. " I can barely cast cantrips, that's not right, it's not been right since the crash. I should have been able to obliterate those undead. And I can't find Nimbus …" She trailed off into another flurry of little sobs, choking them behind her fingers.

This wasn't good. Who the hells was Nimbus? Was this a lost child, or worse - a lover? Either could be a complication he didn't need, and a grief stricken minor sorcerer would be very little use against Cazador.

"Ah, well, maybe they'll turn up later, eh? I'll leave you to collect yourself"

He quickly checked the rest of the room and pocketed a useful looking skull amulet then made a hasty retreat away from the blubbering mess.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 - Sorcha: Sleep and Sadness

After that fight against the undead Sorcha felt unusually shaken. She wasn't sure what was happening with her spells, the bedrock of herself. All she had were the basics, simple cantrips, and that just wasn't enough. Could this be something that the worm had caused? But if so, Gale didn't seem to be affected, or at least he hadn't mentioned it. She knew that she had to get control of herself. It had been a big mistake to let Astarion see her crying if she wanted to keep him as an ally and given his knife and bow prowess, she did, at least until her spellpower came back. She knew that the well-to-do wouldn't tie themselves to someone who appeared weak, you had to appear confident and self-sufficient, not some charity case. Someone they could almost relate to, who they would willingly allow to guide them.

Some of her fire spells still felt like they would be accessible, but it was so long since she had used any of them. They had to be kept rigidly under control. She couldn't allow herself to reach instinctively for them, for that way lay disaster.

As they clambered out of the crypt into the fading sunlight, she found it took increasing effort to just put one foot in front of the other.

"I think we need to settle in for the night and get some rest", she said. "We can use those bedrolls left by the bandits if you can manage a quick prestidigitation, Gale?"

"Of course", he said. "As a matter of fact, there's a funny story about a most unconventional use of prestidigitation from back in my student days, I was due to visit Candlekeep and I …." Gale trailed off when he realised that everyone had already walked away.

As they arranged the now clean bedrolls, Sorcha realised that the creature from the crypt had set up in one corner and was looking expectantly at her.

"We meet again, as predicted," it said. She eventually established that he was to be called Withers, and that he was on some sort of mission to assist them. He really didn't seem happy about it.

Astarion was looking at the bedrolls with no small amount of distaste, even after Gale's cleaning spells. Sorcha wandered over to him, determined to learn something useful.

"Can't settle?", asked Sorcha, sitting down. "Tell me about yourself?" 

"Oh, what's to tell? I'm a magistrate back in the city, it's all rather tedious" he said dismissively.

"I don't suppose that this is really your scene, is it?"

"Hardly, darling"

"Mine neither, I'm happier indoors after dark. I like the bright lights and the comfort of a good bottle of wine myself. What does a magistrate do to relax anyway?"

"Oh, you know, parties, dinners, grand balls when it's the season for them. It may sound fun but it really isn't interesting, just a repeat of the same old moves. Anyway, I'm not at all tired, so you sleep, I'll keep watch", he offered, and she flashed him a grateful smile. 

Even better, she thought. Not only rich but with some legal powers too. That could come in very handy if they did end up at Baldur's Gate or came into contact with the Flaming Fist. She'd have to play it carefully, far more cautiously than usual. The schemes she was used to seeing didn't usually last longer than a day; just attach yourself to some wealthy visitor and offer to show them the sights, implying that you would be one of those sights. This would last at least a few days so slowly was the way to go, gradually reel him in until he was so reliant on her company that she was indispensable. She drifted off to sleep making grandiose plans for her future life.

Her dreams were not so peaceful.

Sorcha's twelve years old, just starting to fill out a little but still a child and playing on the streets in The Steeps. Saff, fifteen and already making a name for himself as a local bully, grabs her and tries to kiss her, and she reacts instinctively, blasting his chest with a fire cantrip. She's kept at home for the next six months, right up until Nightal, learning to keep her temper separate from her burgeoning magic.

Fourteen, and she's heading out for her first day as the alchemist's apprentice and as usual her sister Eike was being annoying.

"But why? I want to go make potions too, it's so unfair", Eike whined.

"You're not old enough yet, sweetheart," Luba, their foster mother, interjected. "Give it a couple more years and we'll find a good placement for you too".

"But I want to go now! It's not fair that she gets to go have fun and I have to do chores!"

"Mr Ruskin needs an assistant with a steady hand and you just twitch all over the place, you're like a cornered weasel", Sorcha teased. 

"I hate you! You eat the puke outside of the Mermaid"

"And I hate you too worgface, I'm glad you're not my real sister!"

"Girls, please, stop this! We're all family here no matter where you started out", Luba admonished while separating them once again. "And your sister is going to work, not to play."

As Sorcha left the house, Eike hissed into her ear. "You'll regret this, gnome-breath, just you wait. One day you might find you won't have any home to come back to!"

After a long but instructive day working in the Alchemist's workshop, Sorcha headed for home, happily humming to herself while navigating the path from Bloomridge down towards The Steeps. She paused at the archway set at the top of the rise, where a crowd had gathered, all craning their necks to see something further down the hill. Smoke and flames billowed from the bottom of the street, from near her house, and she started worming her way through the crowd, running pell-mell down the long street, pushing gawkers out the way, the stench of smoke catching the back of her throat, her eyes streaming with tears.

She gave a keening cry as she saw the origin of the fire, and two of the Fists at the front of the property turned to look at her. One of their local troublemakers, Saff Fargoer, shouted out "Oi! Stop her, that'll be her. She's the little firebug!" and the Fist grabbed hold of her. Saff still hated her. 

"You little hellion", the Fist snarled. "Killing an entire family and endangering the whole district with your flames". Sorcha tried to protest before the implication of his words sank in. Her second family, gone? She let out an anguished scream and tried to run into the flaming building. The second Fist caught her other arm and dragged her back, twisting her arm painfully behind her back. Contorted, angered faces surrounded her, shouting accusations and lies. She had to escape, to get away from this horror. Why couldn't they all leave her alone, why wouldn't they all just die! A burst of green light exploded from her hand, knocking the Fists to the ground with a blast of necromantic energy as she squirmed out of the hold and ran for the docks.

Sorcha awoke at camp in the early morning light after a restless night, haunted by the dreams of her past. She hauled herself out of the bedroll and looked around for Astarion who was supposed to be on watch. He reappeared through the trees, fastidiously wiping his mouth.

"Awake already, darling? To be honest you look like you've barely slept a wink."

Sorcha gave him a rueful grin. "It's all a bit much to take in, really, but at least I had some rest. What have you been doing? Exploring the woods?"

"Nothing much" he said casually. "I tried to see if I could catch anything suitable for breakfast, but no joy there I'm afraid."

After a meagre breakfast they gathered their things and headed out from the temple. Under a stone archway, Sorcha could make out something caught in a trap and a couple of tieflings standing nearby, arguing about what to do with their catch. Her skull suddenly pounded and she heard a voice in her head, Lae'zel, the githyanki she had briefly teamed up with back on the ship.

A shout barrelled into her mind: "Get rid of them!" the gith demanded.

Sorcha walked calmly over to the tieflings. "This creature is dangerous. I've dealt with them before, you should get out of here and leave it to me."

Not needing much convincing, the elder of the tieflings nodded and the two walked away.

"Now, let me down" demanded the gith.

"Say ‘please’" Sorcha retorted.

"Never" the gith insisted.

Sorcha shrugged and walked away, leaving her to it. She really couldn't be doing with the gith's brusque manner right now. Let her get out of the cage on her own if she couldn't even manage to be civil. 

There were raised, angry voices coming from behind a small hill. 

"Open the gate, Zevlor!"

They all crouched down and snuck up the hill until they could see a natural clearing flanked by trees, with a huge gate almost entirely hidden behind vines, surrounded by tall, forbidding cliffs. The noise was coming from three humans, adventurers by the looks of them, who were shouting up to a lone tiefling who stood on top of a wall above the gate. If Sorcha peered hard, she could see some sort of camouflaged winch mechanism above the gate. Hmm, it must be some sort of settlement, she mused. Maybe they would know a healer?

The gate was slowly starting to rise when a goblin war party charged in from the rear, attacked in a flurry of lethal projectiles. The tiefling controlling the winch dropped, skewered by a handful of arrows.

"Get the bastards!" yelled a goblin wearing some sort of hideous skull helmet.

The entire party had been so focused on the scene ahead that they hadn't noticed a couple of goblin archers taking position on the hill to the left. The goblin leader was shouting "Scouts, get to the high ground!" so as the main bulk of the goblins attacked the three adventurers they were left with no choice but to join the fight. 

It was lucky that they had arrived on the high ground, it kept them well away from the hand-to-hand fighting which was not a strong point for any of the party. Astarion handily took out the nearest archer with a couple of daggers to the back while Sorcha cast a quick bone chill cantrip on the other. This left Gale and Shadowheart to throw long distance spells towards the main field, working in tandem to soak the attackers and then electrocute them.

A handsome man leapt from the rocks above the gate, struck a heroic pose and shouted "Defy the Blade and suffer its sting!" He handily dispatched two more of the archers before heading towards a bugbear who was menacing the blond adventurer. 

It didn't take long before the goblins and their allies were defeated, but Sorcha knew that had they not been there at the right time, those adventurers would likely be dead instead. Maybe they could get a reward for saving this place?

Chapter Text

They trooped under the massive gate and found themselves in a dim tunnel that opened out to a peaceful, lush grove. One of the adventurers was yelling at the red skinned tiefling who had assisted from the top of the gate. Astarion supposed that this was the 'Zevlor' they'd been shouting about in front of the gate.

The human, a rough looking specimen with nondescript curly hair and a nasty attitude, seemed to be blaming Zevlor for the entire fight. The tiefling was pointing out that the adventurers had led the goblins directly to the grove. It seemed obvious that the two would come to blows, especially once the human had begun to throw racist insults at the tiefling. 

Astarion stood back and watched with dismay as Sorcha tried and failed to calm down the two adversaries. He really hoped that she wasn't going to get involved in every petty dispute they came across. Did she not remember that they had problems of their own? She only just missed a punch to the face as the human knocked out the tiefling and stormed off, out of the grove. She helped the tiefling to get up and finally started enquiring about a healer. 

"Goblin got you?" the tiefling inquired. "If it's not too serious you could try Nettie, she's down in the grove."

Astarion breathed a sigh of relief to hear that there was a healer in the grove but then the tiefling mentioned that the grove was about to be sealed, and Sorcha just had to ask for more details. He huffed a breath out in exasperation but was pleasantly surprised when she told Zevlor that she had more urgent things to do than help them. Good girl. Maybe she had some gumption after all.

He peered over the edge of the path, looking down on a central area filled with pillared arches and chanting druids.

"I guess that will be where we need to go," he said, pointing.

The sorcerer looked over at the circle.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "Someone's hidden a chest on top of one of those arches."

A quick flick of her hands and a muttered cantrip created a Mage Hand on top of the arch.

"Now, if I could just push …" 

He noticed that she had a little central frown line when she concentrated, and the tip of her tongue peeked out from the corner of her mouth.

"Aha!" she said with satisfaction, pushing the chest to the undergrowth behind the arch. "We should remember to look at that later, someone might have forgotten it was there."

The path led downwards to an open series of caverns, dotted with occasional merchants and groups of tieflings. Sorcha was still stopping to talk to everyone, encouraging a trio of tiefling siblings to stay and help the others rather than leaving early, trading for a little useful equipment and talking to a tiefling weaponsmith. It seemed that these tieflings were refugees from Eltugard, offered sanctuary by the previous leader of the grove who had ventured out with those adventurers and since disappeared.

There was an elderly human woman selling potions, wittering on about the things she'd supposedly cured and offering to help. She was obviously a bit demented, or possibly a witch. He was getting bored so he nudged Sorcha and whispered "Tell her everything", which she promptly did, to disgusted looks from the others. Unsurprisingly, the madwoman thought that she could help, and advised them to visit her cottage in the woods. He guessed it might be worth a try if this druid healer was useless but he didn't hold out too much hope.

A training ground of sorts had been roped off, and a gaggle of tiefling kids were being taught to fight. It looked to be the very first lesson for most of them; either that or they were truly, pitifully, awful. The man from the earlier fight was helping, trying to give them some confidence in their abilities, with little success.

He introduced himself as the Blade of Frontiers, as if they were supposed to know the name. Honestly, between Gale of Waterdeep and the Blade of Frontiers, Astarion thought he should probably come up with a fancy title of his own. What would suit? The Knife in the Dark? The Pale Urge? Ugh, no, it needed something with a bit more gravitas. Best to think about it for a while.

As the man glanced their way a blast of mental energy hit them again, a vision of the hells and the man pursuing a fiery devil. 

"You're infected too then," Sorcha said. She suggested that the man join their party but he refused, saying that he had a devil to chase once the tiefling children finished their lesson. Good. The last thing Astarion needed was some hero to rival him as the most desirable of the group.

There was a flight of stairs leading down from the stable area, and a group of angry tieflings were facing off against some of the druids, yelling about some child or other. The face-off ended when one of the druids turned into a bear and the leading tiefling, a sandy haired female, stomped back up the steps cursing in what he could only presume was infernal.

Sorcha had led them down to where the druids barred the way, intending to walk past the bear and into the centre of the grove. He was hoping that she might manage to avoid a confrontation but the belligerent druid in the middle obviously hated everyone on sight and was barring the way. 

"Back off," she growled rudely to them, "or you'll see my claws." Astarion made a mental note that if he was ever here at night he should make a point of quietly slitting the druid's throat.

They were eventually allowed through the arch thanks to intervention from a gnome, and directed to an underground chamber where the druid leader was apparently expecting them. Walking through a heavy stone door, carved with runes, and down well worn stone steps, they emerged into a chamber dappled with light from an unknown source. 

An imperious druid, who seemed to be the one in charge, was stood over a crying tiefling girl, threatening her with imprisonment, or worse, a snakebite from the vicious looking serpent poised over her. 

Another druid, wearing antlers of all things, was trying to intervene. "Kagha, she's just a child!"

"She's a parasite!" was the rejoinder.

As usual the sorcerer barged straight into the confrontation. The child had apparently been caught stealing something from these druids. Hardly worth charging in for, some petty dispute. How in all the realms did she expect people to help them if she kept inserting herself into the middle of conflicts? 

"Astarion?" Sorcha was looking at him with expectation. "You're a magistrate, surely they can't just lock up a child without due process? What do you think?"

By the gods, why had he ever mentioned that? He gave himself a mental shake and put on his most officious voice. 

"My dear, City Law and Grove Law are completely different. I'm not sure that I'm qualified."

Sorcha continued; "Well, the case should be properly dealt with and both sides heard, wouldn't you say?" 

The druid just glared at him with narrowed eyes even though he hadn't done anything! 

"You're obviously the leader here", she continued, "You should show due respect for the legal process as a strong leader. You wouldn't want to be thought of as capricious, would you?"

The druid, Kagha, eventually acquiesced and Astarion, with, he thought, great dignity, heard both sides of the argument. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" the tiefling girl kept repeating, although Astarion thought it was more likely that she was just a very good performer. 

"I overheard a druid say we'd have to leave once the ritual was finished, and I was scared, so I thought if I hid the idol we could stay longer and be safe! I'm sorry!" she sobbed.

The snake coiled around her certainly didn't look convinced and bared its fangs once more, dripping venom. If his true nature had been known he would have bared his own fangs and hissed back, just to teach it that it wasn't the fiercest thing in the room.

He could see that this story was affecting Sorcha a little and decided that showing mercy could only elevate his standing with the sorcerer. He gravely ruled that the child was to be released and that she was to tell everyone of Kagha's mercy. 

Afterward the druid was congratulating them on their fighting skills during the goblin skirmish and insisting that the party hire themselves out to guard the tieflings on the road. Thank the gods that Sorcha bluntly told her that it was nothing to do with them and that they just wanted to visit the healer. 

"Go then," Kagha spat. "I have no more use for you."

Charming woman. She'd be much improved if she was given a session with Godey. Looking at Sorcha he could see no sign of the meltdown from yesterday, just a grim determination. He hoped her collapse had just been a one-off in reaction to the momentous events of that day. It had been a lot, after all, but now some of that steel was back in her bearing.

While the others walked towards the healer's room, Astarion had a quick look into another empty chamber which seemed to be sleeping quarters. There were a couple of chests and he quickly examined them while eyes were elsewhere. He found one chest hidden at the very back of an alcove but it only contained a gemstone, a tattered note and a well-thumbed book. He picked them up without looking further and wandered back to the healer's room. There were more useful items here, including a couple of clean furs and a rather handsome painting of a bard. He could trade that, but it might be a nice thing to keep at camp, brighten the place up. The healer had taken them to an inner chamber where a dead drow lay on a stone slab. If that was the quality of the healing on offer then he wasn't impressed.

"I was hoping for a less grave cure," Sorcha said warily.

The healer, a young looking dwarf, was bemoaning that their main healer, the missing leader Halsin, hadn't been found by any birds that she had sent searching.

"If Halsin was here, he'd have that tadpole out in a jiffy," she said sadly. 

Apparently all she could offer the party was a quick death. Unbelievably Sorcha took the vial of poison that was offered and worse, promised to take it if symptoms emerged. Astarion could only hope that she was bluffing.

They explored the rest of the grove's lower level, remembering to collect the chest hidden behind the arch. Bears and pigs were just wandering everywhere, it was most unsanitary. He suggested walking down to the river for a wash. The first cove they visited had yet another bear but he found some sort of trinket lost behind a rock. It felt vaguely magical so he resolved to ask the wizard about it later, if he could get a word in edgeways. They headed upwards, over a small hill, to see if they could reach the river at a place that wasn't infested with livestock. They passed by a young tiefling bard who was entertaining a couple of squirrels with some torturous ballad, then headed downwards towards the river.

A beautiful melody reached his ears, haunting yet peaceful. It certainly wasn't coming from that bard; maybe there was some real talent hidden away down there. He couldn't locate the source of the sound so he walked towards the shore where a mop-headed tiefling child stood, ankle deep in the water. He didn't really want to damage his shoes but he had to know who was singing, it was beautiful, healing even. He wasn't sure that he had ever felt such peace and contentment.

An icy cold sensation washed over him as he looked up to the rocky bluff and he suddenly saw several hideous winged monstrosities, harpies, moving in for the kill. "You're welcome" he heard Shadowheart shout down to him. Without thinking, he pulled the child back, away from the trap. 

Stupid, why did you do that? That child would have been a useful distraction while I escaped.

The tiefling obviously had more sense than he did because the child put on a tremendous burst of speed and sprinted up the hill and out of sight. He didn't emerge again until the fight was over and all four of the party were sat on the ground, exhausted, bleeding and breathless in the aftermath.

The child looked a bit more cheerful now that the ground was strewn with harpy carcasses, and told them to ask a boy, Doni, how to reach someone called Mol to get her thanks. Looking at his ripped leggings and bloody hands, Astarion hoped she was very rich and very grateful.

Chapter Text

After a quick rest to recover from the shock of the harpy fight, the group walked back up the main steps to where Sorcha had earlier seen two young tieflings, a boy and a younger girl, with a rudimentary stall set out.

There wasn't much on the stall; mainly broken junk, bent cutlery, shells and a few edible oddments.

The blue-haired boy stopped her and said "Hold out your hand, lady, let me show you something" and proceeded to pull a ring from mid air.

Sorcha grinned in appreciation. "That was a fancy trick - Hammar's Reverse Flourish, right?" 

She casually mimicked his trick and made the ring disappear.

"Weeping bleeding hells! Maybe you don't need extra luck, but as you're already holding it, call it: heads or tails?" the boy asked Sorcha, making a gesture to his sidekick.

Instead of calling it, Sorcha pocketed the ring with a smirk. She recognised the cant, he was telling the other kid to move behind her and steal from her pack while she was distracted.

"Hey, hold on!" the boy exclaimed, "You've gotta pay for that!"

Sorcha raised an eyebrow. "You're getting paid in experience, the ring's mine now!" She leaned closer to his ear. "Word of advice: a couple of natty lads like you are never gonna bite the blow from another canter, so save it for the gudgeons." She failed to notice Astarion's sudden interest as she spoke. 

"Now, who's Doni?" she asked the boy. He pointed to a little red tiefling further up the path. Doni grunted and uncovered a hidden trapdoor which led down into another cavern, the thieves' hideout. Time to make herself known to this 'Mol'.

Instead of the organised den that Sorcha expected, the underground cavern housed a few raggedy tiefling children and their leader Mol, a red tiefling girl with a bandaged eye who couldn't have been more than ten years old. There was a shrewd gleam in her remaining eye though, which told of several years' experience as a thief. 

"Why are you doing all this?" Sorcha asked. "Risky to do it here, you know."

"I'll be setting up my own operation," the girl said proudly, "Once we get to the Gate that is. Someone's got to look after these kids, keep them fed."

The scene reminded Sorcha so strongly of the kids back home on the streets of Yartar that she donated a small amount of gold to assist in taking care of the children. Mol was planning to set up her own business once they got to the Gate, and Sorcha had to applaud her ambition, no matter the likelihood of either being absorbed by the Guild or killed for poaching their territory. Problems for another day, she thought, at least let them get to the Gate safely first.

1478 DR

It had taken her almost two tendays to get to Yartar after fleeing Waterdeep, hiding in undergrowth at the edges of the road to avoid the notice of any other travellers, soaked and bedraggled and hungry. Nothing to eat but roadside berries and mushrooms for an entire seven days, right until she got to Red Larch and managed to pick up a heel of bread and a mouldy apple. Then it was on through Westbridge, skirting the Sumber Hills, haunting the path of a slow, dusty caravan and eating whatever food fortuitously fell from the wagon. It was a relief to finally reach Triboar, a bustling trading town full of anonymous visitors. 

She rested there for a couple of days, regaining some strength and exploring to see what discarded things she could collect. A ramshackle shop bearing the broken sign 'Ransor's Open R' proved to be a secure sleeping place, its wares long since picked over, before taking the two day journey over to Yartar.

When she'd stumbled into the Wink and Kiss, a fearful, wary, almost-child, she had no idea how fortunate it was that Nareen had noticed her before anyone else. Nareen had fed her and taken her to one of the local orphanages. A few days later, once she was settled, the Tethyrian had returned and begun training her for the Hand of Yartar. She didn't know why Nareen Dhest had helped her, but it certainly was appreciated, and Sorcha had eventually made a place for herself as magical muscle for the Hand. Although the Hand was a thieves guild they did not have the same nastiness as the Zhentarim. They refused to deal in slavery and it was a closely guarded secret that a good portion of their profits went in anonymous donations to the various orphanages of the city.

With a safe place to sleep and a promising career ahead of her, Sorcha decided that Yartar was as good a place as any to stay.

The sky was beginning to darken after leaving Mol, so they walked upwards to the main door and set up just outside the Grove to make dinner and have another rest. The magic-user's spell capacity was sorely depleted, none more so than Shadowheart, who had been needed to patch them all up. Sorcha felt a touch guilty about leaving the gith in the cage, so she walked the short trip back there. The cage was empty but there was no blood on the ground or the bars. She hoped the warrior had worked out the escape for themselves.

Sorcha wandered a little way into the forest and found a handy log to sit on. If she let her mind wander too much, there was a gnawing hole in the pit of her stomach where her magic should be. She doubled over and hugged herself, trying to hold all the pain inside, clenching her fists. She felt cold, weak, insubstantial; a ghost wandering through the world. Maybe if she concentrated, out of the heat of battle... she steadied her breathing, trying to centre herself, and sent out the call once more. 

"Nimbus, where are you? Veni et iuva me! Across the planes, find me, come to me, here!"

Nothing, not even a distant bark. It was no use, she would have to do this alone. Trying to get a grip on her rising panic, she walked back to the edge of the camp.

Gale called to her as she passed by his tent. 

"You're not versed in magic, are you?"

Sorcha rolled her eyes. "No, not at all. That cloud of daggers that you saw me casting earlier was entirely a figment of your deranged imagination."

"I'm sorry,'" he spluttered, "I meant to say ‘You're not studied in magic’ of course."

"Bloody arrogant wizards and their superiority. I ought to blow you up with an entirely illusory fireball!" She stalked off towards the fire, muttering to herself. Gale looked rather dejected and slunk back into his tent.

It was his own damn fault, I'm as good as him any day and I didn't need fancy lessons in a fancy tower wearing fancy robes to use my power. How dare he look down on me!

Astarion had volunteered to take watch again, saying that he only needed a few hours to trance. Shadowheart was going to take over in the early hours, so Sorcha settled comfortably into her bedroll. There was a tent available for her, but to be honest, she wanted the open air until she got full rein on her magic once more. She didn't want stray sparks catching and causing not only a conflagration, but also too many prying questions. Better that the party thought that she just couldn't do fire magic - that way, she could hold it in reserve in case of emergency.

She needed a solid plan. Sorcha wasn't that experienced with reeling in marks, but she'd watched her colleagues for years and listened to them expound on their craft. Her speciality was magical intimidation for the Protection scheme, but she'd started off with pocket dipping and 'visitor services' as they all did. One quick blast of Power Word: Pain and even the thickest of business owners generally got the point. However with her magic diminished to virtually nothing, she needed to pull those tips from the recesses of her memory and get good quickly. The cleric seemed happy to let her lead the group, but it was obvious that she was shrouded in her own secrets and, given her general air of distrust, wouldn't open up easily. A tough nut to crack - but maybe given enough time, it might be possible. 

Gale looked to be an altogether easier prospect but gods, the endless verbiage would have her knocking her head against the nearest rock just praying for unconsciousness. He didn't appear to have much experience with intimacy but his tongue was practically dragging on the floor when he glanced towards either herself or Shadowheart. She giggled at the thought of him attempting to woo Shadowheart, and for the briefest moment almost felt sorry for him. A backup then, preferably when she had acquired a stack of Silence scrolls.

Astarion was the key, she thought. Fancy clothes usually meant a fancy purse, ripe for plucking, and the elf seemed perfectly amiable, if a bit shallow.

After a peaceful night they set off towards the village marked as Moonhaven on the signpost. This seemed to be the direction to go both to find the missing druid, and to drop in on that nice old lady.

On the left of the path was a tall bluff. It could give a good view of the land ahead, so she scrambled up the first couple of ledges. Strangely there was a ladder leading up to the top of the outcrop. Sorcha beckoned to the others and mimed hiding. They followed suit, Gale muttering about his knees, and cautiously climbed up.

As soon as she moved away from the ladder, there was a stench of sulphur and a handsome man appeared out of thin air in front of her. She readied her staff, the others dropping into a fighting stance behind her.

"Careful, careful," the man said in a plummy tone of voice. "No need for alarm. I'm Raphael, very much at your service," he continued. 

The man snapped his fingers and, without a by-your-leave, transported them all into a plush room with a roaring fire and a laden table. Something was very off about this one, Sorcha thought. He was making her skin crawl. The others didn't look any happier, and none of them ate the food, despite how enticing it looked.

"Welcome to the House of Hope!" he exclaimed dramatically. It was almost as if he had practiced the line.

The man snapped his fingers once more, and metamorphosed into a tall red skinned devil with massive divided horns, crimson wings outstretched. They all immediately took a step back in unison. He detailed a solution to their tadpole issue which only involved giving up their immortal souls. The bloody cheek of it! He'd have to give her a lot more than that if he wanted her soul.

"I could fix it all like that!" Another snap of his fingers.

"Then fix it or die at my hand," she bluffed, hearing murmurs of approval from behind her. "There's no way I'm making a deal with a devil, so take your fancy furnishings and your poisoned food and fly off back to wherever in the Hells you came from."

The devil just laughed. "You'll come crawling back to me once all those pretty illithid symptoms start, don't you doubt it," he sneered.

"Take us back!" she yelled, "Now!"

"Of course!" he said. "But I'll keep my eye on you, little mouse. You'll come running back once you're sufficiently scared."

They snapped back to the wilderness.

Here on top of the escarpment they could see the way forward, a path leading across a bridge to a distant village. Clambering down into the forest once more, they set forth with hopeful steps. As they neared the bridge a sharp note of distress broke the birdsong.

"Edowin! You can't leave us!" cried a woman's voice.

Sorcha cautiously walked forward to a clearing which contained three people - a dwarf, bleeding out, lying on the ground and two humans kneeling by him. The humans leapt up as she approached.

"Stop right there!" the woman demanded. "Do you serve the Absolute?"

"Weird thing to ask while you're standing over a body." Sorcha replied. 

The dwarf locked eyes with her and her parasite stirred. "Wait!" he groaned. "She is a True Soul, mind her.” The woman gave out a forlorn wail as the dwarf died in front of her, then walked towards Sorcha in a strangely fawning manner.

"You're a True Soul? Do you have orders for us?” she asked.

"True Soul? What's a True Soul?" Gale asked from the rear.

As she listened and nodded along to a quite frankly ludicrous explanation, Sorcha was already readying her magic. These idiots thought some sort of goddess was talking to them and that they were going to take over Faerun. Religious zealots always got right up her nose, interfering in everyone else's lives. Time to cut this short.

"I don't know of these True Souls," she interrupted. "We're looking for a druid, have you seen one?"

The humans charged at them, rather inefficiently. The man slipped in the dwarf's blood and landed heavily. If this was the calibre of the Absolute's troops then their goddess was in for a big disappointment. It only took a couple of blows and they had gone to join their friend on the Fugue Plane. 

As she was checking the dwarf's body for anything useful, a hideous squirming began in his eye, and a tadpole crawled out, evidently about to look for another host. She grabbed it and threw it on the ground, trampling it to pulp before it could escape.

"Interesting," said Gale. "They think a worm in their heads means that they're chosen by a god."

"Ridiculous," scoffed Shadowheart. "Any new god would have an uphill battle," she added smugly.

As they crossed the bridge, passing more corpses, they saw the entrance to a ramshackle village. The sign announced it to be Moonhaven but it looked to have been abandoned long ago. Doors hung loosely from their hinges, weeds pushed up through the cobblestones and even from the entrance you could see holes in the roof. A small movement on one of the rooftops caught Astarion's eye.

"Ambush!" he hissed.

Sorcha stepped backwards. A path led off in both directions around the side of the village and she quietly moved to the right, hoping to go round the back or bypass the place all together.

There was a plump boar, dead on the path a little outside the village. Strangely it didn't seem to have been eaten at all, so she drew her dagger and cut off a couple of the legs for their supplies. Once this was done a worrying thought occurred to her.

"What has actually killed this creature?" she asked. "It doesn't look old or ill. We should examine it before taking the meat - if it was poison then obviously we shouldn't eat it but it's a shame for it to go to waste."

She peered closely at the pig but couldn't see any signs of a wound. "Damn, guess we'll have to leave it after all," she grumbled.

"Finally! Can we go now?" sniped Astarion.

Chapter Text

They walked through the woodland surrounding the village. Looking down from the path he saw an interesting cave and jumped down to investigate. Sorcha joined him and pointed out the owlbear tracks leading into the cave, along with scuffed human and dwarf footprints.

"This must be where those idiots had their fight," she asserted.

"Let's have a little look," he suggested. "If we're cautious we should be able to have a quick search, there might be treasure."

They crept into the cave and found a deserted altar to Selune. A few potions and coins were scattered about, along with an ornate chest with a magical lock on it. While he was confident with ordinary locks, this would require something more and he was in no mood to be cursed by a magical trap. Sorcha picked up a turquoise bottle, sniffed it and downed the lot. 

"Potion of Animal Speaking, I think," she explained. "It might come in handy in the woods."

They slowly rounded a corner and came face to beak with a massive owlbear, her cub hiding behind her.

As idiotic suggestions went, this had to be one of his most notable. What was he thinking, walking into an owlbear's cave?

"We're no threat to you or your cub" Sorcha said earnestly. It was very lucky that she'd drunk the potion earlier. Maybe she had some divination skills?

The owlbear growled and hooted at her.

"Just let us go, we won't harm you."

Unbelievably, this seemed to work and they turned and trekked back through the cave unmolested. 

"Well," he said, "that could have been so much worse. Shame there was no treasure though."

As they emerged into the daylight once more, he revelled in the beauty of the dappled sunlight, filtering down through the trees, enjoying the peace, before a heartbroken howl resonated from deeper in the woods. A white dog was sitting beside the remains of a human dressed in messenger garb. The man's stomach looked to have been ripped open and he was very, very dead. Sorcha knelt down and talked with the dog, petted him and invited him to camp but the creature remained rooted by his erstwhile owner's side and they continued on, leaving him to his sorrow.

As Sorcha jumped across the narrow river, Astarion thrilled at his ability to follow her. Running water and no damage.Was he truly free of his limitations? What else was he able to do?

Another night, another watch for Astarion. He's having issues. It's getting increasingly difficult to keep up with the others in fights. Animal blood is all very well if he was lounging around taverns all night looking delectable, but it doesn't seem to sustain him enough for regular physical exertion. He's still hungry. Yesterday's boar barely made a dent in the endless gnawing call for blood. 

He's still hungry. He's still hungry. Damn it all to the hells.

"Thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures" echoes in his memory, Cazador's cardinal rule. But the tadpole allows him to break so many unbreakable rules, what if he could do this? Feed as he is supposed to, finally give his body the nourishment it craves, it deserves. He deserves.

He's worried that the others are starting to notice that he barely eats their food. It all tastes like dust and ashes and although he chokes down what he can…

Just one glorious mouthful of sentient blood, that's all he needs, he's sure of it.

He's so hungry.

He sits and obsessively considers his options. Of all his companions, Sorcha seems to be the only one he could feed from safely. Gale's blood smells hideous, tainted with only the gods know what. Shadowheart seems to be one step away from killing him at any given moment, despite him being nothing but charming to her. He can charm anyone, so what is her problem? No, Sorcha is his best bet, at least she seems to like him.

Deciding who is one thing, but then there's also the how of it. Obviously when it's an animal he just goes straight for the neck, right to the artery. Is it the same plan for a thinking creature? Or should it be somewhere more accessible such as the wrist? His only experience was when Cazador turned him all those years ago, and that was straight for the neck, no messing around. It's not a night he chooses to remember in detail.

Gods, that had hurt, even above all of his other injuries. He knows that he still bears the scar, he can feel it. He has never seen Cazador drink from anyone else in almost two hundred years, it was something that he insisted on doing privately.

Would it be safer to drink from the wrist, less chance of accidentally draining her? He really didn't want to scar her forever, and it would be a bit of a giveaway, two puncture wounds in the neck. Whereas wrist wounds could have been caused by anything.

Astarion tries to recall if anyone had a sleep potion in their pack. That would be so much easier, no chance of the pain waking her, just quick and quiet and anonymous. Gods, he's hungry. He rifles through what packs and chests are easily accessible, but can't find any useful sleeping draught. 

He really wishes that he had tried harder and managed to convince Sorcha to sleep in an actual tent, rather than on her fireside bedroll, in full view of anyone who looked out. 

He's so hungry.

Sorcha snores gently by the fireside, her face toward the fire and her neck uncovered, one arm flung out, the other wrapped around herself.. He can see the pulse throbbing steadily in her luscious unmarked neck, a drumbeat calling his name. He can smell the iron rich deliciousness of her blood. 

He's so hungry.

He finally gathers his courage and cautiously leans towards her neck, fangs readied.

He risks another glance at that peaceful, sleeping face, only to see a golden eye open, brow raised, regarding him calmly.

"Shit," he exclaimed. 

"Something I can help you with, Astarion?" Sorcha asked.

"It's not what it looks like," he babbled incoherently, stepping backwards out of her reach. "I wasn't going to hurt you!"

"Well, either you were going to ravish my helplessly alluring body or you were going to drain my blood, neither with my permission, so which is it?" she demanded. Comprehension dawned on her face as her brain caught up. 

"It was you that drained that boar, wasn't it? I should have seen it, I really should. No mortal is quite that pale."

"A ...bb…bwah" he spluttered.

She pointed to the log positioned beside her bedroll. "Sit".

Astarion sat. He really didn't have a line prepared for this scenario.

"Now, perhaps you'll explain yourself," she said. "I do think you owe me that, don't you?"

"I… I can't fight right now," he began haltingly. "I'm not strong enough to do what you need me to do. I've been feeding on what I can catch in the forest; boars, deer, even pigeons, but it's not sufficient to keep me strong enough to fight. If I only had a little proper blood I could be so much better, more useful."

Sorcha frowned. "You lied to me. You said you were a magistrate, you spun a whole illusion of wealth and power and dignity. And now you want my blood too?"

Astarion looked sadly down at the ground and sighed. "I know, but I had to get you to trust me, to want to keep me safe. If I'd walked up to you and introduced myself as a vampire you'd have blasted me out of existence without a thought."

"True" she conceded. 

"So, is there any possibility that you could trust me enough to… erm… donate a little?" he said, staring longingly into her eyes, using his most appealing look.

She sighed, and sat, considering, for a moment. Then a resolute look crossed her face.

"Okay, how do we do this, what's the plan?"

Astarion's mind reeled. "Wait, you're actually volunteering?"

"Well, I do need you strong. You're the most effective killer we have after all," she mused. "Right, empty out your pockets, I want to see how much gold you have before we start. I know you've been squirrelling some away, I would."

He looked at her with bemusement. "You want … paying?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Pockets, now."

He reached for one of his hidden pouches, tucked inside his doublet, and slowly poured gold onto the ground. Sorcha counted it out with practiced ease … "A hundred and seventy four … that's good, just twenty six more from me then. Wait here."

She got up and walked over to Withers who was lurking at the edge of their camp. He saw her hand over the pouch and have a short discussion with the entity before returning to the fire.

Astarion looked quizzically at her. She shrugged. "If you get carried away I'd much rather have my resurrection sorted beforehand, thank you very much. You don't seem good at making sensible decisions in a crisis."

He started to protest at this slur, before pausing to reflect for a moment. "Thank you, darling. Shall we make ourselves comfortable?"

She reclined and he leant over to her neck, gently brushing the loose strands of blue-black hair back. He paused, then said "I'm not sure if this will hurt. If it does, I'm sorry." Liar.

He bites down and rich, beautiful, vibrant life is flowing into his mouth. It's like nothing he's ever experienced, a riot of sensation and colour and all his senses exploding at once. He can feel her shaking beneath him, and can smell her arousal and he's even getting hard himself. It's the most glorious moment of his entire life.

There's a faint noise coming from her. 

"Stop, Astarion. Enough." 

He takes one more intoxicating gulp before disengaging his fangs. She is radiant to him, the giver of life, the giver of warmth– lying pale, dazed and disheveled beneath him, with two bleeding wounds in her neck.

"That… that was amazing," he said reverently. "You get some rest, sleep now, and I'll go and get my money back from Withers."

In the morning she still looked woozy, so he handed her a healing potion that he'd stolen from Shadowheart earlier, along with her share of the money from Withers. Of course she then had to go and announce his vampiric nature to the others. They took it pretty well given the circumstances. Shadowheart even mentioned something about them all being 'monsters in the making' anyway.

The dog from yesterday had turned up and that seemed to put Shadowheart in a better mood too. 

"Aww, what will you get up to all day without us?" She was speaking to it with an indulgence completely at odds with how she spoke to everyone else. 

The walk through the forest was a dazzling cornucopia of smells, colours and sounds, nothing like yesterday. He'd thought the forest walk yesterday was wonderful, but today everything was just so bright, so real, so much … more. 

"Astarion'" a voice interrupted, dragging him back. Ugh, it was Gale. "You do know that you're, erm, skipping?" he enquired. Hells, how embarrassing. But he just felt so damn… happy.

The path diverged, the left leading upwards to some sort of official looking building, maybe a Tollhouse? The right lead back down to the river and by agreement they went that way, to have a little rest and refill their waterskins. For the first time since this entire debacle started he didn't need a rest himself, he could have gone on for days, but he intended to politely wait for the others with only a few dismissive comments about lack of stamina.

As they approached the river he saw a log had been placed as a makeshift crossing. On an island in the centre of the river was a huge, red, and visibly flaming tiefling with a broken horn. He sensibly took a step back, caution being the better part of valour and all that, only for Sorcha to walk ahead of him, towards the island. Gods, that woman was going to get them all killed.

The tiefling shouted "Stay back, I'm too hot!" and Sorcha cast a minor ice spell of some sort, in an attempt to cool the tiefling down. It did seem to help a little but there were still actual flames coming out of her. It transpired that the tiefling's name was Karlach, and she was a refugee from the Blood War in the Hells, infected with a tadpole as she hitched a lift on the Nautiloid as it passed through Avernus. This must be the supposed 'devil' that hero in the grove had been hunting. Typical monster hunter, hunting people whose only crime was being a bit different.

Karlach asked for their help, to which Sorcha readily agreed. Of course she did. Mind you, Shadowheart looked a bit taken with the tiefling too, for once she was keeping her snide remarks to herself. 

They trekked back up the hill to the Tollhouse, where a ladder led up to the main building. A corpse had been carelessly thrown at the bottom, one of the toll collectors. Astarion checked his pockets and found a nice sum of gold, but wondered who in Faerûn would not bother to rob their victims afterwards.

"I'm going to head to the roof and wait for your signal," he said. 

The others nodded and crept inside. He found himself on a flat roof with a door leading to an inner balcony. He crept inside and could see a halfling archer and a human paladin in the central room. Paladins were tricky, you could never tell if their gods would suddenly step in and help, so he coated a few arrows with strong poison just to be safe. 

The door below him burst open, Karlach and Sorcha charging through. While the paladin was distracted by this he took the opportunity to nock two arrows in rapid succession, hitting the halfling in the throat and dropping her to the ground. He heard muffled screams from the other room and concluded that the third person was getting up close and personal with Shadowheart and Gale.

That only left the paladin who was now trading blow for blow with Karlach. He couldn't see Sorcha for a moment, then saw her move from out of a shadow and clamp a hand to the back of the paladin's neck. The paladin convulsed and dropped to the floor, leaving an opening for the tiefling to bury her axe straight into his chest.

To his absolute horror, instead of celebrating a battle well won, she then proceeded to run through the building screaming, smashing and setting it alight.

"Fuck you, Zariel!" she screamed as she ran. "I'm never going back!"

Chapter Text

Sorcha had been feeling fine, sneaking behind that fake paladin and zapping him was fun! That was until their new ally, Karlach, started running through the building setting fires.

There were flames everywhere that Sorcha looked. Despite considerable effort on her part, panic took over and she ran out the front door, down the hill, and crouched, sobbing and shaking, in a heap under a stone archway. Not again, not again, please not again.

For a moment she's back in the Gate, fourteen years old, beating her little fists against unyielding armour while a crowd bays around her.

1478 DR

She'd crawled through several narrow alleys, wriggled through a fence hole behind a midden and emerged in a small kitchen garden leading onto the last flight of steps down towards the east docks. Not as many people would know her down here, they'd always bought their fish from the western side.

For the next few hours, as night set in, she haunted the edges of the docks, behind barrels and fish guts, searching for a vessel she could reach. The little fishing sloops would be no use, they only went out for a couple of days then returned with their haul, and barely had room for cargo. No, it needed to be one of the many-masted ships that unloaded close to the Counting House.

Sorcha managed to climb onto a warehouse roof unseen, and crawled carefully across to its loading area. After careful observation she had a tentative route mapped out in her mind. If she could jump across three of the smaller local boats, she could reach a walkway at the base of the watchtower and remain hidden while she planned from there.

She was thankful that it was a cloudy night, the sliver of light from a new moon doing little to illuminate her as she slunk along. The smoke was still drifting fitfully across the harbour too, causing the local dockhands to curse and hurry indoors. As the moon retreated behind a billowing veil once again, she made her move. Fear assisted, she leapt across the boats in quick succession before cowering at the tower's shadowed base.

There were a few decent sized options, but she knew that the Counting House had their own guards patrolling these jetties. Caution was key. She waited. Strands of music floated across the bay from the bard doing a turn out the front of the Mermaid.

"I've seen the morning in the mountains of Galena,
I've seen the sunset in the east and in the west;
I've sung the glory that was Amn,
And passed the Icewind Giant's home;
It still seems for the best.

And I'm far, far away
With my head up in the clouds …"

As the song drifted off, the nearest ship erupted in noise and light, a crew returning from carousing on the shore. She huddled down and continued her vigil. She did not like the look of the second ship, it had an ill air about it. She glanced at the name decorating the hull: 'The Radiant Webs of Pain'. Sorcha shuddered. Drow then, no, no thank you. Wherever they're going, I want to be elsewhere.

Shouts echoed from the third vessel along.

"C'mon Gert, stow those empties so we can get to the Maid for a pint before dawn." A half-orc was slinging barrels from the dockside onto the ship and securing them for travel before lumbering off the ship in the company of two dwarves. This seemed like her best chance, but it was furthest away, along the boardwalk with a possibility of being spotted from the tower.

Sorcha calmed herself and sought out the remaining strands of her magic. She concentrated on the image of a dark, impenetrable shroud wrapping her from prying eyes as she moved. It seemed to be working, she could see darkened tendrils wrapping around her as she shuffled quietly along towards the final ship. The name painted on this read 'The Pearl of the Deeps' which seemed a much safer bet than The Web so she carefully navigated over to the stack of empty barrels, finding one in the middle with air holes and a loose lid.

She had just enough presence of mind to notice water barrels on the other side and grabbed a couple of full waterskins in the hope that would be sufficient. Crawling into the barrel, she curled up and waited for their departure as tears tracked a silent torrent down her cheeks.

A voice reaches into her mind: Astarion, using the tadpole. "Breathe, darling . Just breathe, that lunatic has calmed down now and the fires are out." She realised with chagrin that she had flashed the entire episode to the whole group. Damn. Now, what to tell them?

She was thankful for the elf's silent reminder. It had helped and she hurriedly wiped her face and centred herself again while walking towards the others. Maybe he could still be useful, vampires had excellent hearing and sense of smell, it was no wonder he was quite so good at noticing threats.

Karlach bounded up to her. "Soldier! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you!" The tiefling peeled back part of her tunic to show a pattern of metal vents dotted across her chest, each burning with a clear flame. "Infernal engine for a heart" she explained. "Keeps me burning far too hot."

Sorcha remembered Dammon, the cute tiefling weaponsmith they had met in the grove, the one with a forge beside Ethel. Hadn't he said something about being a smith in the hells?.

"I might know someone who can help, back at the grove. We will be heading back there sooner or later."

"So, Sorcha," Shadowheart began. "What was that whole chase thing you had going on back there? Wasn't that Grey Harbour?"

Sorcha paused for a moment. "Just a bad memory from long ago. They sometimes surface when I've had a shock, and, sad to say, being burnt gave me quite the shock."

Karlach murmured another apology, while Gale patted her awkwardly on the arm.

They began to walk back along the lower part of the Risen Road, confused and a little distressed by the amount of abandoned carts and produce scattered across the road. It looked like there had been a battle, or several battles. Astarion put an arm out across Sorcha's front. "Wait," he said. "I can smell blood. A lot of blood."

She heard what sounded suspiciously like a gith battle cry as they carefully rounded a corner to see Lae'zel cornered by an entire group of gnolls. She was also surrounded by hyena corpses, which seemed a little odd. Karlach charged forward with a yell, lopping off the arm of the nearest gnoll, an archer. The gnolls seemed to be young ones and didn't fare so well once outnumbered.

"Chk" Lae'zel spat. "It is well that you arrived when you did. These beasts thought to end me."

"If you wish, you can travel with us," Sorcha suggested, to the obvious disgust of Shadowheart. "We have a lead on a healer who can remove these worms."

Lae'zel thought for a moment. "Only a gith device can remove them. I need to find a crèche to do so, but it is wise to have allies in an unfamiliar place, even such as you. I will travel with you."

It was decided that Gale and Lae'zel would head back to camp to recuperate while the others headed back to the ruined village.

Sneaking around the back of the village led them to a sleeping bugbear guard. Astarion had no issue cutting his throat before he even woke. With noone to sound the alarm, this left the route clear to climb up to the roof behind the ambush.

Karlach whispered "Halfling essence" as she snuck along, causing silent laughter from the others, before Sorcha blasted the closest pair right off the roof with a thunderwave. There were four others, two on the opposite rooftop, one beneath them and a guard bimbling around over by the well. The two on the rooftop would need enticing down, so the three women backed off from the edge of the roof and waited. Astarion sighted down through a hole in the rafters and pierced the goblin below, right through the back of her neck. The vampire really was getting rather good at this, even if he did say so himself, endlessly.

As the two goblins opposite ventured down the ladder, planning on getting within reach, a flaming arrow ignited a firewine barrel at the base of the ladder. Flaming goblins turned out to be much easier for Shadowheart to hit.

The other guard was still aimlessly wandering, kicking rocks and singing to himself. For a brief moment Sorcha almost envied him, to be that carefree. Then the guard exploded in a blast of smokepowder and she heard the sound of Karlach cheering from behind her.

They dropped down from the roof and investigated further. This building looked to have been a forge, with a pair of double doors on the front, easily unlocked. Inside a trapped chest he found some intriguing weapon blueprints, which called for Sussur Bark, from a tree he recalled only grew in the Underdark. A better find was a slab of infernal iron, which Karlach excitedly recognised as being something that could be used to fix her heart.

With the ambush dealt with they could concentrate on exploring the village further. Sorcha heard shouts of alarm coming from a windmill on a small hill, so they mounted the steps to investigate, and ran right into a group of goblins. The goblins were amusing themselves with a gnome, tied to a sail on the windmill.

"Release that gnome at once!" she demanded.

"Or what?" a little scrote of a goblin replied.

As she looked at the goblin, a strange triangular symbol glowed across his face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were a True Soul,your worshipfulness," he grovelled. Me an' the lads woz just leavin', we won't trouble you."

The entire gang of goblins scurried off down the hill, towards the goblin camp.

A look of growing comprehension spread across Sorcha's face.

"Well now, that is interesting," she said. "I think the worms give us the ability to control others, those with that marking on their face."

"That could certainly come in handy," mused Shadowheart, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers.

There was an alchemist's shop on the other side of the village, as ramshackle as the rest of the place. They wandered inside and Sorcha began excitedly picking up musty old herbs.

"There's surely nothing worth our time here, is there? This is so tedious."

She ignored him so he began to leaf through an old journal mouldering on the counter. "Hold on, this mentions a cellar."

Astarion began searching the floors for it, eventually finding a trapdoor hidden between two shelves.

"Now this looks much more promising," he said.

Astarion climbed down the rickety ladder, followed by the others, and they emerged into a dimly lit cellar.

"Ah, good," he snarked. "A cellar full … oh joy … musty old herbs."

Karlach leaned against a once magnificent desk while Sorcha and Shadowheart gathered up alchemy supplies and Astarion wandered moodily around, kicking at debris discontentedly. He aimed a sharp kick at some open crates stacked against the wall and the wood splintered before disintergrating.

Sorcha looked around in annoyance, but her face softened when she saw that he had unwittingly uncovered a lever set into the wall.

"A hidden lever! Wonder what it opens," she said.

For a miracle she didn't immediately pull it, instead putting her hands behind her back with a cheeky grin on her face, waiting for Astarion to investigate first.

Once he had established that it wasn't trapped, she tried to pull it, straining, but it was rusted shut.

"Karlach, a little help here?" she yelled, dusting the rust from her hands.

"Sure thing, soldier." Karlach laid a hand on it and pulled it with ease. A rumbling sound came from the next alcove as a sturdy bookcase slid across the floor on hidden rollers. A misshapen entrance in the rock led to a dim passageway.

Sorcha began to stride into the corridor before remembering that she was with a vampire who possessed superior darkvision and a keenly honed trap sense.

"After you," she said to Astarion. She watched as Astarion cautiously walked along the corridor, examining the ground intently for trip wires or pressure plates.

He paused at the end of the corridor, just as she became aware of a familiar rotting stench herself. He turned back towards them.

"Corpses," he said tersely.

Astarion crept round the corner and into an underground grotto, light filtering down through broken earth onto a grassy underground hollow, dotted with coffins. The others followed carefully behind.

He gingerly lifted the corner of the lid on the nearest coffin, finding no body, only a scroll, a vial of alchemist's fire and some assorted stones and debris.

"Let's leave the rest of the coffins," Sorcha said. "I have a very bad feeling about them, I don't like the way they're spaced out."

In the far corner she had noticed an ornate metal frame. She presumed it was a mirror, but this was a peculiar place to find such a fancy one.

"What do you make of that?," she asked the others, before walking up to it.

A shadowy face appeared in the frame.

"A magic mirror!" she said with glee.

"Mirror, mirror, tell me true, how do I get a wish from you?" Astarion declaimed loudly.

The face in the mirror ignored him, while the others sniggered.

"Speak your name" the mirror demanded.

"Erm, I'm Haliyra Ravenfast," she said with a grin.

With a little negotiation, the mirror opened to reveal …

"Another dusty cellar, oh good," piped up the vampire.

"Will you just quit griping for one damn minute?" Sorcha retorted.

Assembled animal skeletons dangled, suspended from the roof. A stuffed cave bear regarded her mournfully. The place had obviously been abandoned as long as the rest of the village, but still might hold something useful.

Several bundles of dried herbs went into her pouch for later. She also found some magical bracers and an old, rusty key. There was a barred room at the end of the workshop, so she decided to try the key on that.

As she headed towards the door, Karlach reached for the bars. There was a quiet 'click' and two braziers lit up, one either side of her.

"Traps, darling!" came a sarcastic voice from behind her. "You do remember about traps, right? Or are you just impervious to all damage, because that would be quite useful?"

Karlach leapt back and looked abashed.

"Would you do the honours, Astarion?" Sorcha asked, handing him the key.

Once the door trap was deactivated, Sorcha stepped cautiously into the room. In the centre was a large stone plinth, with a strange book on it. She carefully examined the room and noticed two stone gargoyles, with their mouths aimed towards the book.

"Probably a pressure plate, how are you with those?" she asked.

"Hardly a challenge, darling," he replied, and then proceeded to take forever to disarm it, muttering quietly to himself as he did so.

Sorcha was getting very impatient. She was just at the point of conjuring Mage Hand to grab the book, traps be damned, when he said "Finally!" and stepped out holding the book.

The book was large, with heavy clasps, and covered in some sort of … by the hells, was that some sort of skin? It had been moulded into a mockery of a face, with amethyst eyes and a gaping mouth. She could feel waves of torment emanating from it, a dark pit of necrotic energy, and she shuddered. While she was used to shadow energy, feeling this concentration infused into an object gave her pause.

"Please don't open the creepy book," begged Karlach, and she was inclined to agree.

Sorcha turned and handed it to Astarion. "Look after this for me, would you?"

Everyone was keen to get back in the sunlight once more.

"Hold up, there's a stench coming from that corner of the village," Astarion said once they were all back above ground. "It's not goblins, it's not undead, but it certainly is putrid. Let me just get a better view."

He crept closer, despite his better judgement and ascended a ladder leading to the roof. Sneaking a peek over the broken roof tiles, he was horrified to see three ogres inside, and signalled as such to Sorcha, using the cant they both knew.

Sorcha stepped lightly inside the building, trying to overhear. They were arguing about the taste of … gods … tiefling!

She stepped boldly up to them. The ogres had a fetid ripeness to them, a malodorous, putrid yet leaden feel. Wait, one appeared to be wearing a … tiny tiara? What in the hells?

She glanced up at Astarion. He was frantically making throat slitting gestures but she shook her head. They weren't up fighting a group of ogres right now.

"And what surprise is this?" asked the ogre with the charming tiara. "Be you friend or food? The mark is Her measure?"

"I bear no mark," Sorcha said arrogantly, "For I am one of the Absolute's True Souls."

Believe me, believe me, just believe me.

"Is that so? A shame then, that your meat must go untasted," he said with regret.

Sorcha decided to risk a few more questions. She modelled her attitude on Kagha and asked "Why are you here? You should surely be in the goblin camp?"

"We check mark, goblins give gold. Is good deal," said one of the less eloquent ogres, earning himself a club across the back of his head.

"No talk!"

"Forget the goblins, you should be fighting for me! If you do, I'll let you have your fill of our enemies," she said.

"I do love a bargain," the clever one said. "Take my horn, blow it when you have need of us and we will appear, ready to feast."

She nodded and left the building, breathing a huge sigh of relief. She saw Astarion climb down from the roof, somewhat encumbered his latest treasure, a huge painting of a human hunter.

"I suppose you want to lug that monstrosity back to camp?" she asked.

"I just want to make it all a bit more civilised," he said. "Just because we're camping in the mud is no reason to live like animals."

As Sorcha lounged against a rock, drinking from her waterskin, Astarion began looking at the scroll he had found in the coffin.

"To Fetch a Servant'" he read from across the top.

"A servant could be handy. They could organise my stuff at camp, keep it comfortable and tidy, maybe repair my clothes," he said airily.

As he cast the scroll, a small yellow fiend appeared in a sulphurous cloud, a quasit. Sorcha had heard of these creatures, warlocks often had them as familiars.

"Shit-piddling toe-rag!" the quasit yelled.

Sorcha spluttered out a laugh.

"Wait, you're not Illy. You're Shovel's new master now?"

Astarion took another look at the disgusting creature and shook his head, pointing to Sorcha, who was still chuckling.

"Oh, oh, a spell shite! When the fisting starts, use the sparky magic to call Shovel. Let's kill everything!" Shovel cackled.

The party returned to find camp was already set up and some delicious smelling stew was bubbling over the fire, presumably thanks to Gale.

"What do gith even eat? Insects or some such?" Astarion asked without much interest.

"Kainyank!" retorted Lae'zel. "I eat perfectly normal food, I don't go around draining people for my meals!!"

As the others settled in for their meal, Astarion shushed them, he had heard a noise from the camp outskirts. he sniffed, trying to scent what the noise was … "Intruder", he hissed, leaping up.

Walking straight into their camp, rapier drawn, was Wyll, the 'Blade of Frontiers'. He made a determined path straight towards Karlach. Sorcha knew she had been right not to trust him earlier, the man was just looking for trouble.

"Karlach," the man sneered. "Zariel's lap dog, come to burn the Sword Coast to ash."

Karlach stood up, Sorcha and Gale on either side. "Damn. Thought I'd lost you in Avernus," the tiefling said.

Sorcha stood herself directly between them. "Back off, Wyll. Karlach's no devil and I won't let you lay a finger on her."

"Honestly, darling, do you have an actual death wish?" Astarion sniped.

The man dropped into a defensive stance. "You're allying yourself with a devil!"

"Touch her and it will be your death, hero or no," Sorcha threatened.

Thankfully at this point Karlach intervened.

"How about we all just calm the fuck down? Just 'cos I want to live doesn't mean that I want him dead!"

Her statement caused a flicker of confusion on Wyll's face, followed by a look of sheer dread.

"You really are no devil, are you?" he mused. "Someone has played me for a fool."

"Allies then?" suggested Karlach, and Wyll agreed.

Sorcha stepped up once more, arms crossed.

"Just so you know, Wyll, Astarion's a vampire, and he is our friend. No jokes about bats or rats, no waving garlic about and definitely no stakes. Agreed?"

Wyll cast a dubious look over at Astarion, sighed, and said "Agreed."

Chapter Text

Next day they decided to head down into the lush, sunlit meadowlands to visit Auntie Ethel, in the hopes that she might be able to help. Shadowheart and Gale had opted to stay in camp and work on brewing potions and scribing some scrolls, ready for when they reached the goblin camp. That left Astarion, Karlach, Wyll and Lae'zel, along with Sorcha herself, to locate the woman's dwelling.

It was truly beautiful here. Insects buzzed lazily, vibrant flowers dotted the grasses, everywhere she looked there was dappled sunlight and verdant, burgeoning, plant life. 

The calm was interrupted by raised voices. This was getting to be an annoying habit, did anyone ever just relax around here?

"Do you harass every old woman you meet?" a voice screeched. A muffled male voice answered.

The old woman, Ethel, was being confronted by two younger men armed with farming implements. Perhaps she could sort this out and get a discount on the healing services from Ethel.

Sorcha stepped up. "What's going on here? How about we all calm down and you tell me what's happening?"

A red headed man, aggressively waving a pitchfork, growled "Our sister went to the hag and we ain't seen her since."

"You can't just go around accusing old women of being hags!" Sorcha exclaimed. "I know this lady, she's a healer."

The younger man immediately yelled "She's with the hag!" and the two charged at the party. Rather unwisely, they charged straight for Karlach and Lae'zel, who dispatched them with only minor effort. 

"Chk!" spat Lae'zel in disgust. "If these puny humans were really needing to deal with a hag they would not have fared any better!"

"Oh my stars!" Ethel cried, her face creased with concern. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen! Come visit me at my teahouse, petal, and I'll reward you properly for saving me," she added, before vanishing in a puff of green smoke.

"Have we been fooled?" Sorcha asked, frowning. "There's certainly more to that one than meets the eye."

"Well, if she really is a hag then we should steer well clear," insisted Astarion.

"We should at least have a little look," chimed in Wyll. "After all, if she's taken a girl and is holding her in some sort of thrall then we should probably rescue her."

Sorcha shook her head. "Might I remind you that we have urgent problems of our own? Hag or no, she's not going to help us if we storm in there waving swords and threats about. I say we proceed cautiously and don't make up our minds ahead of time."

Astarion agreed. "Well said, darling. I knew there was some sense in that pretty little head of yours."

Tymora, give me strength. If he wasn't so damn useful I'd just blast him into the swamp.

Lae'zel pushed him forward. "Tsk'va! May Vlaakith give me strength if I have to listen to more of your nonsense, Astarion."

They continued down towards the beckoning wetlands. Frogs chirped in chorus, brilliant birds swooped past in a jewelled blur. A fresh, green grassy smell was interspersed with the scent of fragrant flowers. Fluffy white sheep gambolled on the hillocks. It was all quite, quite lovely.

Despite this, Sorcha felt a touch of alarm in the back of her mind. Something, somewhere, was not quite right. She tried to remember what she knew about hags.

"Fey illusion magic," she said suddenly, stopping dead. "None of this is real."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," said Astarion. "Can't you just enjoy something nice without freaking out for once?"

"Hush," she insisted. She drew in a calming breath, closed her eyes for a moment and opened them willing her magic to show the truth.

The lovely verdant meadows and charming pools melted away, replaced by a stinking swamp, reeking of rot. Clouds of marsh gas obscured the ground and the sky was overcast, a leaden grey. Redcaps lurked on the pathways, weaving in amongst them, bellowing "Baa!" at intervals.

One stopped in front of Sorcha, a warty little fey with a surprisingly deep "Baa". He seemed to be waiting for some acknowledgement of his sheepiness.

She took a breath and said "Baa!" back at him. The creature seemed satisfied and wandered off again.

"Baa!" growled Karlach, before dissolving into laughter.

Sorcha really didn't want to deal with the hag right now, so she suggested taking another path which led around some of the fetid pools and towards an island she had made out in the distance. It wasn't long before Astarion stopped them again.

"More blood. Lots of it," he warned.

They proceeded with caution and found an abandoned camp completely covered in gore. A bloodbath had taken place while some unlucky travellers had been resting.

Wyll looked grave. "I reckon this was the work of those redcaps. They're generally nasty, bloodthirsty little things, this has all their hallmarks."

"We should probably deal with them before going further," Karlach suggested. "Not something I'd like to have at my back if any of us were wounded."

It was a sensible suggestion so the group headed back to a hillock just on the edge of where the redcaps were loitering.

"Baa! Hiss!" Another redcap greeted them.

"You're not a sheep," laughed Sorcha.

"Gaah! Nosy, scum-sucking, lice-ridden little ball-bag. Get outs! Or I bites tongue. Eats tongue. Delicious tongue." the creature screamed.

"No chance," she said, walking towards it.

"I bleed you. Cut you. Make many delicious holes, yes, yes!" it hissed.

"You like holes do you? We can help with that," she retorted and cast Shocking Grasp on the fey, momentarily stunning it.

The other redcaps began rushing towards them, screaming murderous threats. As each one reached the top of the hill, Karlach and Lae'zel picked them up and threw them into their onrushing siblings.

Sorcha was too busy laughing at this to concentrate, but Wyll was blasting them from a distance and Astarion's bow was, as ever, accurate, so she really wasn't needed.

"That," she giggled, "was the most fun I've had in ages!"

Now that they had secured the rear, the party returned to the edge of the swamp and hopped from rock to rock, hoping to reach the island. It had an interesting looking ruined arch, which suggested the possibility of treasure to Sorcha, and a warped, blasted tree in the centre of some ancient paving. The entire area looked long abandoned.

"Hang on," Astarion said. "A dock … I'm sure I saw something earlier …"

He rummaged in his pack and pulled out a tattered note, the one he had liberated from the druids' sleeping quarters. "This mentions a swamp-dock, and a meeting with Kagha."

"I wonder what she'd been doing all the way out here," Sorcha mused. "Something to hide from the other druids perhaps?"

They leapt over to the central area, and were immediately set upon by a gaggle of mephits.

Sorcha hit two of them with a frozen ray, slowing them down, as Wyll knocked one back with his eldritch blast. Karlach roared and went straight for her trusty throwing tactic, pummelling one mephit with the body of another. As the mephit died, it exploded in a shower of mud and Astarion gave an anguished scream.

"Mud everywhere! Just look at me! My hair is ruined!" he howled. He ran back from the other mephits and started firing thunder arrows to keep them back.

Lae'zel had dashed around the opposite side and had run into what looked like a walking tree. It had her in some sort of holding spell, her legs entwined in vines, but she was hacking at it with her flaming sword. Another tree creature loomed behind her.

It looked like fire would beat back those vines, so Lae'zel had that covered. Sorcha concentrated on the tree things instead, sending twin orbs of lightning to scorch them until they dropped.

Afterwards, Sorcha had the rare opportunity to open a chest before Astarion got to it. He was still bemoaning the mud and the state of his wardrobe. She shook her head and cast prestidigitation just to shut him up.

Wyll had been examining the other side of the tree. He reached into a hollow, triumphantly pulling out a folded note. The note indicated that Kagha was planning a takeover of the grove and wished to align it to some shadow druids from Cloakwood. She'd probably just been waiting for a chance to take over, long before their leading druid vanished.

"We should take this back to the grove, see if we can stop that damned ritual and save the tieflings," Wyll insisted.

"I agree," Sorcha said, "We already need to return to see Dammon. But first I want to scout out around Ethel's house, get the lie of the land and see if she really is a hag. Let's walk back up the other path to this teahouse."

They picked their way back through the swamp, reaching a handy way portal where they stopped to rest and recover a little. They saw the teahouse ahead, a rotting and rickety building that looked entirely at home in the middle of a swamp. It looked as if a swift kick would cause the entire thing to collapse in a pile of mildew. An upward leading path gave them the chance to overlook the building from afar.

A foul smell assaulted their noses, cutting through even the rot of the swamp, no mean feat. A tall human with long, braided hair was up ahead, armed with a crossbow.

He greeted them with "Apologies for the smell, travellers. Powdered ironvine, an old hunter's trick."

"Oh, and what are you hunting?" Wyll asked curiously.

"Something terrifying, no doubt," chipped in Astarion. "Dragon, ogre, kobold?"

"Far from it," the man replied. "I'm hunting a vampire spawn. His name's Astarion, and I'm hoping the hag of these lands can assist me."

Astarion glanced at her nervously.

Well, that establishes Ethel's identity. Can't have him killing Astarion though, I've plans of my own for him.

"Working with a hag seems like a bad idea," she said. "Why are you hunting a spawn anyway? Surely a real vampire would be a better challenge?"

"I'm to capture him and bring him back to my people at Baldur's Gate," the man explained. "But spawn are only weak when compared to their masters, you should still be on your guard at nightfall."

"Well, good luck with that. Time for us to go!" she said, turning away.

"Wait!" Astarion interrupted. "Surely we should do something about this threat?"

"He's right," the man agreed. "You should take precautions for your own safety."

Sorcha sighed. "Very well, Astarion, if you must," and turned back, casting a bone chill cantrip on the man.

"Astarion?" the hunter exclaimed. "It can't be!"

The man was very quick, dodging out of the way and aiming his bow straight at Astarion, hitting him directly in the chest before hurling an acid flask at Sorcha. Karlach leapt in between the hunter and his quarry, aiming a spear, while Lae'zel moved in with her greatsword. Only Wyll paused, looking between Astarion and the man, a look of indecision on his face.

"Wyll!" Sorcha yelled. "Fight or bleed, now, dammit!"

He finally moved, blasting with an eldritch ray before moving in with his rapier.

Astarion was still pinned by a crossbow bolt, but managed to retaliate with a fire cantrip before downing a quick healing potion. It was lucky that the hunter had been surprised and had started off on the back foot as his skills would have well outmatched theirs if he had been prepared. Lae'zel swung her sword and took out his legs, as another spear from Karlach hit him square in the chest. He dropped to the ground, still looking shocked.

Sorcha stalked up to Wyll, grabbing him by the collar.

"What in all the hells was that? Your hesitation almost got us all killed!"

"He was a monster hunter, just like me," Wyll explained.

"NO! He was a monster hunter and you, me, Astarion and everyone else in this damn party are monsters to be," she screamed into his face. "You'd better damn well apologise to Astarion right now or I'm taking you down myself. Remember which side you're actually on!"

She stomped off and waited, scowling, for Wyll to apologise.

A subdued Wyll went over to Astarion. "I'm truly sorry. It won't happen again. I swear by my blade that I will protect you in future." He handed over a large healing potion and assisted with removal of the arrow.

Sorcha breathed a silent sigh of relief that this had resolved without further bloodshed, and they limped back to the portal, leaving the hag's lair for now and returning to the Grove.

Chapter Text

Well, an apology no less. That was unexpected. But why was the Gur there? Had Cazador sent him to drag me back to the Gate?

"Know that you are mine, boy," echoes in his head.

It was getting late, so before entering the grove they decided to rest for the night. He'd have their camp looking better in no time, but was still on the lookout for some better furniture than logs. Everything could be packed up into the handy chest that Withers had brought, so he wasn't limited to only collecting items he could carry. He looked forward to a quiet night at camp, arranging his new treasures.

As the group walked into the camp, an oily, swirling whirlpool appeared in the ground before them.

"Oh, hells!" gasped Wyll. "She's coming!"

A cambion emerged from the pool in front of them. She was tall, with blue skin, red hair and quite impressive wings, wearing a gold headpiece draped around her four horns, and a dress cut scandalously low.

"Mizora!" he said with a look of dread.

"Wyll," she drawled. "You've been naughty! You were supposed to kill the devil but Karlach's still standing."

Karlach obviously knew this cambion too. "I've taken more pleasant shits than you, Mizora, and at least they could be buried afterwards!" she scoffed.

Damn, that was a good line, he'd have to remember that one, he was sure it would come in useful.

Sorcha wasn't impressed either, as she spat out "Godsdamned devil, get the hells out of my camp!"

"Now? But my pet's been unruly and his leash needs a yank," the cambion answered, looking completely unperturbed at the array of weapons and readied spells in front of her. "By the way, Karlach, Zariel sends her regards."

"You lay one damned finger on Karlach and you'll regret it," Sorcha hissed.

The cambion smirked and aimed a talon towards Wyll. An oily substance was suddenly covering him. Screams of agony poured from his mouth. When the oil retreated, Wyll was… changed. Two massive horns sprouted from his brow. His face and arms were ridged, like a tiefling’s.

"A promise broken, a price paid," smirked Mizora. "Try being the precious blade as a devil! Ta-ta!"

She vanished, presumably back to the hells.

Astarion chuckled to himself. They do say no good deed goes unpunished. Let that be a lesson to them all.

He left it to everyone else to commiserate with Wyll as he deposited his treasures, the pictures, golden plates, candlesticks and goblets, arranging them outside his tent, while everyone else was eating. It was starting to look quite regal, but he needed more to truly give the air of grandeur he deserved. More candlesticks, perhaps a comfortable chair with a silken throw?

He looked over to the fire, where the dog was sat drooling with his head on Shadowheart's knee, hoping for scraps . Hmm, that reminds me of Gale. The entire party was gathered there, eating some sort of roast meat and mushrooms that Gale had concocted. Flitting about cooking while he had been trawling through an actual swamp, being a hero.

He wondered if Sorcha would let him drink again, but she looked rather battered so it was probably best to wait for another day rather than risk too much, too soon.

"I'm heading out to hunt," he announced.

"Good hunting!" yelled Karlach cheerily.

After a short hunt just outside the grove he managed to corner a wounded bear and drained it entirely without thinking. Oops, hope that wasn't a druid. He staggered back to camp, intoxicated by the sheer volume of blood he had ingested.

Sorcha was still sitting by the fire, on guard until he returned.

"There you are! My friend," he slurred.

"At your service," she said, clearly amused at his condition.

"Are you now? Don't make promises you won't keep, darling!"

She looked more intently at him.

"Are you … drunk?" she queried.

"Oh, I had a bear," he said, hiccupping. "He took a little of my blood and I took all of his. Significantly tastier than the rats that Cazador served me."

"Who's Cazador? And what did you do to deserve rats?"

He heaved a sigh and sat down next to her.

"Cazador Szarr is a vampire lord in Baldur's Gate. He turned me nearly two hundred years ago, after I was attacked by a group of Gur. He became my master and I became his pawn, his toy, his spawn."

"And why the rats?" she asked hesitantly.

"Because he revelled in having power over me. Because those with power can do anything they want," he snarled.

"You're free now, that's what matters," she offered.

"What good is freedom if I'm always watching the shadows? He sent that Gur hunter after me, I'm sure of it."

Sorcha looked earnestly over at him. "Well, we'll just have to be extra cautious and take out any threats immediately then. Can't be losing our most talented archer."

He felt a brief burst of comfort and appreciation. Enough of that, keep her sweet, but don't go forgetting that she's just a means to an end. A shield to keep the others from turning on me.

Once morning arrived they ventured back into the Grove. The druids were still chanting.

Their first priority was to introduce Karlach to the weaponsmith, but then they'd deal with the druids.

The blonde tiefling turned when he sensed Karlach, and his eyes lit up with interest. "Thought I sensed another infernal, but you aren't from Elturel, are you? Although you brought a bit of the hells back with you too."

"Infernal engine for a heart, a little present from Zariel, keeps me burning hot," she explained.

"Very hot," he said. From the look he gave Karlach he could be talking about the engine or he could just have something else on his mind entirely. "If you can find some infernal metal I might be able to help," he added.

Astarion chuckled to himself. He'd never seen two people more instantly smitten with each other. I guess that gives the blacksmith some really good motivation to fix her.

Sorcha handed over the slab of metal that they'd found back in the village and Dammon hammered it into a strange shape before letting Karlach fit it herself. The smith watched with a strange look, equal parts fascination, wonder and fear.

"I feel … good," she said in wonder. "Still hot as the hells, but less changeable. Thank you, Dammon!"

The blacksmith blushed and murmured something about keeping working on it.

Gods, it was nauseating watching them moon over each other.

They retraced their steps back to the Grove's underground meeting room, and Sorcha walked up to Kagha.

"Why are you here? I sent you to Zevlor," Kagha said dismissively.

"I know the truth. You mean to take the grove for the Shadow Druids!"

"What?" said the druid, surprised at being confronted.

One thing he just didn't understand. It was obvious that Sorcha used some shadow powers, yet she was up in arms about these Shadow Druids. Surely it was the same thing? He tutted in irritation, drawing a glare from Gale.

He noticed that there were rats running around the cavern. Ugh, thoroughly unsanitary once again. The sooner they left this nature lover's hellhole behind, the better.

As he scowled at them the rats began to glow, druids shedding their wildshape. Three mangy looking halflings emerged in their place, daubed in mud and reeking of sweat.

The elder one looked towards Sorcha with contempt. "Your nose has gone sniffin' where it ain't oughter," she drawled. Honestly, even goblins had better diction than that.

"Kagha! What is the meaning of this?" demanded the antler-wearing druid, Rath.

"She means to take the Grove for the shadow druids," Sorcha explained. "Here, look at this note."

Thus began yet another fight. Gods, how did people do this all day? The vile little rat-halflings wildshaped into badgers, fighting against the party and a few of the druids, but were eventually defeated, along with Kagha. Rath immediately ordered the end of the ritual, ruling that the tieflings could stay until the road was clear.

And that just leaves us, unrewarded once again, to go do someone else's dirty work just because Sorcha promised. 

A path led down from the ruined village, heading towards the temple. Gale had gone back to camp, muttering something about sore joints, so they rested a while, waiting for Shadowheart to join them. Goblins were such filthy beasts, so it seemed wise to have a healer with them in case of injury, even if it was a tetchy, miserable one.

Scouting ahead, he saw what appeared to be a guard camp. Two worgs and assorted goblins stood in front of a makeshift gate. No, I really cannot stomach another fight. It's not as if goblin blood even tastes nice. Time to improvise.

As the others caught up, he strode ahead, directly into the centre of the guard post.

"Open that gate at once! How dare you keep a True Soul waiting!"

A symbol glowed on the face of one of the goblins and he scuttled out of the way, moving the worgs and opening the gate. "Sorry, your specialness!" he said, grovelling. Astarion just swept past him, nose in the air, followed by the others.

They found themselves in a grassy area, littered with empty barrels, overlooking a solid stone bridge dotted with barricades. It led towards what would once have been an imposing temple, with majestic statues, soaring arches and circular colonnades. The sound of drumming and cheers of celebration got louder.

Astarion walked onto the bridge and was instantly knocked to the ground by an overwhelming blast of mental energy.

"HEAR MY VOICE, OBEY MY COMMAND"

It ripped through his mind, worse even than Cazador's compulsion, leaving him in the darkness, unable to move.

A vision of three people emerged from the darkness. An armoured male elf, a handsome younger man, and a pale woman with even paler eyes.

"THESE ARE MY CHOSEN. THEY SPEAK FOR ME," the voice commanded. "AID THEIR SEARCH FOR THE WEAPON AND YOU WILL BE WORTHY TO STAND BESIDE THEM IN MY PRESENCE."

The voice was suddenly pushed away and the weight lifted from his mind. The strange artefact that Shadowheart carried about had risen into the air, the runes glowing, and had wiped out the voice.

The vision faded, leaving him with a thumping headache. Looking around, it appeared that he was not the only one who'd been affected.

"What was that?" moaned Karlach.

Sorcha looked at Shadowheart. "That artefact … did it protect us?" she asked. "What in the hells even is that thing?"

The cleric shoved the thing back into her pack. "Please don't ask. Just be thankful that I have it."

Is that what happens to others when we use the tadpole on them? That could be really useful.

He strolled over the bridge, contemplating all the fun things he could do with that power.

Chapter Text

The main goblin camp began at a filthy courtyard chock full of drunken goblins. She noticed a trader talking about new stock, so she took the opportunity to trade in their excess kit for a shiny new spear for Karlach. The entirety of this external camp were celebrating a recent raid on some local inn, with lots of alcohol, and they were well along the way to being mortally drunk. A human man in offensively bright bard's gear was stood on an elevated plinth spouting some nonsense that was supposed to be poetry. The only person who appeared to be appreciating it was a lone goblin female. Somebody for everyone, she supposed.

A spike haired goblin stood off to one side, with an owlbear cub beside her, running some sort of game. 

"Anyone brave enough to chase our new chicken?" she shouted out. The game seemed to involve chasing the owlbear around a makeshift obstacle course. Sorcha was certain that was the owlbear they had met a couple of days ago, back beside the village. 

She downed another quick draught of Animal Speaking and managed to speak to the cub.

"Goblins killed mother, poked me with pointy sticks," he said.

"I'll get you free," she promised. "You can stay in my camp."

Right, enough is enough. These goblins aren't seeing the next sunrise. First, she spoke to the goblin running the 'game' and pointed out that the owlbear was only going to get bigger, and that she might regret it eating all their food. Sorcha convinced her to hand the owlbear over, and Sorcha led it to the bridge. She wrote a quick scroll, advising Gale, Wyll and Lae'zel that this was a friend and secured it to the owlbear's leg with a bright ribbon.

"Follow my scent across here to our camp, do you understand? Then show this scroll to the people there so you will be safe, right?"

The owlbear hooted his agreement and set off across the bridge. Now to deal with these goblins.

Drinks were being refilled from a large cauldron, set off to the side. Sorcha nudged Karlach and whispered "Distraction, by the bard, two minutes, alright?". 

The others, led by the tiefling, went back to the centre of the courtyard and stood in front of the dreadful bard, giving a loud running commentary on his performance, garnering cheers and laughs from many of the watching goblins.

Sorcha, in the meantime, had casually walked over to the cauldron and spun a darkness cloud over it. She quickly emptied the contents of two poison bottles into the mixture, before ducking through an arch and rejoining the bard's onlookers from the other side. She gave Astarion a cheerful wink.

A goblin tracker had walked over to the cauldron."Come on then lads, another round!" 

The goblins cheered, refilled their tankards and downed another round. One by one they dropped to the ground, moaning and clutching their bellies. The poison was doing its work well.

"Oi! You! You poisoned us!" accused one of the last standing goblins.

Sorcha sniffed the drink the goblin was still clutching and laughed.

"You idiot, that's berry beer. Goblins are allergic to it, no wonder you're all dying."

"Wha?" the goblin asked. She dropped to the ground, leaving no need for further explanation. Well, that worked better than expected.

"Oh well done, darling. I'm impressed," Astarion purred. A jolt of pleasure shot through her at his words and she had to give herself a little mental shake. Get it together Sorcha! No time for pleasure, we've got an entire goblin camp to deal with right now. 

Sorcha strode straight for the main door, ignoring the ogre guarding it. A narrow passageway with six goblin guards was inside. One of them tried to bar entry but stood back when she insisted on seeing the leader.

The passageway opened out to some sort of platform surrounded by flaming braziers.

"We should split up to cover more ground. I'll take Astarion with me and head up to the right", she directed. "Shadowheart, you take Karlach and Gale to investigate the left side and talk to that priestess if that's ok?"

"We can handle that, soldier, no problem" asserted Karlach. The three walked boldly forwards to the centre of the room as Sorcha and Astarion slipped up the righthand stairs into the darkness. The first room held two goblins and a human prisoner, strapped to a rack. They were using crude torture to interrogate him about the grove's whereabouts. 

Walking up to the two goblins, she cockily stated "I'll take over from here lads, you'll never get answers like that!" The goblins stared and then stepped back to watch. Sorcha carefully selected one of the implements heating in the fire and quickly whirled around to shove it into the nearest goblin's eye. Taking his cue, Astarion sliced the other, who collapsed, bubbling blood from his lips. She unlocked the chains holding the hostage and questioned him about Halsin's whereabouts. "I don't know," the adventurer said. "He turned into a bear and ran off."

The next room had a strong smell of blood. A gaunt human was whipping himself while praying, kneeling on the gore-drenched stone slabs in front of an altar. From the regalia he was a priest of Loviatar.

"Welcome, child," he said when he noticed their interest. "It's rare to see anyone but goblins here, are you here to examine the prisoner?"

"No, I'm just passing through," she said, trying to deflect his attention. "What's a Loviatan doing here?"

"Ah, you know our Lady of Pain," the priest said with excitement. "Would you be interested in performing penance? I can see that something terrible has happened to you, care to allow Loviatar to alleviate it?"

"I must see this, don't you dare refuse!" growled Astarion in her ear.

Sorcha knew of their rites, and knew heartfelt screams were the way to gain Loviatar's blessing, so she stripped off her armour and weapons before walking to the blood-drenched altar. Shovel bounced in excitement next to Astarion.

"Master is FUN!" she squealed.

She steadied herself for the first blow and calmed her breathing. The flail landed sharply across her back.

"Is that the best you can do?" she bluffed. "A child could hit harder than that."

The priest increased his effort and a sharp row of cuts appeared across her back. She screamed loudly.

Another blow, and more stinging marks across her shoulders. She howled, while wondering what all this blood was doing to Astarion. She couldn't turn but she could hear Shovel chittering in excitement, or was it encouragement?

Another blow left her screaming for real, as she tried to hold onto the wall to keep herself upright.

"My sweet child," the priest said, turning her around. "Both Loviatar and I were impressed with your performance. Allow me to grant Loviatar's sweet, sweet blessing."

An ethereal red light fell over her body, and she suddenly felt energised despite the blood still trickling down her back.

Sorcha donned her armour again, downed a quick healing potion and sent Shovel off to check on the others before they checked another room. Although she was a little shaky from the penance, she also felt strangely exhilarated.

The next side room turned out to hold a makeshift cage containing the bard they had seen in the courtyard, along with his captor. Before the goblin could say a word, Astarion was behind her, drawing his dagger quickly across her throat. Sorcha released the man to effusive thanks and advised him to sneak out to safety, which he did with the help of an invisibility potion from his pack.

Astarion leaned back against the door and fixed her with a knowing gaze. "I could smell what that little scene next door was doing to you. It excited you, didn't it?"

She looked at him wide-eyed in disbelief.

"Come on now," he continued, "you can't lie about this to me, your scent will give you away every time. What I'd really like to know is was it the pain that got you into this state, or was it that you knew I was watching?"

An influx of blood flushed across her face and chest. "Watching," she whispered.

Why? Why did she tell him that? He'd be insufferable now.

"I thought as much," he smirked "but I just wanted to be sure. You know you can't possibly continue through this camp in that state, don't you?"

"I don't exactly have much of a choice," she said.

"Oh my dear, of course you do! I'll stay leaning against this door to give you some privacy and you can take care of your little issue. After all, I feel partly responsible, given that it was my presence that caused you to be in this state." He kicked the goblin corpse over to the far corner before returning to lean casually against the door. 

Her heartbeat sped up and she found herself biting her lower lip. Gods, what was she thinking even considering this? He continued to gaze at her with that smirk and those knowing eyes. 

"Remember, I can hear the rhythm of your heart," he added.

It would be so easy to just give in, pretend this was just some internal fantasy. But would giving in result in bringing him closer to her, or would he be disgusted at her depravity, and in public too?

Shame and desire warred strongly within her. After a brief but honourable fight, shame waved a little white flag and limped off the field in retreat. 

She moved over to the stone bench, keeping eye contact with Astarion, and loosened her breeches. Even she could smell the slick as she slid a finger between her legs. The vampire inhaled sharply as if sniffing the finest of wines.

He was almost purring as he said "Go on, you know you want to."

By the gods, what had he done to her? Was this the legendary vampire charm? 

"You've already gone so far, why deny yourself? There's no point in stopping now," he encouraged.

She drew her finger across her soaking folds and shuddered with desire, before sliding it inside herself and starting to move in earnest. She pressed her palm down hard and moved against the pressure.

Her mind flipped at the delicious darkness of doing this, here, with him watching, and she buried her face into her other arm.

"Eyes on me," Astarion demanded.

By the gods, she could look at that face forever. Sorcha couldn't believe how close she was from so little touch, just from him seeing her. Moaning, she jammed another two fingers inside herself while her thumb beat rhythmically against her swollen clit.

"That's my good girl, you're so close already aren't you?" he purred. "Now, just think about how much better it will feel once I slide my cock into you."

This delicious thought tipped her over and she moaned as her body spasmed frantically, leaving her shuddering and gasping for breath.

"Now, darling, you'd better lick those fingers and clean up before the others come looking for us," Astarion smirked, as he flung open the door.

She raised an eyebrow at him as she slowly and deliberately licked her fingers clean, watching him as he absent-mindedly grazed a fang over his lip while his eyes followed her tongue. Two can play at that game, elf boy.

It had been a close thing. As she exited the room she saw Karlach and Shadowheart coming up the stairs towards them, led by Shovel. Sorcha calmed her breathing and slapped on a smile.

"Apparently Halsin is wildshaped as a bear, so no killing the local fauna!" she said. "We released one of the adventurers, he's heading back to the grove already."

"Cool, well we had a nice little chat with the priestess. She's resting peacefully in my pack now," said Karlach, grinning. Sorcha peered at her back, and indeed, a bloodied goblin hand was peeking out from under the flap. She tidied it back in and wondered exactly why Karlach had felt the need to collect it.

They moved across a rickety wooden bridge, taking out small groups of goblins as they passed. On reaching the worg pits they discovered a bear, behind bars and being tormented by a couple of scrawny goblin children. Sorcha felt the fury rise inside her and without further thought she cast a thunderous Chromatic Orb on both of them, shaking them to pieces.

The bear chose this appropriate moment to throw itself against the bars, bringing them down to crush a third goblin. Karlach sprang into action, taking out the guard with an accurately thrown spear, whilst Shadowheart and Astarion aimed for the two worg handlers. One handler sprinted to the other cage and managed to throw a lever releasing two worgs before receiving an arrow to the throat, courtesy of Astarion's bow. With a bear to contend with, the worgs succumbed quickly.

A flash of light and the bear morphed into an enormous elf, a full head taller than anyone except Karlach. 

"Are you Halsin?" Sorcha asked. On the affirmative she told him of their tadpole problem, and the situation at the grove with Kagha.

Halsin put a hand to her head and concentrated on some sort of spell. "I'm sorry, child," he said. "I can't remove your tadpole, it's been tampered with, an unfamiliar magic is wrapped around it."

Sorcha reeled. After the heady successes of the last couple of hours this felt like a punch to the head. 

"So all of this effort was for nothing," she sighed. A tear made its way down her cheek unnoticed as she stood there, head hung, shoulders hunched and utterly without further motivation.

The druid explained his theory on the source of the tadpoles, a place called Moonrise Towers. If the other two goblin leaders were exterminated, he suggested, then the roads would be clearer, the grove would be safe and they could journey on. 

"We're due to turn into mindflayers any day now" she remonstrated. "I can't see us lasting long enough to get there."

As Sorcha looked around at the others, she noticed that they all looked far worse than usual. Sweaty, exhausted, almost grey.

"Right," she said, "we need a proper rest before dealing with the other two leaders. None of us are in a fit state for more fighting right now. Let's head back to camp and return in the morning."

Halsin opted to stay put for now, in a less obvious form than his bear, and to listen out for any useful information overnight.

They dragged themselves back to camp, to find the others in as bad a state. Lae'zel was insistent that they were turning, and should all kill themselves before that happened, but Sorcha had just enough energy to persuade her to wait before falling into an uneasy slumber.

She dreamed of a place lit with a gentle purple light. A timeless wonder of a place, dotted with ancient architecture and glowing stars. She awoke, in the dream, to a paladin standing over her, clothed in golden armour. Oddly, he resembled the priest from earlier, so she knew that she must be dreaming.

"You were just about to turn," he said calmly, offering his hand to her. "You think that you're sick, that you're dying," he continued, "But you will not become a mind flayer while I'm here, I'm protecting you."

"Who are you?" she queried, getting up on her own.

"It's complicated" the paladin said, evasively, "But I have the power to protect you from the tadpole and our interests align. I'm fighting for the fate of Faerûn here, and I need you to help me."

Sorcha drifted in and out of sleep, slowly feeling her fever dissipate, only to be replaced by overwhelming embarrassment as she reflected on earlier. She dragged her thoughts back to wondering about the golden paladin.

Come morning the entire party was feeling physically much better, and Lae'zel was looking sheepish at her overreaction the night before. Sorcha ate a hurried breakfast and chivvied everyone along, eager to occupy herself, finish up at the temple, and absolutely not to avoid looking at Astarion. 

Honestly, she did not want to see the undoubtedly smug look on his face. But this little secret might help. He would think that he had a hold over her , and that could make him more inclined to take her side in decisions, back her up for now, holding the influence in reserve for when it was really needed. That's what she would do in his position.

She sighed, contemplating her options. Now I just need to tolerate whatever knowing comments he flings my way. 

Sorcha, Astarion, Shadowheart and Karlach climbed the back route into the temple once more, passing above the courtyard. It seemed that the poison had done the trick and there were only a few of the goblins still alive, groaning miserably to themselves. They entered the temple via the rafters this time and renewed their search for the remaining two leaders.

While he was scouting from the high ground, Astarion had spotted a peculiar glowing orb, floating around just over from the worg pit entrance, and pointed it out to the others. An agitated goblin was yelling at it, telling it to leave him alone. Sorcha called up Shovel and asked her to check out the next room and damage any war drums she might find, then report back.

"That must be some kind of construct, used for spying, I think" Shadowheart offered, while they waited. Sorcha knew that thunder or lightning often damaged constructs, although she had little experience with them herself.

It wasn't long before Shovel returned to tell her that there was a goblin and a 'beefy' thing around the corner. On further enquiry it became apparent that all humanoids were beefy things to Shovel. Perfect, anything from a half-orc to a gnome then.

They needed to take out the orb first, just in case it could call for help, so Sorcha elected to cast Shatter on it, hoping to catch the shouting goblin with it at the same time. Astarion was to stay up on the higher ground ready to loose an arrow if the goblin survived. Shadowheart and Karlach would rush the remaining goblin and whoever this beefy humanoid was.

Her Shatter spell worked brilliantly, destroying the orb and booting the goblin into a nearby chasm. Shovel, paying no attention to their plan, charged over the bridge exclaiming "Here comes the fisting!"

She did make for a very useful decoy. Karlach rounded the corner to see a fully armoured drow woman heading straight towards the quasit, a shining mace held aloft. With the drow's focus on Shovel, Karlach was able to throw her new spear with enough force to knock the woman to the ground, winding her. The spear shot back to Karlach, as Shadowheart followed this up with a blast of radiant energy, while a lightning arrow from Astarion took out the remaining goblin.

The drow seemed to be a paladin, Sorcha noticed, as the woman cast an inconvenient healing spell on herself.

"That's quite enough of that!" she yelled as she flung a bone chill cantrip, undoing the drow's work as Karlach threw the spear again.

With the drow now unable to heal, pushed to the floor by yet another sharp thrust from the tiefling, it was Shovel who managed to finish her off, cackling wildly and doing a celebration dance. Sorcha did still miss Nimbus so much, but Shovel was the most entertainingly useful creature she had ever seen.

A stone table in one corner was covered with invasion plans, so it did seem that this was one of the leaders. Astarion began to examine the drow's body and caught a parasite just as it was trying to leave.

"This must be another of the True Souls," he said, popping it into an empty jar. 

He had also found an ornate Lyre, some very nice boots and had managed to remove the drow's armour, which he was hurriedly stepping into. Sorcha looked over. It was a dark material, barely weighing anything, and form fitting in a most distracting way. The glowing mace went to Shadowheart as a replacement for her rather basic one and for once she looked rather pleased.

Her mind drifted back to the previous day. By Tymora's Stone, what had she been thinking? That sort of play was all very well while relaxing safely in a nice, secure room at home. But throwing all caution to the winds, just to scratch an itch, and in front of the vampire too. Madness, pure madness!

That left only one leader by Sorcha's reckoning. There was chanting coming from the next room over, as if a ritual was taking place. She walked confidently into the room and up a flight of steps, before climbing up into the rafters, followed by Astarion and Shadowheart. Shovel snuck over to the remaining war drum, ready to destroy it once fighting began.

The ritual was being conducted by a large red hobgoblin, stood on a plinth flanked by two lit braziers, surrounded by a ring of goblins and drow males. He looked to be trying to cast a Speak With Dead spell on a mindflayer body in the centre, without much success, possibly because most of his ritual participants seemed to be drunk.

She saw that Karlach had headed to the back of the room, picking something up, but from up above all Sorcha could see was that it was a barrel of something. Karlach looked pleased though, she grinned and gave a thumbs up signal and then hefted the barrel towards a brazier. It exploded, knocking many of the goblins straight into the spider pit below and causing severe damage to the others. The hobgoblin bellowed something as he stood there burning, and charged towards Karlach who had the advantage of higher ground. Something came flying from her hand and hit him full in the face, knocking him flat. 

Sorcha couldn't believe the evidence of her eyes, it was the body of the goblin priestess! That crazy tiefling was now using dead goblins as ammunition. She couldn't help herself, she gave a cheer and the remaining goblins looked upwards. Oops. Guess I'd better start fighting now! 

"Oh for gods' sake!" she heard Astarion yell in exasperation. He was loosing arrows with precision while he complained. Shadowheart was throwing alchemist's fire down onto the wounded hobgoblin, probably saving her spells for any healing they might need.

Given the corpses surrounding the leader there was only one sensible course of action. Her Bursting Sinew spells exploded the two corpses nearest to him and the hobgoblin collapsed to the ground, just leaving some minor goblin fighters for Karlach to throw into the spider pit.

Chapter Text

The temple fight was fun! It had been a long time since he had felt quite so much joy while fighting. Looking at his companions he could see that they felt it too. It was nice to get an actual, verified success in amongst the general shit show that was his life. 

They nipped back to the worg pits to let Halsin know the situation, and arranged to meet him back at the grove later on, then headed back to the derelict village to rest.

Astarion was also elated that yesterday's little experiment with Sorcha had worked. Her eyes lingered on him when she thought he wasn't looking, her fires still stoked and her obvious fascination with him would make her easy prey for further seduction. This might even be fun, it certainly wasn't what he had expected when they walked into the courtyard that morning. Something within him wanted to push the limits of his power over her, to have the time to explore what he could get away with, where her boundaries were.

But first, she wanted to climb down a well. It was, allegedly, for a good purpose. The strange skin book needed a gem to unlock it, and the Thayan's journal suggested that an apprentice had stolen it and taken it down that well. He sighed. It was hard enough keeping his clothes in order while tramping through forests and rummaging in goblin garbage, but he was certain that things could only get worse.

Reaching the bottom of the well, he gazed about in distaste. Spiderwebs everywhere, a damp, mouldy smell, and the discordant dripping of water.

"You take us to all the best places, darling." He rolled his eyes and Sorcha had the grace to look apologetic. 

A desiccated corpse still clutched a mouldy backpack. He was rather hoping to find the gem in there but to his disappointment there was just a mildewed journal which talked about the 'keygem' being in the tunnels.

A side tunnel led to a small cavern, mostly full of empty boxes. It looked as if someone had lived down here for a while. Gods, how depressing. What sort of fool would choose to be down here when they could be out in the sunlight?

He did at least find some better boots, slightly sticky, yet so light that he almost glided along, much better for sneaking silently than his old embroidered slippers. He also found a nice pile of spell scrolls, which he split between himself and Sorcha.

Through the broken wall of this cavern he could see a spider scuttling around below. Not the friendly fly-munching sort, this one was large and glowing with a blueish light. A phase spider, by the looks of it, and unlikely to be alone. 

"Stay back while I scout the path ahead," he told the others. "You'll set the webs quivering and then we're in deep trouble." 

He moved ahead cautiously, glad of his new boots, barely stirring the air. Several large phase spiders and … holy hells, what in the name of little pink imps was that? A massive spider lurked across the cavern, tending a clutch of eggs. The thing was taller than he was, skittering back and forth across a web as if keeping watch. Discretion would definitely call for retreat now, they couldn't say he hadn't tried.

As he moved to return to the hiding place a purple glow caught his eye - the same purple glow as the eyes on that damned book. Well, shit. No way would Sorcha want to leave now.

He paused, considering the options. He could of course just not mention it. But he wanted that book, surely a book of necromancy would be useful? There were three egg clusters that he could see, the giant spider and then three more phase spiders all in this cavern.

This wasn't good, but he had an idea.

Astarion crept back to the others and explained.

"You three stay out of sight while I sneak in and burn those egg clusters when no spiders are looking. Then distract them all up here while I climb down to get the gem. After that I can climb back up and join the fight."

"Are you sure you can manage to hide on the way down?' Sorcha asked. "Phase spiders jump all over the place, don't they?"

"Don't fuss, darling, it'll be fine," he said, certain of his skills.

The first part of his plan went perfectly. Hidden behind large rocks, he used some alchemist's fire flasks to burn each set of eggs, unnoticed by the spiders. He climbed down a craggy rock face as he heard the others begin the distraction fight, past a vast chasm and over to the glowing gem.

He could hear the shouts from above. They sounded almost pained. Carefully climbing back up, still keeping out of sight, he saw the situation. Sorcha was wrapped in some strange sort of web, oozing green poison and crawling with tiny spiders. Shadowheart was bleeding badly and also covered in poison, while Karlach was trying to hold back the largest spider while kicking another towards the ledge. One of the slightly smaller spiders was down, leaving another that he could see was preparing to gob poison in the tiefling's direction.

Astarion nocked a fire arrow and hit that one right in one of its eyes. Excellent shot, even if I do say so myself. 

Unfortunately it also drew attention to him. The smaller creature teleported straight over to him and sunk fangs into his shoulder, crippling his drawing arm. Fighting a phase spider with only one dagger, in his off hand, was not a great idea, but it seemed to be his only option right now. He aimed for the eyes, reasoning that if he stabbed enough of them it could disable the thing.

Shadowheart noticed he had climbed back up to the fight. "Astarion, stop messing about, get over here and be useful!"

He heard another cry and Shadowheart dropped, the poison overwhelming her defences. The web around Sorcha exploded and she fell to the floor too.

Another two quick stabs to the eyes and his adversary ported back over to Karlach while it still had an eye left. 

"Help me out, soldier!" she yelled in between blows.

She was injured but still raging. He was reaching for a healing potion, intending to throw it over the injured tiefling when the spider matriarch covered her in something that looked just like the web that had previously exploded around Sorcha.

Oh shit.

He looked over the edge at the yawning chasm below and made up his mind. Grabbing two scrolls from the top of his pack, he cast Misty Step over to the arachnid horror, then immediately used his scroll of Thunderwave on her, blasting her off the ledge and into the chasm below.

Karlach's web exploded but thankfully the blast didn't kill her, it just showered him in sticky shreds of gloop. 

Typical. This is the reward I get for acting the hero.

"Phew! Great idea, soldier!" Karlach beamed at him. "Thought I was done for!"

Karlach helped Shadowheart up and handed her a healing potion. Astarion then used one of their precious revivify scrolls to collect Sorcha. 

"Thank you for your quick thinking there," she said, giving him a quiet smile. "That was extremely unpleasant, my first taste of death doesn't leave me eager for more. Can we get out of this hellhole now?"

Patched up and pushing on, they returned to the Grove, to be greeted like heroes.

The tieflings were packing up, getting organised to move. Their leader, Zevlor, tried to give Sorcha some rewards for their help but she just turned them down. For once, he thought, looking at the bedraggled crowd, that seemed like the … he struggled to find a word … kind thing to do.

He was looking forward to a quiet night after the spider horror, maybe some decent red wine, but his hopes for a peaceful night evaporated, as Sorcha then invited the entire tiefling group to their camp, for a celebration.

Astarion trailed after Sorcha, down to where Halsin was chastising Kagha. He wouldn't want to get on the bad side of that bear. It might be interesting to get on his good side though, the druid was certainly impressive. Once Halsin had dealt with the erstwhile Shadow Druid he left the Grove with them and headed to their camp as dusk fell.

The place was infested with tieflings! Dancing, and singing, and playing music and ugh! This was awful!

He snagged a couple of bottles of Blingdenstone Blush from a nearby crate and cruised past the fire, checking on Sorcha's whereabouts. Walking past the wizard's tent, he noticed Gale was looking about with a nervous air to him, as if in anticipation. Maybe he thought a tiefling would take pity on him and donate a few lukewarm kisses before the inevitable clumsy hands scared them off.

Astarion chuckled to himself and continued walking, heading for the shore. He was dismayed to find Wyll already there, sat on his own, without even a bottle to keep him company. Probably sulking about his new horns.

He slowly walked back, leaving Wyll to his misery, and settled down in front of his tent, brooding. Everyone else seemed to be having a great time, the relief and the copious wine loosening their inhibitions. The tiefling bard and her friend were concocting ever more scandalous lines for a ballad about the fight.  If this was what being a hero got you then he wasn't doing it again. Even the wine was vile, either nauseatingly sweet or reeking of vinegar. No sign of a thoughtfully given goblet of blood for him.

Eventually Sorcha made her way over, having talked to pretty much everyone else. She was slightly tipsy, he could see, but in a far better state than most of the revellers. Time to reel her in.

He beckoned her over with a seductive smile. "You know, I never pictured myself as a hero. But now that I am … I hate it!" he said miserably. "I save their skins and what do I get for my troubles? Bad entertainment and vinegar for wine!"

"Oh, it's not so bad," Sorcha replies, sitting down next to him. "It's good to have a little cheer in the midst of all this misery."

"I just expected something a little more… fun!" he said with a grimace.

"That had better not mean 'I want to kill something'" she laughed.

"No… but maybe you, me, and a little death, figuratively speaking that is?" He raised an eyebrow, smiling wickedly at her.

A slow smile spread across Sorcha's lips. "I'll come and find you later, once things have quietened down."

He's always found that fixing his gaze on the neck works best. In the beginning he tried looking in the eyes, only to see his worthless empty soul staring back at him in judgement. The mouth could work as a focus, but too often it led to them thinking that kissing was needed. 

He didn't do kissing if he could possibly avoid it, the intimacy of it made him shudder. It felt far more personal than just slotting body parts together. For a while he experimented with looking at a fixed point on the wall but the mark would too often notice his distraction and that could lead to trust issues. He needed them to follow him eagerly, fully committed and unquestioning. 

The neck though, that was good. A few light kisses there and he could hide his face, or stare at the pulse and wonder what was so different about the blood of a thinking creature. Although the act was forbidden, thinking of it didn't seem to attract punishment and it had been a pleasant distraction from whatever his body was being required to do. 

Now, though, that might be an issue. If she saw him staring intensely at her neck, surely she'd just assume that he was hungry? To be fair, he was, always and without surcease, but for his plan to work he needed her alive. Maybe the hair? He could stare at her hair, that would be safe. Perhaps he could count how many colours he could see woven through the black, all those blues and purples that appeared when the moonlight caught it. She did have quite pretty hair when it wasn't covered in guts.

He waits in a nearby moonlit clearing, shirtless, leaning back against a tree. He sees her walking towards him, hears her humming to herself. The moonlight picks out the blue in her hair, and her eyes glow gold when the light catches them. He can already smell her, her perfume and her own scent. She smells of Calimshan resins, rich and dry, with a little bite of Chultan ginger root, golden, languid, and a faint hint of green herbs, maybe… pale mint… no, pennyroyal. Dry but warm, like a fire sparking on a desert night.

"I've been waiting," he says, walking towards her. "Waiting since the moment I first saw you."

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Did that waiting involve a dagger by any chance?"

He continues, trying not to deviate from his tried and tested script. "But you're here now. And I think you want to be tasted, to be known."

"And what do you want?" she asks, moving closer.

"What do any of us want? Pleasure … yours, mine, our collective ecstacy."

She chokes. Is she … laughing? Wretched woman!

"I'm sorry," she says, giggling. "But that's the most over the top line I've ever heard. I'm not some scared little virgin you know. Can't we put all this aside for the night and just fuck?"

He realises his approach has been all wrong. She wants to be seduced, yes, but with actions, not words.

"Is that what you want?" he purrs, moving into her space, pulling her towards him.

She bites her lip as she looks up from underneath long dark lashes. "Yes, I want you, here, now."

He pulls her shirt over her head in one swift move, undoes the ties holding her breastband in place and discards that too. He takes in the swell of her breasts, slightly too heavy to fight gravity, her pink nipples tight with desire. Her belly is soft, gently rounded, with a long-healed scar across the left side. His rogue's fingers work quickly to unlace her breeches, tugging down, pooling them on the ground as he lifts her, freeing her feet. Her smallclothes are already soaked and he bends down, hooking fingers in at each side to rip them off, hearing her gasp as he does so. 

As he moves back upwards, Sorcha tilts her head to one side, stretching her neck.

"Hungry?" she asks. "You can have a little, just leave me with enough blood to still enjoy myself."

Gods, yes, does she even know what she is offering? 

He brings his mouth to the crease of her neck, hearing the throb of her heart, the scent of blood somehow escaping through her skin, and pauses, enjoying the sensations, before he bites strongly into her, one hand holding her head in place, drinking her down, the other hand diving into her folds, her heartbeat speeding up as it pumps more into his eager mouth. How is her blood managing to taste even better this time? Is this the taste of arousal?

He resolves, then and there, to make certain this is the most mind blowing sex she has ever had. I need her to want to do this again and again. Time to put centuries of experience to my own use, finally.

He releases his grip on her neck, clumsily tugging at his tightened breeches one-handed. Should have accounted for the blood flow and removed these first I guess.

Sorcha is staring at him, gasping out gentle moans as his fingers coax their way around her, gliding easily over her hardened bud, holding tight to his arms to keep herself upright. He works two, then three fingers inside her, curling them round, stroking her walls, spreading her wider, making her shudder and buck as he finally releases his cock free from the confines of the clothing.

She looks down and gives a hungry moan. That's better, that's the reaction I need. He puts an arm under each thigh, lifting her up against the rough bark, sliding slowly up against her, soaking in her wetness, dragging his cock back down again, feeling her squirm to grind herself against him.

"So impatient," he teases. "So desperate to feel me plunging inside you." Sorcha just whimpers and reaches down, tugging his hips closer.

Astarion carries her away from the tree and down onto the soft grass of the clearing, hoisting her legs over his shoulders and burying his face into her with a growl. His agile tongue teases inside her, pressing deep before lavishing slow, heavy strokes across her clit. She stretches a hand down, weaving her fingers through his curls, trying to tug him closer, to increase the pressure, but he holds his course and continues, maddeningly slowly.

She's gasping, short stuttering breaths, right on the edge, but he wants to leave her dangling a little longer. He sits back on his heels, cock in hand, stroking himself slowly, and watches her watching him, hypnotised by the sight of his body.

"If you want something, you need to ask for it, pet," he says in a voice like liquid sin, pouring into every crack in her mind.

"Fuck me," she whispers, between gasps.

"What was that?" he teases, "I couldn't quite hear you."

Leaning closer, he strokes the tip of his cock across the inside of her thighs, making her wait just a little bit more, enjoying the control, the look of untrammelled desire across her face.

"Godsdammit, Astarion, just fuck me already!" she begs and he slides himself inside her, hammering deeply and relentlessly as she holds him tight, moaning his name, her entire body shaking with the sudden force of her climax.

Her breathing steadies a little, but he isn't nearly done with her yet. He slows his pace, twisting into her, moving his hips in a serpentine motion as he rides out the last of her spasms, and leans over on his forearms, licking and kissing across her neck. There's a trace of her blood from before and his cock twitches as he tastes it, causing her to wriggle against him.. 

He snakes a hand down between them and starts circling her clit with his thumb, watching her intently. She squirms, still sensitive, so he increases the pressure, his thumb almost holding her in place as she whines and tries to avoid the overstimulation.

"It's no use wriggling, my sweet. You came far too quickly, you're not getting away before I've seen you fall apart for me at least once more."

He continues his leisurely strokes inside her, and his relentless pressure outside, feeling her walls grip his length as she recovers herself enough to push back, raising her hips for that extra depth, crushing his hand between them.

In a sudden movement he flips them over, still buried inside her, and watches as she moves up to grind herself down upon his cock, her head thrown back, sweat plastering strands of hair to her face and chest. She looks glorious, undone, mindless, so far from the composed leader of the daytime. 

He has an overwhelming urge to taste her again and drags her upwards, burying his face into her, suckling against her wetness, one hand frantically stroking himself, the other flicking across her clit. The scent of her blood just beneath the surface is irresistible and he sinks his fangs into her thigh, drinking down her blood mingled with her juices, his cock spilling across himself as she howls out her pleasure, legs clamped around his head.

He lies back as she collapses next to him. She's warm, fragrant with the scent of her sex, and he finds he doesn't mind staying here beside her for a while, staring at the stars through the trees as he hears her breathing slow into sleep.

Chapter Text

Sorcha woke from the night's pleasures into gentle early morning sunlight. She stretched languorously, her muscles pleasantly sore, and wiggled her toes. Astarion was standing a little way off, back to her, arms outstretched, basking the early morning light. It haloed his curls and left a glowing outline around his body, as if he were some ancient god of the dawn.

She couldn't help but notice his back. "Interesting scars. Where'd you get them?" she asked.

He heaved a sigh that encompassed the weight of the ages. "It's a poem, from my old master, Cazador," he said, spitting the name. "He spent the course of one night carving it on my back. He made a lot of revisions as he went along. And then he did something to it so that it would never properly heal."

Sorcha recognised the script, although she couldn't read it. "It's a strange looking poem. Why did he write it in Infernal?"

"Infernal? Who knows, the bastard was insane," he said, looking shocked. "Now let's get back before the tieflings haul us into another mess."

Halsin was waiting for her at camp. "I trust you enjoyed your evening? It may be some time before you're afforded another such night I'm afraid. I promised I would help you but there is much to be done."

He continued on: "I'm certain Moonrise Towers hold the answers, but it's complicated. The journey is extremely perilous, although I know you're well accustomed to navigating danger."

Sorcha nodded. "Moonrise Towers it is then, we'd better make haste."

"Wait, there's more," Halsin added. "To get to the Towers you'll need to pass through a terrible place, a cursed place. Everything there is twisted, tormented, shrouded by the shadow curse."

She shrugged. "I've got no choice, we have to find a way through these shadows."

"You're half right," Halsin explained. "You could go overland, along the Risen Road. Easier at first, but you'll run into the curse eventually. But you could also go under. Aradin's lot had a map, showing a tunnel into the Underdark, leading to Moonrise Towers. It goes through a Sharran fortress built long ago by a man called Ketheric Thorm."

"So what did Aradin want in the Underdark?" she asked.

"He was attempting to retrieve some relic from the temple, I believe, worth great riches."

"Sounds intriguing, we should check it out," suggested Shadowheart.

"No, I'm not risking the Underdark, the Risen Road seems a safer bet," she decided. Shadowheart pulled an annoyed face but the others all agreed, much preferring the light.

They travelled back to the village, then jumped across the broken bridge and took the central of three forks, an ascending path which they hoped would lead to the Risen Road. A few charred hyena bodies dotted the road, along with several humans. Apparently Lae'zel wasn't the only one who had run into trouble. 

Sorcha picked through the corpses' belongings, collecting gold and trinkets. One man had a note in his pocket, marked with what she thought was a Thieves' Guild seal.

"Deliver the chest to me unopened," she read out loud. "Read the first sentence again. Open it and I will know because you will be dead. This is not a threat. This is what will happen if you open the chest."

"Very ominous," she said.

But the note was signed 'NF'. That means it's likely from Nine-Fingers in Baldur's Gate. If I can find this chest and return it I bet I would get a healthy reward. There was no sign of any special chest now though. Time to move on.

They traveled ever upwards, following the trail into the mountains. More blood, more mangled bodies.

"Astarion, can you smell anything above the blood?" she asked. 

He nodded, his face twisting in distaste. "More gnolls."

Sorcha made to round the corner and sneak up on them. However Lae'zel pointed out a narrow path, leading away from the road up to a rocky bluff. 

"Look, k'chakhi, that's either their ambush point or a high vantage point for us, we should head up there and hope to surprise them."

Sorcha looked up. A rocky bluff with a series of steplike ledges, all hidden from the main path. It was a good plan. Even standing back from the edge, they could see a group of gnolls, accompanied by hyenas, attacking something or someone in the cave.

"I really don't want a fight," said Shadowheart.

"I don't think we can avoid it," replied Sorcha. "Either we take them out here, with the high ground in our favour, or we carry on and they attack us from the rear. Which would you rather?"

Shadowheart grimaced, then nodded as she realised the sense of picking their battlegrounds.

They readied themselves to attack as Sorcha cast a minor illusion, drawing several gnolls to investigate the small ginger cat that had just materialised into their midst. A beat or two for them to gather close, then she threw a cloud of daggers at the same spot, catching five of them at once. Astarion and Lae’zel rained arrows down upon them while Shadowheart lit up others with guiding bolts.

Sorcha heard shouting from the cave, a boy's voice saying they should help with the fight, and a gruff, older voice which yelled "Leave the fighting to those who don't value their skins, lad!"

No help from that direction then. Selfish bastards.

A taller gnoll wearing some kind of ceremonial helmet had snuck up behind them while the fight was going on. She reached Sorcha, halted, and she felt a jarring shock of recognition. A vision of herself as a bag of blood. This creature was tadpoled! What in the hells?"

She tried to use her own tadpole to push the idea of tasty meat snacks inside the cave but this gnoll was not as easily swayed as the goblins, she resisted and struck out at her with some kind of flail. Sorcha suddenly found herself unable to move, unable to warn the others, unable to do anything but watch as the gnoll turned towards Shadowheart, aiming another blow. Luckily, this blow glanced off the cleric's armour, giving her time to shout out and grab the gnoll with a green burst of necrotic magic.

Astarion whirled, plunging a dagger into the gnoll's arm and causing her to drop her weapon, adding another blow to her throat for good measure. She couldn't see how many of the gnolls were left, but this one seemed more robust than the others, and it was taking a lot to damage her.

From what Sorcha could glean from the corner of her eye, Lae'zel was still picking off the rest with arrows. As the paralysis began to wear off she readied a thunder orb and managed to cast it at the gnolls chest, the reverberation finally killing her just as Astarion skewered a last stray hyena.

Once the gnolls were dealt with, a boy and a familiar looking man came out from the cave. The man wore well used leathers, with a lined, weather worn face that still tended towards handsome, light brown hair, blue eyes and a cocky expression. Rugan. He sometimes came to Yartar on the Zhent caravans and had been one of the more pleasant of them to deal with.

"By the gods, Sorcha, you're a sweet sight! Are any of my crew still alive out there?"

"I'm sorry, Rugan, all I saw was blood and guts", Sorcha replied.

"Damn, I guess that's a no. The Risen Road's more dangerous than ever, so I guess we got lucky to run into you. We're heading to the Gate, but our next stop is close by, a little inn called Waukeen's Rest. We've got our own tavern round the back, invite only. You should stop by. I'll mark it on your map, just tell the door guard "little serpent, long shadow" and they'll let you in."

There was an interesting looking chest, banded with iron, placed behind them, back in the cave. Maybe this was the missing shipment that note had mentioned? If so it was obviously something valuable, that was a high quality chest. Sorcha considered their options. While Rugan was an old acquaintance, she had clearly heard him tell the other Zhent to stay back and let someone else get killed by the gnolls. That really wasn't what she called friendly. She caught Astarion's eye and casually put a hand on her dagger. He noticed the gesture and subtly moved around behind the man.

"The thing is, Rugan," she said, walking towards him, "you were ready to let us all die out there, so I think there's a debt to be paid here and I don't just mean in Tarenths." She put her hand flat on his chest, smiling up at him before releasing a bolt of electricity direct to his heart. Rugan staggered back, straight onto Astarion's waiting blade.

The younger man gave an anguished "No!" and threw a flask of alchemist's fire towards Lae'zel and Shadowheart. Stupid, he should have surrendered. I would have let him live but they won't now. He dropped, pierced by an arrow from Lae'zel and some radiant fire from the cleric.

Sorcha and Astarion walked over to examine the chest. He reached for the lock and she stopped him.

"We need coin, but we also need supplies and I've probably still got a credit line with the Zhent." As long as I don't tell them that I killed Rugan. 

"If we go to this Waukeen's Rest place then we can stock up, so if we turn up carrying their sealed chest that should give us a substantial reward."

"And if it doesn't?" he asked dubiously.

"Then we kill them, of course," she smirked. "Can't stand the Zhent. Fucking slavers."

Karlach and Wyll joined them on the road, and the six made good time towards Waukeen's Rest. The trail was clear of gnolls, but started to get alarming gusts of smoke. Not the gentle, woody, and familiar campfire smoke but more of a roaring furnace stench.

As they came up to the tavern gates they could see that the entire Inn was ablaze. Flaming Fist soldiers were hammering on the main door, trying to break in. Sorcha stopped dead.

"Let's turn back," was her first panicked response. Karlach turned to look at her in disbelief.

"People are trapped in there! I'm going to help get them out, no matter what you're doing!" she yelled, racing towards the door, closely followed by Wyll. Shadowheart ran forward, casting a water spell across the roof.

Lae'zel turned to Sorcha. "Shka'keth! I will help, even if you will not!"

A Fist commander was shouting encouragement. "Keep pushing! Grand Duke Ravengard could be inside!"

Faint calls for help drifted from an upstairs window. She looked helplessly at Astarion. "Go, help, I'll be alright, honest."

He shook his head. "No, darling, I think that I will wait right here and keep an eye on you. You're quivering like a leaf and I object to that unless I'm the cause."

Between them Karlach, Wyll and Lae'zel had managed to break the door down. Karlach ran in ahead, counting on her natural fire resistance to make it upstairs. More crashing was heard, then they beheld the sight of the tiefling running back outside with an elf slung casually over her shoulder.

Astarion turned to Sorcha. "Want to get your story straight before they start asking?"

She nodded miserably, hunched up and staring at the ground.

"It's not just that there's fire, it's the Fists being here too. It's all just too much, too many memories."

"Ah, so let's just say that you were in a fire as a child, and that it scares you now, eh?" he suggested. "You can manage that, can't you?" She turned her tear stained face to him and gave a subdued nod, before the pair walked slowly towards the others. He was being suspiciously kind, but right now she was glad of support.

Florrick, the elf woman rescued by Karlach, was regaining her breath after coughing the smoke from her lungs. Some sort of noblewoman, in charge of the Fists. She gave rapid fire orders to the soldiers before turning to thank those who had helped. Her eyes widened as she saw Wyll and noticed his horns.

"By the Maimed God, what happened to you Wyll?"

"A story best left for calmer days," he said gravely. "Did I hear right, drow have taken the Duke?"

Florrick nodded. "Yes, Wyll, sorry to say, the drow have taken your father."

Damn. Damn it all to the hells. First she comes face to face with her two greatest nightmares, and now she finds out that instead of attaching herself to a fake magistrate, she could have picked aristocracy! She was SO stupid.

She sat down on the edge of a broken fountain and began disconsolately skimming stones across the ground. The others were having some sort of discussion. Probably about how useless I am. I'm a fucking liability, I should just walk away and let the tadpole do its worst.

Karlach walked up to her.

"Hey soldier, how're you doing?"

Sorcha shrugged, still staring at the ground.

"Look, Fangs told us about you being in a fire when you were young. It's not surprising that you didn't want to go nearer, but if we'd known, then…" She trailed off, awkwardly moving to pat Sorcha's arm before realising. "Oops, flames, yes, sorry, a little awkward there."

"Just, look, know that we've got your back and no one blames you."

The fire had died down, so they rested a while in the courtyard, until Sorcha felt up to continuing. Dealing with the Zhent next - can't show any cracks there.

Astarion had disappeared again. Probably looting, she thought, he was certainly efficient.

He returned, thoughtfully carrying a sack full of food, but also a weird painting depicting some sort of martial lizard and a book about eels. More treasures for his tent I guess.

The place Rugan had marked was round the back of the main inn building, and looked for all the worlds like a storage shed. She cautiously put her head through the door and whispered "Little serpent, long shadow," the pass phrase she'd been told.

"Come on in then, quick, before the Fist see!" a guard hissed back. "Down the hatch, passage is through the wardrobe."

They emerged into a large series of dry caverns, and walked slowly through, Sorcha leading. She could see a metal gate set into the wall up ahead, and stopped, waiting to be challenged.

"That's far enough!" A woman's voice floated up from deeper in the cavern. "What's your business here? Speak true and we'll kill you quick." Well then, I'll choose to lie and live!

The voice seemed a little familiar and she searched her memory for a name. Nerys? Zerys? No, Zarys, that was it! One of Rugan's bosses, usually operating on the Long Road run from the Gate to Triboar.

Sorcha leaned over the path edge to look across at a lithe woman in black leathers, aiming a crossbow at them.

"Zarys? I'm here to trade, got some property of yours too."

"That's never Sorcha Molloy is it? What're you doing so far from Yartar?"

"Oh, you know, just seeing the sights," she laughed. "Can we come down?"

"Yes - As long as you've got no naked flames, this place is a bit volatile right now," Zarys insisted.

Sorcha realised she could smell a musty, slightly sulphurous scent on the air. She leaned over to Astarion and whispered, "Can you smell smokepowder?"

He sniffed heavily and nodded.

"Zarys, my friend will stay up here, she's a bit combustible herself," she said, indicating Karlach. 

"Keep an eye out for trouble and be ready to act," she whispered to the tiefling. 

The other five travellers headed through the door, down a long, heavily trapped passage to the base.

Sorcha could see barrels of smokepowder spread across the rocky floor, a tracery of oil leading from one to another, as if they were going to destroy the cavern.

"Darkness preserve us, that's a lot of smokepowder," breathed Shadowheart in awe. 

"What does that mean?," asked Sorcha, curiously.

"Leave it," snapped the cleric.

Several of the Zhent were hurriedly packing up. A series of paintings were on display, with an artist still working at one. "Any interest?" asked a red headed trader. "My pet artist can knock up something special for you."

"Want one of these paintings, Astarion?" she asked, wanting to show her gratitude for his help earlier.

"Ugh, no, they're shit," he replied, garnering an offended glare from the artist.

A long ladder led up to where Zarys stood, on a ledge free from the explosives, and Sorcha climbed up, followed by the other four.

"Did you find any of my people out on the road?" asked Zarys. "And what's this about property?"

"Sad to say, I did find them on the road. They'd been attacked by gnolls. I saw Rugan, he was dead beside this sealed chest, so I figured you'd want it." No word of a lie there.

"Still sealed! You're a godsdamned miracle worker," Zarys exclaimed. "A shame about my people though." She handed over a pouch of gold and a well crafted crossbow as a reward.

Sorcha left the rest of them up top and went to bargain with the traders below, picking up some helpful thievery gloves for Astarion and a couple of magical bows.

Now, what to do? Take them out, for certain, bloody slavers, but how? There's no way I want that smokepowder igniting.

She climbed back up to the others and realised that with the exception of Zarys, all the Zhent were in the blast radius. They won't use fire, they won't want to die any more than we do. Astarion leant over and whispered in her ear. "Fancy a bit of chaos? If we avoid using fire then we can liberate all that smokepowder too."

Sorcha paused, contemplating their odds, and then gave a terse nod. She looked over at Karlach and gave a surreptitious thumbs up.

A goblin corpse sailed over the cavern, colliding with Zarys and knocking her to the ground. For a moment everyone just stood there, stunned, before Astarion began to shower arrows onto the Zhent below. Lae'zel removed Zarys' head with brutal efficiency as the three magic users wiped out the rest. Soon, the only person left standing below was the awful artist. It would probably be a mercy to kill him too, but he's a captive, should let him go I suppose.

The artist, while grateful for his release, then had the cheek to try to shake her down for coin for his journey home. She let a ball of lightning glow between her hands. "Get out of here, now. Or do you want me to beat you so hard that I execute half of your ancestors?" He ran.

The lightning ball faded and she looked around at the massive haul of explosives they had just acquired, realising that it was far too heavy to haul with them.

She made a decision: "Right, we need to fetch the others and make camp here I think. That way the barrels can all go in the camp chest and Withers can carry it."

Now to try and salvage something from this morning's meltdown. Maybe a bit of sharing, a bit of vulnerability, get the scary vampire to feel protective? Bluff my way through without dredging too much up into the light.

Chapter Text

Astarion had relaxed and watched as the rest of the group had arrived, laden with camp equipment. Shadowheart laid and lit a fire as Gale and Wyll prepared for their meal. Lae'zel and Karlach moved to the side and began an energetic training session. Gods, how do they do that all day and then come to camp and do it some more?

He noticed that Sorcha was stood near the gate, fiddling with the trap mechanism and making sure it was disarmed for now. He decided to go and help, it might give him the chance for some idle chat, see if he could work out what happened in her head back at the Inn.

As he neared the gate, he heard a soft hoot. Somehow, some way, the owlbear cub from the forest had followed them down here. Sorcha froze, then very slowly reached into her pack for some food. 

"Hey there, little one! Are you hungry? Are you lost?" she crooned, tossing the chunk of meat towards the cub.

The cub gulped it down immediately. He'd obviously been struggling to hunt alone and was looking rather threadbare. The cub's eyes were a glowing gold.

Astarion couldn't help himself, he spoke up. "He's got your eyes, are you two related?"

The owlbear jumped, then bolted back into the caverns, giving a hoot of distress. Sorcha looked sadly at the remaining meat in her hand. "You scared him. I guess you smell like a predator?"

"Well, I am, my sweet. But the owlbear isn't my prey." He let his glance linger across the length of her body and watched a flush spread across her neck. 

As Astarion walked back to set up his tent he was intent on wondering how to deal with Sorcha. He needed her strong, not falling apart whenever she saw a fire. He'd taken a gamble earlier, siding with her back at the inn. This was way out of his comfort zone, keeping someone sweet night after night. It took work, it took long-term planning, to craft the illusion of caring. He'd need something more than witty lines and knowing looks to keep her by his side. Otherwise she'd see the hollow underneath his charming veneer, see him for the sham of a creature he really was, the disappointment, the failure.

He listlessly picked up a hand mirror he'd found in one of the crates and stared moodily at it. That's me, in the mirror. A big void, a shadow of what was, only existing as a reflection of other people's desires.

He saw Sorcha, reflected, walking up behind him.

"Looking at something?" he asked, arching a brow. "I'm looking too, but not seeing much. Another 'gift' from my affliction."

She looked at him intently. "What?" he asked.

"Do you miss it?"

"Preening in the looking glass, petty vanity? Of course I miss it," he said bitterly.

"You may not be able to see your face, but I like what I see," she said with a gentle smile. "Thank you for your help back at the inn. There's some things in my past that I really don't want to remember."

"Poor darling, but at least you had fun with the Zhent, yes?"

"Yes," she said with half a grin. "That was terrible of me, but I've always been uneasy dealing with them. I'm not sure what chaos overtook me but I just couldn't pass up the chance to do to them what they so frequently do to others!"

Hmm, I could be mistaken but it seems that she's always happier when she's just been on a murderous rampage. He thought back to the Loviatarran priest and wondered if she was sworn to some dark chaotic god. But then there's that ridiculously helpful side. 

He bit his lip, allowing a fang to graze it, and watched as her eyes followed the movement. "To be honest, I'm amazed you managed to keep your mind clear enough to fight. I've been thinking about our last night together ceaselessly. I'll be in quite a spot of mortal peril if you let me keep distracting myself by dreaming instead of doing. We can't have that, can we? It would be very dangerous."

Astarion patted the ground next to him, and she sat down.

"You know," he continued, "I feel a connection between us. Two souls on the same path, so I understand a little of what you seem to be going through. There's a sadness within you today, isn't there, more than usual? So be a good girl and tell me all about it?" He reached out to stroke a lock of raven hair back into place.

Sorcha looked over, obviously trying to work out if she could trust him, twisting the cheap silver ring on her little finger. A nervous habit. Come on, just a little more trust, my pretty, give me something to work with.

"I just feel so… useless, I guess," she whispered softly. "Like, I'm supposed to be the leader, I'm the one everyone asks about things, the one who steers us towards hopefully removing these damned parasites, but today, back at the inn…" 

Her breath hitched and she let out a small sob before continuing. "Back at the inn, rather than forging a path, I was like a runaway pack mule, crushing innocents with my indecision and fear. I can cope with some fire, just about, if I must. And I can cope with dealings with the Fists. But both together, that was unexpected way out here and it overwhelmed me, knocked down some protections, left me in that pathetic state."

"I'm not a leader," she continued, "And I'm so damn tired of having to make every decision, choose every path, always be the one in control. I'm just tired. Tired and scared that I'm nowhere near up to the task." She sniffed again, wiping away a tear, not looking at him.

Astarion prided himself of being an accurate judge of people's desires. He'd seen it all before, the strong leader who wanted nothing more than to be at the mercy of another, hiding their darker needs out of misplaced duty or piety. She wants to be under my control, forced to submit to her own desires. He could always tell.

"You just need to relax, darling," he said. "I've found a little place further in the caverns. Let me take control, just for the night, remove some of that dreadful tension?"

Sorcha paused, considering his words. He stayed silent, certain that she would accept, that the thought of pleasure would outweigh any other concerns. He'd heard the increase in her heartbeat, after all. She closed her eyes for a moment before agreeing. "Yes, that does sound good."

After dinner he declared "Just going for a bite to eat!" and with a friendly wave to the others, they left the main cavern behind. He drew her into the gated room that he had scouted earlier, two caverns away from the main camp, nicely out of earshot. 

Astarion reaches a hand to her face and lightly strokes her ear. "So, my dear, ready to give up a little control and just relax? No need to worry about all those big decisions for a while." He smiles, exuding confidence.

"I get the impression that you've done something like this before, is that right?" She looks uncertain for a brief moment, then nods assent. He points to a folded rug in front of an empty weapons rack.

"On your knees, darling."

She kneels, looking expectantly at him. Immediate obedience? A heady rush of power washes over him. He takes a deep breath and allows himself to fall into a fantasy of being in control.

"Now, pet, let me tell you how this is going to go. Tonight you are mine, to do with as I wish. You will do exactly as you are told, without comment or question, unless I ask for it."

She inhales deeply, but stays silent.

"The exception to this rule is one word only. If you want me to stop, say 'Velvet'." He laughs. " I've picked that because it reminds me of you - looks all rough on the surface, but when you get near it's soft as anything."

She purses her lips but says nothing. He tilts her head up towards him.

"Now then, what word makes me stop?"

"Velvet," she whispers.

"Good girl," he purrs into her ear, hearing her heart start pounding. He places light kisses from her ear, down across her jaw, then grazes her cheek with a final kiss before stepping back from her, out of reach.

"So, take off your shirt, lift it slowly over your head." As she reaches up, the shirt covering her face, constricting her arms, he says "Stop right there!" and she pauses, waiting.

He undoes her breastband and places a cold hand across one breast, enjoying the shiver that passes across her skin, then rolling a nipple between his fingers, feeling it harden immediately. He leans over to the other breast and draws a wet tongue across it before ghosting a cold breath over the moisture, watching the skin pucker. He can smell the heady mix of her spice and her blood as he licks a broad stripe up her throat.

Stepping back, he says "Continue," and watches as she removes her shirt entirely, kneeling before him only in her leggings.

He licks his lips, slowly, lasciviously, drawing his tongue across one fang so that a single drop of blood quivers on his lip for a moment before being lapped up.

"Hmm, what to do with you now?" he ponders. "Such pretty tits should get some attention really, so start running your hands over them, play with them for me, lick them, keep those nipples good and hard."

He watches as she caresses herself, pinching her nipples, bending her head to lick them, doing as she's told. He smells her increasing arousal even through her clothing, and he starts drifting off for a moment, away into the dark, before focusing again. No, I'm the one in control here.

"That's enough." She pauses.

"Stand for me and take off those leggings, let me look at you." She slides them down then moves to remove her smallclothes too.

"Ah, ah, bad little minx! I didn't tell you to do that." He strides over and taps her nose with one finger. "Disobedience has consequences, you know?"

Astarion reaches into his pack and brings out some thin rope that he's been carrying around. "Kneel, my sweet." He swiftly ties her wrists to the weapon rack so that she's affixed in front of him, arms above her head and knees spread.

"That's better. Now, tell me how wet you are, pet. Have you made a mess all over your underthings, just from being tied up? Talk."

She's blushing, surprisingly bashful for someone who's previously wanked herself to a climax in a goblin camp. He can see the heat flushing across her chest in waves. 

"Yes," she whispers.

"Yes what? You'll need to do better than that."

"Yes, I've made a mess. I'm dripping wet, it's soaking through and dripping down my thighs," she says, voice quivering.

He reaches swiftly forward and rips off the thin material. "Disgusting," he growls. "Look at the state of this, all from your needy little cunt." A slow smile spreads across his face and he drags the sodden clothing over her breasts and up across her mouth. 

"But I do rather like that you've got this wet for me already, I might have to get a taste of you myself." His head darts to her breast and he sinks his fangs in on either side of her nipple, piercing the skin, drinking only a little for now, then laving the wound so it heals. She shudders in pleasure and he can taste the sweetness of her juices, mingled with the salty tang of her blood.

This time he remembers to remove his breeches before he plans to drink fully.

He kneels between her spread legs, pressing only the base of his cock against her. She's so, so warm, so wet, squirming up against him like an eel. Stroking the side of her jaw, he suddenly grips tight. "Did I say you could rub yourself up against me?"

She whimpers, shaking her head.

"No, exactly. You were warned, pet. I'm not sure you even deserve to be allowed to come now."

His cold hands ghost over her skin, caressing, coaxing and then suddenly pinching as soon as she relaxes into it. She gives him a shocked look but says nothing. He reaches down, coating his fingers before quickly sliding them deeply inside her. She groans with pleasure, but three deep thrusts and he withdraws, bringing his fingers to her mouth instead. "Lick," he demands. She complies, rocking herself in place without touching his body.

"That's better, things will go so well for you if only you're obedient," he purrs, causing another shiver to ripple through her.

He slides both hands behind her, tracing circles at the base of her spine, sliding along her cheeks, separating them, running a cold finger to tickle across her arse as her back arches and she whimpers.

He stands once more, his cock at her eye level, slowly running his hand over the shaft.

"Hmmm," he says, smirking. "I think we have a problem here." Her eyes widen, as if wondering what she has done wrong. "You see, I really think I should slide my cock down your throat, but then how are you going to tell me to stop? Can't say 'velvet' with your mouth full, after all."

"Unless…" He reaches up to the nearest shelf and takes down a book. "Gods, 'Volo's Guide to the North'." He sighs. "Well, it'll have to do." He places the book in her upheld hands. "If you need to stop, drop the book, understand?"

Sorcha grips the book tightly in both hands and nods determinedly.

He traces the outline of her lips with the tip of his cock, letting her taste the precum that seeps from it, before holding her head firmly and rutting into her mouth, getting deeper on each stroke. Her eyes widen once more as she concentrates on breathing through her nose, letting her saliva pour out of her mouth, coating him and dripping down onto her neck and across her chest. She clenches the book hard as he watches her almost gagging, taking what he gives her.

He's nearly about to come, as much from the pleasure of her obedience as from the sensation itself, but he pulls back, kneeling between her legs once more, taking the book from her hands.

"It's good to see you managed some obedience in the end, my sweet, so I'll let you have a little reward, as long as you say 'Please' for me."

He waits, not giving details, until she says "Please?"

"That's my good girl. I'm going to feed now, and your reward is to make yourself come by grinding that hot, swollen clit of yours against my cock."

She tilts her hips forward, rubbing against the firmness of his cock. It's awkward but she's determined to chase what sensation she's allowed while she can. As she begins frantically rubbing against him, he tilts her neck and bites, drinking deep, enjoying the taste of her desire, waiting for the starburst of her orgasm to reach his tongue and push him over the edge.

In the morning they decided to explore the caverns before heading back up to the Risen Road. There were crates of weapons, jewellery, supplies, an entire hoard of goods, so Astarion filled his pack with the light but valuable items as the group walked downwards.

Looking down, he noticed faint footprints which looked to be leading into a wall. Further investigation showed an illusory wall, protecting a giant winch and an elevator platform. It was the work of moments to pick the lock on the winch.

"Shall we?" he asked.

"Couldn't hurt to look, surely?" murmured Gale.

The platform was just big enough for five of them, so Sorcha, Astarion, Gale, Wyll and Karlach ventured down, promising to either return soon, or to send the platform back up for everyone else if the situation called for it.

It was a slow descent, the walls of the dry cavern gradually giving way to damp, fetid stone, running with moisture. It gave Astarion time to think back on the previous evening, which went rather well, all told. She certainly seems much more relaxed this morning. 

He smiled to himself. Being in control felt so much better than being a plaything for others, and she was an entertaining person to keep around. Maybe if I can encourage her to unleash that fire she's got locked up inside then we might stand a chance against Cazador.

The platform reached the bottom with a resounding thud which echoed back hollowly at them from nearby walls. Huge mushrooms glowed softly, covering almost all surfaces, and bright little spores dotted the air. Despite their plans, they had reached the Underdark.

They were surrounded by a jumble of boxes and crates, haphazardly stacked in all corners of a raised ledge, many marked with the winged serpent crest of the Zhentarim. Sorcha picked up a box lid and used her dagger to scratch a message, telling the rest of the party to come down, and sent that back up to the Zhent hideout.

The Underdark was strange. Not the dusty black of hidden corners, forgotten cellars or the shadowed halls of Cazador's palace. No, it was a deep, thick, relentless black, only relieved by the glow of fungus along walls and pathways.

Astarion worried that his darkvision felt almost useless, he could only see a little into that black. Anything could be lurking there, ready to exploit any weakness, any distraction. He hated it. With three humans in the group, barely able to see in normal darkness, they were very vulnerable.

The Zhent storage room was on a raised ledge, looking out over paths winding between looming mushrooms. Astarion peered into the murk and saw something moving, something huge. He scooted back to the others to find the elevator had returned.

Shadowheart was talking about how much she liked the dark here, almost with a religious fervour, he thought. Something very wrong with that one.

They crept back towards the ledge as the distant shape took form, the massive bull physique of a minotaur lumbering towards them, club raised. It let out an immense bellow and charged, followed by another. Quite frankly he was just tempted to leap back on the elevator and leave this vile place entirely alone.

With the advantage of the high ground they did well peppering the minotaurs with arrows and ranged spells, until one minotaur decided to leap onto the platform with them, knocking Gale, Shadowheart and Sorcha flying onto the path and triggering a series of blast mines.

He had to concentrate, kill these beasts. No distractions like worrying that his meal ticket is burning up. Dammit.

Lae'zel screamed "Ht'aka!" and leapt for the nearest minotaur, sword drawn, hanging onto a horn and piercing it through the skull. Astarion's arrow followed, direct to the eye socket, and the creature dropped, Lae'zel leaping agilely out of the way as it fell.

He took the minotaur's death as an opportunity to fling a water flask over Sorcha, splashing across to Gale too, leaving them spluttering but most importantly, not on fire. Thankfully Karlach and Wyll had dealt with the other beast, leaving the path up ahead clear, and giving time to recover from burns and wounds.

Leaving the others to establish a campsite, Astarion set off with Sorcha, Gale, Karlach and Shadowheart, following the path upwards. In the distance a shadowy building resolved itself into what looked like a temple of Selûne, with a gated entrance flanked by glowing statues. 

What in the hells is a Selunite temple doing down here? It's not as if there's a moon!

Something moved ahead of them. Astarion dropped down into cover and strained to see, as the others crouched down behind him. As the movement neared the temple it was illuminated by brilliant beams of light from the statues. The flash brought the outline of a minotaur into view, before the brilliance overloaded his eyes. He shuffled backwards, waiting for his eyes to clear.

The minotaur lay, unmoving, at the temple gate. Whatever those lights were, he didn't want to go near and end up the same way. Better to sneak around the side and look for an entrance that way.

Chapter Text

No one was willing to risk being fried by the Selunite death ray, so they snuck around to the side, following a trail which looked like it might lead close to the back of the temple. As they climbed upwards, towards a broken stone arch that Astarion had spotted earlier, Sorcha saw, looming through the gloom, what looked to be statues littering the path ahead. Strange, they're hardly decorative, they look more tortured than pretty. Why leave them here?

On closer examination they all appeared to be depictions of drow, twisted in positions of agony. The detail in the carvings was incredible, the way the artist had caught them mid-movement. Gale looked at the nearest one and noticed the amount of detail too. "Something fossilised these drow! Caution is warranted, in case the culprit is still around … oh," he trailed off.

A gigantic creature rose above the statues, one enormous lidded eye and a dozen tentacles, each with their own horrific little eye. "A beholder," breathed Astarion, fear catching his voice. "I think that you'll find that it's only a spectator," instructed Gale. "Beholders have more eyestalks and …" 

"Just shut up and kill the damn thing!" Sorcha screamed.

The monstrosity aimed a ray at one of the statues and it unpetrified, the drow dropping into an attack stance, aiming not at the monster but at them.

"What in the hells?" she shouted, scrabbling back away from the drow. "Go for the eyes, blind it!" She cast Darkness over the creature, but that left Karlach and Gale unable to aim properly. Gale sent of a burst of magic missile but Karlach decided to aim for the hostile drow instead. As soon as she hit him, he moved to aiming at the spectator instead. Must have been charmed.

Annoyingly the monster moved out of the darkness and aimed another ray, collecting another drow ally, before attacking Karlach, dealing a grievous wound to one arm. Astarion aimed an acid arrow at the main eye and the creature screamed, moving back up to a ledge. Gale cast again, pinning the spectator in a cloud of daggers as Sorcha called up Shovel to distract the drow.

To the music of Shovel screaming "Gonna eat your babies!" in the background, Karlach lobbed her spear once more, hitting the spectator directly on its already damaged eye. It howled in anguish and lashed out, knocking Sorcha off the cliff and throwing both drow clear across the plateau, before sinking to the surface, giving a last bubbling breath.

That final throw had been the last for the drow, and almost the last for Sorcha. She managed to down a healing potion and then checked the drow's belongings, finding a peculiar cloudy crystal and a bit of ice cold metal. Strange. Maybe they'll come in handy for something.

Gale came up to her while she was catching her breath, handing her a water bottle. "Nasty fight that, but quick thinking on that darkness spell."

"Thanks," she said. "Your dagger spell was pretty cool too."

They sat in silence for a while, recovering.

"Can we talk? I wanted to let you know that, well, I've come to trust you over these last few days."

"Oh? Why's that?," she replied. Oh, please let this not be a pass.

"Well, the way you faced down that devil, Raphael, how you protected Karlach when Wyll wanted to kill her , how you rescued that owlbear. It all indicated to me that you've got a good heart under all that sharpness." Why all this flattery? He's going to ask for something, isn't he?

Gale continued. "I'm mentioning this because, well, I've got this condition. It's very personal but as I said, I've grown to trust you."

"Let me stop you there, Gale," she said hurriedly. "You really don't need to be sharing intimate medical details with me. Surely Halsin would be better suited to help with this sort of thing, healing's not really my strong suit."

"No, no, you misunderstand. Suffice it to say that every so often I need to, erm, get my hands on a magical item and absorb the Weave inside."

"Wait, so you're what? Addicted to magic?" Sounds more like he's fishing for loot to me.

"Nothing like that!" he stammered. "Magic isn't a narcotic to me, it's a quite literal life saver. And it's been days since I consumed an artefact, so in fact …"

"Are you the reason that I can't find that magic ring from the harpy nest?"

He looked shamefaced at the accusation. "I didn't think anyone would want it, it only cast colour spray after all. I haven't used it, I was just keeping it in reserve in case the craving returns."

Sorcha shook her head. "So, let me get this straight. You took a magic ring and then decided to talk to me to see if I would give you more magic items? Don't you think that behaviour is a bit unbecoming for a wizard, Gale? Next time try being honest perhaps, rather than running off with a valuable item."

Paying no attention to the hypocrisy of a thief being annoyed that someone stole something, she stomped off down the path without waiting to see if the others would follow.

After climbing down two cliffs they arrived at a fairly flat area dotted with the ubiquitous torchstalks. On one side was a precarious path over some flat mushrooms, leading to another climbable wall. To the right were rough stone steps leading into some sort of courtyard, and the centre path led further into the mushrooms.

"Astarion, what can you see or hear down there?" she asked, pointing across the mushrooms towards the cliff. A look of concentration crossed his face, followed by confusion.

"I know it sounds ridiculous, but I swear I can hear chanting," he said. "I can't see to the bottom of the cliff, but there's some bones and a bag at the top."

"Lets go this way first then, the archway looks too foreboding and the other path could lead anywhere”. She jumped across the mushrooms and climbed down the cliff, arriving at a ledge above a rank, fishy-smelling cove. Looking down she could see some kind of ceremony was occurring. Bipedal creatures looking like a strange type of fish were bowing in unison in front of an altar as one of the creatures chanted a liturgy.

"Our blood to fill your oceans, oh blessed Boooal! Our bones to build your temple in the deep!" it intoned.

Sorcha felt a wave of pure devotion wash over her, and the presence of something grew in response. Another voice bellowed out "WORDS, PRIEST. PROMISES. YOUR GOD WANTS PROOF. WANTS BLOOD.”

The fish priest turned and saw Sorcha. "You! Our lord of murder demands sacrifice! You will be an offering for the great god Boooal!" A bloodied figure appeared on the altar. It seemed to be leaping about in a peculiar dance.

She tried to identify what this magical presence was … not divine at all … fey … and murderous!

"WELL, PRIEST? BOOOAL WANTS BLOOD!" the figure demanded.

Sorcha looked over at the figure. "Are your followers aware you're just a rabid little fey creature?" she asked.

"LITTLE? I'M A GOD, AND I'M GONNA TEAR YOU, WEAR YOU FOR A HAT!" the creature screamed. With his outburst, the illusion of divinity faded and was replaced by the figure of a common redcap.

"Ah, bollocks!" Boooal spat. "Don't do anything hasty now …" He trailed off as he saw Sorcha preparing a spell.

"Blessed Boooal… what?" The priest paused in confusion as lightning orb hit the redcap square in the chest. The fey screeched and ran towards Sorcha, waving a sickle, only to be knocked to the ground by some of Karlach's 'special' ammunition. Gale threw a spray of magic missiles which stopped him from ever getting up again.

Gods, she must have been carrying that redcap corpse for days!

The priest bowed to Sorcha. "You've slain the pretender! But we see you, we know you by your true name… Makhloompah! What is to be your first commandment, oh great God?"

She thought for a moment. "Go out and build me an army," she directed.

Shadowheart laughed, "If you're expecting me to drop to my knees before you, forget it."

It had been a long day, so they decided to camp in the cove. Sorcha walked down to the black waters and started skimming stones across it, before noticing a corked bottle bobbing along. She fished it out with her staff and opened it up, extracting a note. The note was a letter from Doni, one of the tiefling children, writing to his almost certainly dead father, who had been lost in the hells. Zevlor had told him that all rivers reach the Styx so Doni had written a note telling him to find him in Baldur's Gate.

Oh. Oh poor Doni. I wish I'd thought to give him some sort of comfort, if I'd only known. She knew all too well the pain of the loss of a parent, a terrible thing. Tears welled up in her eyes before she quickly wiped her face on her sleeve. 

Deciding that socialising was just the thing to lift her mood, she wandered round the camp, checking that Halsin was settled in, sharing some wine with Shadowheart and a laugh with Karlach. Gale had crafted some Sending scrolls in case of emergency and handed over a couple. Obviously trying to get back in my good books, but useful nevertheless. Walking up to Astarion's tent, she found him with his shirt off, trying to touch the scars on his back.

"Bloody infernal, how's anyone supposed to read this garbage," he muttered.

"What are you doing?" Sorcha asked, and he jumped.

"Ah, I, well, if you must know, I've been trying to make out the scars on my back. I can't see them so I was trying to feel my way, as it were, but the damned thing might as well be written in Rashemi."

"I could have a look?" Sorcha offered. "I can't read infernal, but I could draw it out for you."

She knelt and sketched the design in the sand. Astarion stared at it. "What in the hells? Two centuries carrying this and I never knew." It was circular in design, composed of the brutal, jagged lines and slashes that made up infernal. "It's a funny looking poem," she mused.

"If it's a poem at all," he replied. "Thank you, by the way. This is, well, this is something." "Anytime," she replied. "Goodnight, Astarion."

She walked down the hill to her bedroll. Giant, weathered statues surrounded the camp, misshapen by centuries of dripping water. Sorcha lay by the fire, looking up at them, thinking back on the strangenesses of the day. Spectators, drow, fish people, and then that ridiculous thing with Gale. She drifted off to sleep with the smell of fish and salty water in her nostrils, invading her dreams.

1478 DR, The Sea of Swords

She woke, hidden in her barrel, to a hideous swaying motion. She heard the screech of gulls and rough, indecipherable shouts. Sunlight was leaking in through the edges of the lid, and the holes in the barrel side let her smell the tang of the sea. She sipped her waterskin and tried to recollect what she could of the last day.

The Fists had talked about two murdered, they said the Rudenkos, that would be her foster father and mother, but there was no mention of Eike. Gods, had she left her sister alone in Baldur's Gate? For all that Eike was a total pain, she wouldn't do well on the streets at ten years old. But then again, that mean streak might stand her in good stead with the urchins who worked for the Thieves' Guild.

It was just… it felt odd that after Eike threatening her that morning… I can't believe I'm even thinking this… but to threaten the loss of her home, and it then happening. She wouldn't, surely? Eike didn't have magic as far as she knew, so if she really set a fire out of spite, could it get out of control like that?

Her thoughts chased themselves in circles for hours as she waited for the light to fade.

Was this all my fault, for teasing her? I shouldn't have left the Gate without trying to find her. What is it about me that makes the people I love always die or disappear? Fear and grief ran rampant through her mind.

First Father, gone when she was only six, coughing himself to death. Then Mother, vanished on her way to the market, no sign left of even her baskets. Now, two of the kindest people she ever met, forever taking in strays and bringing them up as their own, gone because they had the bad fortune to choose her.

Is this a curse? Am I cursed to harm everyone I care about? She crouched in the barrel, crying softly, steeped in misery, head aching, muscles cramping from the confinement, desperate to pee.

A stray thought nudged into her mind, in the long, suffocating wait. Those Fists said 'murdered'. They didn't say burnt. That's strange. The thought lingered for a while and then slipped quietly away.

The light dimmed, then eventually darkened. She cautiously peered out from under the lid, eyes straining to see some crew. It was only a day past new moon so most of the ship was bathed in darkness, a lantern glowing up on the prow, no crew to be seen back there in the rear with the cargo. She edged out of her hiding place, slowly, carefully, creeping along, silent as a spectre. There's a place at the back of the deck that already reeks, a safe place to relieve herself without notice. She noticed in passing that many of the crates had some sort of winged serpent on them. Must be the source of this shipment I guess. Wonder what it means? Maybe Yuan-Ti, they could have a flying snake wine?

Sorcha repeated this pattern for the next four days, rationing her water, creeping out at night, agonising, wondering why always her, the thoughts chasing themselves in spirals.

On the fifth night she checked as usual, no one in sight, she had realised that there was never anyone about at night in this area but still checked. The moon was gradually getting brighter, it had waxed to almost half full. She sneaked out and headed to the usual corner.

She was busy undoing her breeches when a rasping voice said "Let me help you with that, girlie," and rough hands grabbed her around the waist as she screamed in shock and fright.

"I got her, Captain, I got her!" Several sailors swarmed down from the rigging, laughing, running their hands over her, ripping her shirt open.

One grizzled crewman was stood staring, stroking at his groin. "She'll make a nice little bonus for us, afore we sell her on."

She kicked futilely behind her, trying to escape the hands around her waist, one foul-breathed sailor forced his tongue into her mouth as another tried to push gnarled fingers inside her leggings. She screamed again, and then blackness.

She came back to herself, clinging to an empty barrel, surrounded by water. Behind her was a flaming hulk of a ship, partially sunk. A body floated past her, then another, charred beyond recognition. The waves lapped against her, oily and tainted with the thick stench of burning pitch. In the far distance are lights, some sort of harbour. She drifted towards it, human debris tossed on the sea of life.

Her barrel fetched up in Waterdeep Harbour later that night, on a narrow spit of sand before the docks proper. Dawn's delicate fingers had not yet reached the beach, ramshackle houses still casting deep shadow across the shoreline.

Sorcha hauled herself up the shore, past the tideline, curled up under a rotting pillar and slept with the depth of someone who had nothing left to lose. She awoke to a tentative poking in her side. She sat up quickly, opening her eyes to see a gaggle of … tiny trolls? What in the hells?

One of the trolls raised a mask and resolved into a grubby child, maybe eight years old. 

"Iz youse dead, missus?" the boy asked in common, his words thick and unfamiliar.

She peered at him. "Why are you a troll?"

"Iz Trolltide, innit?" The group giggled in chorus behind him. She had no idea what they were talking about but at least they weren't attacking her.

"My ship sank," she explained, "Nothing left of it but this barrel."

Another taller child, with dirty blonde hair under her troll mask, peered at the sign on the side, the winged serpent she had noticed back on the ship, and spat heavily on the ground. "You Zhent then? Thassa Zhent sign."

She decided playing dumb could cover up her actual ignorance. "I think I hit my head. What's a Zhent?"

The mini trolls laughed. "Theys in charge down 'ere. Sell stuff, buy stuffs. If that's their barrel youse had better give it back."

Eventually, Sorcha managed to get directions to where these traders would likely be and the trolls ran off, banging on doors, growling at passers-by and cackling loudly to themselves. She took stock of what she had. 

Boots, still attached to her feet although waterlogged. Breeches, serviceable but dirty after the last few days. Her shirt, coarse linen, in a far worse state, badly torn and barely covering her. Her little ring, silver, with a tiny blue stone, her very last name day present from her parents. And, perhaps, information she could trade, about a barrel washed up on a shoreline, indicating some unknown catastrophe at sea.

Chapter Text

Morning arrived, such as it was down in the Underdark. Astarion had spent the nighttime hours worrying about what was carved on his back. Cazador was only figuratively hellish, there were never any devils loitering about the palace, so what could it be? Not a poem, that's for sure.

When he remembered that each of the spawn has something carved on them, he realised that not one of them had shown their scars to the others. Comparing tortures would be a pointless idea, each of them preferred to just bury the memory of pain and hope that there was a long gap before the next cruelty hit.

They climbed up the cliff once more, arriving back at the flattened area which they had found yesterday. Sorcha had decided to examine the courtyard and tower that was visible through a stone archway. She cautiously checked for traps before passing through the arch, but then immediately strode forward. Astarion grabbed the back of her robe, hauling her away from a blasted patch on the paving.

"Gods! I'll say it just one more time. Are. You. Trying. To. Die?" 

Sorcha looked at the floor, scuffing her boot against the flagstones. "No."

"So what was that? Honestly, it's like herding cats," he said with exasperation. "There are two ways to find traps. Firstly, you can blunder into each and every one of them, dying horribly but serving as an example to later adventurers, or you can do what?"

"Let the vampire go first!" chorused Shadowheart and Lae'zel in unison.

With that established, he took a closer look at the floor. The blast marks seemed to come from the direction of a gently glowing device in the distance. He carefully stepped around the side of the scorched area, only to be hit by a blue pulse from the machine.

"What!? Ow!" he screamed. Sorcha snickered. "Are you trying to die, Astarion?"

He turned to stare at her, lip quirking. You're going to pay for that later. He paused to think for a minute.

"Do we have any invisibility scrolls or potions?" he asked. "If it can't see me, maybe I can get past these damned sentries, find a way to switch them off."

"It's surely worth a try," Sorcha agreed, "but what if you get into trouble and we can't reach you?"

"Darling, I am the very definition of careful, remember? However," he continued, "let me have one of those Sending scrolls that Gale gave you, just in case."

She handed one over, along with two invisibility potions and a feather fall potion. "Just in case," she said. "That tower is high, best to be able to leap out if you need to."

This is good, very good. She's concerned for my welfare, that bodes well.

He drank an invisibility potion and slowly put his hand back into the line of fire. Nothing. Astarion gave a sigh of relief and walked through the courtyard to the tower, still meticulously checking the flagstones for possible traps. Peering through an arched window in the building, he saw more of the sentry devices. Not that route if he could help it, the potion would wear off soon.

Looking over the low stone wall he could see a possible path across the mushrooms, if he could make the first long jump. Time for that feather fall potion. He reached for his courage and leapt across to the first mushroom before bouncing down the others as if it was a staircase. One last jump at the end and he was safely at the base of the tower, in a long forgotten garden bordering the water.

It was the work of moments to pick the lock on the back door. He ventured in slowly, wary of the potential for more sentries, but this room was free of that threat. It appeared to be some kind of a laboratory or alchemy workshop.

There was a large metallic device in the centre of the room, surrounded by wilted flower petals. There was no lever or button that he could find, but he'd noticed those same flowers still alive in the garden. I wonder what happens if I bring some in? This could just be the world's most elaborate flower vase of course.

He picked a blue flower from the garden and placed it in the centre of the machine. The machine hummed to life, lighting up the room. Peering upwards he could see the entire tower coming to life.

Astarion explored further. A staircase led up to an enclosed elevator, far more sophisticated than the crude platform that the Zhent had made. He pressed the button to ascend and arrived in a new set of chambers filled with alchemy ingredients and books. He filled his pack with anything that seemed interesting and then continued to the next floor.

Astarion emerged on the main floor of the tower. Luckily the device had in fact disabled the sentries that he'd seen earlier. He flung open the main doors to the courtyard and stood there, perfectly poised, waiting for the others to notice him.

He started tapping his foot in frustration when he realised that everyone was busy talking, without looking up. Honestly, I've done all this, entirely by myself, risking life and limb, and they can't even be bothered to notice.

He huffed out a breath and considered shouting, but shouting down here tended to attract far more attention than one wanted. A resolute look crossed his face as he aimed an arrow directly at the ground in front of Sorcha's feet. The entire group sprang into action, looking around for the threat and finally noticing the vast illuminated tower. 

Astarion leaned against a weathered stone pillar and waited, sharpening his dagger on the edge.

As they approached he said "Why, thank you, Astarion, for doing all the work while we just chatter." 

"Kainyank," spat Lae'zel, unimpressed. Shadowheart just rolled her eyes. Only Sorcha had the grace to look apologetic.

The group headed into the tower and ascended another level. This seemed to be living quarters, a bedroom and study perhaps. Astarion browsed through more books, mostly plays and poetry, picking a few up for later and finding a couple of handy scrolls. On another wall he found a large picture, a dwarf, some kind of mariner in a very fine hat. It was an excellent painting, and it would sit very well with his collection. He knew the others scoffed at his magpie habits but he'd never been able to have things so he couldn't pass up the chance now.

He idly wondered how many floors this tower had as they stepped onto the elevator once more. They emerged at the top of the tower, surrounded by constructs, blue magic glowing within them. Had he woken them by using that flower earlier?

One of the automatons, carrying a halberd flickering with magic, addressed him. " New sounds through damp and dark oppression break. Is it the foe, that foul, contemptuous heel? "

He remembered this from one of the plays that he had picked up earlier. "Or art thou friend, a rescue from my lonely wake?"

"Command as you see fit, my lord, my liege," the thing replied. Interesting, it believed that Astarion was its master. He recalled more lines from the papers he had read throughout the tower.

"How can I trust? How will I ever know? How can I show myself, my darkest me? ” he added.

The construct handed over a ring. As soon as he took it, an extra button lit up on the elevator. A secret level? Better and better. "Wait for my return," he commanded the construct, and it bowed in acknowledgement.

The extra button took them down into another basement. There wasn't a lot in there apart from more alchemy ingredients but he did find an interesting ring which had a lightning bolt inscribed on it. He'd have to ask Gale what it did, if he could manage to stomach listening to what would inevitably be a long and boring explanation.

From the top of the tower he had noted a village in the distance, and pointed it out to Sorcha. She was enthusiastic. "Lets visit! Maybe they'll have a trader so we can top up our healing potions." 

"I'm not so sure, darling. The Underdark isn't known for friendly welcomes, after all," he worried.

"But everyone needs to trade, don't they?" added Shadowheart.

"Why would they trade when they can just kill us and loot the bodies?" Astarion added.

"You do have a point," said Sorcha. "Let's expect trouble and just be prepared, shall we?"

On stepping out from the courtyard, the ground suddenly shook from deep within, knocking the party to their knees.

"What in the hells was that?" he asked, but the others seemed equally perturbed. Without further warning a huge ridged monster emerged from underneath them, snapping at Lae'zel and stomping the ground. It was heavily armoured, blue-grey and with a gigantic head that seemed to be almost all jaw.

"A landshark!" exclaimed Lae'zel, staggering back to her feet.

Astarion fumbled for his enchanted arrows, attempting to fire into the creature's mouth. He wasted two fire arrows before finally hitting it with a thunder arrow, knocking the thing back somewhat. Lae'zel was trying to make some headway into its armour, but getting nowhere. Sorcha and Shadowheart had ducked back up to the stone steps.

A burst of rain hit the area, drenching everyone. "Get back!" yelled Sorcha as she hurled a ball of lightning towards the creature. Lae'zel jumped back, out of the water, but Astarion lost his footing and went down just as the entire area electrified.

Huh. It's having no effect on me. Must be this ring, that's handy.

He ran closer and sent a dagger spinning into the monster's eye. Lae'zel aimed arrows at the other eye as the spellcasters threw more lightning. With a distraught bellow, the creature sank down and died.

Astarion sat down heavily. "Have I mentioned just how much I hate this vile place?" he groaned. "There's nothing safe to eat, everything we find is a monstrosity, and even the plant life tries to kill you."

"Missing the gnolls?" asked Sorcha with a wry grin.

"Hardly, darling, but the sooner we leave this wretched place the better. That vile little village is bound to be teeming with darklings, duergar and kobolds, are you sure you want to check it out?"

She sighed. "You're probably right, but we need a way through to Moonrise so we have to explore. You can go first if you want?"

"If I must. Can't trust the rest of you not to get exploded or captured, or worse."

Astarion trod delicately along a series of wooden rope bridges. Gnome carcasses lined the path, interspersed with the occasional duergar and what seemed to be dead myconid lifeforms, although he wasn't sure how he would know. Let's hope they all killed each other and the way is clear. The bridge led onto the top level of the village, ruined buildings and gaping doorways implying desertion. He sniffed. A dank, earthy smell, laced with iron and vinegar, reached his nostrils. Duergar, several of them.

He turned and mouthed "Ambush" at the rest of the party. Lae'zel immediately fell back, moving onto a lower bridge, ready to attack from the side. The spellcasters crouched down, waiting for a target that they could surprise.

A rustle in the air helped his sharp eyes note two of the dwarves, one hidden in a back room and one waiting in shade by a platform. He pointed to both and moved up some steps, coating an arrow in poison, ready to fire. He quickly drew his bow at the dwarf on the platform and aimed for the back of the neck. The duergar stumbled forward and fell heavily, landing on the platform below. 

A yell of "H'taka!" told him that the gith had joined the fight. Leaving the back room to the spellcasters he ran forward to assess the fighting below. Lae'zel was swinging her flaming sword at not one but two duergar. One had an arrow protruding from his neck and was trying to stand on a shattered leg, but the other looked uninjured, swinging an axe in her direction. He fired a swift arrow into the knee and that duergar's adventuring days were soon to be over.

From behind he heard a scream and risked a glance over his shoulder. Shadowheart, dripping with acid that for once wasn't caused by one of her own remarks. A sharp pain hit his shoulder, an arrow, lodging itself into his armour but luckily no deeper. Where in the hells had that come from? There must be at least one more hidden down below.

He hunkered down and scanned the beachfront, trying to assess the direction of the arrow. 

"There! By the boat!" he yelled to Lae'zel, alerting her in time to dodge. She sliced through the arm of the axe-wielding dwarf and he sank to the ground, bleeding out. Lightning crackled from the back room, Sorcha, he presumed, dealing with the opposition in there.

That only left the one, down by the boat. This one suddenly tripled in size and charged towards himself and Lae'zel, not caring that this only made a much bigger target for them both. The duergar got almost up the ladder before his skull was split in two by a well aimed downward blow from Lae'zel. She nodded in satisfaction before cleaning her blade on the nearest corpse.

They all sat at the top of the village to rest and plan the next path. The beach held nothing but corpses and a dead campfire. A raft of sorts was moored at the dock but by mutual consent they didn't want to risk it. That left upwards once more, on one of the two unexplored paths. 

Mushrooms towered over them once more, lining the path, clinging to rocky escarpments that soared above their heads, all serving to make him feel like a tiny flea crawling across the carcass of the Underdark. It made his mind itch. He wanted to feel the joy of looking down from a high ledge, gazing over the sunlit lands once more, not hunched and sneaking about in this den of nightmares.

He noticed a way up one of the escarpments, mushrooms that would serve as steps to a nimble foot. 

"Wait here," he suggested, "I'm just checking out things up there, I'll try to see where the path is heading."

He hopped across a couple of mushrooms and hauled himself up a rocky cliff, reaching a flattened area at the top. A broken eggshell and assorted sticks littered the top. The eggshell was at least as tall as him and made him look around warily for the occupant, but on closer inspection it seemed long abandoned and dusty. A chest was hidden within the mound of sticks, opening to reveal a sizeable haul of gold and a few useful potions. 

Looking across the path he could see a trail weaving through more mushrooms, leading up to an entrance guarded by more of the myconids.

Astarion made his way downwards once more, reaching the others just as a voice drove into his mind.

"They are coming!" it said. 

"Tell me that's not just me hearing this?" he demanded.

"More are coming!" the voice continued. "You are coming!"

"It's not the Absolute, it's something else, it doesn't feel the same," mused Sorcha.

"We should prepare for combat," insisted Lae'zel, drawing her sword once more.

The voice filled Astarion's mind, weaving visions of him trapped within tendrils of fungus. He thrashed his arms, fighting to get free before realising it was only thoughts. Sorcha created a vision of her own, of their journey, and the presence relaxed its grip.

"Come, we will speak in person," the voice boomed.

Chapter Text

The Underdark suppressed conversation, she thought, drowning camaraderie in the pursuit of stealth. It left each of them alone in the dark silence with their thoughts and their personal demons. The only sounds were an endless irregular dripping from every direction, their muted footfalls and the occasional screech that cut off sharply in the dark. Her companions all looked heavy, pained, with the effort of just keeping going. Lae'zel gripped her sword with determination, even in the absence of an obvious foe. Shadowheart seemed to be silently muttering prayers. Even Astarion was subdued, keeping his usual sarcasm to himself. 

Sorcha caught herself worrying about him. Stop that right now. He's just a means to an end. A pleasant diversion. But her plan was falling apart. Justice wouldn't be served by having a vampire spawn on her side, only revenge. She knew she had a certain … fondness for the vampire and that was a dangerous route to take, he certainly would not reciprocate. Revenge might have to be what I settle for, in the end. Who would possibly be interested in raking up dirt from an old case, trying for justice in the face of the Fist. 

The voice of the myconid sovereign interrupted her reveries and she dragged her focus back to the present. They were invited into the colony, where the sovereign requested help against some attacking duergar. She was pleased to be able to assure him that the dark dwarves were already dead. At this news, spores showered into the air like fireworks and a sense of bliss crept over her. 

"I would ask another boon," the sovereign said, and showed her a vision of a drow, striding through myconid bodies. "This one is called 'Nere' and he organised the attack. Bring me his head and I will grant another boon in return."

She readily agreed to kill the drow, without asking what the boon would be.  Damn, must be the spores. I didn't even question the how and why, just agreed with a smile on my face.

She was directed to an opening between a couple of mushrooms and some vines as a reward for dealing with the duergar. "Riches," the sovereign had said. A dead drow lay in the centre of the little room. Checking the corpse, she found another icy piece of metal and a book about the mating rituals of flumphs, some kind of Underdark fauna. That's one for Gale I think, no one else would be interested. Well, maybe Halsin. Astarion had found an intriguing hood of drow make. He had tried it on while standing in shadow and managed to become even harder to spot than usual. No doubt he would put it to good use.

Heading back through the colony she noticed a deep gnome, lying in obvious pain.

"Don't," she said as Sorcha approached.

"Poisoned, were you? I have an antidote somewhere in here if you'd like it?" she said, rummaging in her pack and handing one over. The gnome tipped it down in one gulp.

"Gods, I needed that," said the gnome, looking a little further from death's door. "I'm Thulla, and I thank you for your help, but I need to get going, my people …"

Sorcha interrupted, "You're in no state to go anywhere right now."

"Maybe not, but you are. My people are held by duergar across the lake, taken as slaves. Could you rescue them? We can pay."

Sorcha barely needed to consider, she detested slavers and was still feeling generous from the effects of the spores. "Very well, if we come across your people we will help to free them. You just rest and recover, the duergar from the village are all dead."

They half walked, half ran down from the raised mushroom platform. Barrelstalks kept spitting out haste spores, making their progress a little strange. Sorcha spotted a trader tucked away in a corner, a surface dwarf, surrounded by potions and scrolls.

"You see a dwarf on your way in here?" asked the trader, wringing her hands. "Dumb looking, blue tunic." she added.

"Sorry, no, I haven't seen anything but dead duergar and gnomes," she replied. "Got anything to trade?"

After offloading much of their excess equipment and picking up a few more potions they crossed towards the exit from the colony. Another myconid, large, like the sovereign, loomed before them, rainbow colours flickering across its body. 

"Sunwalker, tell me of home?" it asked. She pictured a celebration in The Wink and Kiss, everyone in high spirits, the rooms packed with Hand members toasting to a successful heist. The myconid flinched and sent an image of a dismal cove full of decaying myconid bodies.

"I am sovereign without a circle, my home destroyed by duergar. I would accompany you to cut out the rot, destroy them in turn," it said gloomily. Astarion moved to stand in her path, hands on hips. "No, I'm not travelling with some overgrown mushroom now! There has to be a limit to your strays!" 

"I agree," she said. "Gith, wizards, devils, owlbears and even a bloody vampire! It's just all too much!" Sorcha laughed, leaving the displaced sovereign behind.

They retraced their steps back to the others and set up camp once more, in between the colony and the tower, close by the mushroom circle. Gale came over to her, doubled over in pain, looking drawn and haggard, Wyll at his side, supporting him to walk.

"I'm really sorry to ask, but do you have a magical item that you could spare? The pain is worsening, and I'm no use in this condition."

"Fine, have this ring we got in the tower - I think it just casts lights." He pressed it to his chest and a thin strand of purple magic seemed to be sucked into his chest. The ring dropped to the floor, inert and useless.

"This affliction of yours is very expensive," she griped. Wyll looked almost offended that she'd mentioned cost. Typical rich boy. Doesn't realise that every copper piece can be the line between life and death.

"I acquired it in Waterdeep," Gale explained. "Nothing there comes cheap." Oh, she knew that, all too well. She looked down at her hands, fiddling with her ring.

"I see," she added, "Thank you for asking at least." He straightened, looking a little better, and gave her a nod. Wyll still hovered by his elbow, escorting him across the camp and into his tent.

She was still buzzing from whatever the Myconid sovereign had pumped into the air, so she wandered over to Astarion's tent once more. 

"Here's my little treat with her cheeks all flushed. You will come to my bed tonight, won't you?"

"Very presumptuous. I'm undecided what I'll do tonight," she said, airily.

"Ah, you need a bit of enticing, let me see."

Astarion pondered for a moment.

"How about this one:" he paused, dramatically.

"When I'm with you, I feel practically alive, yet I crave only to die again with you."

Sorcha snorted. "Ridiculous man. I'll see you later."

It could be the spores, she guessed. Everyone seemed much less tense than they usually were, laughing and joking as if they had all the time in the worlds. Sorcha headed out to the place Astarion had indicated earlier, looking forward to an entertaining evening. She just wanted to relax, enjoy herself, not worry about plotting and planning until tomorrow.

He had found a cavern-like hollow at the edge of the myconid colony, a hidden spot under three of the giant mushrooms with vines obscuring the entrance, and had laid out a blanket and a bottle of wine.

She hadn't remembered him being so shiny. Or did she mean fizzy? Glowy at the edges, giving off little pops of joy like bubbles in that fancy wine.

Sorcha sat down next to him. He seemed far more relaxed than normal. Maybe the spores were affecting him too?

"I hoped you would come," he said. "And now you're all mine, and I'm all yours, until morning at least."

She giggled. "You have such a good collection of patter, I'm in awe." She rolled over onto her back, and dropped her arm across her face, staring up at him through the gap. 

He looked at her, confused, but still smiling.

"We should trade!" she said suddenly, "We could have a competition for the best pickup lines!"

He laughed at the incongruity. "Darling, do you really think you stand a chance?"

"No, no, that's not fair, you're just … you're just attempty… wotsit to put me off!" She wagged a finger at him, trying, but failing, to be stern. "I can too do this thing … too!" 

"Oh, and what do I win, when I win?" he asked, smirking.

"A prize!" she exclaimed triumphantly.

"Very well, I'll pick my own prize then," he smirked. "You go first, darling."

"Oh, were you talking to me? No? It's not too late to start," she began, with an exaggerated lick of her lips.

"Darling," he replied, "A pack of rabid gnolls couldn't stop me."

Sorcha leant forward, reaching for the wine. "So, other than taking my breath away, what do you do for a living?"

Astarion snorted. "Try harder, darling! Surely no one would go for that?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised what things a lonely traveller would go for … hmmm, have you been glazed in honey? … because my mouth keeps watering when I see you."

"Sweet," he said, "but not half as sweet as when I tasted you." He gave an audacious wink and she collapsed giggling again.

"My turn!" She sat upright with exaggerated care, and solemnly intoned "Is that a portal to the hells in your back pocket? Because damn, your arse looks so hot."

He groaned, and contemplated his next move. "Well, darling … every part of your perfect body screams temptation. I swear the gods made you just to ruin me," he purred at her.

She laughed. "I bet that one goes down well with the clerics! And speaking of going down well … mind out of the gutter, darling … ahem … I think I fell for you, so it's only fair that you pick me up."

He stretched out beside her and casually ran his fingers through her hair.

"See! I'm irresponsible … no, wait … irrita … irresistible!" She squinted at him, there seemed to be several of him at once.

"You must be a wizard because any time I look at you, everyone else disappears."

"Oh, that's rather good," he chuckled. "How about if I said these little words, everyone's favourite … I love you."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "That's a lie, having fun are you?" 

"You cheeky pup! It's hard not to have fun with you, but that's a rather beautiful lie nonetheless."

Sorcha gave another chuckle before sleepiness claimed her and she passed out, lying on her side next to Astarion. When she woke he was still there, leaning against a mushroom stem and reading a book.

He looked down at her. "What? I could hardly leave you here alone to sleep off whatever that was. This is the Underdark, darling. If you were alone here something would probably eat you, or lay eggs in you or whatever. Also I'm not going to let you forget that you owe me a prize! Falling asleep counts as conceding the game, you know?"

Her recollection of the previous night was somewhat fuzzy but she smiled.She barely drank these days,it really wasn't like her to be that relaxed. It makes guarding my tongue too difficult. It was fun though, just for once, almost like they were friends.

Chapter Text

Astarion watched Sorcha sleep. He felt uncharacteristically relaxed, lying next to her, feeling the warmth seep across the damp air from her. She gave a little snore and a tendril of hair fell across her face. He gently moved it out the way.

This was… nice. Unpressured. She could obviously see what he was trying to do but was willing to go along with it anyway. That was peculiar. He'd been ready to offer his body once more, to keep her contented, satisfied, but instead they had just laughed. Like… friends?

His mind drifts, back to the faintly remembered memories of simpler days. Before Cazador. Before he was this.

When he first met Cazador, Astarion was a young, naive and thoroughly spoilt Upper City elf. His parents had indulged his every whim, he had his choice of careers and a luxuriously comfortable life. He'd expected a life of hedonistic parties, fine clothes of silk and velvet, richly appointed surroundings, and pampering, just as he had seen on the sole occasion he had snagged an invite to one of Cazador's Grand Balls, a few months before he was attacked. 

He had danced, beautifully, made witty remarks, flirted with the cream of the Upper City, was followed throughout the ballroom by a crowd of pretty things fishing for his attention. And the great Lord Cazador had nodded and smiled at him from his seat on the dais.

Months later, bleeding out in a gutter, when Cazador offered him immortal life he saw an endless stream of bright entertainment. He could not have even conceived of the horrifying reality he would find himself in back then. Instead of the fine clothes and luxury he was given one single suit of clothing, on loan, and had to maintain it. The first time that he had torn a sleeve earned him a week in the kennels. The only thing he truly owned was his shroud, the thing he was wearing when he clawed his way out of the grave, spluttering, hacking up clots and dirt, to be met by a pristine Cazador. 

He pushed down the memory of that night, the fear, the torment. Best not to remember. Gone, banished, forgotten, lost.The mantra damped it down again. He was glad that he had been carrying his shroud in his pack when the mindflayers collected him. He wasn't sure what would happen to him if he lost it but all the other spawn clung to theirs too.

The mushroom circle was still there in the morning, perfect as ever.

"Shall we?" asked Sorcha. "It might go somewhere interesting, we should surely check?" Wyll and Karlach nodded eagerly although Lae'zel looked a bit more dubious.

Astarion sighed. "If we must. After you, darling," he says, and she jumped in, followed by the others. His stomach twisted, the Underdark vanished, a sensation unlike any portal he'd experienced before. The world reemerged and they were all standing back in the swamp, above ground, on a mossy island next to the old woman's teahouse.

"Just once, I'd like to be teleported to a nice feather bed. Surely that's not too much to ask?" he complained.

I thought that circle was too good to be true. Now that Wyll is with us, I can bet he'll be wanting to go inside after that girl. Heroes just can't pass up a chance to stick their noses in other people's business.

They had emerged at the back of the teahouse, and he could see a way in from a balcony dotted with little tables. He climbed up stealthily to investigate, then beckoned the others to join him. Inside the shack he made out two figures, Ethel, and a young woman who was sat at a table picking at some meal.

He hung back as the others walked towards Ethel, who greeted them with a smile. "My heroes! Come in, come in." As the group walked forward she turned back to the table.

"Give me strength, Mayrina, eat up!" she said to the seated woman.

"Wait, that's Mayrina?" Wyll said, looking shocked. "I've got some bad news for her."

"You shut your hole, Fraud of Frontiers!" Ethel sniped.

Mayrina jumped up from her seat. "Wait, what does he mean?"

"Ethel killed your brothers," Sorcha told her. Mayrina screeched, starting towards the old woman.

"That's enough of that! They were being rude!" Ethel said, her skin suddenly transforming, her human form dissolving into a warped, greenish lumpy hag, dotted all over with spines and fungi. "Back to your cage, girl!"

A green blast of magic shot out and the girl vanished.

Astarion quickly nocked a lightning arrow and hit the hag from behind, causing Ethel to whirl in his direction.

"Is there still rat stuck in your teeth, slave?" she hissed, and he recoiled, a cold sensation gripping his throat.

The hag lunged towards him, claws outstretched, spitting venom and bile. "Cazador's little whore! Deep down, you like being leashed, don't you?"

She vanished before any of the others could lay blade or spell on her, but Karlach had the presence of mind to lob a bottle of water in her general direction, revealing a drenched and spluttering hag.

"Bloody clever clogs!"

Sorcha threw a lightning orb at Ethel, catching her in place as it spread to the water all over her, and Lae'zel moved in, swinging her sword in a great arc. Wyll hit her with an eldritch blast as Astarion managed to reach her with his daggers, dealing a flurry of sharp blows.

"You again," Ethel cackled, "You're everyone's punching bag and no-one's favourite!"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up you filthy old hag!" he screamed, ripping at her with his fangs, barely in control. A well aimed hammer from Karlach knocked the hag out.

It's not enough. She needs to be dead, and every filthy word from her lips along with her.

Before anyone could react he cut Ethel's throat, wiping her from the face of Faerûn.

"Astarion!" yelled Wyll, annoyed. "We needed to find out where Mayrina was!"

Enough. He had been through enough today. He hissed at Wyll, fangs bared, before he stalked to the other side of the building.

"Don't worry, Wyll, we'll find her," Sorcha soothed. "There's plenty to explore in here, I'm sure we can get to the real lair if we look carefully.

Astarion began a desultory search of the cabin, managing to find healing potions and alchemical ingredients. Sorcha brushed aside a wall of vines to find a painting of an elf, poised mid hunt on a tree stump, and offered it to him, trying to cheer him up.

"Well, it's a good painting at least," he said grumpily, stowing it in his pack.

It was Lae'zel who noticed that the merrily burning hearth was in fact an illusion, hiding a tunnel downwards. They picked their way down a wooden staircase, into a fetid green tunnel, past some of the hag's victims. The air was heavy with the scent of mildew, vines tangling down in front of them, a green miasma obscuring the floor beneath. A damp cavern held four masked people, wandering around as if lost. Sorcha reached out to remove a mask and the person, a halfling, fell down dead in front of her. They left the others alone.

There didn't appear to be another exit from this room, but in a corner a waterfall rained down, the torrent managing to escape rather than flooding the place. Karlach stuck her head under the water, releasing a huge cloud of steam, but came back up spluttering "There's another room back there."

She jumped back through the waterfall, followed by Wyll and Lae'zel. Sorcha looked at him, head on one side. "Afraid you'll ruin your perfect curls again?" she asked.

"I just don't understand why everywhere we go is just so dirty. It's like you all love rolling in the muck like badly-behaved children," he grumbled, before taking a step forward and emerging, dripping, on the other side.

The dismal path continued downwards, littered with traps which he had to disarm. They just keep me around so they won't get blown to the hells. Can you pick this lock, Astarion? Disarm this probably lethal trap for us? If it blows up, at least you're already dead, ha, ha, ha.

He sourly picked a way through, down into the depths, Ethel's words carving a bitter trail through his mind. Up ahead the passageway widened to a cavern once more, and he could see the annoying woman held in a wooden cage above a chasm.

"Let me out!" she whined. "Hurry up, get me out of here!"

If it was me, I'd be more polite and far less demanding. Would serve her right to just drop her into that pit.

As he indulged this little fantasy, Sorcha found a control sphere and lowered the cage, freeing Mayrina. He was only half listening to her screechy voice. Something about giving her child to the hag to get back her dead husband. We should have left her where she was, how stupid was she, to make that sort of deal?

His assorted band of do-gooders didn't see it like that of course. They looted an adjacent workshop, finding various spelled items which Sorcha collected, hoping that one might help the woman. Mayrina had gone back upstairs, to where her late husband's coffin rested.

The wretched woman was in floods of tears again, holding onto the coffin and bawling words of regret. Sorcha sorted through the hag's spells, looking for something which might be of use. Astarion noticed a stick, labelled 'Bitter Divorce' and laughed. "Maybe this is what she needs?" he said, waving the thing about.

There was a creak from the coffin. Oh shit. A partially rotted corpse emerged, a zombie. He waved the stick again and the creature came towards him, controlled by the spell.

"Connor?" the woman sobbed. "What have you done to him?"

Great, he tries to help, gets accused of making a zombie. Where is the fairness in that?

He dropped the stick on the floor and stomped off, muttering. She can fix her own undead husband then. It's really not my problem.

They struggled back to their Underdark camp once more, covered in swamp muck, rot, and hag's blood. Everyone started dealing with their wounds before food and sleep. Halsin was certainly proving useful for all his healing skills, and he did it without griping about carelessness as Shadowheart did.

Astarion sat in his tent, away from the easy camaraderie around the fire, and thought back to Ethel's mockery. It had bitten deep, twisting a knife into his gut. He caught the drift of spices in the air, Sorcha's scent, as she walked over to him.

"You look like you're brooding. I know that broody vampire thing is a whole look, but do you want to talk about it? Was it what Ethel said?"

He kicked disconsolately at a stray clump of swarming toadstools. "I don't really want to talk, but I guess you should know about Cazador, about what he did to me," he said.

"He would have me go out into the Gate at night and find him the most beautiful people I could, to be brought back and whisked away so he could feed. I haunted the taverns, night after night, with only one goal… to bring him victims, to avoid the punishment I'd get for disobedience." He paused, dead heart clenching with fear.

"What was worse were the balls he held. Most of the spawn would be dressed in finery, not our own of course, and sent up to mingle with the guests. If there was someone Cazador was trying to influence, or incriminate, he'd let them pick which of us they wanted and we would have to head off with them, entertain them, do whatever twisted things they wanted, keep them happy. If we objected, he would just compel us. The only one who avoided that was Yousen, because obviously no one ever wanted to pick a gnome."

Sorcha stared at him in horror. "I thought I had it bad in the past, but that's truly awful. At least I managed to get out of my situation." She paused. "We need to kill him. That bastard needs to die screaming."

"We'll get these worms under control, get to Baldur's Gate and then hunt him down for what he did," she continued resolutely.

Astarion heard the words, but he, of all people, knew that words were cheap. No one was going to consider his feelings, consider helping him, that just didn't happen. He stared morosely at the nearest mushroom and picked at his nails, letting the words flow over him, damping down pointless hope.

There was a long pause. 

"Astarion?"

"Hmm, yes, what?" he said.

"So, are you good with that?" she asked.

"Oh yes, darling," he acquiesced brightly. "Whatever you think is best."

Sorcha raised an eyebrow at him. 

"So, let me get this straight. You want to go back to the gnolls and teach them how to dance the Sarabande?"

"What! No!" he snapped with annoyance. "You're laughing at me!"

"Well, it's hard not to when you drift off to your own little cloud plane whenever I talk for too long. Or at all."

He huffed his breath out and rolled his eyes in irritation.

"I was asking," she continued, "what you thought was the best course forward. What would make you most comfortable. How you want to deal with this. I want to know what you think because you're the only person who knows how you feel and I'm not about to override your mind and your integrity by using the tadpole."

"I, er, I really don't know," he said, slowly, taken aback. "My choices have always been between two vile options so it's never really mattered before. Did I want the skin flaying from my back or did I want my legs to be broken before I went out hunting?"

Sorcha reached out as if to stroke his cheek and he flinched. "Don't touch me!" he said automatically.

She withdrew her hand. "Then I won't, it's entirely your choice."

"No, no" he said, reaching for her hand and pressing his thumb across the back. "I didn't mean that, it's just habit, ignore me."

She looked directly into his eyes. "Astarion," she said gravely, "I will never ignore a request from you about what happens to your own body. If you say not to touch you then that. Does. Not. Happen. Do you understand?"

He gazed into her golden eyes and wondered how, here in the depths of the Underdark, he was drowning in sunlight.

"No, I don't understand," he whispered to himself.

Chapter Text

Sorcha was still mulling over the horrific things that Astarion had shared last night as they set out to explore further into the Underdark. Any time she had experienced even the slightest touch of that sort of horror, she had the means to fight back, if not immediately then within days. To be unable to retaliate due to compulsion upended her mind. An evil of that type was almost beyond her comprehension.

They followed a path meandering above the Duergar village, towards a gigantic luminous tree that twisted up from far down in the chasm. Roots like long dead giant bones traversed the cavern from roof to depths, and many petalled flowers glowed in the branches. As Sorcha got closer a strange, cold, chill crept over her. It reminded her of the awful feeling that first day after the nautiloid. Empty. Devoid of magic. An unremarkable shell covering a hollow heart.

She looked over at Wyll, and saw him looking uncharacteristically uncertain. Shadowheart didn't look great either, to be fair.

"Whats happening?" she asked, starting to panic. "Are we… turning?"

Wyll shook his head. "That tree, those flowers - something is off. I can't say what but all my energy is draining away."

Sorcha felt her magic fading like last summer's love, worsening the closer she got to the tree.

Astarion pointed to some strange marks cut into the ground. “Sharp, deep, and fresh. Someone's marking their territory. A charming new monstrosity I'm sure."

He walked over to her. "You look drained, and I know it wasn't me. Is that plant bothering you?"

"It's my magic, it's gone," she said, fighting her rising panic.

"Might I suggest getting it back then? We can't have my favourite sorcerer out of sorts."

"We should retreat," suggested Sorcha. "I can't fight like this."

"Well yes, my dear. However, much as I hate to mention it, have you seen that oversized chicken over there? I suspect we've strayed into its territory and I'm not fighting it alone. Let's retreat to an area where you three can actually be some use if it notices us, hmm?" She looked, seeing a tall birdlike creature ripping at the earth with its claws.

She moved back until she felt a surge of her magic returning. It almost felt stronger than it had been earlier in the day. Perhaps that was just relief, because the absence felt so horrifying. It couldn't hurt to try though, could it?

"Veni et iuva me" she whispered, sending her magic seeking outwards in all directions. In the distance she heard… was that a bark?

Wyll and Astarion had dropped into their fighting stances, looking behind her. "Stay very still," Astarion hissed, unsheathing his daggers. She felt a nudge at the back of her leg, accompanied by a whiff of sulphur.

"Stop!" she laughed, turning and dropping to her knees. A large black hellhound put his paws upon her shoulders and slurped a purple tongue across her face. "Nimbus, Nimbus, where in the hells have you been?" she sobbed.

"I take it this monstrosity is a friend then?" asked Shadowheart, laughing. She reached out to pet the hound for a moment before pulling back her hand, cradling it from view. "He didn't hurt you, did he?" Sorcha asked, concerned.

Shadowheart's face was once again shuttered. "It's nothing."

Astarion tutted. "Need I remind you, sweet though this reunion is, we still have to get past that horror. It's perched right at the junction of our only way out of here."

Sorcha nodded, resolutely wiping dog saliva from her face with a grin.

"Right, yes, focus. Let's take the fight to that thing, whatever it is. We can sneak up this part of the tree, it doesn't have any freaky flowers on it, and ambush it before it can act."

They moved slowly and quietly up the tree until it was in range of spells and arrows. The creature stood tall, taller than even Karlach, on two massively clawed feet. Mangy feathers sprouted from a pair of wings. Some cross between a vulture and a harpy maybe?

Sorcha looked around at everyone, ready to spring into action, and lobbed an ice orb at the horror, causing it to slip and land prone on the trunk. Nimbus leapt into action, going immediately for one of the wings, ripping into it and leaving a spark of flame as he bit down.

She noticed the flame and yelled "Use fire on it!"

Astarion nocked a fire arrow, aimed, and the creature's head was now flaming, a halo of burnt feathers giving a bizarre crown effect. Wyll blasted it with an endless array of eldritch blasts as Shadowheart tried and failed to land a fire bolt.

Nimbus bit again, shaking at the wing as if he had a rat, leaving a trace of sparks across the wing.

She threw a sphere of lightning, knocking the creature back down once again.

"Now use lightning!" she advised the others.

"Make up your bloody mind," snarked Shadowheart.

The monster managed to rise, sinking hooks into Nimbus, causing a huge laceration. The dog just split in two and proceeded to savage the vulture thing again, both attacking from different sides.

"Bloody hell, that's a new one on me," said Wyll, giving an appreciative whistle. Another lightning arrow from Astarion, another sparking orb from herself and the thing gave a hollow whistle and tipped from the trunk into the chasm below.

They rested quietly for a while, as Sorcha introduced them all to Nimbus. "When he bites, he often gives some elemental vulnerability," she explained. "So if you notice a flame, or a spark, or ice when he bites, you know to attack with that."

"And the multiple dogs?" asked Astarion. "I'm not usually one for mutts but he seems remarkably useful. Can we have one each?"

She laughed, suddenly relaxed. "No, sorry! He only splits when he's hurt, he mends back together after a while."

She continued, "While I remember, Astarion, those weapon blueprints you picked up, didn't they call for sussur? I'm certain that this is a sussur tree, they're said to eat magic." She hacked away a large piece of bark with her dagger and placed it carefully in her pack. I wonder if Gale has some sussur inside him, eating all that magic?

They fought their way past another two 'hideous chickens' as Astarion insisted on naming them, dispatching them far easier now that they knew about Nimbus' talents, and were climbing up a set of rocky ledges when Sorcha, Shadowheart and Astarion suddenly stopped dead.

She really wasn't worried about the Underdark anymore, she just wanted to watch the pretty pattern reflected on the wall, pulling her attention. It was fascinating, changing and beckoning, sliding from blue to purple to green, a beautiful delicate sight. She could hear Wyll shouting about something in the background but that really wasn't interesting. She just wanted to look at the pretty pretty lights.

A sudden slap across her face brought her back to herself. Wyll! Wyll had slapped her! Her hands flared with flames as she pushed him away from her. He stumbled backwards, hands raised in defense, shouting "Sorcha, wait! Look around!"

She cast a quick glance to her side. Astarion was caressing a wall, a ridiculous smile on his face. Shadowheart was slumped on the ground, bleeding. And at the top of a ledge, a drow was chanting some incantation, some charm spell. She redirected her fire towards the drow, the flames causing his focus to drop as he wailed in agony.

A couple of eldritch blasts then hit the drow directly in the chest, knocking him backwards. Wyll ran to help Shadowheart as Sorcha made her way to the drow, checking that he was properly dead.

She did a quick check of his pockets and found another piece of the strange cold metal, that made three now and they were obviously magical. There was also a letter, talking about an ancient forge, and a guardian, but she could make little sense of the ramblings. She idly played with the three metal pieces as they sat recovering, swapping them around on the ground with her hands until a sudden snap brought all three together, forming a staff that looked to be made of ice, clouds of cold vapour trailing from it. It was far better than anything she had ever owned. Gale wasn't getting his hands on this. 

Ahead, the path split once more, one leading to some strange bulbous green fungi, the other going back towards the myconids. She stepped up to a mushroom and it swelled in response, leaking green vapour. She thought that this one was called a bibberbang, a rather ominous name.

She stepped back and it shrank down again. That didn't look safe. She turned back to the others. "What do you think, could we blow it up?"

"Fire kills most plants," Astarion suggested. He sent a fire arrow into the heart of the fungi and it released a cloud of poison before catching fire and exploding to nothingness. A skein of strong vines led downward towards another cavern completely choked with the same exploding fungus. 

They climbed down with caution, no one wishing to get too close to an explosion. Sorcha noticed, in a far corner of the cavern, the tell-tale glow of a very rare plant, noblestalk, a valuable find if she could only reach it, worth a fortune in gold.

She turned back to the others and explained her plan. "I'll drink a poison resistance potion, then use a Misty Step scroll to reach that corner, grab the fungus and then run back up here."

"Are you utterly mad, darling?" was the somewhat predictable response from Astarion. "You want to waste a potion and a scroll just to get some gods-be-damned mushroom?"

She reached over and tapped him on the lips to shush him. "Gold. Lots of gold."

He huffed out a breath. "Just don't expect me to join you on this insane jaunt."

Sorcha drank the poison resistance potion and stepped over to the noblestalk, swiftly stowing it in her pack. She noticed a few crystals of Lolth's Candle too, so went to collect them. Those could make a strong poison, that might be useful for Astarion.

She crossed the cavern, aiming to return to safety and the others. Once she was halfway, she heard an agonised whisper.

"Bibberbang, bibberbang!"

Peering through the fungi she saw a dwarf in a blue tunic, wringing his hands. This must be the one that the trader was asking about. She stepped closer but he shrank back in fear at the clouds of poison coming from the nearest mushrooms.

"My pack, can't find my pack," he said. On further examination she could see a pack some distance from him, and …Oh no. What idiot brings a lit torch into a field of explosive mushrooms?  She quickly retreated to the safety of the trunk and contemplated options. Maybe Shovel might be small enough to not set off the mushrooms?

Sorcha summoned Shovel, who immediately started trying to ride the 'doggy'. Nimbus was not amused, and snapped at the quasit, sending Shovel running screaming into the bibberbang field. As she ran the mushrooms swelled and released their gases. So much for that bright idea. 

She watched in horror as Shovel neared the lit torch and a cloud of gas combusted, spreading across the cavern with relentless ease. "Ow, ow! My hole!" screamed Shovel, running back towards safety. "It's only fun when Shovel does the fisting!"

Once the fires died down, they moved to examine the debris. The dwarf was dead, burned to a crisp. 

She was so, so tired of the Underdark and they had barely scratched the surface. It occurred to her that, since she had the sussur bark, they had a perfect excuse to portal back to the dilapidated village, to try forging that masterwork weapon.

Sunlight. She was starting to realise how much of a weight being in the Underdark cast over her, dragging down her spirit, crushing her under. Wyll was sat in a sunbeam, smiling. Astarion was spread out on the grass, eyes closed, trying to soak in every sunlit mote. Even Shadowheart looked relaxed. A perfect time to bond, to try to see what she's hiding. She walked over to the cleric, handing her a water bottle and an apple.

"There's something you're not telling me, I'm sure of it."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Shadowheart replied, a flicker of worry crossing her face.

"Look, we've travelled and fought together for a while now and we should be able to trust each other more than this," Sorcha persisted. "The way your hand hurts suddenly, the way you say things like 'May the darkness preserve us', the quiet chanting every night - it all gives the impression of hiding something. Who is it that you are worshipping?

"You're not going to let this drop, are you?" the cleric muttered.

"No, nosier than a weasel, that's me."

"Fine. But you're going to regret that you asked. I serve Lady Shar." Shadowheart suddenly grabbed her hand as if in pain again.

"Was that so hard?" Sorcha asked. "Is that why you were so interested in heading straight for that Sharran fortress? I don't care who you worship as long as it doesn't kill the rest of us."

"Well, now you know. But please don't keep going on about it, not many people want a Sharran in their midst."

"Because they feel so much safer with a vampire, a devil, a mad gith and a magic eating wizard?"

"Hmph. You may have a point," Shadowheart conceded.

The blacksmith's instructions for forging the weapon were surprisingly simple. They lit the forge fire, increased the heat with the bellows and added the sussur bark to the glowing coals. The fire glowed an otherworldly blue. She added a dagger and the blue flames licked over it before receding, leaving a silver coloured blade encrusted with blue crystals.

Astarion leaned over to examine it, cautiously extending his hand, expecting to feel the heat of the furnace. "Strange," he mused. "Not only is it cool to the touch, it almost feels like, I don't know, like it's wrapped in silence.”

They left the forge and rested for a while. Her mind wandered as she idly played with the sussur dagger, the gems flashing in the sunlight. Astarion sat beside her, drinking in the sun. "Can I ask, how is it that you know so much about Underdark mushrooms? I didn't think you'd ever been into the deeps before," he inquired.

Sorcha sighed. "Ah yes, I knew someone once, Xilona. Ostensibly she had come to Yartar, all the way from the Undermountain, to set up a business selling rare Underdark delicacies to passing trade caravans." She paused for a moment, reflecting. "As these 'delicacies' also made some interesting poisons, the new trader also attracted the interest of the Hand, and I was sent to, well, find out what I could."

"A drow, I take it? She sounds fascinating, darling."

"Oh, she was. She taught me a great deal," she replied.

"About what?" he asked.

Her mind flashed back to Xilona. Ah, Xilona. Flowing white hair, woven with sea green strands and little silver trinkets. Skin soft as kitten fur, dusk coloured like a clouded amethyst, like the sky darkening from twilight to night. Soft green eyes flecked with golden light. A voice pitched low, slightly rough, yet velvety smooth, a cat's lick across the mind. And capable of sending Sorcha comatose with pleasure from just the lightest touch of her tongue.

"About myself, mostly," she said lightly.

She smiled at the happy memory of those early days. As long as she didn't let her mind reach past the early days, best to keep those other memories shut out.

"Hmm, will I get to hear the rest of this story?" he teased.

She shook her head. "Some other time perhaps, it doesn't end well."

"Things so rarely do, darling, as I think you and I both have reason to know." He shifted his gaze to the dagger which was scattering sunbeams across his face as Sorcha played with it. "That dagger really is beautiful - may I see it?"

She considered, for a moment. "You know what, if the balance is right then keep it. A gift."

He looked a little taken aback. "Huh, that's a first. Cazador did not approve of gifts. His favoured spawn would maybe get a bit of leeway, whoever that was at the time, but it never lasted. Ultimately, none of us truly owned anything, not even our bodies. He took it all."

Chapter Text

No one was particularly eager to return to the gloom and terrors of the Underdark just yet, so they called up the others and set up a camp in the village instead. Astarion organised his tent and arranged his treasures, then lounged on a velvet cushion outside, playing with his new dagger. He could hear Gale and Wyll in the background, discussing recipes and bickering over how to prepare the vegetables. If only it didn't all taste of ash.

"I don't know if you've ever tried spiced fried fish the Waterdhavian way, Wyll? I'd be happy to cook some for you if we ever get back to normality. Of course Tara always says I ruin it that way, she likes hers lightly steamed and doused in cream."

"It's been a long time since I visited Waterdeep. I was still just a child when I went with my father, we spent an entire Fleetswake there. What I remember best were the hand pies. I think I ate so many that I was sick. A total disgrace to my father's name!" Wyll chuckled over the memory of happier days.

"Well, come visit, after all this, and we can have pies and fish aplenty," Gale offered. "No, careful! Slice the carrots lengthways so they cook down properly!"

They look like an old married couple arguing over the dishes. Maybe after spending all that time in camp together they've each found someone who can tolerate them. He saw Sorcha grab a quick bite of food before ambling over. She's been looking his way frequently this evening, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Want to feed?" she asked, as if she didn't know that the answer would always be 'yes'.

"You're such a sweetheart," he purred, and reached for her neck. He latched on, drinking in unhurried pulls, holding tight to her waist, pressing himself against her so she could feel the effect of her blood, then laving her wounds with his tongue to close them.

"I wanted to talk to you about something,” she said with a small smile.

His stomach lurched and he almost vomited the blood back up. Oh. I guess this is it. Has she tired of me already? He didn't expect this quite so soon, but she was rather perceptive, after all. She's seen the veneer for what it is, a mask to hide the pathetic shell underneath. 

"I've been thinking, about what you told me, about never having the agency to disobey Cazador, never being in control of your own body."

Astarion looked at her warily. "Go on…" She's going to be kind, say that it was nice, but now it has to stop.

"I'd like to try something, if you'll allow me? As a gift, because it seems that you've never had anything just for you in a very long time. You've spent centuries concentrating on what others want and having nothing truly your own."

Strange, this isn't how I expected this conversation to go.

He nodded, still wary but curious.

Sorcha holds out a hand, says "Will you trust me, just for a little while?" and leads him away from the camp, collecting a torch, down into the room below the windmill. The cellar was still musty, years of milling having soaked the malty grain scent into the walls, but she had cleared the floor and placed a soft rug on the ground. He follows her with trepidation, but decides to give her a few minutes of limited trust, just to see what happens. Perhaps this is the payback for giving me that lovely dagger.

"May I touch you?" she asks, looking into his eyes, as if checking to be sure that he is still present, still comfortable with being here. He nods and she slowly runs a finger lightly down from his jawline to the hollow at the base of his neck. It's quite warm in the cellar but Astarion can't stop himself from shivering as he waits to find out what she plans next. She pauses, drawing out the tension, and then touches his shirt lacing. "May I?"

He nods once more and very gently, she takes off his shirt before placing his hands, one after the other, with care, onto the rungs of the ladder behind him.

"Some rules," she says, stroking the side of his jaw with her hand, keeping his attention on her. 

"Firstly, keep your hands on the ladder, unless you want me to stop. You can stop me at any moment by letting go, do you understand?"

Astarion nods. She waits, patient, until he says "Yes." 

Is this a test? What is she testing? Obedience? What happens if I fail? Gods, this is likely to be awful.

"You can also stop me by saying 'Velvet' seeing as you're so fond of the word," she adds with a grin.

"Secondly, this is my gift to you, a gift of pleasure. I want you to enjoy it, or to stop me if that isn't happening, so tell me anything that you find that you'd like me to do, or do more. If it isn't giving you pleasure then you should stop me, do you understand?"

"Yes." 

I'm not certain I do understand. Why is she doing this? What does she get from it? What is she planning?

"Lastly," she says, "if you are going to enjoy this, you need to be here, body and mind. Keep your eyes on my eyes. If you find your mind starts wandering, stop me and we can pause, or you can end this, do you understand?"

"Yes," he says once again. 

"And most importantly, please, remember, there are no consequences for stopping. I won't be angry, or disappointed, or sad. You are in control, despite how this looks."

Ah, this might be difficult. I'm sure she doesn't really mean that, they never do. It's just easier, her believing that I want what she wants. 

She reaches up and plants a featherlight kiss on his cheek.

His arms are stretched back to reach the ladder's rungs but although there is tension it isn't uncomfortable, isn't forced. She stands in front of him and blows a light whisper of breath across his chest, from throat to navel, still looking into his eyes.

She gently, so gently, runs her fingers down his sides, starting with the hollows at his collarbone, over his ribs, then lower, following the crease that dips down out of sight. He hears her heart speed up and tenses automatically, expecting a sudden move, but she just smiles a little and strokes delicately back up his chest, brushing across his nipples, tickling softly over his throat, up to his ears.

He can't help but exhale a soft moan as she languidly traces the sensitive edges, gold-flecked eyes still watching him with deliberate intent. Time to take a risk.

Astarion drops his arms and she immediately stops, nods, and takes a step back.

"Too much?" she asks.

"Just testing, darling. Please, do continue" he says, and winks at her.

She stopped. That was… unexpected.

She kisses, a moth's whisper, down his collarbone, across his chest and down to his belly button, lightly licking inside it, watching his reaction. She's still dressed, but she kneels in front of him as she hesitates, reaching to undo his breeches, moving at a snail's pace, giving him time to refuse. She kisses, light as a breeze, across his abdomen, at the top of his waistband, looking up as she does so.

Astarion's cock is paying no attention to his trepidation, suffused with her blood, straining to be released.

I need to get a bit of control back,

"Wait," he says, and her hands stop at once.

"Undress for me, please" he purrs, "Slowly."

Sorcha smiles. "Of course," she says and starts removing her robe, followed by her breast band.

He watches, seeing how the flickering torchlight highlights the curve of a hip, catches the dimples of her belly, the darker shadows under her breasts, the jagged outline of her scar. He wonders idly how she got it.

She slowly edges her leggings down, stepping out of them, exposing tight curls of dark hair against golden skin, widening hips and strong, muscular thighs.

"No smallclothes? " he asks with a smirk. "You dirty thing."

"I'll remind you that someone keeps tearing them off me. Do you know how hard it is to get new underwear while slogging through the Underdark? That's one thing I draw the line at stealing from corpses!" He chuckles, completely unrepentant.

"Turn," he says, and she complies, giving him the view of her firm arse, toned from the strenuous walking of the past days. He dallies for a moment with the idea of just bending her over without warning, taking her right here, standing with her legs spread, before biting down onto her delicious neck. 

He pauses for a moment, enjoying this sliver of power. Maybe later.

"So, I believe you were busy doing something?" he teases, and she turns back around. 

Sorcha returns to kneeling in front of him, keeping eye contact as she pools his remaining clothing on the floor. He can smell the perfume of her arousal, can see the anticipation on her face, the unconscious chewing of her lip.

She sweeps her gaze up across the whole of his body. Her eyes widen with desire as she takes in the sight of him once again.

"Damn," she whispers, shaking her head.

She reaches down with two fingers, soaking them, and then trails her juices across his nipples before standing, reaching further, holding them up to his parted lips. He leans forward and bites with a growl, nipping her skin with a fang, then sucks them dry of pinprick blood and slick, caressing them with his tongue. I could drink vats of that nectar.

Her breathing quickens and he watches as she sinks down to her knees again, and begins kissing and nibbling the inside of his thighs. His cock bobs beside her head, demanding her attention, but for now she neglects it in favour of her agonisingly slow movement upwards.

A moan escapes him as he looks down, willing her to move higher. Let's see what she does, I'm certainly not going to beg.

She strokes the delicate skin between his legs, light as a whisper, and he groans quietly. Her breath hitches but she holds herself back a little longer before reaching her tongue upwards to caress the base of his balls, carefully sucking one, then the other, into her mouth. His cock aches, the skin tight and hot, the tip leaking slightly.

She continues upwards, very slowly, gently tickling her tongue across his full length, from base to tip, eliciting another moan when she unhurriedly circles the top, taking her time.

He finds himself straining to bury his cock deep in her mouth without releasing his grip on the pole behind, but she keeps just out of reach, smirking and continuing her teasingly slow progress.

"Cheeky pup," he says, and releases his grip on the pole once more.

She catches his movement and immediately stills, retreating slightly. 

"Testing," he says, returning his grip to the pole. He's enjoying the novelty of controlling the pace, managing to solely focus on his own pleasure, at least for this one moment.

She's breathing heavier now and begins to drag the full width of her pink tongue up his straining cock, again and again, always pausing for a moment at the top, giving it a little flick with the tip of her tongue before starting her leisurely ascent once more.

Little moans are escaping his mouth at the deliciously slow pace, and his eyes flutter closed.

She notices the closed eyes. "Hey," she says, running a finger up his chest until he looks at her, then parts her lips and envelops his weeping tip.

He watches as she slides his full length into her mouth and exhales a languid sigh as she begins making long strokes, increasing the pressure from her lips, circling her tongue around the head. She starts gently twisting with a firm hand at the base, getting him soaked, making lewd, wet noises as he gets more frantic.

Astarion is lost in the feeling of this moment, his only focus the heat of his cock pulsing in the warm welcoming darkness of her mouth, almost incandescent with desire, the skin stretching even tighter under her caresses as he moves towards bursting point.

Sorcha slows for a moment, cradling his balls in her other hand, looking at him with half lidded eyes, waiting for assent.

It takes every ounce of willpower he has to pause, poised on the brink of bright ecstasy.

He growls out a "Please?" and she gladly swallows his whole length once more, lips and tongue and hand all working as one, drooling from the sides of her mouth, almost gagging as the head impacts the back of her throat again and again.

He groans in surrender and pumps hard, moving his hands to hold her head, whispering "Don't you dare stop," fingers woven tight into her hair, shuddering as his release spills down her eager throat.

Shaking, Sorcha holds him gently in her mouth a moment more, before leaning back and then rising, palms placed lightly on his shoulders as his breathing slows. She weaves her fingers through his hair, a soothing touch that moves down, over his neck, trailing down his arms and across his palms before dropping her hands.

Now I guess it's time to reciprocate. Astarion reaches for her, ready to pull her towards him once more and work her to her own culmination, but she shakes her head. He pauses in confusion. I can smell your desire, I can hear the pounding of your heart, why would you not expect me to return the favour?

"A gift," she says. "Nothing expected in return."

She kisses his lips, a moth's passing touch, leaving the salty taste of himself behind, shimmies back into her robe and whispers "Trance well, Astarion. I'll see you in the morning."

He stays standing there, naked, spent, and lost in thought. A gift. And a kiss. He doesn't have the faintest idea why tears are running down his cheeks.

He climbs out of the cellar some time later. He's been thinking. Never a wise idea. Something is missing and he's not sure what that could be. He certainly enjoyed Sorcha's little gift, enjoyed being in control without being in charge, but now that she's gone he feels… empty. He can't remember the last time anyone did something nice for him, without any obvious pay off for themselves, it has to have been before he was turned. And now that has gone, he doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

He haunts the edge of camp, finding his eyes drawn to Sorcha, sleeping peacefully by the fire. He has the dawning realisation that he's wishing for a way to be beside her, to trance where he can hear her breathing, smell her scent. Why on earth didn't she have a tent? 

He drags a bedroll to the fire, and lies down, head almost touching hers, looking at the stars and hearing her soft breaths over the muted crackle of the flames.

Chapter Text

Morning once again. At least up here in the village they could tell that the sun had actually risen. Everyone gathered at breakfast, even Astarion was around the campfire when she awoke, taking the time to drink in the sunlight before their inevitable descent to continue their search. Sorcha glanced over to him, trying to check his mood. In response, he gave her a dazzling smile and stretched, arching his back, before going back to basking in the sun, eyes half closed like a particularly sleek cat. 

Gale had crafted a couple more of the Sending scrolls to help locate the forward party later on, when they would have hopefully found the Sharran temple and the path to Moonrise. As he handed them over, the wizard winced in pain.

"You don't look your best. Do you need more magic?" Sorcha asked with concern. 

"Yes, thank you, that would be most helpful," Gale replied gratefully, taking a seat on a nearby log. She handed over an amulet which he pressed to his chest. A look of alarm spread over his face.

"Good gods, it hardly has any effect!" He stood up and walked to the centre of the camp, a look of panic on his face. "Everyone, I can remain silent no longer, I have to tell you who I was."

"Go on, Gale, you're among friends," she encouraged. "I might just be about to change that," he said with a sigh.

"I was what they consider a wizard prodigy, so much so that Mystra herself took an interest. She became first my mentor, and then my lover."

"Your lover? Are you telling me you've lain with a goddess?" asked Karlach. "Isn't that a bit, I dunno, unequal?"

"I won't bore you with the sordid details, but suffice it to say that I was determined to make an impressive romantic gesture, in the hopes that she would reveal more of the power of the weave. I found an ancient artefact that I was certain held a sliver of the lost weave, from before the Sundering, and presented it to her, sure that this grand offering would sweep her off her feet. I was wrong."

He stepped forward to Sorcha, reaching for her hand.

 "Here, place your hand on my chest." She did so, and found herself mentally dragged to a dark, horrific place, light tunnelling down into abject limitless darkness. She wrenched her hand back. 

"Gods, Gale, why show me this?"

"What did you see?" asked Astarion, fascinated.

Gale continued, horror creeping into his voice,"The artefact I had found, when opened, burrowed into my chest, devouring my magic in moments. As long as I feed it with sufficient power it will stay quiet, but if it awakens it will… explode. I think it could easily level a city."

"Surely Mystra could remove it?" asked Sorcha. He shook his head.

 "No, she banished me from her sight., I was no longer her Chosen and she wished nothing more to do with me." 

"Typical abuser tactics if you ask me, mate," Karlach interjected. "One bit of independent thought, one little mistake and you're out."

"That's as may be, but I had to warn you. You have to know the risks. I am a danger to you all." He gave a heavy sigh. "I should leave. Do you want me to leave?"

Sorcha shook her head. "You should have told us, long ago. But I don't want something of that power turning illithid, and that's what would happen if you left, so you stay with us and we find a way to feed it."

"That is a relief, a great relief, and I thank you all for putting up with me. Now I will make myself useful and pack up the camp." As he turned and busied himself with chores, she noticed a single tear running down his cheek..

They decided to travel back to the Underdark beach via the portal to save time, so Sorcha, Karlach, Astarion and Shadowheart went on ahead, leaving the others to follow once camp was packed up. 

There was no putting it off. The way forward, both to Moonrise and to this 'Nere' lay across the lake. The large raft was still docked at the village beach, abandoned. It appeared to be made of huge bones, perhaps of some sea creature, with rough canvas stretched across the back as some sort of sail. 

"There's no real wind down here, how is this thing going to move?" she wondered as they climbed on. Karlach lit the torches, then pulled the tiller and the raft moved off, across the unrelenting blackness.

Sorcha stared into the water. "I guess there must be currents down there, dragging us along."

"Maybe we're strapped to the back of some horrific sea monster," Astarion said with a bitter laugh. "It would fit with our usual luck, after all."

"Well, you are certainly a little ray of sunshine today," Shadowheart noted sarcastically.

With no ambient light to guide them, the journey seemed endless, disconnected from any sense of time, the silence only broken by a faint splashing as the raft cut through the inky water. No one seemed to want to talk, not even the ever chirpy Karlach, for fear of what might be lurking just out of view.

"Am I imagining things, or is the dark getting, well… less dark?" Astarion asked.

A boat, flanked by torches, was coming up alongside. A duergar wearing a symbol of the Absolute shouted over to them. "Human! What are you doing on Gekh's raft?" The other vessel was close now and he leapt across.

Oh great, another dwarf with a bad attitude. I'm in no mood to play nice today.

She blasted him off the boat with a quick thunderwave spell. As he sank into the depths the duergar on the other boat attacked. Karlach jumped over the gap and started flinging people over the side, quickly removing the two magic users. Shadowheart was casting some radiant spell, which the duergar really didn't like, and Astarion was firing arrow after arrow, mostly hitting their targets. 

As she readied another spell she felt a sudden agonising pain in her thigh. She glanced down to see a crossbow bolt buried deeply into her leg. Her leg gave way underneath her and she crumbled, stumbling into the dark water, only just grabbing one of the raft's bone spikes to keep herself with the craft. Her blood was pouring into the water, and she couldn't cast while clinging on with both arms. She felt a cold, sliding, sucking sensation wrapping around her injured leg and she screamed in fear and pain.

"I've got you, soldier," Karlach yelled, as she jumped back and ran towards that side of the boat. Strong arms lifted her back in and then hacked at the tentacle entwined around her leg. "Sorry about the burns, but Shadsy can sort you out!"

"Shadsy? What in the hells is wrong with you?" grumbled Shadowheart as she coated Sorcha in healing green light.

Astarion removed the final crossbow wielding duergar from the raft with a thunder arrow and they all sat in silence, trying to recover. Sorcha was dripping murky water and peered at her bleeding leg, through her shredded leggings, shivering as the shock hit her. Little black pinpricks dotted her leg in a spiral pattern. 

Astarion came over as Shadowheart examined the leg. "That blood smells wrong, not your usual delicious bouquet, darling. Best to check for poison I think."

"Here, drink this antitoxin down first, then let's see where we are," advised the cleric.

Another healing potion, and she could at least stand up. The other raft drifted away from them and they continued across the water, back into the oppressive darkness. From what she could make out, the raft cut through the water quite quickly, but with no light beyond their own torches she couldn't be sure.

After what seemed like an age, there was a brightening in the distance, a fiery orange, which gradually illuminated rough rocky walls and gigantic marble statues. Shar. Endless depictions of the Lady of Loss, flanking soaring halls, marble pillars and arches, reaching to the roof. Glowing streams of lava cascaded down, the light catching copious gold accents spread across the architecture.

The raft seemed to be on a predetermined course, steering itself unerringly into a stone harbour. Two duergar were there waiting, one bald, dressed as a cleric of sorts, one with a long grey beard.

"Let's try to avoid another fight please," whispered Shadowheart, "I'm almost out of spell power."

The bald duergar stepped forward. "What we got here? Dead hoon walking, it seems like."

Sorcha felt a tingle in her head and the duergar recoiled. "True Soul, eh? You fuckers owe us a shitload of coin."

The other dwarf continued, "Your mate Nere got himself trapped behind a rock fall, along with a load of gnome slaves. Trouble is, he ain't paid us yet so I reckon you owe us."

"Did you say you keep slaves here?" Sorcha asked. Astarion put a hand on her arm but she shook him off.

"I've got no use for slavers," she continued, fury rising.

"You'll get over it," the bearded dwarf chuckled, turning away. She moved behind him, sparks crackling between her hands as the duergar cleric shouted a warning. Too late, as she placed a hand over each of his ears and cast a shocking grasp spell, causing him to convulse and drop.

"Oh gods, really? Did I not just say to avoid a fight?," grumbled Shadowheart, illuminating the bald dwarf cleric in radiant light. 

Astarion took advantage of the light and two arrows pierced her in the neck, before he whirled away into the shadows. Karlach picked up both duergar, one alive, one dead, and threw them into the water where they sank like rocks.

"This place is hard to bear," mused Shadowheart as they walked up the long stone stair and into the Grymforge proper. It was obviously a Sharran structure, but time and lava had left their marks on it, with many broken paths and cracked pillars partially submerged in the lava. And it was hot. Gods, was it hot. If she wasn't surrounded by murderous slavers and Absolute nutters she would have stripped to her undershirt just to get some relief.

The place was a maze of endless stairs connecting longer corridors, all surrounded by waves of lava lapping at the broken edges. They went up a few flights, trying to get a better idea of the layout, and emerged on a balcony overlooking a large hall. Several deep gnomes were digging into a rockfall as the duergar stalked behind, continually threatening them. A floating eye drifted past. Someone was keeping tabs on this place.

Sorcha snuck around the corner, waiting for the eye to follow, which predictably it did. She quickly unleashed a shatter spell on it and then kicked the pieces into the chasm. Hopefully the duergar would just assume it was somewhere else.

Returning to the others, she suggested a plan. They would pretend to be these True Souls and get Sorcha close enough to speak with the gnomes. Astarion made a disgusted noise. "Honestly darling, gnomes? Really? What's the point?"

"Slaves, Astarion," she hissed. "That's the damn point."

It took all her self control not to just start a fight the moment she spoke to Sergeant Thrinn, but she knew she would need to whittle down the duergar numbers before the gnomes could get free. Walking up to the diggers she overheard one talking about another gnome escaping with some explosives. She also noticed a familiar face, the goblins' captive she had rescued in Moonhaven.

"You again? Do you walk round wearing a sign that says 'Capture me!' by any chance?" she asked Barcus. 

"Ah, yes, well, I got unlucky once more," he replied sheepishly.

"Is there any reason to dig Nere out alive?" asked Sorcha. 

One of the other gnomes whispered, "there's some of our family stuck in there with him too, he'll likely just kill them if we don't release him soon."

"Right, that settles it then, we have to rescue them," Astarion looked as if it pained him to even be in the same room as the gnomes.

She walked back to Thrinn. "We'll be back. No point in breaking those gnomes, we'll need some explosives first. Save their strength for when we need to clear the rubble." Thrinn gestured the gnomes away from the rock face and ordered them to tidy the back room instead. They scurried off, looking glad for the break.

Karlach and Shadowheart split off to investigate a long hallway, while Sorcha and Astarion crossed the docks to search the other side of the ruins. Several large arachnids were gathered in a corner, probably attack beasts for the duergar. She had another potion of Speak With Animals in her pack, so she quickly drank that and walked over to the spiders, who seemed to be in an animated discussion.

"I speak true, brothers," the largest spider said. "Father Murmath keeps us weak, keeps us small." 

"We need no Lolth, no spider queen," insisted another. "He raised us, feeds us." Sorcha was certain that these spiders would attack the party if a fight began with the duergar, but she remembered that spiders were revered among the disciples of Lolth. 

She interrupted the conversation. "You should know that spiders are worshipped and adored among Lolth's followers." 

"Is it true, Xanta?" a smaller spider asked. 

"I have heard the very same," Xanta replied. "Come, follow me into her hairy embrace."

The group scuttled off. She looked over at Astarion, who looked less than impressed. "Can we kill some people now?" he drawled. 

"Might as well," she agreed. "All these duergar are fair game, I say."

A flight of steps reached up towards an elaborate metal gate. She went to open it, passing two drunken duergar and a harried looking gnome serving beer.

"You got one of Nere's moonlanterns, jargh?" asked a duergar

"One of what?" she replied.

"Moonlantern, you need it so the death dark doesn't eat you," replied the other duergar.

This must be the exit to Moonrise Towers then. Sounds like this Nere has everything we need, both a lantern and a head! The duergar went back to harassing the gnome and they retreated back to the dock. The gnome was serving from a barrel sat unguarded on the lower level. Remembering their success in the goblin camp, she quickly poured poison into the barrel and they continued around the corner. As she stepped into the next room, she recoiled in horror. The floor was scattered with dead gnomes, and two duergar were kicking the corpses from the dock into the water.

Fury overtook her and she stormed up to them, casting a Thunderwave which sent one of them into the water and knocked the other to his knees. Astarion quickly joined the fight, putting two knives into the ribs of the kneeling duergar before they could react.

"Gods, don't you think you should calm yourself before you bring the entire clan down on us, darling?" he asked. "What happened to, I don't know, actually having a plan?"

Sorcha looked at him with skepticism. "I didn't know you were the planning type, Astarion. But fine, what do you think we should do next? What's your plan?"

He huffed his breath out. "I didn't say that I had a plan, darling, I said that someone should have a plan."

Sorcha shook her head in disbelief. "Let's see what the others have discovered, shall we?"

Shadowheart and Karlach had taken out several duergar of their own, but this still left quite a few back at the rockfall. They nipped back to camp to collect Lae'zel and Gale as extra backup, plus also pick up a smokepowder barrel, and returned to where Thrinn was pacing the floor. 

Sorcha called up Nimbus to lurk behind her. Karlach placed the smokepowder and everyone including the duergar moved back. Sorcha noticed that many of the duergar were close to the edge of the paving, right next to the lava. Thankfully their own party had more sense, standing pretty much central, and Astarion had headed back up to the balcony to gain the height advantage.

Lae'zel shot a fire arrow into the barrel and the rockfall disintegrated. A lanky male drow and a couple of gnomes ran out of the opening. The drow, draped in a long fur cloak, like a particularly greasy weasel, turned to one of the gnomes, saying "Nere does not fail, wretched slaves," with a vindictive hiss, and shoved her straight into the lava.

Sorcha couldn't help herself, she yelled "Stop that! No more innocents will die today."

Nere turned to look at her, his lip curling in disgust. "You care for the weak, True Soul. How vexing."

"No, I just can't stand your face," she sneered in reply.

"A test, you must be, yes," he pondered. "Thrinn, slice out her heart!"

She was very glad that they had whittled down the duergar before starting this fight. There were only eight duergar to fight alongside Nere, and four of those were close to the brim of the lava pool. Ignoring Nere, she turned and blasted a quick Thunderwave in the duergar's direction, knocking three of the four straight into the molten rock. Astarion, up on the balcony, quickly dealt with the archer planted up there, blades whirling. 

One of the remaining duergar cast some sort of spell onto Shadowheart, causing her to turn upon Karlach. Whatever the charm spell was, it certainly didn't enhance intelligence, as Shadowheart cast a fire cantrip at Karlach, causing no damage whatsoever.

Karlach picked the spellcaster up and flung him in Nere's direction, knocking the drow to the floor and interrupting whatever he had been trying to cast. Lae'zel cut a swathe through the bellies of two more duergar, dropping them to the floor. Gale held the drow and duergar in place with a Cloud Of Daggers.

Thrinn retaliated, casting a Thunderwave of her own. It knocked Shadowheart to the ground, but the damage also removed the compulsion on her. She got up shakily but was still in the fight. She threw a sanctuary over the gnome nearest to Nere in the hopes of protecting him. A duergar in a metal mask tried to compel Karlach but she was in such a rage that his spell failed. Nere had managed to rise and was trying to cast once more, but Nimbus was behind him, jaws locked on his leg, tiny sparks showing where he bit, and the drow's spell fizzled out.

As Sorcha readied another spell a knife raked her left arm, gouging a shallow scrape across it, and another duergar appeared, their invisibility wearing off. She let the lightning spell hit the new duergar and Astarion followed that up with another well aimed arrow. Lae'zel charged forward, her greatsword cleaving through Nere's arm, leaving it hanging uselessly from his shoulder. Shadowheart called down lightning, targeting both Nere and the spellcasting duergar with devastating effect. That only left Thrinn, shocked and bleeding but still grimly determined to cause pain. She smashed her hammer across Sorcha's head and the room spun.

Sorcha came to with a throbbing headache, little starbursts popping painfully behind her eyes. Shadowheart was holding a vial to her lips. "Drink this, it'll patch you up." She gratefully swallowed the healing potion and felt the pain dissipate. "Did we win?" she asked. "Yes, Gale took out Thrinn with an acid spell just before she landed a killing blow," said the cleric. 

Sorcha looked over at Gale. "Thank you for your quick thinking," she said with a grateful smile. 

One of the gnomes came over to her. "I'm Beldron, and I'd like to thank you on behalf of the Ironhand gnomes," he said, very formally, handing over a pouch of gold. 

"You should thank Thulla," Sorcha replied, "she was the one who set me on your trail." 

Beldron chuckled, "I'm glad that one was too stubborn to die."

Barcus was stood to one side. "I was looking for my friend, Wulbren, but he's already been taken to Moonrise Towers, so off I go."

"Hold up," she said. "You should rest in our camp before you set off, you were worked pretty hard." He dithered, concerned about delays, but eventually agreed to rest first.

Karlach came over to her, holding the severed head of the drow by the hair, swinging it like a circus prize. "Are you feeling better, soldier? That was quite a blow you took." 

"I'm better now, thanks to that potion. We should see if Nere has anything else useful."

The drow had a substantial amount of gold, a lyre decorated with spider motifs and a magical rapier that would suit Wyll. A smashed lantern, containing some sort of dust, lay amongst Nere's belongings. 

Sorcha turned to the remaining gnomes. "Is this the moonlantern?" They nodded. "Any chance of you fixing it for us?" 

Beldron stepped up once again. "Sorry, but we don't know how to, that's magic not mechanics." 

Damnation. All this effort for nothing once more. She turned back to Nere and gave his headless corpse a vicious kick for his uselessness, tipping him into the lava where his body slowly melted into nothing.

Gale came over to her. "I was going to mention, that book you gave me, about flumphs - it wasn't really about that, it was a disguise spell to hide a journal about forging adamantine equipment. Quite cunning really. Anyway, after studying it for a while, I believe that forge is somewhere around here."

"That sounds promising, we should search a bit more," Sorcha agreed.

They began looking for paths away from the central area. A scalable cliff face looked promising, leading down to a flattened area with a harper sigil on it. She could see three large chests dotted across the area. 

"That looks very suspicious, wouldn't you say, Astarion?"

"Indeed, out in the open like that, almost as if they are beckoning us in," he agreed. "Almost certainly mimics."

"I could throw an area spell over them, wake them up, " Gale suggested. "Maybe a fireball?"

He aimed and managed to catch two of the chests with his Fireball spell. They immediately sprouted legs and waddled towards the party. Thankfully they were all too far away to be in immediate reach of the mimics' fangs.

Shadowheart cast a shatter spell on the remaining chest and it screamed and started moving. Lae'zel and Astarion were showering arrows on the creatures, making sure to keep well back, whileKarlach, as usual, was throwing her spear. Sorcha moved to the front and cast a Thunderwave, knocking the leading two chests backwards. The mimics were easily defeated as their greatest strength was in surprise attacks and close combat, both of which had been denied.

"I'm out of spells for now," Gale informed her.

"Then you should probably head back to camp and recover," Sorcha said. " We'll continue investigating, maybe try the other side of the forge. Surely there can't be anything else left waiting to kill us?"

Astarion rolled his eyes. "Don't tempt fate, darling."

Gale headed back, and the other five walked along a hallway that Karlach and Shadowheart had cleared earlier. "The duergar were trying to shift another rockfall, beating their rothé half to death," Shadowheart told her. "We could probably try to move the rubble now that the duergar are dead, find another passageway?"

They cleared the passage with a bit of their remaining smokepowder, and climbed a long flight of steps up to a far higher level. The route was trapped but Astarion managed to clear the way down to another platform with a set of levers. This platform looked to be fairly sturdy, so they jumped on and used the levers to get them across to the other side of the building. 

More of the gigantic doors blocked the way, labelled as the dormitory. On entering they found themselves in a vast hall, once again dotted with skeletal remains. They found another mould for the forge, to make a shield.

"This must mean we're on the right track!" Sorcha said happily. A final pair of doors was swiftly unlocked by Astarion. He pushed them open and immediately dived to the left as a hellsboar charged out of the room, straight into Shadowheart who had been just behind him. Sorcha could hear high pitched squeals from inside the room, indicating more of the beasts. Readying a frozen orb, she stepped into the room. Two more hellsboars, as well as some strange creature wearing an almost babyfaced metal mask and carrying a halberd. She launched the orb at one of the boars and it dissolved into ash.

"Watch out, that's a merregon!" shouted Karlach as she ran into the room, ramming her spear into the other boar.

"Hta'zith!" Lae'zel swung at the third hellsboar, trying to give Shadowheart some room, but as she hit, the gith burst into flames. "Tsk'va!" She rolled, trying to extinguish the hellfire. 

Astarion was firing ice arrows at the merregon, but it was far more sturdy than the boars and was advancing on Sorcha. Shadowheart managed to rise, aiming a radiant beam at the demon soldier. It recoiled in pain and was finally impaled on Karlach's spear.

"Shit, after all that this room doesn't go anywhere," Karlach said. "Let's sit for a little while, recover, huh?"

Sorcha leaned back heavily against the stone altar and closed her eyes, planning on resting for a minute. Slavers and mimics and demonkind. Why is it never a friendly tavern with cheap ale and a good bowl of stew?

Astarion slid down the wall next to her. "You do seem to have rather a passion for killing slavers, it's quite thrilling to watch, despite the trouble it could cause. Any particular reason why, or is it just glorious chaotic blood lust?"

She groaned. "Oh, it's a long and sordid tale, you wouldn't be interested in that."

"I think I would, after all, we have some time to spare here," he encouraged. "Just tell me a bit, hmm?"

“Let me just try something…”

Sorcha directed her tadpole to share some memories, it felt easier than talking about it.

1478 DR, Waterdeep

Sorcha left the shoreline, heading towards the place the children had described. As she passed by the backs of the seafront houses she noticed a discarded waistcoat left draped over a fencepost. Muttering a quick prayer to Tymora, she took it and fastened it over her ruined shirt, making her feel a bit less exposed.

A dimly lit alley led to where these Zhent were supposed to be. She ducked into a doorway, only to be stopped by a well armed guard, a human woman with braided hair and a missing front tooth. 

"Password?" she demanded.

"I… I don't know," Sorcha squeaked. "I've got some information to trade, was told you were the people to talk to." The guard grabbed her elbow and escorted her inside, down a flight of steps and through another locked door.

The guard shouted up to a stocky blonde man, sat on high behind a sturdy table. "Rhys, got a water rat for you, wanting to squeak." She pushed her and Sorcha stumbled forward, unsure of what she had gotten into.

The man peered down at her with piercing blue eyes, giving the impression of a hawk about to pounce. "You're not one of mine, missy, are you? What brings you here?"

"Erm, I, er, found one of your barrels washed up on the shore back there, it was a bit burnt, and some kids said I should let you know? And, erm, they said you sometimes traded for useful information, so I thought, maybe, erm …" She trailed off under the unsympathetic gaze trained on her.

"Ha!" the man snorted. "You're trying to extract money from the Zhentarim? You?" He laughed, deep in his belly. Sorcha thought she should play along and forced a laugh out too.

"Oh, you think it's funny do you?" She nodded cautiously. "Well then, I've got a good joke for you - the only thing you have worth trading is yourself." He gave a sharp nod to a couple of hooded figures sat on the side. One chanted an incantation and she suddenly found herself tangled in some kind of roots, holding her firmly in place, wrapped around her arms and chest. The other figure strode up to her, touched her on the forehead and said " Impero tibi" as a wave of sleep crashed over her.

She awoke in a cage at the side of the room, the floor covered in straw, a heavy iron collar around her neck, missing her boots and her silver ring.

"Ah. That would do it." Astarion patted her arm awkwardly. "I look forward to hearing about your triumphant escape later on."

"It's nowhere near as interesting as you'd think," Sorcha said. "But I've been carrying this around with me for a long time, so, maybe?"

Chapter Text

Lae'zel kept a lookout back at the door and Astarion searched around the merregon's chamber as the others rested, collecting the metal masks and some fire resistance potions. A small snore reached him from Shadowheart's direction. Sometimes mortals were so fragile.

He leaned back against the wall, next to Sorcha. "Want to tell me why you hate slavers so much?"

She spoke in a low voice, remembering part of her younger years when she was running away from Baldur's Gate into yet more trouble.

It was nothing compared to his own nightmares but he could still see a little of why she murdered every slaver she found. I guess I should comfort her. Not sure how, he awkwardly stroked her arm before realising that everyone could see, quickly withdrawing his arm before it was noticed.

He clapped his hands together, loudly exclaiming "Right! Time to move!" and causing everyone but Lae'zel to glare at him. Sorcha seemed disoriented for a moment. "What? You can't possibly want to sleep here?" he continued. "Let's just have a little look down this corridor and then go back to camp for a proper rest, hmm?" 

"The vampire is correct, we should not tarry here, there could be more enemies lurking" agreed Lae'zel, striding ahead.

The long corridor overlooked the docks, but led to a broken path repaired with metal mesh to give access over towards the lava and the chamber where Nere had been. Another stone stairway led up to a pair of levers. Skeletal remains littered the path and stairs, all clad in the same dark armour.

"These were Dark Justiciars, Sharrans, same as me," Shadowheart told them. 

Sorcha stared at the remains. "Ominous. Whatever killed them could still be around, perhaps the merregon's commander. Let's not linger."

Astarion reached the two levers and checked them carefully for trap mechanisms. Finding none, he pulled the first lever. An elevated metal platform moved, shedding rust flakes along the way.

"No way am I getting on that!" he insisted. He had noticed another room to the left, too far to jump but he could use misty step to get there, maybe investigate. He stepped over, immediately noticing more of the dead Dark Justiciars. Something had really torn through this place. Astarion climbed up onto an expanse of paving and saw a gigantic mechanism below, surrounded by lava. This must be the ancient forge mentioned in that drow's book. 

More of the heavy moulds were on the floor, along with rusted weapon racks and Sharran remains. There was an old sigil on the wall, a portal, so he used this to go back and collect the others, enjoying the glow of approval he got from having found their goal.

Sorcha fished the book from her pack, scanning it quickly. "We've got the moulds, but we need adamantine ore too. Let's look around, there must surely be some left." Astarion was moving to climb up to an elevated walkway for a better view when he heard the sound of metal scraping on metal.

His motion had awakened what seemed to be four constructs, looking for all the world like animated armour, but a few solid blows from Karlach and Lae'zel and they were easily dealt with, collapsing back into nothing but broken armour shards. He continued his upward climb and looked out across the lava, spying a distant rock face that seemed to glint in the light.Clambering down, he pointed out the direction, across the lava stream. 

"I've got this," Karlach said cheerily and leapt across. 

She returned carrying a lump of mithril ore and they all headed back towards the stairs that led down to the forge. The steps were created from a massive outcrop of stone, yet broken across completely in two places. What could possibly have done that? 

He jumped daintily across the first gap as the others followed. The forge was below, a central area with a circular anvil, and four circular platforms with connecting walkways surrounding that. Karlach jumped past the last broken stair, followed by Sorcha and Lae'zel.

"That all looks terribly grubby, far too industrial, so I think I'll do my clothing a favour and stay up here," he remarked to Shadowheart. She was sitting on a damaged step, no more eager than he was to play about with a grimy forge.

He could see Sorcha, consulting the drow book carefully and giving instructions to Karlach, putting the ore and a mould in the correct places. Sorcha reached to pull the lever on one of the platforms and the entire forge mechanism juddered downwards towards more machinery at the base. She reached for the lever again and he suddenly remembered the scrap of paper she had found on that last drow, the one that mentionioned a protector.

"Remember there's a guardian!" he shouted in alarm, but there was no chance that she heard him over the mechanisms which were busy raising a gigantic metal grate, releasing a stream of lava. 

A towering metal golem emerged from the grate, standing taller than one of the Upper City mansions. It stood directly in the heated lava, which didn't seem to be affecting it at all. Karlach yelled and threw her spear, but all that did was draw the creature's attention. It stalked towards the barbarian, raising an arm that ended in a wickedly spiked club.

Sorcha and Shadowheart's spells didn't even cause it to pause, nor did Lae'zel's crossbow bolt. Astarion aimed a lightning arrow, hoping that at least would damage it. The arrow hit, wreathing the golem in sparks, but didn't seem to have done anything other than divert its attention towards where he stood, thankfully well out of reach.

Shit.

The golem had paused with a foot on the central anvil. "Hammer!" he yelled, pointing, but Sorcha's attention was riveted on the monster. Maybe, just maybe, he could hit the lever from here and bring down the hammer.

The hammer crashed down, crushing the construct onto the floor, making an almost animalistic  kind of roar, metal rawly scraping against metal. It levered itself back up, raising a foot as if taking another step before slamming it down, reverberating across the forge and knocking Sorcha, Karlach and Lae'zel to the ground. Lae'zel looked to be in a bad way so he threw a healing potion towards her, reducing some of her wounds as it splashed across the floor. 

The golem resumed its slow march towards Karlach, smashing the gigantic club across her head and sending her reeling, almost falling into the lava before Sorcha managed to bring the hammer down once more, breaking the thing for good. 

Whilst Astarion and Shadowheart were undamaged, the same could not be said for the others. Sorcha was covered in burns, Lae'zel could barely stand and Karlach was bleeding. The stench of burning blood was not a pleasant one, even from a distance. The only good news was that they had managed, in amongst the fighting, to craft a suit of adamantine armour for Karlach. He had to admit, she would look glorious in it.

He was very glad they could use the portal to get back to the Sovereign. Despite Shadowheart using her last remaining healing spell on them after fighting that metal monstrosity, the entire party was in a very sorry state. He would heal fine of course, if he only had some blood, but Sorcha didn't look like she had enough for herself, let alone him. She had a vicious gash across her leg that was still trickling blood. He considered asking if he could lick the wound. No, that wouldn't go down too well right now, despite it being a useful and helpful thing to do.

The grumpy dwarf was still tending her wares when they reached the myconid's camp, pottering about making potions.

"Well?" the trader said, as Sorcha approached her. 

"Baelen died in a field of exploding mushrooms," she explained. "I'm sorry."

"Dead? Worthless old fool, he had one bleedin' job," the dwarf complained.

"No love lost between you then?" Sorcha asked.

"Love?" She laughed bitterly. "Baelen was a rotten old bastard, treated me like an old shoe for nigh on seventy years. Losing his mind was the only good thing he did. But we were down here collecting noblestalk, we've, well, I've got an apothecary shop in Baldur's Gate. Valuable mushrooms, the locals go mad for them. But Baelen near sunk the shop, the noblestalk was my last hope of keeping it running."

"Oh, why so valuable?" he interjected.

"I've yet to meet an ailment it can't cure," she enthused, "but best of all it cures my dangerously underweight purse!"

Sorcha looked at him. "That's the mushroom I found back in that poison cavern. Let's give it to her, got to be worth a good discount." Damnation, why does she have to go handing over all of our valuable loot, she could at least have bargained for it!

He reached into his pack and removed the carefully packed mushroom. As he handed the noblestalk over to Derryth, Astarion kept a tiny broken corner concealed in his hand. Sorcha proceeded to bargain with the dwarf, getting a substantial discount on all future purchases including those at the apothecary's shop back in the Gate. Not a total loss then.

He went with Sorcha to hand over Nere's head, climbing back up the oversized mushrooms, being sprayed by gods-knew-what as they passed. The gnomes had already arrived and were resting before heading back to the Gate. 

Thulla stopped him. "No need to ask how you fared. Search us out if you ever get to the Gate, we Ironhands remember our friends."

Gods, how embarrassing, to be liked by gnomes of all things.

They handed over the drow's head and watched in disgust as the sovereign began planting spores in it, no doubt growing some weird drow fungus hybrid to plague his future nightmares. At least tomorrow they would leave the Underdark, for good this time. He had no intention of ever coming back.

Once the others had settled down to rest, he brought the broken piece of noblestalk out in the seclusion of his tent and choked the vile thing down.

Nothing it can't cure, eh? Let's see what it does for vampirism. I suppose I should trance though in case the healing is unpleasant.

He trances, and recalls a night from long ago, maybe twenty years back.

It had been a truly dismal night. He began in the Elfsong, one of his preferred haunts due the number of travellers who passed through it, eager to visit a 'true and authentic gem of the gate' as one tedious guidebook put it. The first man he had aimed for, a pretty half elf merchant, had accepted all his charms, flirted right back for hours and then, suddenly, just when Astarion was about to suggest they went somewhere more comfortable, had developed a religious conscience and ran off muttering about penance. Hells.

He didn't really have time to go elsewhere but the Mermaid was just down the lane so he headed there. Much lower quality but far more chances. Beggars couldn't be choosers and all that. He found a somewhat attractive woman there, deep in her cups, and went straight into his act again. He didn't need much subtlety here, she could barely string a sentence together. She was amenable enough to going on somewhere else, already grabbing his arse and making crude suggestions. 

He choked down his disgust and started back up the path towards Bloomridge Park, holding her up to prevent catastrophe. He relaxed, he was going to make it, and even though Cazador would hate the look of this one, at least he had someone and hopefully a few nasty comments regarding his talents and his slipping standards would be the worst of it.

As they reached the park, an ill favoured, badly dressed man stumbled into him, breath reeking of spirits, knocking him back into a wall. 

"Get him, Hankin!" the woman hissed, suddenly far less incapacitated. Astarion swiped at the man, cutting a gash across his face and causing the woman to scream curses at him. The attacker was still holding him crushed against the wall when a sharp pain erupted in his temple and he blacked out.

He awoke to someone gently shaking him. "Saer, saer, are you alright?" 

An attractive human woman with dark hair and luminous golden eyes was bending over him with a look of concern. A flower seller by the looks of it. He suddenly noticed the streaks of light tinting the sky and attempted to scrabble upright.

"Careful now, it looks like you've had a nasty knock on the head. Where do you live? If it's not too far I could give you a hand before I need to be at the market."

Panicked calculations ran through his head. It was only the other side of the park and he could reach the Ramparts door before dawn fully broke. He did his most pathetic upper city voice. 

"Would you, sweetheart? It's only just across the park, and once there I can give you something for your troubles. My pockets seem alarmingly empty right now". He quivered his lip and looked earnestly into her eyes.

"Oh it's no bother, Saer, I have a spot in front of Sorcerous Sundries so it's not out of my way. I'm Una, Una Molloy".

They made it to the door just as his skin was starting to prickle. "There's a seat just inside, if you'd be so kind, and then the servants can take it from there, my dear". Astarion almost felt sorry for the woman but being a helpful soul got you nowhere in the Gate and truly, she should have known better. If only she'd left him it would all be over now, burnt up by the eviscerating sun and into oblivion. Really, when he thought about it, she brought this on herself.

Two of the servants were just inside and, at a nod from Astarion, one quickly pressed a cloth to her nose. This door was always kept staffed and unlocked just in case assistance was needed, though it was far more usual that Petras' marks needed this treatment. Cazador much preferred his victims flushed with pleasure, he always claimed fear made the blood bitter. 

A snide voice floated out from the shadows. "Cutting it a bit close there brother - did your faultless charms finally fail you?"

Petras! Dammit, of all the people to witness this. He'd go blabbing to everyone, any chance to mock him. There was a drugged gnome lying on the floor next to him. 

"What's that you've brought the Master?" Astarion sneered, "A tiny snack? Did you need help overpowering him?" 

Of all his spawn 'siblings', Astarion hated Petras the most. He was a boor, a bully boy who delighted in making the lives of the other spawn even more unbearable. He would run to Cazador to inform on the others at the slightest excuse, revelled in seeing others punished and was frequently given the role of aggressor when the spawn were made to 'perform' to entertain guests. Astarion didn't think Cazador even had to compel him, he was just a natural at sexually humiliating the others for his own satisfaction.

One of the servants hefted Una's body over his shoulder and headed out towards the main palace while the other kept a wary eye on the two rivals. They were stuck here until dusk so there was a fair chance that they would try to rip each other's throats out before then. If that happened the servants knew that their own blood would be what was used to heal the spawn, whomever was responsible.

Astarion looked at the baskets of flowers discarded on the floor. A scrap of fabric peeked out, catching his eye. He pulled it, and found a tiny doll made from fabric trimmings. Guilt washed over him for a moment before he pushed it back down. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Mortals die suddenly all the time. Better her than me having to spend another eternity sealed into a coffin. I can't do that again, mustn't fail the Master.

Astarion opened his eyes. He'd forgotten to tie his tent flap earlier and it had worked its way open. Across from him, sleeping by the fire, he could see Sorcha. Dark wavy hair, golden eyes. She looked just like the woman in his trance, the woman who had only wanted to help him. A horrible realisation crept over him. What was it that Zhent woman had called her? Sorcha Molloy? Oh gods.

He secured his tent flap tightly and sat in the dark, hugging his knees, digging his nails into his thighs, desperately trying to put the vision out of his mind. Gone, banished, forgotten, lost. He repeated the mantra endlessly to himself. I had to. I had no choice. I did what I needed to protect myself. His mind drifted away, to a dark, half-remembered place, airless and dry, sealed into stone, screaming silently from breathless lungs. 

His eyes burned, trying futilely to expel tears that he did not have the moisture to create. He hadn't fed, so there was no blood to spare for weaknesses, and he could hardly ask to drink now. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault. She would have died anyway, no one survives the Lower City by being helpful to strangers. If not me then some thief after the day's takings, or even just a nasty-tempered drunk in the wrong place. Forget, forget, gods dammit, forget. Gone, banished, forgotten, lost. 

Eventually the sounds of camp waking reached him. I can't let Sorcha know. It would be cruel to let her know, to dig up the long forgotten past, the past that she has put behind her by now. She wouldn't want to know. Wouldn't want to know that I let Cazador kill her mother. Best to never think of it again. Gone, banished, forgotten, lost.

Stupid idiot, thinking it might cure me. No miracles here, just more of the same nightmares. He walled the leaden guilt and discomfort away, put on his most stable mask, and resolved to do something nice for her. She deserved better than this, she deserved a better person than him.

Chapter Text

So, no moonlantern and no safe way up from the Underdark to Moonrise. If Sorcha heard Lae'zel say "I told you so" one more time it seemed likely that she would just combust and damn them all. Astarion was silent, which was concerning too. Had she made a misstep somewhere? She thought they'd been bonding well.

They hauled themselves back up in the Zhent lift intending to set out for the mountain pass. Waukeen's Rest had finally stopped burning and was deserted, save for a lone cat and a maudlin collection of crows. Everyone just looked so tired, a ragged band of would-be warriors looking for a way forward. 

Inside the Inn's bathing area Shadowheart had found a large metal tub, miraculously still in one piece. Not wishing to waste this tiny stroke of luck, they had Gale use a prestidigitation cantrip to get the thing clean, then Halsin and Shadowheart used their water spells to fill it for a series of long, luxurious baths. Everyone was looking forward to scrubbing off the spores and stink of the past few days and they unanimously decided to take a day for relaxation after the worries and disappointments of the previous days. 

As Shadowheart and Lae'zel opted to share the first bath, Astarion came over to her.

"Fancy sharing a bath, darling? Let me work that horrid tension out of your shoulders?" She sagged in relief that he seemed to be back to his usual self. 

"That would be lovely," she sighed happily.

"No fair, everyone else gets someone to wash their back!" Karlach said. 

"But I'm bathing alone too, Karlach, no room for anyone else in the tub with me," Halsin said, "and at least your water won't go cold."

Sorcha grinned. "We'll catch up to Dammon, I'm sure he's got lots of ideas in his head about helping you to bathe!" 

Karlach just giggled and somehow managed to blush.

It was dusk, stars spreading across the sky in a flush of silver and purple, before all the others finished with the tub. She'd lost track of the turn of the days after so long in the dark. Astarion had gone off somewhere, hidden away for hours, after instructing her not to follow him, so she had sat, leaning against the fountain, and watched as first Lae'zel and Shadowheart returned looking clean and relaxed, then Gale and Wyll. Gale looked a bit flushed, maybe the water had been too warm for him? 

Karlach was next, the bathhouse releasing a vast cloud of steam as she submerged, then Halsin took his turn. She could hear the druid humming to himself as he scrubbed, a joyful, busy tune. Finally it was their turn and Astarion reappeared. 

"Let me prepare the tub first, you just continue resting, I'll fetch you when it's ready," he said with a hesitant smile. No smirking? I wonder what he's planning. 

A short time later he led her to a secluded courtyard, behind the bathhouse. He had dragged the tub out there rather than in the burnt out building. Candles flickered, arranged along the courtyard walls, and the water smelled of a mix of citrussy bergamot and soothing lavender. A chair was set to the side as a makeshift table, with soap and a few mysterious bottles on it.

Sorcha hesitated, and Astarion raised a querying eyebrow. "I'm worried that I've got too much muck all over me, I don't want to ruin things," she said nervously. "Let me at least cast prestadigitation first."

"You fret too much," he soothed. "Just get in and enjoy."

She unlaced her boots and stripped out of her clothing, sliding into the warm tub with a sigh of delight. He climbed in behind her, settling her back against him and just held her there for a moment. 

"I wanted you to have something good after the Underdark," he explained. "Something before the gods only know what horrors that await us in the coming days. You need to be fresh, mind sharp, body loosened up, and …" he hesitated. "I wanted to thank you for your gift the other night."

She leant back against him. It was strange feeling so safe, lying next to a vampire, a predator, and feeling him gently wet her hair, combing fingers through the loose curls, as she looked up at the stars. He pressed a kiss to her neck and reached for the soap, gently massaging across her scalp, loosening the grime from the past day. She knew this was probably all a well crafted illusion but it had been a very long time since she felt this cared for. I'll let myself unwind and enjoy this, just for tonight. Surely that can't set off disaster?

Astarion worked his way down her neck, soaping and caressing along her collarbones and then down each arm, massaging right down to the fingertips. She felt weightless, floating safely, his legs wrapped around hers, keeping her still. His body was cool behind her, but slowly warming with the heat of the water.

"Lean forward, rest your arms on the other side of the tub," he directed, and began to make long, sweeping strokes up the entire length of her back. She sighed happily, sinking into deep relaxation. This was bliss. 

"Now darling, turn round for me, put your legs on either side of me." He worked his fingers into the soles of her feet, each in turn, placing her foot on his shoulder and then massaging up her calves to her thighs. Sorcha felt as if she was dissolving into the tub. After completing both thighs, causing Sorcha's heart to speed up, Astarion hesitated.

"Something the matter?" she asked. 

He paused, hesitant for a moment. "This was meant to be a return gift, something nice for you, and I think it's worked so far. But, I don't know, I'm not sure if I should carry on to the more sensitive bits. Don't want you to get all worked up and then have you end up sore, after all water has a sadly disappointing effect on any lubrication."

She considered the situation for a moment. "What would you like to do? I'm happy, soothed and feel better than I have in days, I have no right to demand more of you."

"Then I shall let you get dry, and dressed, and hope that you have a peaceful night's sleep for once," he answered with a small smile. He slid himself out of the bath, dressed quickly and left her to take her time.

Sorcha climbed out of the tub, wondering how to get dry, before she realised that the breeze would dry her quickly enough. She reached for her clothes and noticed a new addition to the pile. Smallclothes? She examined the scrap of blue silken fabric, saw the delicate stitches, and inside, a note, 'I hope they fit'. Had he sewn these for her? Why was he being so nice? 

Returning to camp, only Halsin and Karlach were still around the fire. 

"You look extremely relaxed, Sorcha," commented Halsin with a wry grin. "I trust you feel much better for it?"

She nodded her thanks and couldn't manage to stifle a yawn. Waving goodnight, she stumbled to her bedroll and fell almost instantly into a warm, calm, and heavy sleep.

Sorcha found herself back in the timeless, fantastical void, the distant purple clouds enlaced with bright stars. The sky was dotted with broken chunks of rock, minerals catching the light as the stone turned lazily through the ether. The golden paladin was there again, his insidious voice suggesting that she use her tadpole more often. 

"It could help you,” he said. “Give you powers that you'll need, make your own powers so much better."

"No, I want to remove it, not make friends with it!" she snapped.

"I understand, I do," he replied in a soothing tone. "But you'll need every advantage in order to make it to Moonrise, you shouldn't pass up an opportunity out of fear of the unknown. I will continue to protect you from turning."

"Why? Why are you doing all this?" She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she didn't trust this man. 

He reached for her hand but she got up on her own. "Because I am just like you, an adventurer caught in the Absolute's snare. I can protect you from it, in here, but only you can act out there. We need each other if we're ever to escape this trap."

She sighed. "I'll think about it. That's all I can say."

"Very well," he replied. "Sleep now, ready for tomorrow's journey."

Sorcha woke feeling well rested despite the interruption to her dreams. The party gathered around the fire to grab a quick breakfast of sausage and eggs before setting out to reach the mountain pass. She caught Astarion's eye and beckoned him over. "Do you need to feed? It's hard going walking through mountains."

"You're such a sweetheart, shall we go somewhere a little more private? I haven't taken my tent down yet."

"G'lyck. Be quick then," insisted Lae'zel. "We have tarried long enough indulging ourselves."

"Oh, have you been indulging yourself, Lae'zel?" The vampire smirked as Shadowheart choked on a bite of breakfast. And here was I thinking they hated each other, interesting.

"Shka'keth! Go, feed!" the gith retorted.

Sorcha followed Astarion into his tent. In contrast to the opulence displayed outside, the inside of the tent was almost bare. A hard board on the floor, a crumpled sheet that had once known white and a few candles on a small table was all it contained. He reached outside and grabbed an embroidered cushion for her comfort.

As he knelt, leaning towards her neck, she stopped him with a gentle hand. "Before we start, I just wanted to thank you for the underwear, it was very thoughtful of you," she said. "Did you… did you sew them yourself?"

"Oh, it was nothing," he said airily. "I've always had to look after my clothes, sewing skills became an essential. I found a shirt in one of the inn's remaining wardrobes and used that, I didn't pull it from a corpse. After all, how am I going to rip your clothes off if you haven't got any?" He smirked and she felt herself blushing.

"Now, shall we?" He leaned towards her neck, holding her close, and drank. She knew what to expect now, his soft breath tickling her neck, the feeling of hesitation as he chose the correct spot, leaving her feeling that she was on a cliff edge waiting to fall, her anticipation of pain causing her to hold her breath. Then a sharp pain, bright and precise, followed by spreading numbness that swiftly turned to bliss. 

A quick restoration spell from her amulet sorted out her blood loss afterwards and they were good to go.

They set off along the road to the pass, Lae'zel setting a blistering pace in her eagerness to reach her goal. A brief altercation with Gale had soured the mood a little at breakfast, but as Sorcha stomped away from Waukeen's Rest, leaving Wyll to deal with it, she was a little hopeful about the creche. Bloody arrogant wizards.

Sorcha felt a shadow fall over her and looked up. What in the hells? Was that a dragon?

"A red dragon," Lae'zel said proudly. "My kin are near."

They approached a wooden structure, a guard post or toll post perhaps. Several armoured githyanki were facing off against a Flaming Fist patrol who were guarding the road ahead. Sorcha couldn't hear what they were saying and was about to edge closer when the dragon returned, swooping across the clearing and incinerating the entirety of the Fist patrol.

She tried to keep everyone back but Lae'zel strode ahead, directly to the gith leaders.  Damn the woman, what are we supposed to do now? She motioned Astarion and Shadowheart to stay back, out of sight, while Karlach and herself went to stand behind Lae'zel.

"Rider, lead me to…" Lae'zel fell silent as the dragon rider raised a hand.

"Sh-sh-shh. Such a familiar tone. Were I not merciful, I would slice the skin clean from your meat. Your name, child," the gith demanded.

"Lae'zel," she replied, almost whispering, head bowed.

 Sorcha had never seen her so submissive, so cowed. Wish I had that talent.

"You will call me Jhe'stil Kith'rak."

Lae'zel bowed her head. "Voss, Knight Supreme. The queen's silver, the queen's sword."

Voss nodded and continued, "A ghaik vessel has fallen from the sky, Lae'zel. Thieves aboard have taken a weapon most precious. Take word to your creche. You are to join our search."

Sorcha felt a wave of anxiety from the artefact, a sense of unease. Could this be the weapon they spoke of?

Lae'zel spoke up before Sorcha could stop her. "My mandate, Jhe'stil Kith'rak, is to locate this creche. I was infected aboard a ghaik ship and need to be purified. Your mandate is to aid me."

The Kith'rak looked disgustedly at Lae'zel. "Purified? Oh, Lae'zel - why must the truth be so bitter? Soon, your skin will go grey, and your blood will run silver. You will shed your skin to become ghaik. Only in death are the infected cleansed." He climbed back aboard the red dragon.

"Baretha, see that her skull is split and the tadpole crushed. Then examine her corpse. I will take word to the Queen. Qudenos - to the sky!"

The remaining gith drew their weapons and attacked, targeting Lae'zel first, leaving her bleeding on the ground. Sorcha was glad that Astarion and Shadowheart had remained hidden, giving them easy shots at two of the gith whilst Karlach swung her axe at the remaining commander. Two archers were standing close together so Sorcha flung a shatter spell around them, knocking them to the ground.

Shadowheart ran closer, throwing healing light around Lae'zel as Astarion managed to knock one of the gith into the chasm with a thunder arrow. The other gith fighter suddenly appeared next to him and got a silencing dagger in the neck for his trouble.

Lae'zel found enough fury to yell "Shka'keth!" and charge at the commander, repaying the wounds that she had received moments earlier. A final axe blow from Karlach stopped the leader from rising again. Sorcha once again targeted the two remaining archers, electrocuting them, followed by Shadowheart's devastating thunderwave.

The fight was over but Lae'zel was screaming in rage. "My own people tried to take my head! Voss was no true Jhe'stil, to deny me purification! I shall find this creche and expose him as a traitor!"

"Calm yourself, save your anger for your queen's enemies," Sorcha soothed. "Look, we found this artefact on the commander's body, what do you make of it?"

Lae'zel touched the round disc and it bloomed into a map, giving the creche location within the mountains. They finally had a proper direction. A stone bridge led across the chasm and into the mountains, so after a quick rest to recuperate the party set off on the upward climb.

Lae'zel stopped them as they reached a fork in the path. "Tir'su markings! The creche is near." She pointed to the right hand way. The signpost marked that direction as Rosymorn Monastery. 

"Very well," Sorcha agreed, and they followed the track downwards. At the end of the path was a winch leading to a thick rope. She peered down and saw a wooden platform at the end of the rope, far in the distance, at the base of a magnificent building which must be the monastery.

The wooden platform swayed as the wheel turned, moving back down to the buildings below. The view was incredible, encompassing towering cliffs, mist topped pinnacles, deep green canyons wrapped in trees and a sparkling ribbon of blue water far below. It was possibly the most beautiful scene that Sorcha had ever seen and from the awed silence around her, the same could be said for the others. Well, except for Lae'zel, who stood at the wheel with her gaze fixed on the monastery, focused on her goal.

On reaching the bottom they followed a wide paved road leading past tall windows of coloured glass.

"I think this is a monastery of Lathander," said Shadowheart, pointing to a figure in the window. 

"Ugh, he hates vampires, and he's not too keen on Shar either," griped Astarion. "Looks abandoned though, let's see if there's anything worth taking."

Sorcha paused at the top of a flight of steps, hearing voices around the corner. Peering out from cover she saw three halflings, wearing the regalia of Absolutists, being herded towards towering central doors by a couple of gith warriors. One halfling tried to make a run for it and was immediately shot in the back. The others shuffled through the doors. This was the place.

She tentatively asked "Lae'zel, how sure are you of the welcome we'll receive here?"

"They are mandated to aid me," the gith replied confidently. "And they will understand my need for servants."

The central doors seemed to be barred, but a broken window gave access onto some kind of wine cellar. Raucous singing coud be heard from the adjoining room. A drunk kobold staggered into their room before falling face down into a puddle of wine.

"There's alcohol all over the place," pointed out Astarion. "We need to be careful of fire."

"Maybe we don't," suggested Sorcha. Be brave. "If I headed back outside, out of the way, maybe a couple of well placed fire arrows would take out the entire pack?"

Everyone liked this plan, so as Sorcha headed back outside, they arranged themselves well back from the doorway and Astarion readied a couple of enchanted arrows.

The plan worked almost perfectly. Flaming kobolds would stagger through the door, only to be thrown back by Karlach, while arrows from Lae'zel and Astarion took out those at the back. Shadowheart was on standby with a water spell just in case but it wasn't needed and the room was just ashes in no time.

Sorcha felt a strange sense of acceptance in the way they had just accommodated her fire problem and worked around it. It almost felt like being back with her Yartar 'family'.

"You good, soldier?" Karlach asked cheerfully.

Sorcha beamed up at her. "I'm good!"

They pressed on. The burnt out room led onto a path leading behind the monastery, up some rocky ledges that could be scaled with the help of the ever present vines. They emerged on an upper level of the monastery, where a stagnant pool was surrounded by boarded up doorways. It must have once been quite beautiful there.

The boards yielded to a blow from Karlach's axe and they ventured into shadowed halls, tiled with glorious colour that still retained a glow when dim shafts of sunlight made their way through shattered doorways. One passage led to a circular room, dominated by a central stained glass roundel, now smashed. Four stone altars were against the walls, one of which held a glowing blue longsword. 

Sorcha picked it up, disappointed to find that the glow stopped as she did so. "That's annoying," she complained, "but still, it'll fetch a good price, it's a nicely made weapon." The only other thing of note was a beautifully tiled alcove but whatever it used to hold must have been taken long ago.

They passed by several other rooms, but Lae'zel strode ahead, searching for the entrance to the githyanki creche and refusing to give them time to stop. "We have delayed long enough, I insist that we find my people today so that I may be cleansed." 

"Stop for a minute, Lae'zel," Sorcha insisted. 

"Chk! What now?" the gith snapped. 

"As I see it, we have two ways forward. We either go up," she pointed at vines leading to the roof, "or we go downwards, down the cliff, and hope to find an entrance there. Which location is more likely for this creche?"

"A fair point," Lae'zel acceded. "Most likely it will be below, keeping the hatching pools secure and well fortified. It would be too exposed on the roof."

"Down it is then," Sorcha decided.

Chapter Text

Another charming day, clinging to the side of a treacherous cliff, trying to break into the temple of a vicious vampire hating god, in order to find shouty frog people, also vicious. Astarion sighed heavily and continued the descent, looking for a back way into the monastery. Three vines later and he had found a door, which he deftly unlocked. Who in the hells puts a door in a cliff anyway?

Lae'zel seemed the logical choice to go in first, with the others pretending to be her servants. He lurked at the back, not particularly eager to be entering a gith nest. 

Astarion felt a vibration from the artefact in his pack, before an internal voice instructed him "Stay away from the githyanki! They're hunting you!" Looking around he could see the others had heard it too. 

Sorcha looked annoyed, hissing "Stay out of our heads!"

Lae'zel was stopped almost immediately by a pair of guards, youngsters who waved the party through with instructions to go to the infirmary. It was odd that they hadn't been disarmed but maybe they all looked too dangerous? The corridors were decorated with portraits of Lathander, the Morning Lord, but pictures of a fearsome looking gith had been placed over the top. Lae'zel bowed to one and he guessed that this must be Vlaakith. 

The halls seemed rather empty for a fortified gith stronghold, and Lae'zel kept glancing around in dissatisfaction, tutting to herself. He was amused that someone else was failing to meet her standards.

They entered the infirmary to find the doctor. She was examining a mind flayer tadpole specimen, using a strange series of lenses attached to a headpiece, rather like a jeweller's magnifier.

"Take a seat, kin," she said without looking up. He began looking around, noticing a couple of live tadpoles in jars, which found their way into his pack. He picked up a discarded book and browsed while he waited for the next inevitable argument. A line on a torn page caught his eye, 'The Blood of Lathander', some kind of weapon from the context. I wonder what drinking a god's blood would do?

The doctor turned to Lae'zel. "Now, how can I help you?"

"I am Lae'zel of Crèche Kil'ir and I have come to be purified."

"Cursed is the day that even we become ghaik incubators. Very well, take your place in the Zaith'isk." She indicated a strange machine, tall, made of pockmarked metal with appendages reminiscent of the nautiloid. It looked horrific but Lae'zel stepped into it without hesitation and the fleshy claws lowered to surround her head. 

"The zaith'isk. Vlaakith's purity, distilled. My duty. My right," Lae’zel intoned with an almost religious fervour.

"Go ahead, Lae'zel, you've earned it," encouraged Sorcha.

An unseen blade cleaves his mind in two. Impossible pain sears his bones and body in concert with Lae'zel's.

Lae'zel screamed "Ngh! Vlaakith tavki na'zin. Vlaakith tavki na'zin!" and yet the doctor only said "Yes, child. Speak the Tla'ket. Meditate on its verses."

He feels Lae'zel's mind rip and rupture as if it was his own. Is this purification? Is this the cure?

Through the searing pain, Astarion could see Sorcha pleading but the doctor seemed undisturbed by Lae'zel's obvious agony. She pushed Sorcha back, with a curt "The zaith'isk is working as intended."

He shares in Lae'zel's agony. Every cell within her skull bursts into a constellation of fragments, sorted and reassembled. He knows that Lae'zel will die if she remains.

Enough was enough. "So... we're just going to stand here and let it kill her? Is that the plan?" he demanded. His vision narrowed and he sensed myriad spectres of githyanki past. This was their fate. The visions flickered but refused to focus.

Sorcha jerked back, jolted out of the shock of watching by his question. Lae'zel was shouting "Lash'a'kla, lash'a'kla," through gritted teeth. A vision of silver threads formed in your mind, draining all that was Lae'zel, pulling her essence out and up to the Astral Sea.

"ENOUGH!" The voice of the prism flooded the room with power, shattering the zaith'isk and sending Lae'zel sprawling onto the floor, battered but alive.

"Shka'keth!" The doctor strode over, looking down at Lae'zel with a zealot's fury. "My life's work, gone! And yet she lives!" Astarion saw that maniacal gleam flared in her eye. He knew that look, it had frequently been directed at him just before Cazador exploded in rage and cruelty. He acted first, jamming both his daggers into the Ghustil's neck before she could wreak her revenge on Lae'zel.

Any sensible person would realise that this was the time to leave, to get as far away from the creché as they could before the carnage was discovered, but Lae'zel was instead ranting about a traitor, completely oblivious to how close her death had been. Everyone else was still reeling from the pain of the visions. She was insisting that they report the doctor, certain that the machine had been sabotaged, and nothing Sorcha or Wyll said could sway her otherwise.

With no thought at all about their own safety, Lae'zel stomped through the halls to the creché leader, the Kith'rak, and demanded that they be granted an audience with the visiting Inquisitor, sure in her own blind obedience that they would be treated fairly. He considered just sneaking off and leaving everyone else to it. It was obvious that this would end just as badly as the zaith'isk debacle. But without the protection of the prism, how long would he even have? Better to steal the prism and then leave, maybe with Sorcha if she could be persuaded.

A mental shout from the prism made him pay attention once more. Lae'zel had actually grabbed the prism from his pack and handed it over to the other gith. The cheek of it. What in the hells was she thinking? Sparks erupted from it and it flew out of the kith'rak's hands, landing safely in his own. At least the prism knew where it was safest; if only the others had as much common sense.

The commander placed a key gem into an opening within an intricate carving and the spectral doorway flickered open, leading to a high marble hall. A massive bridge stretching across a vast chasm was lined with statues of Lathander holding a child up to the sun. Must be some holy thing, doesn't seem that divine to pick up a child but who knows? Decorative marble balustrades secured the edges, and the walkway ended at towering metalwork doors.

"Well, this doesn't look at all ominous," he observed. 

Lae'zel glared at him. "Silence, istik! We shall give the Inquisitor due respect and he will help us."

"Because things always go our way?" asked Sorcha. 

"Kainyank!" growled Lae'zel.

The doors opened in anticipation of their arrival. He didn't like this one bit.

A tall gith male in a decorative circlet, armed with a gigantic broadsword, was standing in the centre of the room. Four other gith were dotted at strategic points around the chamber. A trap if ever I saw one. Astarion stayed at the back of the group, keenly aware that the doors had slammed shut behind him. He was unobserved, and so, casually removed a vial of drow poison from his belt and coated a few arrows with it.

The Inquisitor spoke directly to Lae'zel. "My ardents spoke of one of our kin who escaped a crashing ghaik vessel. You have accomplished much, child."

She bowed her head. "Ch'ra'i, Vlaakith's justice in flesh."

"To business," the Ch'ra'i continued. "I suspect you plucked something precious from the ghaik ship, something that belongs to us. The weapon. Give it to me." Lae'zel turned, looking at Astarion.

"Do it, do not disobey the inquisitor," she commanded.

A panicked thought invaded his mind. "Don't do it! The weapon is how I protect you." Astarion tried to send reassurance back through the prism and the voice subsided. No way am I handing this over.

However it was Sorcha that the gith was focusing upon. "I can't, it protects me," she said calmly.

"Indeed? And what does it protect you from?" the inquisitor asked.

"All kinds of bad things. It's my lucky charm."

The Ch'ra'i sneered at her. "You know more than you're letting on. It is my people who need protection from you - you are infected. Hta'zith!"

The other gith sprang into action at the shout, aiming themselves first at Lae'zel and Sorcha. Astarion chugged a speed potion, then sent arrows flying at two of the gith, those who looked to be spellcasters. Both dropped into poisoned sleep. Shadowheart affixed the inquisitor with a holding spell and Wyll aimed a couple of eldritch blasts at a crossbow-wielding gith, knocking him backwards onto the floor. Astarion ran to the two sleeping gith and quickly slit their throats.

Lae'zel took advantage of the Ch'ra'i's immobility to cleave through his shoulder, causing him to drop his weapon and start spraying blood everywhere. Astarion's mouth watered, that blood had a spicy scent to it that was extremely tempting. As Sorcha aimed lightning orbs, destroying the remaining gith troops, he ran forward, unable to stop himself, ripping through the inquisitor's throat, tasting a savoury wave, an overwhelming rush of tingling pleasure as the blood revitalised him.

He stood, flushed and elated, blood trickling down his chin. Not so fearsome after all, these gith warriors.

A gigantic figure materialised, towering above them, filling the chamber. A large circle beneath her was glowing with brilliant light, casting shadows from below on an apparition that seemed to be far more solid than most magical projections he had seen before. She had the face of a gith and was wearing a crown but he could swear that she also looked like a lich. This was not good.

A booming voice echoed across the room. "W'war'gaz was potent. We are impressed."

Lae'zel had dropped immediately to her knees, as everyone else took a step back, still injured from the fight.

"My Queen - shkath zai!" she said, grovelling. 

Vlaakith gazed sternly across the party. "You are permitted to look upon me. You are invited to kneel."

No, no way. He was pleased to see that everyone remained standing. Sorcha did a polite sort of wave in recognition and Lae'zel's face crumpled in embarrassment. In for a copper… Astarion stepped forward and gave a saucy wink. A tiny snigger floated to his ears, but Sorcha remained straight faced.

"I am Vlaakith. Undying Queen of the noble githyanki. God Regent of the Six Arms of Tu'narath. Your choice of allies is most vexing. They do not become you, Lae'zel."

Lae'zel spoke, awestruck. "Ch'mar, zal'a Vlaakith. You know me." 

Vlaakith turned to Sorcha. "Istik. You bear that which is ours. But are you friend, or are you thief?"

Sorcha looked curiously at the avatar, a wry grin twisting her mouth. "They're not mutally exclusive, you know? The prism is ours, it came to us. If it wanted to be with you I'm sure that you'd know."

"What?" the queen roared. "It is not 'yours'! That 'weapon' you carry - the Astral Prism - it is corrupted."

Lae'zel was almost prostrating herself in eagerness before her monarch. "I will cleanse it for you, my Queen. Tell me how."

"There is someone inside. Their mind is warped, broken - a blight. They are an agent of the Grand Design. Kill them. Do this, Lae'zel, and I will cleanse you and your allies. Do this and ascend!"

Sorcha stood firm. "No, I am not your subject and I will not do your bidding."

Lae'zel leapt up in horror. "Hshar' lak! You would stand against me?"

The queen frowned. "Autonomy begets consequence. Use this to enter the Prism, or deny me. The choice, as ever, is yours. But know this - my wrath is carried with each of my faithful. Every one of my people will turn against you and wipe you from this wretched plane." She vanished, leaving a glowing circle behind her.

Lae'zel aimed her sword at Sorcha's neck. "To refuse Vlaakith is to refuse me. You will do as she asks. Or I will be her wrath."

"I will do what I think is right, you must do the same," Sorcha replied in a steady voice. "But we are going into the prism."

She held a hand out to him and he placed the artefact there. It radiated light and blossomed, opening outward in endless loops that bent his vision awry. Sorcha stepped through and vanished as the others followed.

Astarion emerged into a scene half remembered from his dreams, the Astral plane. He had thought stargazing in the forest was wonderful but this surpassed even that. Hazy clouds of luminous gas drifted past, constellations glittering like a spilled jewel chest. He felt light, as if he could just drift away forever, never caring about the mundane world again.

Sorcha walked through an arch into a cave, but an invisible barrier prevented his following. Astarion kicked futilely at the barrier, trying to staunch the sudden anxiety that washed over him as she vanished.. Nothing to do but wait and stare at the stars then. Why the hells did she just wander off like this? Absolutely no sense of self preservation! She returned after a short while, looking grave.

Lae'zel grabbed her arm. "Speak! Have you killed my queen's enemy?"

Sorcha shook her head. "No, and I'm not going to kill them. They protect us from the Absolute."

She opened her mind, using the tadpole to share the truth of the encounter. The paladin they had seen in their dreams was the one inside the cave. "I may have made a mistake, trusting you," he said gravely. The vision showed the paladin kneeling, offering his sword up in submission. 

Sorcha had refused to kill him, flatly stating "I'm not doing the githyanki queen's bidding" and the dream visitor stood up with a sigh of relief. "I chose my allies well after all," he said. "The power that protects you - I stole it from Vlaakith and she will stop at nothing to recover it. She is not divine, just extremely powerful. If the gith truly knew her they would realise that she does not have the skills to stop the Grand Design." 

Sorcha reassured the paladin. "Let her try. I protect my allies."

The vision faded, returning them back in front of a portal leading to the material plane.

"Vlaakith tavki na'zin. I see only - only madness. Tsk'va! We are leaving this place - now." She marched back through the portal, dissatisfaction radiating from every movement.

Before following, Sorcha turned to everyone else. "I'm sorry, I think we just found ourselves in another war - one between this paladin and the githyanki. I'm not sure why, but I'm starting to think that the Absolute, the illithids, the gith and this dream visitor might be all connected, but I can't untangle it yet."

"Could the gith be on the side of this Absolute?" asked Wyll. "They surely wouldn't be siding with the illithids but some new god might be in partnership with Vlakkith."

"I don't know, but it seems clear that the gith are now very specifically our enemies, over and above the general malice they have for everyone. We need to be wary of Lae'zel now," Astarion warned.

"Didn't I tell you this, way back in the beginning?" said Shadowheart grimly.

Sorcha shook her head. "Give her some time, she's just found out that her goddess is not what she thought, her beliefs have been crushed. She may yet see reason in the light of this."

Returning back to the central chamber, Astarion was in no doubt that the entire creché would be out for blood if they stepped back the way they came. "Let me check around," he offered, "Who knows, I may find another way out that doesn't involve painful death."

There were two alcoves leading off the main room, lined with shelves and crammed with urns and chests. Sorcha followed him, emptying out valuables as he searched the walls. The second chamber had two statues of the baby-waving god again. He noticed one statue had a scuff mark at the bottom, as if it had been repeatedly moved, and attempted to push it back, almost losing his footing as the thing rotated instead.

Sorcha read the plaque beneath it, “'Lathander greets the rising sun' - oh, I get it, it needs to face east," she suggested.

Astarion moved it round but nothing seemed to happen. He guessed the other statue also needed to turn, perhaps to the west this time. A shove did nothing at all, and none of the others could move it either. 

"Perhaps try greasing it?," suggested Wyll. He wasn't just a pretty face then. Once greased, the statue rotated smoothly and a wall panel slid open, leading onto some stairs which they followed into the depths of the monastery.

Plain wooden doors led to a glittering room, with an archway leading to the promise of more. It looked like this room had been preserved completely intact ever since the gith invasion. He could almost smell the treasure. Sorcha had a grin on her face. "Finally it looks like something worth taking!"

Between them, they destroyed some energy crystals which were powering the door barriers and Astarion carefully disarmed two traps which looked to blanket the room in radiant light if triggered. A very nasty trap, that, especially for him, but it seems to be all safe now.

A long stone stairway led to an elegant dais, surrounded by decorated pillars, and in dazzling light hovered a golden mace, with a huge chunk of red tinged amber set into in the handle. Perhaps this might be the Blood of Lathander weapon. Could he drink the blood from the handle?

"Surely we shouldn't take that," Wyll worried. "It's quite obviously a holy relic, after all."

"Oh pfft," scoffed Astarion. "Any unguarded treasure is treasure worth taking."

"I think I'll stand well back," said Shadowheart, prudently moving to the back of the chamber. Lae'zel was still grumbling to herself, paying little attention beyond moving beside Shadowheart.

Sorcha stood beside the mace, examining the pedestal for traps. "Go on, " he encouraged. "What's the worst that could happen?"

She took a deep breath and reached for the mace, yanking it out of the light. 

The room burst into motion. The four elaborate pillars rose, unfolded and channeled four streams of radiance towards the wall behind Shadowheart and Lae'zel, dissolving it and continuing onwards. A dome of light dropped over Sorcha and the dais, trapping her inside. It was blindingly obvious that this room was doomed to destruction unless they could get out.

Shadowheart, Lae'zel and Wyll had a head start and they ran through the gap carved by the light, finding themselves on the monastery roof. The beams were impacting a huge crystal, taller than any of them, encased in a golden metallic mechanism. The light was powering it up, and it was aimed directly at the building, looking to be powerful enough to destroy the entire thing.

Astarion looked at Sorcha for a moment, shouted "We'll just get you back from Withers!" before sprinting for the door, out into the courtyard. He tripped and caught his foot in some vines, falling to his knees. He saw Sorcha pop into existence beside him, she must have had a misty step scroll. She reached a hand down to him, but he was caught fast, so she took off running. 

"Don't worry, I'll go see Withers!" she shouted over her shoulder. He saw her catch up to the others and then vanish, jumping over the edge of the roof, before a searing light bore into his head, melted his eyes, stripping the skin from his bones, and turning those bones to naught but ash.

He came back to himself on a flat, grey plane, under a flat, grey sky. Nothingness stretched out in every direction. I guess this is the Fugue Plane then. 

Astarion sat, inspecting his fingernails to pass the time. Then he checked the hem of his doublet, noting places that needed repair. He practiced tossing and catching his dagger.

Time did not, in fact, pass.

Wasn't there supposed to be a city, crystal spires, that sort of thing? Had he been sent somewhere else? He scanned the horizon carefully. Panic began to rise and he tasted bile in his throat. Had they just left him, decided that he wasn't worth the bother?

Time continued failing to pass.

On reflection, that seemed the most likely option. He wasn't worth 200 gold, not when that could buy so many more useful things. Sorcha wasn't bad at disarming traps, and that was his only truly practical talent here, wasn't it? No one needed a gigolo in an adventuring party, charming though he was. 

Time remained out back, taking a leisurely smoke break.

He was sat hunched over now, folding in on himself, arms hugging around his shoulders in a desperate attempt at comfort . Bloody tears began to pour from his eyes, dripping down, staining his doublet as he convulsed in misery. It was over and he was condemned to eternity here, soulless and unwanted. Even the devils hadn't turned up. 

I wasn't ready. I'd just begun to live a little.

A dry, papery voice interrupted his torment. 

"Rise," it commanded.

Astarion felt himself dragged bodily away from the encompassing grey and he crashed onto the floor of their camp, dappled with sunlight. 

"Gods, couldn't you have hurried that up a bit?" he asked Withers, dusting himself off.

"No."

Sorcha was sitting at the bottom of some steps, smiling once she saw him. "I'm glad to see you back safely." 

He stormed up to her. "What in the hells were you thinking, activating that lance? I WAS RIGHT THERE!"

She looked at him in alarm. "I brought you back, didn't I? Same as you'd do for me. It can't have been more than a few minutes."

"That's not the point! Do you have any idea how much that hurt?" he ranted.

"You do remember that you encouraged me to take that mace, yes? Or did getting your brain fried remove that particular memory?" she asked archly.

"Gah! Being burned alive by the full malice of the Morninglord was not what I'd planned for the day."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise it would hurt like that. I thought it would just be a quick pain like it was for me, back with the spiders." She did look concerned.

"It was agony, worse than being turned. I don't know why I'm surprised, it seems like a horrible death is always just around the corner with you!"

He stalked back to his tent, grumbling loudly.

Once inside he quietened as the gravity of the experience truly gripped him. He'd been burned to death by the light of a god, an undead hating god to be specific. Astarion shuddered, and then sat clutching his shroud for comfort, reliving those awful days alone on the Fugue Plane. Surely it was days, not the minutes Sorcha had mentioned? It felt like an entire lifetime. A lifetime in which to relive his failings, over and over again.

His thoughts couldn't help sliding back to a similar experience, forced into a coffin and left alone in the dark for a year while his flesh sank, his bones crumbled, hunger ravaging his body, delirium taking his mind, without even a rat or a bug to drink. All for the crime of caring for a victim, letting them escape. He'd flinched and screamed in pain when the dim light of the crypt shone on him, burning his light starved eyes once the lid was eventually removed from the tomb. Emerging to see Cazador looming over him again was every nightmare made true once more.

Astarion knew now that there was no hope for him, not even in true death. He'd prayed to all the gods he knew, one after the other, desperate for some help once the full reality of being a spawn had made itself clear. And then he'd cursed them, each and every one, when they failed to care enough to rescue him. No wonder that there was no friendly hand to guide him to the City of Judgement. He'd been judged and found wanting long ago.

Without the tadpole, he was vulnerable, either to recall by Cazador or to death from the sunlight once more. I cannot let that happen. Even if Sorcha would resurrect me. But what if she's dead too? What about the others, would they even bother?

He had to find a way to take control of the tadpole, not destroy it. He had to stay alive, no matter what. And he had to keep Sorcha alive as his back up plan.

Later that evening, when Astarion finally damped down his memories and emerged from his self imposed confinement, Gale walked over to him. "How are you doing after your resurrection?" Astarion made a non-commital noise. "Nasty business, having your soul revived, at least as I understand it." 

"Well, it's certainly not my favourite way of passing time," he said bitterly.

"Ah, well, no, I imagine not. I'd think one death would be enough for you," Gale continued.

"Oh, you think?" He closed his eyes in exasperation. Really, did the man have even a passing acquaintance with tact?

"So, erm, may I sit?" the wizard asked. 

"If you must," Astaron replied, wondering what on earth he wanted. Surely he wasn't concerned?

"From what I understand, a visit to the Fugue Plane leaves one questioning one's existence. Is it so for you?"

"Oh, I'm already dead, it would hardly be the same." He was hardly going to share his nightmare with Gale of all people. 

Gale tried to speak a couple more times, but for once the wizard seemed short on words. Eventually he came out with "You're experienced in the ways of the world, Astarion." 

"Well, obviously." Astarion smirked and pretended to inspect his dagger.

"If someone - not me, of course - detected a hint of romantic interest in them from another, unnamed individual, what might that someone do about it?"

"Oh, darling, I'm so flattered that you're asking me. Is this romantic interest reciprocated?"

"Oh, as I said, it's not me, it's, erm, someone else entirely," Gale blustered.

"You know, for someone supposedly known for his eloquence you're making a terrible hash of this, darling. Is this what happens when you try to speak to the person in question?"

"I, um, well, yes," the wizard admitted, blushing.

"Well, to be frank, you're hardly going to win someone over stuttering like a teenage virgin. Or are you a virgin, I guess I should have asked?"

"No, no, I do have experience." Gale insisted.

"Yes, all very impressive, darling, but have you done it with a real, actual mortal?" Astarion asked, trying not to laugh. Who knew what wizards would do with an all knowing goddess? Nothing so mundane as actual fucking, surely.

"Whoever it is, I suggest you ditch the fancy words and make your interest clear in more physical terms. Get in close, whisper in their ear, run your fingers over their hand, maybe a cheeky hand to the buttock, that sort of thing. It's what I'd do."

Gale looked thoughtful, and then nodded. "Thank you, I'll give it a try."

Interesting. So who was setting the wizard's loins aflutter?

Chapter Text

Come morning, Sorcha heaved a sigh as Lae'zel walked up to her. This was going to be difficult.

"Girtar'rac neh toruun - 'One theft consumes all'. Protocol four-hundred-two. Your greed reduced Crèche Y'llek to rubble," Lae'zel accused, raising her eyes to the heavens. "Vlaakith, absolve my sin or skewer my heart. In each, you might make me worthy!"

"But the crèche turned against us," Sorcha protested. "Why should I care about them?"

"I care," said Lae'zel bitterly. "Just because the zaith'isk failed, because Vlaakith has marked us, makes this no less of a tragedy. I do not expect you to mourn. But I will not tolerate your rejoicing, either."

"I'm sorry, Lae'zel. I had no way of knowing that would happen."

"Shka'keth. Next time, think twice before getting grabby with powerful relics in mysterious places." The gith headed back to her tent and set to vigorous weapons practice.

Sorcha watched, relieved that the sword was not aimed at her throat as Astarion sidled up to her. "Having second thoughts?” he asked. “Don't. Now Shadowheart has a lovely new mace and we don't have a horde of githyanki at our backs. Everyone's a winner - well, except maybe Lae'zel."

Leaving the rubble of the crèche behind, the party set off once again that morning, heading for the only road as yet untravelled. Sorcha walked ahead, followed closely by Gale and Astarion, while Wyll and Karlach dallied behind, pointing at scenery. 

"That orb seems powerful, Gale. If it was removed, what could it do?" Astarion wondered out loud.

"Nothing good!" the wizard replied.

Sorcha slowed to walk beside him and asked, quietly, "I was wondering where you got that orb? And how long ago?"

"Almost two years ago now, two years since my life came crashing down around my ears like the fabled city of Netheril," Gale replied ruefully.

"That's terrible. And where did you find it?"

"Oh, I tracked it down north of Waterdeep, in a place just outside of Yartar. You seem awfully interested, any reason?"

"Ah, no, just fascinated is all," she said.

She continued walking, lost in thought. It couldn't be, could it? Surely not that bloody devastation orb again? 

Sorcha caught up with Gale again. "Did you buy that orb from the Hand of Yartar? Surely it's caused enough damage already?"

"What? No!” he replied, shocked. “I'd never associate with criminals… er… that is to say… back then, I would never have considered buying magical items from those sorts of people."

"Oh, and what sort of people do you mean, Gale?" she said, smooth as poison.

"Suffice it to say,”  he stammered. “That I led quite a sheltered life and that my eyes have recently been opened to enjoying the company of a diverse array of companions."

"Hmmm." She let him be -after all it's not like she wasn't used to being looked down on. He was just the sort of rich boy she would have robbed blind back in Yartar.

The trail dropped downwards, over a series of wooden bridges, leading inexorably to the shadowlands. Dead birds and small mammals were scattered beside the path, victims from a hurried exodus, thinking they had broken free only to succumb at the final moment.

Just before the final bridge she noticed an elderly man standing by an extinguished campfire. She could swear that he hadn’t been there a moment ago. Wizard, if the hat is any indication, but that could be a ruse, he could just be selling useless charms against the shadows. The man stepped up to her. 

"Ho there, wanderer. Stay thy course a moment to indulge an old man."

"Why, what are you selling?" she asked with suspicion.

"Nothing at all, I merely enquire if you have in amongst your ranks…" 

The rest of the party had reached him, and he scanned their faces, as if looking for someone.

"Elminster?" Gale asked, looking stunned.

"Ah, Gale, m'boy," the wizard replied. "It's about time. Can we go to your camp so I may rest my weary feet and perhaps partake of some suitable sustenance?"

"Aw, is that Gale's grandad?' Karlach whispered, not quietly enough, as she received sharp glares from both wizards.

They set up camp, no one really wanting to rush ahead towards the curse and everyone curious. Elminster helped himself to copious amounts of their cheese supplies and talked endlessly about nothing. I can see where Gale gets it from. Eventually even Gale tired of the verbal knots the elder wizard was tying. "Out with it, Elminster! What brings you here?"

"I come on behalf of Mystra."

Sorcha laughed. "An actual divine messenger, no less?"

Elminster looked sad, momentarily. "Gale, you know where you went wrong. But Mystra intends that you be given a chance at redemption."

Gale appeared shocked. "Mystra would consider… forgiveness?"

"She would consider what she considers to be forgiveness. She is aware of the misadventures that have recently befallen you, of your quest against the Absolute." Elminster's voice was grave as he continued. "The Absolute is more dangerous that you can possibly conceive. That is why Mystra charges you with its destruction. She believes that only you can."

Gale looked thoughtful. "The orb."

"Hogwash. Idle beliefs and false hopes," Sorcha interrupted sharply. "If this Absolute is so terrible, why isn't Mystra destroying it? No, she's leaving it to a ragtag group of adventurers while she flits about in the ether."

Elminster ignored her and continued. "Precisely, Gale. Mystra has granted me the power to stop the orb's rush to overpower you. Instead you will be able to unleash that detonation at will. You are to find the heart of the Absolute and use yourself to wipe it from the face of Faerûn."

"That's monstrous! You're tasking Gale to kill himself!" Sorcha pointed out.

"No, Mystra is. I think she trusts me to do this," Gale said.

Elminster spoke the charm and an ethereal light flared briefly around Gale.

"Farewell, my boy. I am sorry that this task had to fall to you." The wizard's outline faded and he was gone.

Sorcha turned towards Gale. "You're not killing yourself! We'll find another way."

"I'm sure if there was another way then an actual divine being and the greatest wizard who ever lived would have thought of it," he said. "Maybe this is just my destiny."

"Look, I'm not just going to let you blow yourself up, that's a ridiculous demand. I thought I had trouble with my ex but at least she didn't try to make me kill myself!"

Gale still looked resolute, a rueful look on his face. "It's a lot to take in, but solemn consideration will help."

"I'll leave you to your thoughts," she said, awkwardly patting his shoulder.

Everyone had agreed that having one more rest before venturing into the curse was a good choice. Gone was the sunny chatter of earlier in the day. Between the shocking news about Gale's divine task and the looming shadow curse that they could actually now see on the horizon, it was clear that everyone was filled with trepidation. 

Halsin had walked over to where Astarion was sitting beside her.

"I'm sorry to intrude, Astarion, but I thought it was wise to let you know what I remember of the shadow cursed lands. Shadow creatures are unlikely to make good eating, so you might need to stock up tonight."

"Noted, thank you," Astarion said. "But I'll try not to bite any bears this evening." 

He winked audaciously at the druid, earning him a rumbling chuckle.

"I understand that you have an arrangement with Sorcha, to keep you fed, but the shadows might put quite the strain on her health if she's your only source of nourishment. So given that the health of the party is somewhat my business, and forgive me if the offer is unwelcome, but if you find yourself needing an additional source of blood, I do have quite a lot."

Astarion looked quite shocked at the unexpected suggestion. 

"I, er, thank you," he said.

Sorcha had to admit that Halsin was quite something, a very different kind of attractive to the slender perfection of the vampire, but enticing nonetheless. His open generosity made her warm to him. It might be fun to explore that further, if Astarion was ever secure enough.

Everyone sought out their comforts. Wyll sat quietly talking to Gale, a hand on his shoulder. Karlach, Lae'zel and Shadowheart were sharing a few bottles and talking about past conquests, which occasionally erupted into raucous laughter. Halsin had reverted to bear form and was playing some boisterous game with Scratch and the owlbear cub. She called up Nimbus and he joined in eagerly.

Sorcha sat alone, longing for comfort, for something to distract her mind from the horrors yet to come, but found herself missing the vampire. He had basked in the sun, drinking it in until the last rays dipped below the horizon, before going out hunting.

She waited, hoping for his return, until everyone but the druid had gone to sleep. He must be having trouble hunting tonight. Halsin had volunteered to do the first half of this final watch before true camp safety was eradicated, and he was peaceful company.

"You're worried," the druid said, whittling one of his ducks. "It's a brave thing you're doing, facing the problem head on and going to the Shadowlands."

"What should I expect? You were there when it began, weren't you?" she asked.

Halsin sighed heavily. "My first day as Archdruid, after so many fell. We thought we had won, but then a wave of darkness spread across the land and our armies started just dropping to the ground, only to rise again as creatures of shadow and spite, forever lost to us." A tear formed in his eye and she reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze of comfort. "Only those who ran survived. Since then I've spent a century looking for a way to undo it."

"Now that's bravery, finding the will to continue on after such devastation," Sorcha said. "I'm not sure that I would be strong enough to do that, you should be proud of your achievements." So much strength in him, yet so much grief underneath. I'd like to be able to make him smile.

They sat in silence for a while longer, the only sounds the pop and crackle of the fire and the scrape of Halsin's knife as he carefully shaped the wood, but eventually she sought her own bed.

Sorcha had finally given in to Astarion's suggestion that she have a tent of her own, rather than sleeping in front of the fire, and had been hoping that Astarion would take advantage of the privacy it offered tonight. Her worry over setting sparks in her sleep had faded as she recovered her stronger magic. Once she had decided that a tent was needed, it had simply appeared in the camp. She suspected Withers had just conjured it up once it was needed. It was a simple affair, green with a small silver trim on the edges, but there was a certain cosiness to setting up her bedroll within its bounds. A small lantern hung from the crossbeam, casting a warm flickering light across the floor.

The sound of a throat clearing, and a quiet "May I come in? " notified her of Astarion's presence. "Halsin said you were waiting up for me.?”

“I thought you didn't have to ask to cross a threshold now?" she said.

"I don't," he confirmed, "It's just polite. You could have been doing anything, with anybody! I know how utterly depraved you are, after all!"

She giggled. "Well, I wasn't, as you can see."

"That's rather disappointing, darling.”

"Have you managed to feed?” she asked. “I was worried that you took so long. Were you having problems or just gorging on every squirrel that crossed your path?" 

"No, nothing like that, but it's sweet of you to worry. Larger animals seemed quite scarce, can't really blame them for not wanting to go near the curse, so I had to walk for a couple of hours before I found anything worth eating. A badger and an incautious fox was the best of it, and the fox tasted rank." His mouth crinkled in disgust.

"What Halsin said, earlier…" She trailed off for a moment. "I'm happy to be your main food source for a while, but if I'm injured or incapacitated, would you be satisfied with drinking from the druid?" She scanned his face, looking for telltale signs of concern.

"Well, the druid would be quite the snack, and he did offer. It would be churlish not to take him up on that." Astarion licked his lips lasciviously. She couldn't tell if it was at her or at the thought of Halsin's blood.

"Now, on to your lack of depravity - let me fix that for you."

With a growl that burrows straight between her legs, he pushes her back onto her bedroll, grabbing both her hands with just one of his, holding them above her head as he lifts her shirt upwards and undoes her leggings. Untying her breastband, he runs a chill hand over the curve of her breast, causing her to shiver, before squeezing her stiffening nipple between his fingers. The other gets the same treatment, puckering up under his determined touch. Sorcha feels his tongue flicking against her now hardened nipple, and little bites across her breast, not breaking the skin - but the promise is there. She wriggles and pushes her hips towards him.

Astarion raises himself up on his elbows, staring into her eyes. "Keep your hands there for me, pet." A shiver scampers across her mind. Gods, how does he turn me on this much just by looking at me?

He drags her leggings down, stopping at her ankles, effectively tying her feet together, before delicately undoing the ties of her smallclothes. It's almost like he planned for them to be easy to remove. Astarion then begins to remove his belt and for a moment Sorcha is unsure where this is going, worrying about a memory she'd rather remained buried. She parts her lips, about to say 'velvet' but he reaches for her hands, securing them with the belt and she lets out a breath in relief that her first thought had been wrong.

That wicked grin was back. "Now I've got you all secure, and I can do whatever I like, yes?"

Much as she found pleasure in being submissive, at least in bed, she really had to fight back sometimes.

"I'm sure you'd like to think so, elf boy," she retorts, sticking out her tongue.

"Ah, insolent today? We'll see about that." He flips her over, pulling her to all fours, hands and feet still constricted, and slaps one cheek, hard. Her yelp is unavoidable, but the burn spreads across her skin with a teasing warmth.

Astarion leans closer. "Shall I kiss it better?" he purrs and her inner walls contract at the darkness in his tone. "You do look ever so pretty with that flush across your cheek, just like a blushing maiden. I think I'd like to see that a lot more often." 

She couldn't help the little whimper that escapes her lips, and of course his sensitive ears caught the sound. 

"Oh, you like that thought, do you?" he purred.

She feels another resounding slap on the other cheek before he reaches between her closed legs, stroking his fingers through the burgeoning wetness. "It's very loud though, everyone's going to hear if you're not careful." 

Sorcha whimpers again, momentary shame washing over her and just increasing her desire. 

"This little tent is handy but everyone's close by - it does mean you'll have to stay silent.”

He leant in closer to whisper in her ear“unless you want them all to hear you screaming my name when I fuck you?"

Gods, the certainty of this man was insufferable. What was worse was that he was right.

Astarion pushes her head down further, raising her hips in the air and begins working his long, clever fingers into her, rhythmically pressing the most sensitive patch inside. Her entire sense of self narrows to just her cunt and his hand, stretching her wide, fingers curling into her core, his thumb gliding over her clit. Sorcha begins to gasp, dragging breaths in, the muscles in belly and thighs tightening in concert as she reaches for her climax.

A sudden empty feeling. He'd stopped.

His voice snaked towards her, low with desire. "You look absolutely delicious like this, pet. Panting, flushed, arse in the air and positively dripping for me." 

Sorcha feels him drag his tongue wetly across her cunt, just the once, and almost blacks out from the pleasure. She hears the sound of clothing being removed and groans, hating the delay.

"Are you being impatient again?” he growled. “I'm just going to sit here and look at you until you wait patiently like a good girl."

Sorcha bites her lip, mind alive with thoughts of what the scene behind her looked like. A filthy chuckle reaches her ears and her tadpole squirms, showing her a vision of herself through his eyes, letting her feel the twin desires in him, the need to fuck her and the need to bite. She gasps and the vision fades, leaving her wracked with want, both his and hers.

She can't help but beg for him to take her, a tiny voice whispering out her need. He weaves fingers in her hair and tugs, raising her head up. 

"You want something?" he asked smugly.

"Please, Astarion, please…" Her voice broke, unable to find the words as she sobs with longing.

"So, my little firebrand, do you remember what you said earlier, hmm? I'm sure you'd like to think so, elf boy?" He arches a perfectly groomed eyebrow as he smirks at her.

She whimpers, realising what he needs. Capitulation. "Please Astarion, you can do anything you want."

"That's better, my sweet."

Astarion grabs her hips, dragging her closer, pulling her leggings from her ankles. He slides smoothly inside her, immediately soaked, and then nudges her thighs further open with his legs as he pulls her back. Holding her spread on his lap,one hand reaches up to squeeze her breast tightly and the other dances over her clit. She grinds deeply onto him, taking every inch, revelling in the fullness. Her vision splinters, refuses to focus as every nerve seems to sing out.

The pain as he bites into her neck is transmuted into a glorious, golden knife edge that drives her to oblivion.

For something that drained her life force to make her feel this alive seemed an unlooked for blessing. For a while she heard only the gentle beating of her heart as she rested in the afterglow, then Astarion stirred. 

"Footsteps. Unfamiliar ones," he warned. 

They hastily donned their clothing, grabbing weapons, and headed outside. Two gith were making their way towards Lae'zel, who was stood in only her underharness, blade in hand.

"Kith'rak Voss," she spat. "Has Vlaakith sent you to slay me with your own hand?"

"I've not come to kill you, Lae'zel. I've come to aid you," Voss said.

Sorcha heard the voice of the dream visitor. "Don't trust him." 

Get out of my head!

Voss knelt before Lae'zell, placing his sword onto the ground. "Ska"kek kir Gith shabell'eth. My blade rests. Mother Gith compels you to listen."

Sorcha stood protectively in front of Lae'zel. "Your cronies tried to kill us. Why should Lae'zel listen to you?"

"I knew you would fight - and I knew you would win. I needed to ensure Vlaakith's trust. This was the only way. The Astral Prism, that's the key. Within it lies the seed of Vlaakith's demise."

Lae'zel raised her sword once more. "Vlaakith's demise? Shka'keth. I should run you through for suggesting it."

"Voss, are you talking about the person inside? Do you know who that is?" Sorcha asked, trying to diffuse the tense situation.

The Kith'rak shook his head. "I won't be the one to betray them. But as the one inside has obviously chosen you as an ally, I must follow their lead." 

"What do you want to do, Lae'zel? I've got your back either way," Sorcha asked.

Voss stood once more. "The Prism's tenant must be let loose. I've sought their freedom for aeons, and now, you've been granted the opportunity I've so long awaited. All that remains is the key that unchains them - and I've found someone who I believe can provide it. Bring the Prism to Baldur's Gate, I'll be waiting."

He bowed to her formally. "Lae'zel - together we will break our chains, and be Vlaakith's slaves no longer."

"I am no slave, Jhe'stil Kith'rak. The Undying Queen is my freedom. It is she who will purify me, and she who will ascend me." Lae'zel's voice wavered as she repeated the tenet.

"Lies, Lae'zel - every last one. There is no purification, no ascension. Your mind will be ripped apart, your memories turned to silver thread and your body destroyed."

"That sounds exactly like what that zaith'isk was doing to you," Sorcha pointed out.

Lae'zel looked uncomfortable, almost uncertain, but declared "Your words ring true. So be it, ra'stil, I am with you."

As the Kith'rak left, Lae'zel moved to return to her tent.

"Do you need to talk, Lae'zel?" asked Sorcha.

"No, ra'stil, I need time to think on this, to decide what it means for me. Then I will talk."

Sorcha knew the sting of betrayal, but to find that one you thought was a goddess had lied to her entire people, that was going to take time to digest. She hoped Lae’zel could find the strength to get through it.

Chapter Text

Sorcha took a breath, as if it was her last ever chance to do so, and stepped into the liminal space leading to the Shadowlands.

A cold, searching sensation roamed across her skin, feeling as if the darkness itself was trying to drain any tendril of light or life away from her. Karlach's flames flickered dimly. She saw Astarion actually shiver as he stared out into the warped landscape before them. However Shadowheart appeared totally unconcerned, as did Nimbus. Makes sense, I guess. Nimbus is a creature of the Shadowfell, after all.

Huge skeletal trees were draped across the ground, bone coloured roots sprawling and ripping into the twisted earth. A goblin bearing a torch walked up the path in front of them.

"Are you the True Soul?" the goblin asked.

"True Souls don't answer stupid questions," she replied.

"Erm, erm, I'll take that as a yes," the goblin stuttered. "Grab a torch, stay together and follow me."

Shadowheart cast Daylight upon Karlach. Sorcha and Astarion stayed close to her, breathing in her glow and her warmth like it was oxygen. Shadowheart was carrying the Blood, which glowed with its own celestial light.

They trailed after the goblin, hands on weapons, through darkness that seemed to thicken inexplicably in places. They followed what had once been a paved road, now rent and twisted apart as if an angry god had beat out a tantrum upon it. Through the murk she began to see some flickering torches and a ramshackle camp came into view.

As Sorcha stepped into the camp she saw a goblin, throwing a bone out into the dark and encouraging a hyena to chase after it. The creature ran into the dark, gave a pained whimper, and vanished.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked sharply.

"Ah! Oh hells, I near stained meself," the goblin screeched. "I was just seeing what this shadowdark did. I bet he was real tasty!" He cackled to himself. "You're the True Soul, right? Just go see Kansif inside."

"Will do," she replied. "One more thing - go fetch the bone you threw."

"Yer… yer joking, right?" the goblin stammered. She gave the creature a wicked smile and let lightning spark across her hands. "Go." He slunk into the shadows, disappearing from view, and did not return.

Sorcha walked into the camp and was met by a half-orc, Kansif. "Did you bring the lyre, True Soul?" She was still carrying the lyre she had taken from Nere's body, so she brought it out to show him. "Strike a chord then, and our guide will come scuttling," he advised. Ah, so she didn't need these Absolutists, the guide would come anyway.

She carefully placed the lyre back in her pack, wrapped tight. "No, there's something I need to do first." Kansif looked confused as she walked back towards Karlach. As soon as she was out of his weapon range she whirled and cast twin lightning orbs on Kansif and the other half-orc. 

Nimbus grabbed the nearest goblin, biting down and shaking it before throwing it across the camp. "Hey, Nimbus, that's my move!" Karlach yelled with a grin on her face; she grabbed the nearest goblin and flung it into the path of Kansif, knocking him prone.

Astarion ran up onto a side platform, stabbing one goblin in the chest, spinning and hitting another directly in the throat with his other dagger. Sorcha noticed and couldn't help but admire the beauty of his precise, fluid motion before directing her attention back to where it should be. Shadowheart had cast a bolt of light on the furthest half-orc, so Sorcha finished him off with a quick ice cantrip. Karlach speared Kansif where he lay on the ground and the fight was over.

"Right, let's rest before calling this guide. I didn't like the sound of them 'scuttling' so it's best to be prepared." She sat beside Astarion, who was cleaning the dark goblin blood from his weapons. "That dagger suits you, you looked magnificent," she said.

"Oh darling, I always look magnificent," he replied, but a slow smile spread across his face. "Dead goblins everywhere; are you feeling frisky, my dear?" 

"Shush!" she whispered, giggling and shoving him playfully away.

Once rested, she pulled out the lyre once more and dragged her hand across the strings. Everybody winced at the hideous sound, as they readied themselves to meet this guide.

There was indeed a sound of scuttling, as a strange amalgam of a creature came into view, a drider. He looked like a male drow, at least on the top half. His bottom half was comprised of eight giant spider legs and a bulbous arachnid abdomen. Eight eyes were dotted across his face, blinking unnervingly at random intervals, and he had both humanoid arms and wicked looking pedipalps. Most importantly, he was carrying a moonlantern, an intact version of Nere's broken one.

The drider scanned the camp, littered with goblin and half-orc corpses. "Your majesty, what did they do?" he said in a fearful hushed tone. "I killed them, just as I'm going to kill you," Sorcha announced, signalling the start of the attack with a necromancy cantrip.

Karlach was still glowing from the daylight spell and the drider flinched in pain as she neared, all eight eyes tearing up. He rushed at her, sword extended, but merely grazed her armour, unable to look at his target. Sorcha saw that droplets of green poison oozed from where the blade had touched the armour. Best to stay back.

Shadowheart cast bolts of radiant light as Astarion aimed fire arrows at the drider's body. Nimbus was happily crunching on spider legs, sending the creature crashing to the ground. The drider was still trying to attack as Karlach sliced through his neck with her axe, stilling his life.

Astarion reached to catch the moonlantern as it fell from the drider's grip. A high pitched annoying squeaking was coming from it. He examined the lamp and Sorcha saw that it contained a pixie, shouting "Set me free, oh set me free! This lantern only lights the way if I am hurting night and day!" Hurriedly, seemingly without thought, he quickly released the catch and the pixie flew free.

A tiny purple pixie flew at his eye level. "Finally! Been stuck in that lantern with nothing but a mad drider and my own farts for company!"

Sorcha laughed at her foul mouth. "You should meet Shovel, I think you'd get along!"

"Did me a favour there, what do I owe you?" the pixie continued.

"I need a way to get us through this shadow curse, can you help with that?" asked Astarion.

"Sure I can, but will I?" Fey were renowned for their trickery, but she did owe him, after all.

"Sure, why not," she continued. "Give this bell a shake, say my name and you'll get what you've earned. Protection from the shadow curse, what more could a dingus want?"

"And what's your name?" he quickly asked before she could vanish.

"My name is Dolly thrice, I'm sure you'll think that I'm quite nice!" Her laugh was like the peal of tiny bells as she disappeared.

"A pixie! An honest to goodness pixie," he said, in an awed voice. Sorcha was surprised to notice that he looked almost childlike, eyes rounded with wonder, smiling happily. I never expected to see him so unguarded.

The pixie's blessing felt like the weight of the world was gone from her shoulders, the leaden crush of the curse held at bay. The landscape was still a hideous contorted wasteland, but at least it no longer felt as if it was devouring her. Rotted buildings lined the paths, decaying for a century after being hurriedly abandoned.

They headed onwards into the gloom until they found a raised plateau, surrounded by torches, which made a good place to camp, or at least the best they were likely to find out here. There was even a chicken coop to give shelter for the animals. Sorcha had a stern talk with Scratch and the owlbear cub, explaining that it was dangerous to leave the camp right now, no matter how strong and brave they were.

After dinner, Astarion slipped into her tent. "I know I'm used to a crypt's gloom, but this is horrible. I can't even see the stars," he complained. "I was wondering if I could have another nibble, darling. There's nothing to hunt out here and I need my strength."

She acquiesced and he pulled her sideways onto his lap, a firm hand holding her head, breathing in the scent of her neck and the blood rising to the surface. He bit down delicately and she shuddered, sharp pain fading to a wash of bliss.

He continued to hold her after sealing the wounds, hugging her warmth, unwilling to release her.

"I hate this place," he murmured into her neck. "It reminds me of the worst parts of Cazador's Palace."

"It drags me down, that's for sure. I don't know what I expected really, maybe that because I use some shadow power it wouldn't affect me? So, so wrong," she sighed.

"How did you even come to use that sort of magic?" Astarion asked.

"I used it to hide at first, wrapping shadows around myself, and then it just kind of grew on me gradually."

"Perhaps you could tell me more of your story?" he suggested. "Last I remember, you'd just been captured by the Zhent."

"Can I share the memory?" she asked. "Some of this gets hard to put into words, the fear, the panic, you understand?"

She felt his tadpole reach out for hers and sank into recollection.

1478, Waterdeep and the Long Road

Sorcha looked out from the cage and saw she was in a row with, she thought, three other captives. A half-elf girl about her age, a younger dwarf boy and an older, well-muscled human boy. They all seemed to be in the same sorry bedraggled state as she was.

"What's your name?" she whispered to the girl. 

"I'm Yllena," she said. 

"How long have you been here?" 

"I've been here, maybe two days? I'm not sure."

"What are they doing with us?" Sorcha asked.

"We're to be taken up north to Icewind Dale and sold there, where no one will find us," she murmured, tears spilling from her eyes.

The nearest guard, a human with dirty blonde hair and a scar across her nose, came over and prodded Sorcha with a staff. "Quit whispering if you know what's good for you." Sorcha shrank back, but noticed her silver ring on the guard's little finger.

A half-orc guard shouted over, "Lyssa, you're needed on the door. Leave these little morsels to me." The blonde woman left and the other guard moved his chair closer, before putting his feet up and closing his eyes. After some time he began to make a grating snarl with every inhale.

She needed a way out, but had no idea where to begin. She had even less resources than the ones she had at the beginning of the day. She calmed her breathing and waited for a solution to present itself.

Each cage door was closed with a heavy padlock, which she had not seen them unlock yet. No handy keys could be noticed on the half-orc's belt. However with the exception of her snoring jailor and her fellow prisoners they were now alone. Sorcha thought of her fire spells, could they perhaps break the lock, melt the metal? She didn't know if it was possible, but metal melted in forges, didn't it?

Barely daring to breathe, she concentrated on fire and aimed it to the padlock. It licked at the metal but then stopped, petering out. She gave a quiet tut of frustration, she'd need something much longer lasting, couldn't just endlessly throw fire bolts, even cantrips had a limit eventually. Maybe an orb of fire instead, if she concentrated?

She looked at the floor. Straw, everywhere. Sorcha knelt, scraping the dry strands together underneath the lock. Yllena looked scared at what she was doing. "Don't worry, just move your straw away, make a good gap between my straw and yours," she whispered to the girl. "Tell the others too."

She sat, cross legged, and reached, down into the darkness where her magic sat. A ball of flame blossomed between her palms and she flung it at the lock, fire dripping down onto the mound of straw below, the orb and the straw amplifying each other. The lock began to glow red, then cooled, giving out a sharp crack.

The half orc jolted awake with a shouted "Huh? Wassup?" just as the flames died down. She heard heavy footsteps on the stairs and scuffed a bit of straw over the char, then scurried to the back of her cage. I almost had it.

The scarred woman, Lyssa, a burly human man and a muscular dark-haired half elf entered the room, armed with crossbows, daggers and a length of chain. "Wake up, Aggerk, you lousy lump. Time to move them out, caravan's ready," Lyssa said, tossing the half-orc a bunch of keys. 

Aggerk moved to the far end of the cages, unlocking the door and then grabbing the human boy, twisting his arm up his back, handing him over to the half elf to hold firm while he passed a chain through his collar. The young dwarf boy was next, bewilderment evident on his face, too small to need more than a rough shove before he was chained. Yllena was grabbed and roughly carried over to the others, the girl screaming in fear until a sharp backhand sent her reeling, blood trickling from her eye.

Sorcha huddled at the back of the cage. She thought the lock was probably broken, and was sure the metal would still be warm. Would the brute even notice? They weren't known for their wits after all. 

He rattled the key against the lock and the door sprang open. Aggerk reached in and grabbed her by her collar, pulling her bodily out of the cage and propelling her towards the chained captives, where the links were threaded through her collar before the four prisoners were hauled upstairs.

A caravan was waiting, six large oxen drawn carts. A large cage was affixed to one wagon, and they were thrown into that together. A heavy cloth dropped down over the entire thing, hiding them from sight to get them clear of the city.

As a jarring roll indicated that they were moving, Sorcha gathered the others together. "If I can rest a while, I can try to break the lock, just like I did earlier, and give us a chance to get free." It seemed like their only chance so the other three agreed.

Later, rested, or as close as she could manage on a pile of straw, she began putting her plan into action once again. She had peeked out from under the heavy cloth and seen that it was dark. The early hours of the morning, that was the time to try. Sleepy guards, and the fire's light wouldn't be easily noticed during sunrise.

Sorcha began aiming fire cantrips at the chain in front of her, concentrating on just one link until she saw it had warped enough to unhook later. The little dwarf boy was sniffling in the corner. He'd be a liability in any escape attempt, but she couldn't just leave him there. She gathered everyone around him and whispered "We need an escape plan, for after I break the lock." The other three looked blankly at her, as if she had all the answers, as if she was in charge. "Right, well, I guess we should run towards the forest, the shadows will hide us for longer, and there'll be bushes to hide in and trees we could climb."

She started the process of gathering the straw underneath the lock once again. "Once this breaks, pull the chain through your collars so that you can run, yes?" A few tentative nods. Sorcha repeated the process that had worked back in the basement, concentrating her will on creating controlled fire. The lock cracked once more, but the cloth that covered the cage had also started to burn, smoke starting to pour from it, little flakes flying away.

"We need to move, now!" she hissed, just as a shout of alarm came from outside. "Fire! Godsdamned fire, lads!" A splashy thud, a water barrel dousing the flames before the canvas was raised and angry faces peered in. "Which one of you is the blasted firebug, eh?" The young dwarf whimpered and the man swung his crossbow towards him. The blonde woman, Lyssa, rode back towards the scene.

"One chance, tell me who's responsible for this? Don't think you're so valuable that we wouldn't kill you."

The dwarf cried out and pointed a finger, aimed towards both Sorcha and Yllena who were huddled next to each other. A bolt flew into the cage, lodged straight into Yllena's throat and killed her in an instant. Sorcha screamed in terror and ran for the cage door, knocking it open. 

"Stop right there or the other two die as well," Lyssa said in a voice chill with malice. Sorcha froze.

"Too easy," the woman laughed. One of the others caught her arm. "Can't go killing all the slaves, Lyssa, not good business, specially not when we have buyers ready in Mirabar." With that tiny hope, Sorcha burst out of the door and ran for the shaded woodland, gathering shadow around herself like a shroud. She crouched, hidden within a bush, stilling her breathing, knowing to wait for her pursuers to run past. 

The open cage door had proved too tempting and the two boys took their chance to escape as well. The human ran west, into the scrubland at an angle from her position, making decent time. Two of the slavers chased him, the most obvious escapee, but the woman turned back. The dwarf ran along the road, wailing until his cries were suddenly cut off.

Sorcha made her way deeper into the forest, quiet and slow, hidden in her shadows, ducking down when she heard the returning slavers. She could hear a scraping noise across the forest floor, the sound of heavy limbs catching on branches and the grumbling sound of the men, but she didn't dare raise her head enough to look.

Astarion was staring at her, gently stroking the back of her neck, listening intently.

"I hid, all the way up the Long Road, skulking in shadows and wrapped in pilfered rags so that no one saw the iron collar. Until Yartar, until the Hand removed it for me." Her eyes filled with tears and she burrowed her face into the blankets. My fault, all my fault. I should have had a better plan, if they were going to follow me. Instead I encouraged them into something they couldn't cope with.

Sorcha felt his arms tighten around her as she finished talking. She was shaking, silent tears running down her cheeks. "Try to sleep for a while," he said, kissing her hair. "You're safe now, I'll keep watch."

He waited until her breathing slowed and carefully tucked the blanket up and around her neck, keeping the warmth in and the shadows out.

Chapter Text

It was no easier to judge morning's arrival than it had been in the Underdark. Astarion was already starting to resent every minute that this blasted quest kept him out of sunlight. A faint lightening of the sky was as good as it got and even with the pixie blessing he hated it. It reminded him too closely of what he would have to return to, if he couldn't find a way to just control the worm.

Astarion had been pacing the perimeter, once Sorcha had fallen asleep, trying to see the best direction of travel. Their current camp was overlooking a river, the opposite shore beyond reach of even his darkvision. Both paths, north and south, looked equally bleak, equally perilous. He much preferred it when he was the dangerous predator stalking from the shadows. Turning around and heading back to the mountain would be his preference, staying in the light for as long as he could. Surely if Gale was due to explode, they could just leave him to it? It wouldn't be safe to be close, after all.

He tried to work out a coherent argument, one that even the heroes of the party would accept, but came up blank. Wyll would chase after his father. Halsin wanted to stop the shadow curse. Shadowheart kept spouting religious nonsense about being chosen by her goddess. Even Lae'zel wanted to head to Moonrise in the aftermath of the crèche failure to work off some of her anger. Sorcha was the only one who just might be swayed but it would be difficult to get her to change course after making the decision to come here in the first place. There was an annoying seam of hero within her, hidden under all the chaos.

While the mortals ate breakfast, they all discussed the way forward. Astarion had failed to marshall any argument that sounded good, even to himself. ’I need to get the hells out of here!’ just wasn't going to cut it with the rest of them, so he resigned himself to the misery of the relentless darkness.

They opted to trudge north, through a ruined arch. In many places the path was so churned up that the only way forward was to edge carefully along the gigantic trunks of the shadow foliage, crossing vast rifts illuminated with ghostly light from below.

Astarion suddenly caught the scent of blood, not fresh but still recent, and dropped down, expecting the others to follow his lead. As they did, he scanned the road ahead with care. Bodies, lots of them. He didn't want to stare but realised that he recognised some of them - tieflings who had set out from the grove.

Sorcha knelt on the ground, shedding pointless tears over people long gone, far beyond her help.

"Oh no, there's Toron, he cared for the oxen, and Kaldani, the gate guard. I shared a drink with her at the party and she was so full of hope! She was planning to study to be an armourer in the Gate." She dissolved into helpless crying and Karlach moved to comfort her.

"Gods, what in the hells happened to Asharak's eyes?” Horror was etched across Karlach's face on noticing the eyeless corpse.

Sorcha looked around at the scattered tiefling bodies.

“We need to give them a proper burial," she said, between sobs. "We can't just leave them on the road!"

How did she even know everyone's names? Astarion really wanted to carry on moving, leave behind whatever the hell this was. 

"Darling, there might be the same predators still waiting for us," he warned. "This could all just be a trap, to make us pause, ready to be ambushed."

"Astarion's right, you know," Karlach agreed. "We can maybe come back once we've found somewhere secure, bury them later on? For now we need to move."

His urgent tone seemed to work and they continued onwards, following what paths they could. Up ahead he could see a cold light, brighter than the surrounding lands. No doubt it was yet another horrible creature trying to lure them in, drawing them to a light before it could pounce.

They approached with caution. The light made it all the harder to see if anything was lurking at the edges of the dark, so Sorcha sent Nimbus ahead to check. 

"Honestly, darling? I'm being replaced by an illusory dog now?" Astarion griped, but privately, if he was being  honest with himself, he did welcome a respite from the strain of peering into the murk. 

A sign proclaimed this to be The Last Light Inn, offering good food and soft beds. Bit of an ominous name though. A stone bridge led under an archway, where a couple of armed people waited. Sorcha strode up, hands empty, Nimbus at her side, and was stopped by a lean, efficient looking military sort. The sentry shouted "Jaheira!" and a much older half-elf strode up behind the guards. Before Astarion could react, Sorcha was enmeshed in vines.

"Huh, Harpers, typical," she said. "Not very friendly, but two can play at that game. Nimbus?" A flurry of shadow vines wrapped around the half-elf's feet. "So, now that we're both feeling secure, can we talk?" 

Sorcha seemed to be ignoring the myriad archers trained on her position. 

"I thought the light was a beacon showing a safe haven, but it seems to be a trap instead. I'm not a danger to you," she said calmly. 

Astarion wished he'd mentioned his misgivings about the place now. How was she staying this calm?

The half-elf, Jaheira, did not look convinced. She muttered something and reached into her pocket, causing Astarion to place a precautionary hand on his throwing dagger. But instead of the anticipated weapon, the elf pulled out a jar. Gods, was that a tadpole?

"This is why we're here, you see. It's a strange creature, but it knows its own kind." Jaheira held the jar towards Sorcha and there was a flurry of movement inside. "You should never have come here, True Soul. Harpers…"

A screech of "Stop!" was suddenly heard, and he saw the little tiefling crime boss barrelling towards them. Mol, he remembered. 

"She's the one who saved us!" Mol yelled.

Astarion was shocked at the cheek of it. It wasn't just Sorcha, he was a hero too, but no one ever acknowledged that.

Jaheira turned to the tiefling. "She's the one who saved the Emerald Grove?"

"Didn't leave a goblin standing," said Mol proudly. 

The entangling vines retreated from Sorcha's feet. She gave a quick nod to Nimbus, their signal for him to remove his vines too.

"A True Soul with a mind of her own? How is that possible?" Jaheira asked, a note of wonder in her voice. 

Astarion began to look around at the courtyard while Sorcha explained why they were here. A fountain, now dry. Defenses, spiked palisades, at a low level but better than nothing. A few blast mines on the other bridge. Archers, up high. Some kind of forge building, and a two storey Inn, looking slightly more stable than most buildings he had seen in the shadowlands. Stacked crates drew his attention to a quartermaster's stall and he went to trade, picking up a few handy bits and pieces.

Sorcha had finished her explanations and came over to him. "Jaheira says that there are rooms here, and we can have a few between us."

"Oh, that sounds delightful," he said with a smile. "Want to share, darling?" She nodded. "Maybe we should pick one out while there's a choice?"

He was unsure if this was the right thing to suggest, but it made her smile. An unfamiliar situation, something he would never normally experience, neither wanting to, or it being allowed in the first place. Seduce them, wait for the afterglow, then slink off, leaving them for the Master. That was how it always went.

Sharing a room? Almost unthinkable. But his choices were to share with Sorcha, share with Gale and Wyll when they quite obviously needed to be alone (if the puppy eyes were anything to go by) or to pitch a lonely shelter outside when everyone else was enjoying relative luxury. Astarion doesn't quite understand the mechanics, though. He barely sleeps, just a couple of hours of trance, so what else should he do? Would she expect him to lie beside her? Surely not. Perhaps he could read, or mend his clothes. Would she be upset if she woke and he wasn't there?

He walked into the inn, noticing a few familiar faces from the grove, along with the hapless gnome from the windmill, before his eye was drawn to a game of lanceboard set on a small table off to the side. Mol was playing against Raphael of all people. Good, he’d been waiting for an opportunity to talk to the cambion. 

Sorcha ambled over and casually jostled the board, upsetting a few pieces and he saw Mol take advantage to cheat. Trying to outsmart a devil? I have to admire her gumption.

It was obvious the devil was after Mol's soul, it was what they did after all, but the kid was sharp. As am I, as long as I keep my wits about me. 

He turned to Raphael and casually said, "There's something I wish to ask you, devil." 

Raphael was wearing his default smug expression. "If you're wanting to taste my blood, little vampling, I'd think again. I burn hotter than wyvern whiskey."

Ugh, I'm sure devil's blood is even worse than goblin. "Oh, nothing like that. My ma… someone carved some infernal runes on my skin, and I wish to know what they mean."

"Very interesting. I'll have a think, let me get back to you," Raphael said, and vanished.

Sorcha whispered "Are you alright? I didn't realise the scars were upsetting you that much, to ask a devil. Surely we could find a better way?" 

Astarion looked away, discomfited by her scrutiny. How could she possibly conceive of the depths he had plumbed in the unrelenting need to keep himself safe from Cazador's cruelties. If she knew even a portion of what he'd done, what he'd been forced to do…

He shook off the thought. Gone, banished, forgotten, lost. "Darling," he said brightly, "If this is infernal, Raphael's surely best placed to translate the nuances. I'm no more eager to make a deal with a devil than you are, but this is about more than just my soul." And surely selling my soul is better than a forever spent on the Fugue Plane. 

Astarion looked over at Sorcha and nodded towards the stairs. "Shall we look at the rooms before something else distracts us?" 

She followed him up to the balcony, peering into doors. Many were dormitories but they found one tucked away at the back, with only the one bed, bracketed by ornate iron head and foot boards, and a nightstand in it. He dropped his pack on the bed, spreading a few random clothes out so that people would know it was occupied, then turned to Sorcha, still standing in the doorway.

"Maybe we should check the soundproofing?" he smirked, reaching behind her to close the door and pushing her up against it. 

He rained kisses along her collarbone and down to her chest, undoing her robe as he went before pushing up her breastband and suckling on a nipple. Sorcha moaned into his hair, wriggling underneath him as his other hand worked her leggings loose. The feeling of heat as he slid his fingers across her was always gratifying, the luscious slipperiness as she became soaked with only the slightest encouragement from him. 

Astarion reached inside her, deftly stroking her favourite spot and revelled in the needy whine that escaped her lips. His tongue released her hardened nipple, to be replaced by his thumb, teasing across the peak.

 "We're not leaving this room until I've made you come all over my hand, darling. You need a bit of pleasure to beat back this cursed darkness." Something that might once have been speech fell from Sorcha's lips as she rutted herself against his hand.

"Words please, darling. Gorgeous as your shameless moans are, of course."

"Bite me, please Astarion, please," she begged. 

Gods, yes, even the thought of her blood flushed with pleasure was enough to make him hard. He slid two more fingers inside her as he bit into her neck, hearing her whimper, wracked with her orgasm, as he drank down the delicious, vital nectar, feeling her gift thread through his desperate veins.

Astarion was getting better at stopping before overdoing it, even though the thought of drinking his fill was always at the back of his mind. He delicately licked the wounds, helping the skin to heal. There will be more, some moderation gains you so many rewards. She was staring at him, barely holding herself up, pupils almost black as she gulped in her breath. In response, he held his soaked hand up to her mouth and she greedily licked it clean.

He'd originally intended to only tease her a little but, between the blood and the scent of her on his fingers, he needed more - and he couldn't walk downstairs in the state he was now. Sorcha was already mostly undressed so he reached for her breastband and used it to pull her over towards the foot of bed.

"More, my sweet?" he growled and was answered with a ravenous moan as he pulled at her leggings. 

"Off," he demanded and watched her scurry to step out of boots and clothing, admiring the curve and flex of her hips as she bent down. Before she could straighten he held her hips in place as he instructed "Hands on the bedstead, darling. I'm going to fuck you until you see stars even in this darkness."

As he watched her move to comply, he realised it felt wonderful to have a partner who submitted so willingly, someone who let him indulge his need for control.

Astarion quickly wedged the only chair under the door handle to deter visitors, and removed his doublet, boots and breeches. He could see and smell that she was still soaked from his fingers, so he held her hips and thrust straight into her, hearing the gasp as she adjusted to the sudden sensation of fullness, then wound one hand into her hair and pulled, making her arch her back into a glorious sinuous curve.

"Can you stay like that for me, pet?” he asked in a smouldering tone. "Remember, 'velvet' if it all gets too much."

She managed to gasp out a 'yes' and he wrapped his other hand around her hips, keeping her still as he began to draw his cock almost out of her before thrusting deeply inside, burying himself in her up to the hilt repeatedly. He saw her hands grip the iron bedstead tightly with the effort of staying in position as he quickly sheathed himself in her followed by yet another controlled withdrawal. 

Astarion released her hair and reached down to part her folds, two fingers working in harmony on each side of her clit, teasing the sides without giving her the pressure that he knew she craved. She wriggled frantically, trying to worm her way into the touch she desired. 

He bent forward, growling "Orgasms are only for well behaved pets. No moving or you don't get to come again."

That heartfelt whimper again, but she stilled. 

"Good," he breathed into her ear and began to groan himself as he sped up, timing each slide with a pull on her clit, moving faster as the warm wet friction sent his mind sideways. The rhythmic pulses in her cunt felt like divinity itself and he hammered into her as they both shuddered with release.

With a resounding crash the bed fell apart, the metal frame collapsing inwards. Only his superior reflexes managed to catch Sorcha before she fell on her face. A hysterical giggle came from beneath him as she started wheezing with laughter. It felt so good to see her happy like that, and he couldn't help but join in, standing there spent, naked and laughing his perfectly formed arse off.

"Hardly the expected reaction to my performance, darling," he said archly and she dissolved into giggles once more, gasping for breath.

A rattle shook the door handle.

"Everything alright in there?" Karlach shouted through the door.

"Fine, darling, we'll be downstairs in a minute," he yelled back coolly.

After a few minutes for Sorcha to regain a modicum of composure, they headed back downstairs to the bar.

Astarion cast his gaze around the large communal room. Alfira, the tiefling bard from back at the grove, was staring into the firepit, looking a lot more unhappy than the last time he saw her. She brightened at the sight of them and began to explain that they had been ambushed by cultists on the way here. 

"Zevlor froze, and it was Rolan of all people who saved us, but the cultists killed so many, and took prisoners too. They took his brother and sister."

Sorcha gave her a hug, murmuring "I'm so sorry, Alfira." 

Astarion could see the tiefling wizard over in the corner. He looked to be in an advanced state of inebriation, but he was yelling at a couple of the kids who were helping out behind the bar. Sorcha noticed too, and dragged him over there by his hand.

"Rolan, leave the kids alone! None of this is their fault," she said menacingly as Rolan whirled to face her. 

"Oh, it's you," he sneered. "The gods-be-damned hero that's responsible for Cal and Lia's death. I hope you're pleased with yourself?" 

As he spoke, he strode towards her and poked a finger in her chest. Astarion hissed and felt Sorcha squeeze his hand, trying to keep things calm.

"If it wasn't for you,” Rolan roared. “Filling their heads with all that damnable bullshit about looking out for the refugees, we would all be free and safe in Baldur's Gate. I'd be happily in the midst of my apprenticeship and CAL AND LIA WOULD BE ALIVE DAMN YOU!"

Sparks flared in the tiefling's hand as his anger raged. Astarion felt Sorcha scrabble at his hand and looked down. Oh my clever girl! She'd put on his ring, the one that protected from lightning. He quickly stepped back out of range.

Sorcha managed to keep her voice calm and her movements slow. 

"Rolan, they might still be alive. Alfira said they were taken to Moonrise and we're heading there to get them back."

"They're MY responsibility," roared Rolan, releasing the lightning from his hand. "Why don't you just piss off, go save your own arse or whatever?"

Sorcha let the sparks wash over her as she just stood there. The wizard looked furious then cursed in infernal and stomped out the Inn.

A dormitory room housed some of the Flaming Fist from back at Waukeen's Rest, including the elf that Karlach had rescued. A bed at the back was occupied by a seemingly insensible man, singing softly to himself, while being watched over by another Fist.

"Drunk too much?" Astarion asked, grinning.

The Fist shook her head sadly. "No, we found him like this, wandering through the shadows. He was Flaming Fist, but that was a century ago, no idea how he's survived. Just keeps on singing that song about someone named Thaniel."

"Very strange," said Sorcha. "We have a good healer in our camp, I'll bring him here, see if he can help."

Karlach rushed up to them, almost squealing with excitement. "Dammon's here! He says he can improve my engine, make it possible for me to touch people! Can I use that iron we found?"

Sorcha walked over to the forge with her, and Astarion followed, still checking out the environment. The tiefling smith, Dammon, shaped the infernal iron and handed it over to Karlach. Wonder of wonders, her flames dwindled to almost nothing and Sorcha pulled her into a hug. He had to turn away from the look of joy on Karlach's face, it somehow hurt his chest to watch. The joy faded somewhat as Dammon explained that this was just temporary, that in order to survive she would have to return to the hells.

"Don't worry, Karlach, we will find a way to fix you." Sorcha smiled up at the tiefling. "So, what have you got planned for tonight, got anyone in mind?"

"It depends who's got me in mind," Karlach said with a grin, as they headed back over to the inn. 

Astarion walked over to Dammon. "If you don't tell Karlach that you want her, you're an idiot." The smith flushed and stuttered something, he couldn't tell what.

"Look, I'm an expert at these matters, and I can see it clear as day that she thinks the same way about you. Do something about it before someone else does, that's all I'm saying." He was not entirely sure why he cared, but the idea of Karlach being happy just seemed right.

Jaheira had invited them to discuss plans, at her table in the central chamber. She offered Sorcha a goblet of wine, but Sorcha sniffed it suspiciously and then declined. "I'm well aware of Harper tricks. Klauthgrass, if my nose doesn't deceive me. Either trust me or don't, but you have just damaged my trust in you, for all Karlach here says you're some legendary hero."

Jaheira shrugged. "It was worth a go. Look around you. I have a lot of good people here, and by counting on you I'm risking all their lives."

Sorcha frowned, tapping a finger on the table, her irritation obvious to Astarion."My intention is to reach Moonrise Towers, find the source of these tadpoles and destroy it. Surely that tells you all you need to know?"

"Very well," the half-elf sighed. "But before you go, you're not our only secret weapon. Visit Isobel in her rooms upstairs and she can give you some protection against the shadows."

"Let me just fetch our healer, then we can meet this weapon of yours." Sorcha scribbled a quick note, rolled it securely into a cylinder and sent Nimbus back to camp to fetch the druid. It was very useful having a familiar who was immune to the effects of the shadows but it did make her wonder where he truly came from. Someone had once suggested the Shadowfell but she wasn't entirely sure what that was, only knowing myths and rumours.

Unexplored rooms led off from the upstairs balcony, with double doors in front of the room that Jaheira had indicated. Sorcha knocked but there was no reply so Astarion cautiously opened the door, finding a set of empty chambers. Another door led to an outside area and once opened he could see a woman haloed in moonlight, directing moonbeams to make the shield around Last Light. She was dressed as a cleric of Selûne, with pale hair and darkened eyes.

Sorcha stepped up to introduce herself and the cleric cast some sort of radiant blessing, which caused Shadowheart to wince and hiss "Selûnite Magic!" rather ungraciously.

Isobel looked at her with undisguised contempt. "Good nose, like a nasty little terrier," she spat back. Oh, this could be a fun fight.

A sudden scrabbling sound on the roof caused Astarion to look up in alarm, just as a man in Flaming Fist armour barged into the room from the balcony. He had a dark pair of bony, ragged wings which looked as if they would better suit a harpy.

"Marcus?" asked Isobel, "What's happening?"

"You're coming with me, Isobel," the man said roughly.

At the same time, Astarion heard a voice in his head, the tadpole relaying 'General Ketheric wants her alive - at any cost!' and drew his weapons, hissing "He's with the Absolute!" He heard more thudding on the roof as a couple of winged ghouls dropped down to the balcony level. From the screams he could hear, there were more attacking the ground floor of the inn.

The winged man gave a guttural shout and Astarion's companions reeled as if physically struck. He was glad he could react quickly, putting a dagger through Marcus' throat, thus stopping any more casting at least. Karlach threw her spear, piercing his breastplate, and Wyll blasted the man with eldritch energy, knocking him to his knees. A lightning orb from Sorcha finished him off but the ghouls kept coming, totally focused on Isobel.

Shadowheart threw a turning spell towards the winged ghouls, forcing them to flee. He was grateful that his tadpole protected him from such indignities nowadays. Looking over the internal balcony he could see a few more of the ghoulish horrors on the floor below menacing the tiefling children. He hadn't put in all that effort to save them only to have them taken down by ghouls so he started shooting fire arrows towards them. The large wings made them an easy target and it attracted their attention away from the urchins.

Astarion was startled for a moment when a large panther materialised from nowhere, biting into another ghoul. Even that annoying tiefling wizard was slinging magic missiles at the intruders. When the fighting cleared it seemed that people were mostly unharmed, except for two deaths amongst the fighters. However the little tiefling, Mol, had been taken. Some of the other kids had seen her carried off by a flying ghoul, presumably to Moonrise.

Jaheira ran up to the Selûnite cleric. "Thank the gods you're safe! If they took you, the entire inn would be lost." Isobel looked a bit shaken. "We need to destroy Ketheric before they try again. That's where I'm hoping these adventurers will help."

A thought struck Astarion."But why did they come for you in particular, yet say they wanted you alive? Surely killing you would accomplish destroying the inn."

"Why does a man like Ketheric do anything?" the cleric replied. He was used to the ways of evasion, and there was certainly something she wasn't telling them, he was sure of it.

Exhausted from the unexpected attack, Astarion sought out Halsin at the injured man's bedside.

"Any improvement?" he asked. He didn't really care but wanted to make a little conversation first.

"He's definitely met Thaniel," the druid confirmed. "There's no other way he would know the name."

"Thaniel?" Astarion asked.

"He was… is the spirit of the land, its protector. He vanished when the Shadow Curse swept over the land. It's my task to find him if I want to restore nature's balance here," explained Halsin.

"I don't know if this is a good time to ask, but may I drink from you?" Astarion asked, uncertain even though the offer had been made.

"Of course, Astarion. How should we do this?"

"Would you perhaps prefer to come upstairs to our room, it's a bit more private? Sorcha can come too if you're concerned that I might drain you dry."

"Well, I'm always happy to have Sorcha's company too, the druid rumbled. "Although it's not my usual kind of threesome."

Astarion choked out a nervous laugh, nearly tripping on the stairs.

As they reached the room, the druid asked "So, what should I expect? Or maybe I should ask Sorcha?"

Astarion glanced over at Sorcha, leaning against the door where he had so urgently pinned her earlier. She flushed, quite obviously thinking the same.

"Oh, well… " Gaining control of her words, Sorcha made an attempt to be more helpful. "It's sharp and icy to begin with, but then it sort of goes numb. It's hard to describe, but not unpleasant, if that helps?"

"Thank you for your insight, and perhaps we should compare notes afterwards, once I have actual experience?" Halsin replied gravely. He then looked over at the ruined bedframe and the forlorn mattress on the floor, raised an eyebrow, then lowered himself to sit cross legged on it.

Astarion sat next to Halsin on the mattress and moved towards the druid's neck, breathing in the scent of an entire forest, dappled with sunlit moss as he did so. "I'm sorry if this hurts, but it should only do so for a moment," he said apologetically. He took a moment to place his fangs delicately on the vein before taking a cautious bite, trying to keep his inner ravenous beast under wraps. The druid hummed to himself as the rich, heady liquid coated Astarion's tongue. Not the spicy undertone of Sorcha's blood, more a nourishing green taste threading through the iron rich fluid, reminding him of a herbal healing elixir. A refreshing salad to Sorcha's meat course.

He was very careful to only take a few gulps for now, not wanting to cause any undue alarm, but it was a very good alternative when needed.

"Thank you, this is a gift, you know," he said, then hesitated. "It helps if I can run my tongue over the wound, that heals it quickly, if you don't mind?"

Halsin was looking remarkably flushed for someone just bled. "I don't mind at all, Astarion. In fact I found the whole thing strangely contemplative, not what I expected at all.

Astarion licked across the twin wounds, seeing them start to close before his eyes.

"That is… quite remarkable," the druid mused. "If I'm ever out of healing magic, perhaps I can borrow you to lick a few wounds?"

"I think that rather depends on where the wounds are, darling," he said, raising a brow. Gods, the druid blushed! Adorable!

Chapter Text

The party decided to scout out the area towards Moonrise rather than resting immediately after the fight at the Inn. Sorcha was aware that everyone, with the exception of Shadowheart, was eager to get their tasks done and leave this accursed place as quickly as possible. 

The Harpers had marked Sorcha's map, showing the way to Reithwin, and then on to Moonrise Towers. They travelled south, along the river again. Relics of battles long gone littered the land; discarded siege engines, trebuchets, and always the skeletal remains. These were the lucky ones, she realised. Those who had died as naturally as possible, given  the circumstances. They at least avoided the fate of becoming shadows. 

Karlach gazed out at the discarded equipment, shaking her head. "Sheesh, this must have been one hell of a battle. No one left to recover their gear."

"My Lady Shar beat back the intruders, obviously," said Shadowheart, insufferably smug.

A once grand bridge spanned the river, the centre broken but crossing was enabled  by a few rickety planks. They hopped across it, glad of the pixie's blessing as the shadows deepened, and entered Reithwin Town. What had once been elegant, grandiose buildings lined a paved avenue. Reithwin had obviously been a prosperous stop before the curse, well placed on the trade route from Elturel to Baldur's Gate. Now the same destruction that plagued the rest of these lands was evident here, great rifts in the ground twisting stone and grasslands alike, all lit from below with an eerie green light. Wooden structures were sagging and splintered, rotting away in the foul atmosphere.

High walls surrounded a building to their right, the tall gates hanging askew. A Mason's Guild, according to the plaque at the gates. Stone of all kinds was stacked up, partially carved slabs abandoned on benches, tools left in the open, piles of bones in front of the worktables. These masons had no warning when the curse was released, simply dropped where they stood. The building had a particularly haunted air to it due to the half finished tombstones dotted everywhere. A chill melancholy crept over her, at the knowledge of not just the general population dead and gone but even those who did the burying.

Sorcha didn't find much to salvage, only the occasional set of tools. This place seemed to have been picked clean long ago, leaving nothing but the dismal memorials and the choking smell of damp stone dust that rose into the air with every tiny movement.

Astarionwas searching at the back of the room, the only one not coughing from the dust in the air. He scuffed at the floor with his boot.

"Look, a hatch - let me just crack this lock," he said, working quickly.

The hatch led down to the basement. More shelves laden with stone lined the walls, with little else to see. Ever vigilant, Astarion had noticed a beautifully carved lion's head sculpture attached to the wall. He used a lockpick on it and an entire stone wall panel slid to the side, revealing a passageway.

Shadowheart gave a squeal of excitement. "I love a nice secret hideaway, don't you?"

"I mean... I guess," said Karlach with significantly less enthusiasm.

"You can just fill it with supplies, seal up the hidden entrance, and tuck yourself away from the world..."

Karlach laughed. "Whatever you say, squirrelheart."

Shadowheart only grunted at this, unamused.

The passage veered to the left, past a very ornate chest. Sorcha held them back for a moment. "An obvious trap - but is it triggered by something or is that just a mimic?"

Astarion scanned the floor. "Pressure plates. Let me just…" He fiddled with a catch on the floor and then stepped back. "Should be alright now, I think."

"You think?” Sorcha asked, incredulously. “What happened to your certainty?"

"I just don't see why, after clearing all the traps, I should then have to be the one that goes first," he said airily.

"What happened to 'Let the vampire go first'?" she wondered.

Astarion drew himself up to his full height and looked down his nose at her. "After your little escapade at the monastery I find I'm not much enamoured by the possibility of horrible death. At least not if it's mine."

Sorcha gave an embarrassed smile and walked ahead, opening another door into a hidden chapel. Selûnite statues, vaulted ceilings, intricate balustrades and tall, heavily carved archways showed off the Mason's craft as well as their true allegiance.

Wide steps led down onto a large central area, a long table in the centre, in front of an altar. Bookshelves lined a higher level. As Sorcha moved closer to examine the books and notes discarded on the table she felt a chill behind her and turned. A couple of wraiths and several other shadows had emerged from the gloom. The closest wraith touched her before she could react and she felt the warmth drain from her, leaving her weakened and almost helpless, trembling. She managed to give a feeble shout of "Shadows!" and the others turned, noticing the attack.

Shadowheart conjured up a dome of glowing light, with radiant spirits circling the perimeter, attacking anything that came close. The light that came from the Blood also seemed to damage the shadows, so everyone else crowded around the cleric. For the minute, it seemed like they were safe.

"It seems that the radiance from that mace pains these creatures," Gale noted. "Perhaps a tome regarding Lathander…"

Astarion cut him short."Yes, Gale, very interesting. What you mean to say is stay inside the damn light!"

Gale gave a disgruntled huff in response, muttering "Imbecile!" before he sent out a stream of magic missiles, taking out two of the shadows while Karlach hurled her spear at one of the wraiths. Nimbus was darting at another shadow, somehow managing to get purchase on it even as it flickered in and out of view. Astarion guarded half of the light circle with his paired daggers, slashing at any enemy that got within range. 

Sorcha added to the magic missile barrage whilst struggling against her weakness but her knees gave way and she thudded onto the floor. Luckily one more blast of radiant light from Shadowheart destroyed the remaining wraith as Nimbus ate the last shadow.

Sorcha took a few moments to recover her strength, as Astarion searched the bookshelves and Gale examined the papers on the table. 

"It looks like this was once the headquarters of a Selûnite resistance, the remaining townsfolk who did not bow to Ketheric Thorm once he became a Sharran," the wizard explained. "The journal cuts off suddenly in the middle of an entry, so I'm rather afraid that was when our Mason friend met his untimely demise."

Behind a bookshelf, Astarion noticed another hidden entrance which led to one more cavern, lined with barrels and bottle racks. This must be where the remaining Selûnites made their last stand against the Sharrans if the journals were anything to go by. Sorcha was glad that for once, Shadowheart wasn't openly gloating about the deaths of the Selûnites, even if she did wear a disdainful smirk. It must have been terrifying, hiding down there in the dark, waiting for former colleagues and friends to hunt you down for their twisted goddess.

Behind the Guildhouse, a broken cliff path led down to the water's edge. Astarion thought he could see a flicker of movement, outlines hidden at the corners of his sight and pointed out a downward track. A few ramshackle buildings teetered on the bank, flanked by nets and drying racks. Fisherfolk perhaps? Worth a rummage anyway, you never know where treasure might be found. 

They began to head down the cliff path towards the buildings. Sorcha saw faint motion in the distance, a familiar silhouette of a kuo-toa outlined by a torch, and relaxed a little. With a whispered "Watch this," to Astarion, she walked towards them, hand raised in blessing. "Fear not, for I am the mighty Makhloompah, come to bless you and your waters."

An arrow thudded into her shoulder as a group of kuo-toa emerged from the water and charged with sickles raised as she shrieked in protest. Damn, I really thought that would work. As the fishfolk got closer she saw that they were shadow creatures, possessed by the curse, lost to what little reason they used to have. Of course, I should have realised that the curse covers the water too, no wonder that they didn't listen.

A bolt of radiant light from Shadowheart illuminated the foremost kuo-toa as Gale aimed a fireball towards the rear, removing another three enemies at once. A group of them had crept around the back of the ledge and they fell upon Gale and Shadowheart, their sickles inflicting shallow wounds which oozed an ominous green goo. Gale still managed to land another fireball while Karlach resorted to her favoured tactic of picking up enemies and throwing them, bludgeoning the fishfolk with their own allies. 

"So, that went well," smirked Astarion as he helped to remove the arrow from her shoulder. All she could do was groan and grit her teeth against the pain. I'm never going to hear the last of this, what was I thinking?

Shadowheart cleaned the poison from the sickle wounds and healed them as best she could, but everyone was exhausted and sore. 

"Honestly, next time you plan on doing something so profoundly stupid, count me out," the cleric griped.

Astarion shook his head. "There's no cure for her soon-to-be-terminal case of overconfidence, you'll never rid her of that. One of these days I'm just going to put her on a leash to keep her out of trouble!"

Shadowheart did manage a laugh at that. "I'd like to see you try!"

The vampire just smirked, because of course he did.

They hobbled back to Last Light, none of them wishing to return to camping in shadows when there was an alternative. Sorcha headed upstairs, followed by Astarion, too tired to socialise this evening.

As they entered their room, Sorcha saw that the bed was once again standing. A note lay on the covers.

'Forgive my presumption, but I used an old mending cantrip on your bed. Good rest aids both mind and body in these accursed lands. Halsin.'

"Aww, that's sweet of him," Sorcha said happily. "I should get him to teach me that one, might come in useful."

They were both too weary to consider more than a cursory wash and a set of cleanish clothes before stretching out beside each other. 

"I've been meaning to ask," Astarion said, "ever since I first saw you naked." She flushed and he smirked reflexively. "No, not that, at least not tonight. I meant about your scar. Was this that drow girlfriend of yours?"

"Ah yes, kind of. I was hardly naive, plenty of experience, but I realise now I was still fairly innocent."

"Mmmm," he purred. "I rather like the idea of wrecking an innocent Sorcha. But I assume your friend got there first? A shame."

She sighed heavily. "It really wasn't like that, not in the end. Under her little shop she had a basement, her living quarters and her workshop, where she'd see her more cautious clients. Down there, Xilona set about dismantling my innocence with careful precision. Leading me, step by step, into an exploration of my own pleasure and my own limits, I guess."

"Oh, you have limits?" he asked, mock innocently.

She gave a weak attempt at punching his arm. "It didn’t take me long to learn that Xilona was dedicated to pain, an ardent follower of Loviatar. So much so that she always wore a spiked band around her thigh, hidden underneath her clothing, spikes turned inward to remind her constantly of her devotion. It was the only thing she never removed."

"This sounds fascinating, but also horrifying," he said. "Do tell me more?" 

"It really didn't end well, as I told you," she replied, feeling misery reach up from her core to catch hold of her throat.

He reached up and stroked her hair, gently twining a strand through his fingers as he said, "I only want to know so I can understand you better, my sweet. To know what made you the interesting creature you are today."

Sorcha was tempted, the possible relief of releasing a little bit of the internal poison making her consider sharing further. I can do this, it will be good for me to trust, to let go a little. So she breathed deep and reached for her courage.

"After our first night together, she looked deeply into my eyes and told me ‘I will teach you the joy of Loviatar and you will find raptures in her touch.’" All softness, bliss, my heart ecstatic. “All I did was shudder at the thought of more of Xilona's caresses. I knew so little, even then.” Astarion nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“Xilona started small, teasing me to a fever, leading me into desperation for her touch. I was ready to do anything, take any sensation just to feel her. Every stroke of her hand, every lash across my back, I danced the line between bliss and agony, never truly sure which side I was on.

‘Pleasure is pain, my little one. The same nerves that thrum with delight also sing joyfully with the howl of agony,’ she'd say. ‘Your screams are pleasing to my goddess, they show that you're paying attention to the gift of being alive.’ This went on for months, in every free moment. I became withdrawn from my sisters in the Hand, thoughts always turning to Xilona."

"What changed?" Astarion asked, idly stroking her hand, rubbing his thumb across her wrist.

"I guess she became careless, certain that my body's undeniable loyalty to her would translate into unshakeable mental servitude too. She would leave me strung up, naked, cuffed in her workshop so that she could play with me in between her meetings with clients. The shame of that vulnerability wore off quickly. I became used to the eyes, the lewd comments from strangers. I would burn with desire when she said how well behaved I was, such a good girl, showing me off like some prize pig."

Sorcha released a deep sigh. "For all of that, I was hers. Hers to tease and torment as she so desired. I’d do my usual work for the Hand, the threat to back up offers of protection. Then, in the small hours, I'd return to her, ready to follow her instructions. As time went on her touch tended far more often to the side of pain, but I thought I was happy, how strange is that?"

"I believe I can understand,” Astarion remarked. “The respite in a lull between agonies can often seem… desirable, I suppose." A distant look appeared in his eyes, and she knew he was beating back his own demons. "Go on," he encouraged.

"A day came when Xilona had a meeting planned that seemed to unnerve her. She was distracted, paying far less attention to me, just a desultory teasing as she tied me up in the usual fashion.

At the appointed hour, a heavyset man in Calimsham clothes walked into her rooms as if he owned them. Xilona fluttered about him, his presence alone making her jittery, quite unlike her usual calm, commanding demeanour. Her nervousness was contagious." 

Fear welled up in Sorcha's mind, memories of that day surfacing, leaving her mouth dry and her head pounding. With considerable effort she pushed the panic back down. She was safe here, with Astarion.

"Still, I drifted away as they discussed business. I did that often, you know.” Some long forgotten dread crawled up to her throat. She swallowed laboriously, averting her eyes. "Xilona required me to be there, but I didn't have to be present, if you understand me?"

He frowned. "Yes. darling, all too well."

"When I next brought my attention back, the man was standing in front of me. ‘So this is your little hobby, Xilona?’he asked. She bowed her head in subservience, saying ‘Yes, my Lord Keskin.’”

Sorcha gulped. "I… I can't go into the details of what happened next." 

She wanted to forget, yet her mind refused to blank out a rush of buried memories, mere glimpses of that long, long night. How his mouth twisted in an unpleasant sneer, made permanent by a long healed scar. His eyes, dark and hooded, appearing almost bruised. His hands on her, as heavy as the rest of him, groping and unceremonious.

"I don't think I can ever speak about that,” she whispered, hearing the roughness in her own voice. “But by the end of that night I had a serious dagger wound. And I knew she was Zhentarim, one of their Vipers. I had never mattered to her except as a route to infiltrate the Hand of Yartar. So I did my duty and warned my sisters.”

Astarion briefly dipped his head and placed a light kiss on the back of her hand.

“My warning saved the Hand from the planned infiltration. They stormed Xilona's basement in force, before she was ready for whatever the Black Network had planned for us. The attempted coup did at least silence Haliyra's bleating about allying with the Zhent for a while, although she only went on to do worse. Nareen always had a soft spot for me, she told me she had slit Xilona from navel to throat.” Her eyes darkened with pain briefly before she continued.

"Good!" he said fiercely. "So I don't have to hunt her down and rip out her throat?

“As for my wound, it was a necromantic dagger of course.” She absent mindedly brushed her fingers across the scar before continuing. “By the time I realised, and had our cleric remove the curse, the damage was done."

Astarion was silent. Had this reminded him too deeply of his own nightmares? 

"Are you alright?" she asked, concerned. 

He nodded, took a shuddering breath, wrapped his arm around her and kissed her hair, holding her tightly.

"I'm alright. Just… remembering." He shook his head as if trying to banish a thought. "But I've got you now."

"That experience changed me,” Sorcha continued “I held some of myself back from everyone, never indulging that submissive side… I'm not sure why I'm even telling you all this." Sorcha fell silent.

"I think it's because there's a connection between us, two souls, walking the same path," Astarion replied.

"That just sounds like another one of your fancy lines!" she retorted, smiling.

"It does, it was, but it seems true just the same. We've both been used and broken."

"True," she agreed, "And rebuilding a person is far harder than fixing this bed."

Chapter Text

Astarion watched Sorcha drift off into sleep, reflecting on all that she had told him. While it didn't compare to his own almost endless tortures, it was still enough to have wounded her. He knew, intimately, the terror and fear that came with being a toy for others, the way one had to focus on anything else at all just to keep the shreds of remaining sanity. Astarion would see it in the expressions of his siblings, glassy eyes looking far away, removed from the indignities of whatever their clients demanded, concentrating on scenes of escape or revenge or comfort. 

He would read travel books voraciously whenever he had the chance, and reconstruct those scenes in his head, careful piece by careful piece, while his body screamed and bled and broke under Godey's ministrations. Ancient forests towering to the clouds, intricate architecture in long forgotten cities, the glories of Evereska that were now and forever beyond his reach. He pictured them all, his mind flying away from the nightmare of his present.

Astarion tightened his arms around her, not entirely sure why he was hugging her like a child's stuffed toy, breathing in the spicy scent of her skin, enjoying the warmth that reminded him of the sun. It calmed him, how strange was that? He didn't think his trance had ever been interrupted by the nightmares when tranced beside her.

Next morning they returned to Reithwin once more, creeping through the all encompassing darkness. Well, most of them were creeping.

"Dum-de-dum, doo-da-lah." Karlach was buoyant, almost bouncing along, singing softly to herself. Her flames seemed almost blue and a blissful smile kept appearing. "Isn't it mad how good life is?" she said, almost to herself, spinning around in a circle while Astarion scouted the way ahead. The weaponsmith must have gotten his courage together after all. And all thanks to him.

In the centre of town there was a grand stone bridge, flanked by two crenellated guard towers, leading to what he presumed was Moonrise Towers. By unspoken consent they avoided that for now. Moving cautiously through the Tollhouse they found a set of steps leading down to a dock, and a way to jump across to the base of the Towers. As they headed down towards the river, to the rickety wooden crossing, he saw bursts of flame and light ahead on the other side of the riverbank. Astarion stuck to the shade and ventured closer. He quickly returned. 

"It's that bloody stupid tiefling wizard, being attacked by shadows," he whispered.

Astarion would have just left him, but  Sorcha just had to charge in to rescue Rolan, and the worst of it was that the damnable wizard wasn't even grateful. 

"Mragrashem!" the wizard cursed. "I was only trying to get to Lia and Cal, then these ​​shadow fiends attacked me. But that's not the worst of it, no, I had to be rescued and of course it had to be by YOU of all people!"

"Should I have left you to die?" she asked sarcastically.

"At least then my life would have some meaning as food for these fiends," he said bitterly.

Stupid, just dying to be a hero, with dying being the operative word. They sent him back to Last Light, laden with a couple more torches and a grumpy expression.

Crossing to the jetty around the bottom of the Towers, they were immediately halted by a sentry, but as soon as it was recognised that they were True Souls, by some wriggling tadpole interaction, they were allowed to pass. There were three guards and a thin man in mage robes patrolling a back entrance and a load of shipping crates. They were no match for a surprise attack coming from people that they thought were allies, and all were killed before they could even land a retaliatory blow.

The back door led into a prison. Wide blood trails smeared across the floor, leading up into what was probably a torture chamber. The guards all wore the regalia of the Absolute, casually chatting, smug in the assurance that no malicious intruder could possibly reach them in this bastion. It was no effort at all to sneak behind the closest one and slit their throat. The other two guards took slightly more energy but between Karlach's spear and Lae'zel's sword they didn't last long.

Astarion followed the widest blood trail, which led up some steps to a room containing an array of torture implements and two dwarvish torturers. Any other life that had been in this room was now long dead. With no prisoner in need of rescue here, Sorcha asked a few questions on their methods, playing the True Soul to the hilt.

"Is your primary concern conversion or punishment?"

The first dwarf sniggered. "Punishment, True Soul. Prisoners should not need coaxing to see the light of the Absolute."

"Very good," Sorcha said, nodding. "What do you feel is your most effective method to extract information?"

The glee with which they described the various mutilations was enough to set her magic rising with rage - Astarion could see the telltale twitch in her fingers. He’d spent enough time under torture himself, so he was joyously anticipating the oncoming retribution.

Given that the dwarves were surrounded by corpses it seemed highly appropriate that Sorcha exploded them, dousing the torturers in a vicious blast of necrotic energy. Karlach knocked one dwarf to the ground with the butt of her spear as Wyll threw a pair of eldritch blasts at the other, leaving Lae'zel to sweep her sword across in a wide arc, cutting the threads of life on both of them.

Two stairways remained, one leading upwards, probably into Moonrise Towers proper, and the other which headed into the bowels of the prison. Two scrying eyes were patrolling, but they made the mistake of passing each other closely, allowing one of Wyll's Shatter spells to destroy both at once. 

Sorcha led them downwards, strutting arrogantly, trying to look as if she belonged there. The stench of rotting flesh was almost overpowering, seeming to come from a vast glowing pit on the left. Astarion had to constantly fight the urge to flee, the putrid stench dragging his mind back to the kennels.

Sorcha turned to the right and found a row of cells, one containing three tieflings. Astarion thought he recognised them from the grove.

She went up to talk to one, Lia, he remembered, sister to the annoying wizard.

"Let me guess," the tiefling spat at her. "The Absolute is the only way. Why don't you and Zevlor take a long walk off a short cliff?"

"Well, thanks," Sorcha replied. "I was going to rescue you but I guess suicide is the way to go. I'll just tell Rolan you wanted to stay here."

"Wait, Rolan's alive?" Lia said incredulously.

"Told you he was too stubborn to die," said her brother. "We think the gnomes next door are planning some kind of escape, best to talk to them, let us all go at the same time."

Another guard was walking up. "No talking to the prisoners," she commanded.

"No worshipping the Absolute," quipped Sorcha, casting a Thunderwave that sent the guard flying over the railing and into the pit below, cackling raucously when her ploy succeeded.

"You really don't like being told what to do, do you?" laughed Karlach.

Astarion caught Sorcha's eye and held her gaze, watching in amusement as a blush spread its way up her neck and across her face. Later, oh, he had plans for later.

The next cell held the gnomes. Honestly, rescuing one was bad enough. Now there was a whole gaggle more. "Do we really have to?" Astarion whined to no one in particular. Vile little creatures, he'd lived with Yousen long enough to know.

However Sorcha seemed intent on assisting an escape, even going so far as to throw a hammer through the bars. Central to the prison was a circular two storey tower, reached by a wooden bridge. This was almost certainly the Warden's office, and likely where the cell keys would be located.

Astarion could only see one more guard outside the tower, a bored looking half orc, almost dozing, leaning against his halberd. Time to liven up his day. "On three?" he asked the others. A wave of arrows pierced the soldier from a distance, followed by an Eldritch blast and a lightning orb. The guard crumpled to the floor, bored no longer.

That just left whatever or whoever was in the tower. He could see wooden ramps leading to an opening on the upper level. What sort of idiots would have a nice defensible tower and then put an obvious way upwards? Absolute idiots, naturally.

He indicated the window to Sorcha and leapt over to the ramp, stealthily moving to just outside the opening and waited for the others to head in the main door. When he heard scuffling from the lower room he stepped over the window ledge, only to be confronted by another floating eye. Not for the first time he wished he had a little more magic than just the elvish ability to create fire, this thing was solely hurt by thunder.

In the absence of a better option he grabbed the scrying eye by throwing his cloak over it, holding on tight as it tried to escape. The thing ricocheted around the room, taking Astarion with it. He was forced to yell "A little help up here?"

Presumably the others had dealt with the warden downstairs; Sorcha climbed the ladder and doubled over with laughter at the sight of his predicament, before pulling herself together and hitting the eye with a Shatter spell as he leapt out of the way.

Wyll released the cell doors, but the gnomes had found a weakness in the wall at the back of their cell and chose to leave that way. Between Wyll's eldritch blast and a hammer blow from Karlach it collapsed, leading a very convenient path to the docks. Someone had kindly left a boat tied up there, so they all crowded on, gnomes, tieflings and the party, letting themselves drift slowly across the lake to Last Light and freedom.

Safely back at Last Light, the reunions promoted a festive air, cheery songs filling the corners of the main rooms. Well, almost all the corners. The deep gnomes huddled, whispering to themselves, plotting. They wouldn't even take time to speak to Barcus, who'd asked for their rescue in the first place. Should've left them there, ungrateful wretches.

Even the tiefling wizard eventually cracked a smile as his siblings returned. Rolan was still avoiding Sorcha after the lightning incident, but he gave Astarion a substantial amount of gold as a thank you. If I'd known he was that loaded I would have let him die and just looted his corpse.

They gathered around the fire, a small get-together that echoed the party after the grove. This time, however, the mood had the undercurrent of loss as the tieflings mourned those they had lost on the road. Alfira sang her quiet requiem for Lihala, and a gentle ballad about the seasons that had been a favourite of Toron's.

After sharing a couple of drinks around the firepit, Astarion leaned over to Sorcha and whispered, "I'm in the mood to celebrate still being alive. Go to our room. I want to find you on the bed, stripped and kneeling, waiting for me." He nipped her ear lightly with a fang and sat back.

Astarion watched as she said her goodnights around the hearth and ducked upstairs into their room. He paced himself, casually drinking a goblet of wine to calm his eagerness, while he judged when to make his entrance.

Astarion knocks, then slowly opens the door, stalking into the room, every inch the mesmerising predator, carrying a small pack he has prepared earlier. Sorcha is naked, kneeling on the bed, as ordered. 

"Very good," he purrs. "Let's see if this uncharacteristic obedience manages to continue tonight."

He can see her face twitch as she struggles not to toss out a snappy comeback.

The central lantern illuminates her from above, highlighting blue strands in her hair, a halo of light around her, casting shadows across her body as the light swings gently. Astarion removes his shirt and places it carefully to the side.

He kneels behind her, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close for a moment. Despite the evening chill she is so warm, her skin already burning for his touch. Sorcha gives a sigh of relief as she leans back against him, murmuring "You're so deliciously cool against my skin."

He noses behind her ear, licking and nibbling the lobe, inhaling her scent. 

"So maybe I should concentrate on cooling you down, my little inferno?" 

She shivers, he hopes in anticipation, waiting to see his next move.

Astarion reaches into his pack, uncorking a bottle, and lets a few drops of water trickle down the back of her neck, watching the shivers cascade down her spine, following the path of the droplets. He traces the wet trail down, in between her cheeks, ending with a thumb circling her arse. Sorcha tries to press against it but he gives a quiet tut and removes his hand. 

"Careful, pet,” he crooned. “Remember who's in charge here."

He moves in front of her, brushing fingertips across her neck and under her jaw, feathery touches dancing over her skin, dripping cold droplets onto her nipples, watching the shudder ripple over her body. Sorcha wriggles as the wetness rolls across her abdomen and down between her legs.

Reaching into his pack once more, he brings out a slender stone rod about the length of his palm, smooth tapered marble with a rounded end. 

"Where on earth did you get that? Sorcha asked curiously. "I'm sure none of the traders I spoke to sold such things."

"I'm not going to hand you all my secrets darling," he smirked. 

"I need some ice," he commands, indicating the stone. She sends a frozen cantrip to it, watching the film of frost that sweeps across the length, a look of bewilderment on her face.

"Now, stretch out for me." 

Sorcha complies, legs on either side of Astarion's thighs. He smiles wickedly, looking down at her body, using his knees to push her legs further apart. 

"Now, my sweet, you remember what word makes me stop?" he asks.

"Velvet," she whispers, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

"Where to start, I wonder?" He reaches for the crease at the top of her thigh, tickling along it, seeing her relax into the sensation as his fingers dance lower, then picks up the rod and traces an icy line along the same track. Her breath hitches and she wriggles, eyes wide open now. 

Astarion raises one eyebrow and she stills, knowing what he expects of her. He has it in mind to test the limits of her submission some time soon, perhaps binding her in place, maybe to make her come without ever being allowed to move. But tonight he wants to see her fall apart, writhing under his touch once more, to enjoy the heady rush of power that controlling her responses brings him.

He slicks his fingers through her, then stretches the lips apart, seeing how they glisten, already coated with her juices, her clit starting to swell. The scent and taste of her on his fingers almost makes him want to abandon his teasing and just bury his head into her, drinking his fill of slick and blood, but he calms himself and trails the icy stone across her heated folds.

Sorcha gasps at the sensation but manages to stay still, mouth falling open as she concentrates on controlling her near automatic flinch. 

"Oh, is that cold?" he asks innocently, chuckling, revelling in her responsiveness, watching her fingers curl into fists with the effort of stillness. Astarion strokes the stone across her, fascinated with sensing the heat of her blood, thrumming through her veins, mixed with the cold of the rod, sending waves of alternating temperature across her delicate skin.

Sliding a single finger inside her, he makes a show of checking the temperature, brows creasing in false concern. "You do seem terribly warm in there. I should probably cool you down before you combust." Astarion hears her pulse race at the thought. He slides the cold stone inside her, watching ripples chase themselves across her abdomen as she adjusts to the feeling, clenching inside to control her movements.

"Do you like that, darling? Tell me how it makes you feel."

Sorcha stutters out a breath, trying to form a coherent reply. "So… many things," she gasps, "the heat… mmph… the ice… gods… shivers while I'm burning up, oh… wa-wanting your cold hands all over me… " She subsides into more gasps.

Astarion bends down towards her, running the flat of his tongue firmly across her clit, hearing her groan in satisfaction. He slides the stone inside her, then back out across her folds, over and over, dragging the moisture out, never leaving the ice against her skin for too long, lapping gently at her clit as he does so.

The frost is fading but the stone itself remains cold, slippery with her desire. He slides it back inside her, then takes her hand, placing it between her legs. "I want to watch you fuck yourself with that, while I finish undressing."

It takes him longer than expected to remove his breeches and underthings. His attention keeps being distracted by the sight of Sorcha, legs spread wide, bucking against the marble rod she is sliding inside her. His cock has stiffened even though he hasn't fed yet, and he rubs a thumb across the head as he watches the wanton display. 

He can tell that she's already getting close so, with a moment of regret, he stills her hand. 

"Enough,” he commands

A quiet whimper escapes her mouth. 

"I do hope that wasn't a complaint, pet?" he asks, his low voice a dark warning.

She shakes her head, silent once more.

He moves her up onto hands and knees and spreads her cheeks wide, fingers dancing across her entire seam, tickling across her now swollen clit with the lightest of touches. Astarion feels her strain to get more pressure but he intends to make her wait for that. 

Astarion reaches into his pack for the bottle of almond oil that he picked up from the trader earlier and manages to remove the stopper with his teeth, his other hand continuing its gentle stroking. He pours a little between her cheeks and starts massaging it against her tight pucker, relaxing her enough to insert a finger. Sorcha gives a feral whine and pushes back against him so he adds another finger with care and starts stretching her wider as he nudges the tip of his cock at the entrance of her soaking cunt.

With his free hand he suddenly hauls her backwards, pushing smoothly inside her cunt like a key clicking into a lock. The rough groan that escapes her throat slides into his mind, a feeling of silken kisses wrapping around his nerves.

His fingers continue to stretch, to tease, as Sorcha flexes herself around him, squeezing his cock as she rocks upon him, starting to speed up once again. 

"Be still," he commands, reaching for more of the oil with one hand, "and let's have that Prestidigitation spell on these fingers while you wait." 

Sorcha cleans him with the cantrip and he applies a viscous trickle of oil against her once more, then coats his cock generously before pushing the tip slowly into her arse. She feels impossibly tight like this, despite the oil and the relaxation, and he notices her tense a little. 

"Slowly," he purrs in her ear, dragging the word out. "I know you can take this, you sweet wanton thing. I'll stay still and you push back, we'll just go at your speed." 

She inches her way down his length, the glacial pace sending him almost insane with his need to thrust. 

"Such a good girl for me," he whispers, and feels her shudder at the praise. "Take your time, I know you want all of me, buried deep in you."

He reaches around, thrumming his fingers against her clit, pulling and stroking as she slowly, deliciously sinks down on his cock until he is fully sheathed inside her. The intense warmth and the pressure feels almost as good as the sun on his skin. Astarion can't decide what he wants more, to sit here, wrapped in her heat, feeling her juices drip across his tightened balls or to fuck her hard, spilling deep inside her. 

He kisses at the back of her neck, before nibbling down one side and then the other, a gourmet diner deciding on his appetiser, biting down gently, sucking rhythmically as his hips match the timing, bloody bliss filling his mouth while his cock is squeezed in molten heat. Sorcha presses down on him, moaning louder with every thrust. 

He scrabbles a hand at her side, searching, fingers finding the cold stone she abandoned earlier, which he carefully slides inside her neglected cunt. Gods, he can feel the chill through her walls, the dual sensation of cold and heat surrounding him, driving him spiralling down into deeper pleasure. His other hand slides up, blindly seeking the curve of a breast, kneading the swell. She starts to shake, thighs trembling, unable to hold back her orgasm, giving low panting groans as she spasms around him, draining him in return.

They both collapse on the bed, minutes passing until either has the energy to clean themselves up.

Stroking her hair as she slips into sleep afterwards, he feels remarkably contented. I could get used to sharing a room, so long as it's with her. He drifts off into his own trance, feeling at peace with the world.

Chapter Text

As Sorcha slept, she dreamed of the golden paladin again. He was wearing some sort of skimpy tunic, leaning up against a ruined pillar while looking out over the astral plane. The more she realised that he looked like the Loviataran priest from the goblin temple, the more uneasy she felt.

He turned to her. "The voice of the Absolute is strong here. And getting stronger. I don't know how much longer I can resist it. You took an unexpected route here. But you did a brave thing, saving those people in the grove."

Sorcha sighed. "It doesn't seem like my help did them much good. The cultists caught up with them. I failed to protect them." Tears pricked at her eyes.

The man shook his head. "Don't be so hard on yourself. It's not your fault the world is wicked. You did the right thing." He looked across at another floating island, this one shaped almost as a skull, and shuddered. "It just doesn't stop. We are being bombarded by waves of telepathic energy. I almost dare not rest."

"So what is the energy doing?" Sorcha asked.

"Each blast is a set of orders to the infected. The order for your transformation has been given many times already" he explained.

She frowned. "Are these orders coming from Moonrise?"

"There is no doubt. I hope my powers last long enough. In any case, the Absolute knows you carry me with you now. It wants to retrieve me."

Pieces fell into place in Sorcha's mind. "Did you steal the power to protect us from the Absolute?"

"I stole it from Vlaakith. Her continued rule depends on it," confessed the man.

Sorcha gave a low whistle. "That was one hell of a heist!"

The paladin looked almost pleased. "Unfortunately, as long as the Absolute exists, I am trapped within the Prism. I can only control the power from here. We must make sure Vlaakith never gets her hands on the Prism. Nor the Absolute."

"Should we really be taking it into Moonrise then?" she asked warily.

"We have no choice. You must go inside. I must keep you protected."

He faded from view and she drifted back into sleep.

Halsin came over to Sorcha at breakfast.

"I realise that probably the last thing you need is yet another task," he began, tentatively. "But if you manage to find somewhere called the 'House of Healing on your travels, it may prove useful.'

"Go on… " Sorcha encouraged.

"I found a note in the unconscious man's pocket," he explained. "It indicated that he had been investigating there, a mission direct from Duke Eltan, the founder of the Flaming Fists. It will undoubtedly be dangerous, but there may be some clues as to why he's in this state, if you can spare the time."

"Of course," she acquiesced. She found it difficult to ever turn the druid down, he always seemed to expect good from her and somehow she didn't want to disappoint him.

Trekking through the ruined pathways of Reithwin, Sorcha allowed her mind to wander a little. The unrelenting gloom dragged her thoughts down. The heaviness, the pointlessness of continuing. Better to just give up, give in to the inevitability of loss. She was so tired of the endless struggle.

It wasn't that she didn't desire safety or security, but experience has proven time and again that the cost was always more than she could afford. Relax into the feeling and she would suddenly find that she's a sorcerer-shaped doormat. People take. It's just how the world is. No one can be fully trusted.

But oh, she wanted to trust Astarion, even though that was an objectively stupid thing to do. She couldn't recall ever having had such a perceptive lover, so talented at recognising innermost desires, needs, wants. Or was that the problem? So many years of his practice at seduction meaning that none of this could be genuine? She knew a fair bit about putting on a show, but this was at an entirely different level, seduction raised to art form.

She missed her sisters back in the Hand, missed the surety of knowing exactly who would have her back. Not all of them, no, but some gave her certainty. Now though, who could she trust to have her back? Karlach was probably the most reliable, alongside Halsin perhaps, although his mission came first. Not Shadowheart, that's for damn sure.

There was also the issue of her own plans. She's allowed herself to get distracted, obsessed with getting to Moonrise, without an idea of what happens once they get there. It was so simple back on the beach and at the grove. Get allies, remove the worm, head to Baldur's Gate on the way back to Yartar, clear her name. Maybe find out what really happened on that dreadful day, her last day in Baldur's Gate.

But instead she was wandering a cursed land looking for clues in the dark. Still no idea how to remove the tadpole, and on her way to find out how to destroy an invulnerable enemy. Supposedly leading them all. She sagged under the weight of expectation. I'm lost and I should admit it. But that was a level of vulnerability she couldn't allow herself to show.

A shrill shout pulled her attention back to the immediate surroundings. A pair of large ironwork gates, and in front, a small figure, yelling and waving. Astarion smiled, which was concerning in and of itself out here.

"It's our little tiefling idol thief from the grove," he said.

"Arabella? You shouldn't be out here alone," Sorcha said with concern.

"I was looking for Mom and Pops," Arabella explained. "We were ambushed, we were running, together, and then suddenly they weren't there."

That didn't sound good, but she hadn't seen the parents amongst the corpses of those ambushed tieflings earlier.

"I'll look for your parents. You go to our camp, you'll be safe there."

She sent Nimbus along to guard the child and added one more task to her ever growing list.

The gates opened onto an extensive graveyard, which looked to surround an ornate building that seemed to be a temple. The shattered remains of tall stained glass windows showed that it must have been magnificent, back before the shadow curse, but she didn't know what god would be worshipped here. The Mason's Guild had alluded to Selûne, but this didn't remind her of the other Selûnite temples and she couldn't hear any grumbling from Shadowheart, usually a reliable indicator.

A small wooden door at the back of the building was easily opened and they walked into a tidy office. The glassware and books corrected her earlier assumptions - this was a healer's workroom, so this building must be the House of Healing.

Astarion pressed his ear to a closed door. "Voices, one sounding louder, the others murmuring. Anyone still here is almost certainly dangerous." He turned to Sorcha. "Can you manage not to do anything recklessly stupid here? Maybe not pretending to be an emissary of the gods?"

Sorcha shrugged. It had been a good plan, it wasn't her fault things had gone awry. On high alert, she stepped through the door. Below, in a central area surrounded by layers of raised benches was a creature which had possibly once been an elf. He had been horribly maimed and now had spindly metal limbs. He wore a broad brimmed hat, with a lace collar and cuffs, both grubby with old blood. His arms ended in wicked looking blades, which he was using to dissect a human man, still conscious, secured on a bloodstained table. Several undead in nurse's uniforms surrounded him as if being taught.

"The objective of the scalpel, sisters, is to soothe, for a scalpel, indeed, is an extension of Shar," the elf intoned. "See how the patient reacts when I but stroke the right nerve. Hear the very melody of mercy."

"He's utterly insane," hissed Astarion. "Just like Cazador."

Sorcha strode up to the surgeon. "You will stop this obscene torture at once," she demanded.

The creature turned to the nurses, continuing his lecture. "Behold, sisters, the very face of ignorance. Look how this one struggles to elude the mercy of Shar. We do not wish to see you suffer so. Let us cure you."

Sorcha looked at the nurses, at the rusty instruments in their hands. "The sisters aren't ready. They'll make me sick instead of curing me," she argued.

"Their incisions are as yet still streaked with imprecision, that much I must concede," he agreed. "How to steady their hands, I wonder?"

She made a pretence of considering. "You could have them practice on each other?"

The surgeon seized on her suggestion. "Yes, for are we not all in need of a cure? Absence, sisters, acquaint yourselves."

The nurses turned on each other, slashing methodically until they all fell.

The creature surveyed the carnage. "It is a proud moment to see one's teachings so lovingly taken to heart. You are to be rewarded with the promised cure."

Sorcha smiled up at him, fingers crossed behind her back. "I would much rather acquaint myself, if you would show me how?"

"Very well, your diligence is exemplary," he agreed. "Observe, and then follow me into the succor of Shar's embrace." He drove a scalpel deep into his own eye socket and fell to the floor.

"Well… that was something," Karlach said, eyes wide in disbelief.

Everyone was silent for a minute, trying to wrap their minds around what had just happened.

Astarion chuckled. "You could talk a devil to death, my dear!" He knelt and looked through the corpses' possessions, finding an old lute and some interesting looking poisons. Sorcha had noticed callouses on the fingers of the man back at the inn, a telltale mark of a string player, so she took the lute in case it had belonged to him.

A side door led into a ward, toys scattered across the floor. Another of the creepy nurses was tending to two patients. As Sorcha walked closer, she saw with horror that these were Arabella's parents, both dead.

Her head reeled and for a moment she was a child once more. Without thought a fireball shot from her hands, obliterating the nurse in one fell swoop.

"Well, that's one way to save us a fight," said Gale with open admiration.

Astarion stood next to her and surreptitiously reached for her hand. She squeezed it gratefully. Of everyone, he had the best idea of what it cost her to use fire. "Let's get the hells out of here now," he said, and no one wanted to disagree.

Back at Last Light they rested for a short while and Astarion pulled her into an empty room. "I wanted to see how you were after dealing with that nurse," he explained. "It seems you only use your fire when you're incredibly angry, is that right?"

"It just happens," she admitted. "And it feels as if it causes disaster every time, so I try to hold it in."

"Have you considered that holding it in might make it more likely to erupt?" he asked. "Perhaps you need to try using it deliberately, when you're calm, well, calmer at least, just to see how that makes you feel?"

The idea frightened her and she hunched in on herself, scared to reply. Don't let it out, don't let it out.

"I'm just thinking," Astarion continued. "From what I understand, you haven't purposely used it since childhood, is that right? But you're grown now, you could control it, I'm sure of it. You're strong now. And there's so many things around here that would be improved by a wall of flame, after all!"

Sorcha gave a wan smile at the joke. "It just feels as if… as if letting it loose would get out of control really quickly. I don't know, it seems like its all or nothing, you understand? If I let it go, and it spirals then who will stop me?"

"I could always stand by with a bucket? I'm just saying think about it, practice a bit. Even just the cantrips."

"I'll think about it," she agreed, reluctantly, "But for now we need to seek out Halsin."

They found the druid sat at the bedside of the unconscious Fist, Art Cullagh.

"I found this lute, it's got the initials AC on the back so I think it must have belonged to him," explained Sorcha.

"Play it, see if he hears it," suggested Halsin.

She coaxed a few notes from the strings and the man sat up with a start. "Thaniel! He needs help!" he shouted.

"Calm yourself, take a moment," soothed Halsin. "You've been trapped in the Shadowfell for a century."

Art stared wildly at the druid. "You're Halsin! Thaniel told me to find you!"

She sat alongside the druid and listened as he quizzed Art on how to find Thaniel in the Shadowfell. "Meet me by the lakeside, if you would? I have an idea," Halsin requested.

Halsin was standing on a tall rock ridge that jutted out of the lake. "I am going to create a portal into the Shadowfell. It is vital that I go alone," he said.

"That's suicide, surely? Why alone?" Sorcha asked.

"Anyone else could disrupt the delicate balance of the portal, resulting in me being lost in there forever," he explained.

"What about Nimbus? Surely he could go with you, to guard you? He's a creature of the Shadows, he wouldn't cause a shift in the balance, would he?"

Halsin considered for a moment and then nodded in agreement. "You need to keep the portal open at all costs, protect it from attack. Once it closes it can never open again."

As the portal opened and Halsin and Nimbus stepped through, she saw a wave of dark shapes rise up in the distance, silhouetted by the moonlight dome around the Inn. "Shadow creatures," Astarion hissed.

Sorcha spun a cloud of darkness around the portal. Good luck aiming through that. She stayed inside the cloud, the magical darkness not impeding her vision as regular dark did, ready to target creatures once she could see them.

Karlach and Shadowheart stepped forward, out of the cloud, preparing to rain spears and radiance upon those who got in range. Astarion lurked on the edge of the rock, peppering the oncoming shadows with arrows.

It didn't take long before the hordes of shadow cursed people reached the ridge, the front runners hitting Shadowheart's wall of radiant light with shrieks of pain. A flock of ravens unwisely flew straight towards her, only to burn up in moments. Gale conjured up Wall of Flames to protect their front line fighters and then retreated into the darkness to protect himself while he concentrated. A phalanx of gith emerged from the water, aiming crossbow bolts at Karlach.

Sorcha could see an oil barrel beside the gith. Perhaps I could try to set it alight? She took a heavy breath and focused, reaching for her magic, flinging a fire orb to make the barrel explode, injuring many of the attackers. She retreated into darkness again, calming her breathing and keeping her focus. Karlach was raging, throwing her spear with tremendous strength and accurancy until another wraith came up behind her. To Sorcha it looked as if it drained the life from the tiefling, her spear throws suddenly losing power.

Astarion ran to the wraith, both blades raised, dealing serious damage to the spectre as Shadowheart aimed a swinging blow from the Blood, dissolving the creature away. Two shadow hounds suddenly emerged beside Shadowheart and bit the cleric on the leg, causing her spell to falter.

Just as the cleric was about to be overwhelmed, there was a sudden popping sound behind her and Halsin stepped from the portal, flanked by Nimbus, as the link to the Shadowfell collapsed in on itself and the remaining shadow creatures vanished. He was cradling a small boy in his arms. "I've got him!" he said, before a look of concern creased his face. "But there's something terribly wrong, he's not conscious."

"Take him to our camp where you can examine him in safety," Sorcha suggested.

"A good idea," agreed the druid. "You seem to have a lot of them. If it wasn't for Nimbus at my back I'd have fallen prey to a nasty Shadar-kai ambush."

Astarion came over to her, taking her hand. "I noticed that you used your fire, darling. And look, no flaming doom! Are you feeling quite yourself?"

It hadn't been a disaster, it had actually helped in the fight. She didn't want to get into a habit of reaching for it without thought, but maybe he was right. Maybe, if considered, it could be an asset out here.

"I'm calm," she admitted. "Not about to explode just yet, so perhaps you were right."

"Darling, I'm always right," he smirked. She shot a tiny spark at him and the sudden look of fear on his face was priceless.

"Watch yourself, elf boy." Sorcha walked off, laughing, and headed back to the camp.

Halsin had placed Thaniel carefully in his tent, covered with blankets, but the boy was still unconscious.

"I think I know what is wrong with him," the druid explained. "When the shadow curse was released, it ripped Thaniel's essence in two, one part going to the Shadowfell and the other part staying in the shadows. We need to find his shadow twin and reunite them in order to wake Thaniel up."

"So how do we do that? Surely not another trip into the Shadowfell?" Sorcha asked

Halsin continued, "He would be somewhere that had incongrous life thriving within the midst of the shadow curse. In fact, I may have seen a place when we passed through, it just didn't occur to me at the time."

She nodded. "Mark my map then, and we will search."

"This doesn't need to be your burden alone," the druid said. "I would be happy to accompany you, to lend my skills."

"I'll be glad to have you," she said, smiling.

They set off, following Halsin's directions, to a rotting skeleton of a cottage, roof partially collapsed, holes in the walls, but incongrously dotted around with purple flowers. She could hear a boy's voice, talking to himself.

"She was no fun, I only wanted to play!"

Sorcha peered through the window. A githyanki lay dead at the feet of a small boy. He resembled Thaniel, but twisted by the shadow curse, glowing with necrotic light, and obviously powerful if he could dispatch a gith.

"Hello? Are you Thaniel?" she asked, stepping into the room. The boy's face twisted with hatred. "No! Don't call me that! I'm Oliver. Do you want to play?"

"Not just now, Oliver. I know who and what you really are."

"You're no fun!" he shouted, and stepped through a portal he had hurriedly conjured. They had little choice but to follow or lose him, emerging back at the statue in the centre of Reithwin, where the shadows were some of the thickest.

Oliver was furious, calling up shadow versions of himself and a couple of wraiths. "If you won't play with me, you can meet my family!" The boy was inside some kind of dome and as Astarion loosed an arrow at it the dome flexed and he recoiled, the damage reflected back onto him.

"Avoid the dome!" Sorcha shouted, aiming five magic missiles at the shadow Olivers, making them vanish. She thought she saw the dome contract as they disappeared.

Halsin wildshaped into an owlbear and leapt for one of the wraiths, while Wyll and Karlach fought the other. Astarion downed a swift healing potion and began sending arrows to reinforce Halsin.

Oliver stamped his feet, shouting "Stop it! You're supposed to be playing! Let me show you my favourite toy!"

A shadow owlbear materialised beside Halsin, knocking him backwards with a heavy swipe, causing the druid to lose shape and sprawl on the paving. Sorcha aimed lightning at the creature, giving Halsin time to get up and heal himself before charging in with his glaive. Wyll and Karlach moved to help against the shadow creature, having already destroyed the two wraiths. Oliver created a few more shadow copies, but they were proving easy to destroy.

As Astarion pierced the last of them, the dome collapsed, leaving a very angry boy.

Oliver stomped over to Sorcha. "Why couldn't you just leave me alone? Why can't I just stay here, playing? I had everything I've ever wanted, right here, and you've ruined it! I'm not leaving - you can't make me!"

Halsin whispered in her ear. "Be gentle. He's much more than a child, but he doesn't truly know that."

Sorcha looked at the boy and quietly said "You have what you want, but not what you need: Thaniel. He's your friend, your kin - he's you."

"He's nothing to me. He left me here, all this time. I had to do everything for myself! Even when it was scary. Even when I was alone. I didn't give up," Oliver argued. She could tell he'd had long practice in praising himself, keeping him going when he was always alone.

Sorcha smiled at him. "You were very brave and resourceful. Think of how much you'll be able to help Thaniel."

The boy looked nervous, unsure. "But would he even want me back...? I've changed. A lot."

"Change is good. That's what growing up is all about. Together, you two will become more than you were before." She couldn't help but glance at Astarion as the words left her mouth, but he wasn't looking.

Her words did at least reach the boy, who smiled at her. "I'd like that. And he would too, I think. All right, I'll do it. I want to do it."

Tears were tracking down the druid's face. "Well done," he said, reverently.

The spirit looked at him. "Are you crying? You're a bit big to be crying... but I suppose that's okay. Bye!"

Oliver vanished, and they tramped back to camp. Halsin immediately went to where Thaniel now stood, giving him a heartfelt hug.

As everyone settled down for their evening meal there was a sound redolent of a thousand claws scraping across a chalkboard, and an oily swirling in the ground. Mizora, Wyll's patron, materialised in front of him, causing a groan to escape the warlock's lips.

"That's no way to greet your benefactor, Wyll. I'd take some time to chastise you properly, but I have a job for you."

"What do you want, Mizora?" Wyll said through gritted teeth.

"Listen up, pup. The Absolute has captured one of Zariel's assets and you need to rescue them."

A tinge of desperation laced Mizora's words, and that gave Sorcha an idea. She strode up to the cambion.

"Fine, we'll rescue your asset, but on one condition."

Mizora raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Oh?"

"We do this and you release Wyll from his pact." Please, please, let this work.

"And why, by all the hells, would I do that?" asked Mizora.

Sorcha glanced away. "We could always just let the Absolute infect this asset before the rescue," she said casually, shrugging.

The cambion scowled, then sighed heavily. "Very well, I'll add that to clause six point three. But I release him after the rescue, not before." She dissolved back into the oily pool.

"Sorcha, I want to thank you for sticking your neck out for me," Wyll said, reaching to shake her hand. "I'm sure Mizora will twist and turn to avoid it but you've given me a chance to break free of this pact, a chance I never had before."

Thaniel came over to Sorcha later. "The druid spoke to me while I was sleeping. He said you battled shadow and spite to restore me. I feel every root trying to recover from a hundred years of sickness, but one anchor remains in place. For the land to heal, Ketheric Thorm must die."

It was hard to remember that he wasn't just a little boy, until he spoke. But now she had a far harder conversation that was overdue.

Sorcha walked over to where Withers was entertaining Arabella.

"Hey, I made it, easy peasy!" the girl said. "Did you find Mom and Pops?"

"I'm sorry, Arabella. I did find your parents, but they were already dead," she said, tears welling up. She made as if to reach out to the tiefling, intending to pull her into a hug, but Arabella shoved her backwards.

"No, no! You're lying! Leave me alone!"

It was all too familiar. Head bowed, she walked away, crying herself, and hid in her tent, shrouded in blankets, trying not to remember. Astarion must have joined her later, but she was already deeply asleep so he didn't disturb her. Waking in the middle of the night, it was comforting to find his arm firmly around her waist. She snuggled back under her blanket, feeling safe and secure.

Chapter Text

They returned to the graveyard behind the House of Healing, looking for anything to do with the Thorm family. A set of stone steps led back up towards the ridge that overlooked the river. As he climbed up, Astarion could hear a voice proclaiming some poetry in an overly dramatic fashion. 

"Our hero thought but of treasure ahead, 

Did not consider the peace of the dead, 

In the dark she went creeping 

And awoke what was sleeping, 

A new grave they dug, which she herself fed."

Astarion paused, letting the stragglers catch up. Raphael! Maybe now he’d get some answers?

"A warning, no less,” Sorcha asked wryly. “Don't tell me you're worried about me?" 

"Merely protecting my assets," the devil replied.

Sorcha scoffed. "I'm not your fucking asset, Raphael."

Raphael looked unconcerned at her venomous reply. 

"Ah, but I've grown quite fond of you, you know - in my way,” he said, almost flirtatiously. “I thought it only fair to warn you about the dangers ahead."

"Oh good grief, what in the hells did I do to deserve that?”  she asked. “And what dangers are those?"

Raphael chuckled. "Oh, we both know they are soon to be revealed. It would be pointless of me to try to bar you from entering, but I can... set the scene as it were. Prepare you for your role."

Sorcha rolled her eyes. "Just cut to the chase, will you, we haven't got all day to listen to you wittering on."

Raphael frowned. "I already did."

"Look, just spell it out," she said. "I don't have time for guessing games."

"Very well," the devil agreed curtly. "There is a creature that lurks in silence and shadow - a creature who, like me, is very much of the infernal persuasion. Should it make its way out through the very doors you are about to brazenly swing open, you'll have unleashed a pestilence upon this realm."

"Wonderful,” Astarion responded sarcastically “A pestilence worse than the shadow curse? Maybe we shouldn't go inside those doors after all?" 

Sorcha glanced over at Astarion , and he could tell she saw the worry on his face despite his aloof tone.

Raphael continued on. "In truth, it is carnage incarnate,” Raphael continued, as if Astarion hadn’t spoken. “So if you meet the devil of which I speak, kill it. Consider no other course of action."

"Are you afraid of this creature, Raphael?" she challenged.

A sudden cloud of sulphur enveloped her as the devil huffed out his disapproval, forcing Sorcha to wrinkle her nose in disgust

"This creature and I go back a long way. I admit it would be in my best interest as well, should it remain trapped in the dark.Or misplace its head perhaps."

"What are we talking here?" asked Karlach. "Lemure? Pit fiend? Orthon?"

"Getting warmer, warmer, hot," drawled Raphael.

"Nasty," said Karlach, an expression of disgust on her face.

"Do not underestimate this opponent,” he scolded with a grimace. “At best you will have the blink of an eye to strike. Strike first. Strike true. Defy the odds, for they are distinctly in its favour. That much I owe the bastard to concede." 

His eyes sought out Astarion at the back of the group.

"Oh, and don't think I've forgotten your tale, Astarion,” he advised smarmily. “When the beast is dead, I'll consider that payment enough to translate those scars of yours."

"Hmmm, a fairer deal than I expected." At least he doesn't want my soul.

Raphael stared coldly at him. "You wound me, spawn. I always deal fairly. And we'll close this particular deal soon enough - vanquish the beast, and all will be revealed."

So, just kill a devil. Easy really.

The tall, stark, stone entrance in front of them was stern, forbidding, the message very clear -  'keep out' rather than welcome. The doors creaked ominously as he pushed them open and walked inside. Metal latticework gates protected the inner mausoleum and a disembodied voice issued from within. 

"Z'rell, Nere, Minthara, whoever you are,” it boomed, echoing around him. “You are not needed, I will complete General Thorm's task alone!"

Astarion walked forward cautiously. The voice seemed to be coming from a skull. Other skulls were stacked up precariously, arranged in patterns, daubed with blood. 

He took a step back, flinching at the all too familiar sight. He could almost be back in the kennels - the shattered piles of bones, the ancient metallic stench of layer upon layer of dried blood, the choking dryness of ancient crushed bones. 

Was he really even here? Did he ever truly escape? He could be chained up right now, hallucinating the horrors of the shadow curse because even that was preferable to reality. A reality where Godey was peeling the flesh from his bones.

He felt a hand on his arm, and realized it was Sorcha. 

"Astarion? What's wrong?" she asked.

He shook his head, unable to give voice to his thoughts.

"Bad memories?" she whispered.

He looked away, discomfited by her scrutiny. How could she possibly conceive of the depths he had plumbed in the unrelenting need to keep himself safe from Cazador's cruelties? If she knew even a portion of what he'd done, what he'd been forced to do …

No, people couldn't be trusted, not even her. He didn't know which would be worse; her laughter at how pathetic he really was, or her pity. He'd been a fool, allowing himself to become attached, he saw that now. Affection wasn't for the likes of him, a tainted, broken, rotted thing. A pretty flesh bag covering naught but poison and deceit. 

"I'm fine, darling," he said on reflex. Sorcha frowned at that but said nothing, letting his deflection stand.

They crept through the crypt, passing stone tombs already looted, eventually reaching one, empty, marked 'Isobel Thorm'. 

"Ah, missing corpses, how charming," he said. 

The coffin was centrally placed in a highly decorated room with no others. Three murals adorned the walls, and he could see sculptures placed low down around the room. Burnt edges gave him the clue he needed, traps, set off by a trigger he could not yet see. 

"Everyone, stay back!" he warned.

It was strange, he mused. On closer examination, all the traps had already been disarmed, there was only the one sarcophagus, nothing else seemed worth protecting with that quantity of defenses. What was he missing? 

Sorcha moved to one of the paintings and pressed a hidden button, causing the frame to light up. Inspired, Astarion tapped similar buttons on the other two. To his delight,  a wall slid open, revealing the way through. He was frustrated that he'd missed something so obvious but covered it with a curt nod, saying "Good, you're learning," as if a lesson had been his true objective after all.

The door led to a circular moving platform which ferried them into the depths. Tall marble statues, purple pillars, dim lighting. It was all looking depressingly familiar. Shar again. For a goddess of loss, she did seem to have an awful lot of stuff.

Shadowheart managed to follow some sort of darkness maze which unlocked the next set of doors, down a hall with…  Oh yes, tall marble statues, purple pillars, dim lighting. Having a theme was one thing but surely this was excessive? That said, it was just like Shadowheart herself, dark, moody, dim… He chuckled to himself, admiring his own wittiness, as they traversed yet another long hallway ending in yet more stairs.

Endless halls, endless pillars, bloody endless stairs. How was he supposed to find a devil in here? All he had seen so far were rats. What was even down here for rats to feed on? A faint rattling caught his ear and he stopped, crouching, hoping they would all take the hint

But Shadowheart continued on, emerging at the top of a flight before stopping dead. Astarion crept quietly upwards to see what was occurring. The cleric appeared to be having an argument with three corpses. He was alarmed when the room began to shake, lights flickering wildly as three dark portals appeared and began to disgorge some sort of humanoid creatures, wearing Sharran masks. 

"Dark Justiciars," breathed Shadowheart with reverence. "Come to protect the temple against these undead." 

Her look of awe slipped into one of confusion as a Justiciar aimed a sword blow at her head. 

"Why are Lady Shar's warriors attacking me?" she demanded.

Inevitably the others had to join in the fight. He and Wyll concentrated on destroying the portals while Sorcha and Karlach attacked Justiciars and skeletons alike. Shadowheart was worse than useless, refusing to attack the Justiciars at all.

"You might as well not bother showing up," he hissed at the cleric. "They try to kill you, you kill them. What in the hells is so difficult?" 

“Well I -” Shadowheart began, as if to defend herself, but he cut her off.

"And if that was a test from your goddess she's going to be laughing at you for that pathetic display." 

The cleric narrowed her eyes at him but he could tell that his words had cut deep, and she was feeling foolish now.

Astarion was increasingly on edge, nerves wound so tight that he thought they might snap. Everything was riding on finding this devil and killing it before a real fight started. He looked suspiciously at every scurrying rat and jumped at every drip of water. Pull yourself together, it's only one devil. Every one of his highly tuned senses was on high alert. Even his fangs itched. 

A broken stair led to the right of this cavernous hall and he caught a glimpse of movement disappearing into a passageway. Something far bigger than a rat, all flowing dark limbs. This must be the devil, surely?  Stealthily he crept down the single stair, motioning the others to stay back. He couldn't see far enough around the corner so he was left with no option but to jump the gap across the steps, his weapon at the ready. 

Nothing. It must have moved faster than he could. Alarms rang in his head at the thought of something faster than him.

He beckoned the others over, feeling a bit embarrassed that it had seemed like he was attacking shadows. There was a hallway leading down, and another broken stairway leading up and across, but they looked as if they probably led to the same chamber. A quick discussion determined that they would head upwards, see what they could glean from a height.

Astarion snuck up the steps, peering around a corner. The whole thing plucked at his already overstressed senses.Looking at Karlach, it was clear she felt the same. 

"Ambush, I'm sure of it," she whispered. 

A faint flicker caught his eye and he realised that he could make out several shadowy figures around the edge of a broken balcony. He quickly doused some arrows in a paralytic poison, and pointed out the figures to everyone else.

He watched in horror as Sorcha stood up and strode down into the room, flanked by Nimbus. What in the hells? Not only was she going to get herself killed, she was wrecking his one chance with Raphael!

A huge figure suddenly appeared, deep red skin wrapped in a cape decorated with skulls and carrying a flaming crossbow. It towered above the merregons that accompanied it, and sported not one but three sets of gigantic horns.

"Damn, that's the orthon," breathed Karlach.

"What's this?" the devil bellowed. "Fresh entertainment? You dug too deep, little rabbit, you're too fresh for this place."

Sorcha stood, arms crossed. Shit, why wasn't she running?

"But there's something about your smell, something familiar,”  the orthon growled. “Sulphur… musk… and cherries! Raphael! Where is he, I can smell his stench all over you?"

"Wait - You know Raphael?” Sorcha called up to the enormous being.

"That perfumed trickster swindled me, trapped me here," the devil snarled.

“I've had dealings with Raphael. Maybe we can help each other?"

The orthon muttered something about terms of a contract.

Why was she talking to it? Was she making another bargain right in front of him without even asking?

"So, let me see this contract of yours,” Sorcha said boldly.“Maybe I can help?" 

"Bargaining are you? A Kara-Tur warlord once tried the same - I made him watch as I ate his concubines and young, then fashioned a codpiece from his skull."

"Well, I don't have a concubine,” Sorcha chuckled. "And I hardly think my puny skull will contain what you've got in there." 

There was silence for a moment, then a hideous rumbling gurgle. The orthon was laughing.

"What in the hells are you doing?" Astarion hissed. "Just kill it!"

"Trust me," she whispered back. 

Trust her? This was his life she was messing with! His head had begun to pound, every muscle taut as wire.

The orthon recited the contract, a song, and Sorcha shook her head, smiling. 

"Raphael does think rather highly of his literary skills! The lyrics are a trick," she explained, pointing at the assembled merregons. "You've always had an audience."

"Kill yourselves, back to the hells with you!" the orthon instructed, and the merregons set about killing each other with great efficiency.

The orthon paused, listening intently. "I can still hear it! Seems you were wrong!" Yurgir took aim at Sorcha.

Astarion tried to get Sorcha’s attention, to signal her to stop this insane path but she paid him no attention, purely focusing on the massive devil above her.

"The displacer can still hear you, can't she? Kill her!" she said.

The devil looked over at the beast. "Kill Nessa?" A look of resolve crossed his face. "Stay very still my pretty." He aimed a single shot from his crossbow directly into the beast’s throat and she dissolved into a pile of ash.

"I can still hear it!" he raged.

"Exactly. You can hear it,” Sorcha said confidently. “Kill yourself and you'll be reborn, free, in the hells," 

“No! Stop!” Astarion yelled, too late, seeing his one chance collapsing in front of him.

"You better be right about this, little rabbit,” the orthon growled. “Or I'll claw my way out of hell to feast on your organs." 

And with that, the orthon aimed his dagger at his own throat and thrust, collapsing backwards.

As Yurgir dissolved into a patch of ash, Astarion felt his rage overtake him, a cold pitiless anger that shut down all reason. He turned on his heel and stalked away, out of the chamber, back across the broken steps and up, away from  the Mausoleum, into the shadows. The vampire ignored the voices of his companions calling him back, telling him to wait, as he fled - the only thing that mattered in that moment was to get away from that damnable selfish woman. 

How dare she put something so vital on the line and yet pretend to care about his future, about his life - about him?

He marched past the Mason's Guild and straight out of Reithwin. Away. He had to get away from these idiots before they ruined him.

She was so infernally arrogant, and now he had no way to know if Raphael would honour the deal. Devils stuck to the letter of a deal. But the deal had said that they must kill the orthon, not that they could talk it into suicide. His only chance, ruined. He'd tried to stop her and she had paid him no heed, sure that she knew better. 

Gods! How had he been so stupid as to put his welfare in her hands? She wouldn't help him kill Cazador, no, she'd just try to talk her way out of the situation, and suddenly find herself drained or with her neck snapped, and he'd be back buried in a coffin for a decade for the crime of accidentally escaping.

Sorcha was no different to all those people who had slept with him for what they could get. The tavern victims who wanted a night of cheap pleasure. The clients who saw him as a tool for their own fantasies. 

She was using me, pretending to be my friend for some sick twisted game of her own. That's what they all did.

Astarion roamed the shadowlands for hours before realising that he couldn't avoid going back to camp if he wanted to collect his things. Then it began to dawn on him that there was also the rather pressing matter that leaving camp would probably mean turning illithid, losing the prism's protection. His rage boiled over again.

Damn them! Did he really have to go back to camp, to the sad wizard, the angry gith, that do-gooder warlock and the sinister cleric? Karlach and Halsin were tolerable but the others? He hated them all.

But tentacles? Was that a fate worse than undeath? He really wasn't sure right now.

Bitter recriminations echoed through his head but eventually he made his way back to their campsite, where Sorcha rushed over to him. 

"Astarion!” she cried out anxiously. “I was so worried, where have you been?"

"Don't touch me!" he growled, causing her to step back in shock. "In fact, get the hells away from me!"

She looked confused. "What's happened?"

He ignored her, heading to his tent. She reached a hand out, almost touching his arm and he whirled, shoving her to the ground in fury, fangs bared.

“What the fuck, Astarion?” she screamed, lying in the mud where she’d landed..

"You! You happened!” he raged, not caring about the stunned look in her eyes as it turned to confusion. “Playing stupid games with my life! How do you not see that your arrogant showing off has ruined everything? We broke the contract, we didn't kill the devil."

"But… but we did kill the devil, Astarion,” she protested, still laying on the ground before him.
“Or as good as killed him  - devils can't die on the mortal plane. We could never actually kill him here, just send him back to the hells, which is obviously where Raphael wants him." 

Astarion wasn't listening, the dam had broken, releasing a torrent of pain, misery and spite. He never got anything for himself, someone always came along and ruined it.

"We didn't kill the devil, he killed himself,” he snarled, relishing in how she flinched. “And now that thrice damned bastard Raphael could claim that we didn't fulfill the bargain, all because you think you've got such a persuasive tongue! Well, I've got news for you! I've had better!"

“Astarion…” Sorcha gasped, but he was too far gone in his rage and his pain to let her try and talk her way out of what she’d done. What she’d done to him.

"And you” He spat, as if spitting out the venom and spite that consumed him., ”You are ridiculous, acting as if you know what slavery is like when you know absolutely NOTHING! You didn't even suffer a tenday of it. I've had two centuries of pure shit and real torture and it's enough, I've had enough of it, and I've had enough of you!"

Sorcha reeled as if punched in the gut. Sudden fire flared up in her hands, and it was Astarion’s turn to flinch away. They could only stare at each other for a moment before she rose to her feet, holding her arms outstretched to avoid her clothes catching fire, and fled without another word.

"Astarion, what the fuck?" yelled Karlach.

Typical, no sympathy for him, after Sorcha had just blown up his life. Just blame the vampire.

"Kainyank! It is insane to turn on your only allies, k'chakhi," spat Lae'zel.

Astarion whirled towards her, fangs bared, but then the air thickened for a moment. The smell of sweet cherries, underlaid with sulphur and bitter smoke. Raphael! The others gathered round, with one notable exception. 

Not that I care, hopefully she'll walk off into the shadows and we can be done with her.

"Do you know what happens when a devil is struck down on this oh-so-charming plane of yours?” Raphael said smoothly. “He returns to the hells, back to where he left. In the case of Yurgir, the orthon that you so handily dispatched, he returned to my House of Hope. He came back chastened but intact. I could have killed him of course, but instead I am … re-educating him." Raphael said smoothly.

"I fulfilled the task, devil," Astarion snarled. "Now I want what I'm owed."

"Steel yourself then, Astarion, for I am about to reveal your destiny,” Raphael purred. “Carved deep into that ivory skin is one part of a contract between Lord Cazador and Mephistopheles.”

Oh no, a contract with an archdevil, this wasn’t good… Astarion’s stomach cramped with sudden nausea.

 “On completion of the Rite of Profane Ascension, Cazador will become the Vampire Ascendant and will regain all the pleasures of mortal life,” Raphael continued, a gleeful look on his face. “Of course he will have to sacrifice a number of souls, including all of his vampiric spawn. It's truly a diabolical delight." The devil gave a deep chuckle.

Horror crept up from his gut and wrapped itself in a chokehold around his throat as the devil explained the scars. Not a poem. Not another sick, twisted joke from his master. He was an ingredient. A component. All the spawn were.

Chapter Text

Sorcha picked herself up from the mud and walked away from Astarion.There was an unpleasant fluttering in her heart, or was it her stomach? The rest of her was numb as far as she could tell. Fire boiled in her veins, erupting from her hands, but she held them out in front, refusing to relinquish control. 

Karlach opened her mouth as if to speak but Sorcha huffed out a tense "No!" and kept moving.

One deep breath. Two. Alright then, move, left foot, right foot, just keep walking, over to your tent. Douse your hands in that water bucket. Find that Silence scroll in your pack and cast it. Now you can scream.

But it wasn’t nearly a large enough outlet for all her pain. Sorcha screamed and howled and clawed at her chest, ripped nails across her arms, punching her pack, her pillows, herself, caught in a cycle of torment, need and anger. Stupid, stupid girl! What in the hells were you thinking, getting involved with a vampire?

Jagged trails of blood streaked her arms and welts formed across her chest as she took out her pain, her disappointment, her failure, her betrayal all on herself. I did it again. I did it again when I knew better! I trusted, shared, broke my own rules, and that trust has been twisted into another dagger to wound me. I let myself care and all it did was damage. 

Rot flooded her heart, poison streaming into it from the back of her mind, from experiences walled away and left to fester for almost a decade. She slapped and punched herself repeatedly, banged her forehead against the tent pole and spat out blood from where she had bitten her tongue with the force of her self loathing.

Then, moving with purpose yet hating herself for it, she picked up her dagger and sliced a precise, thin line on her thigh, watching the blood well up. Another. Another. Something she hasn't done for years. 

A momentary calm fell over her, but then her memories rose up to choke her and she's back in that room with Xilona, the last betrayal, the part of her story she's never told anyone.

1485 DR

"So this is your little pet," the man, Keskin, says. 

Xilona bows to her Lord, compliant to his wishes, and I watch, pinioned in place.

Quick as a snake he moves, twisting my nipples with cruel fingers in armoured gloves as I scream from the sudden unexpected pain. He laughs heartily, enjoying himself, watching as I bleed thin tracks down my chest, then strips off a glove and plunges thick fingers inside me without care or warning. 

I stare, eyes and mouth wide in shock, tears falling from the searing pain of the rips he has left inside me, as he turns towards my lover. She loves me, surely she will defend me? I know screams will only amuse the man, so I concentrate my attention on his clothing.The intricate plum and gold braided silk fastening of his cloak. The dark pearl buttons of his shirt.The jewelled brooch on his shoulder, shaped in the form of a winged serpent. 

Focusing on anything but the pain. Being good for Xilona.

The drow glances towards me and stays mute.

"Kneel, drow bitch," Keskin commands. He clenches Xilona's head with his armoured hand and forces his fingers into her mouth, waiting until she has cleaned any trace of me from them before lifting her up by the throat. "Remember, my Viper, whatever you do here, no matter how successful, you are mine. Your allegiance is and always will be first to me, and to the Network, not to the House of Pain. Your petty indulgences are a distraction and it's damaging your work." 

He drops her to the floor, kicking her stomach as she falls, and turns, unsheathing a dagger wreathed in sickly green light. With a cold smile, he lashes out with his hand, cutting a deliberate slash across my side, making the room spin for a moment as I struggle to hold in another scream. 

Then he plants his lips on mine, forcing my mouth open with his revolting slab of a tongue, licking into me, pulling against my flesh like sucking the marrow from a bone, leaving me retching from the foulness left within. 

He leaves, and Xilona turns to me, bruises blossoming on her throat, a look of anger on her usually composed face. No teasing, no haunting caresses, she just removes her belt and flays me until I bleed dark puddles on the floor, throws a healing potion over me and sends me back home. 

I stumble my way through the twisted back streets to reach the safety of the Guildhouse, trying not to cry. What had happened to my beautiful love? What had I done wrong?

Was she ashamed of what I had witnessed, disgusted that I had been touched by him, or was it a simpler explanation - that anger always buried just beneath the surface?

One thing was abundantly clear though. Xilona worked for the Black Network, the Zhentarim. She was not here to sell herbs, or to gain followers for Loviatar. She was on a covert mission for the people who’d enslaved me so long ago. 

Clarity began to break through the sorrow as I dragged myself home. I didn't deserve this, to be no better than a lanceboard pawn, to be sacrificed for some minor advantage.

And I finally realized I was just a tool to help her infiltrate the Hand.

She made her way back to her rooms in the Guildhouse, a bitter grip clenched tight around her chest. Zhentarim. Why was it always them? Her duty was clear - warn the Hand, stop the infiltration. But who to tell? No use telling Haliyra, even though Sorcha knew she was downstairs, she was always arguing for closer ties with the Zhent. Kestrel would normally be here, as the head Sustainer, but she was away in Waterdeep right now. 

It would have to be Nareen, if she could get her alone long enough to explain, but that meant making a trip all the way down to the Fishyard. Not far, on a normal day, but at the moment she could barely stand. The pain was beginning to break through her anger and grief. 

Wounded prey attracts attention. Her injury throbbed in time with her pulse, the healing potion had sealed it … but something was wrong. I can't wait, delay might be fatal, to me and to the Hand.

She wrapped herself in a heavy cloak, pulled her hood up to cover her hair, picked up an old staff to use as a stick and made her slow, painful way down to the river, to Nareen, shuffling like an elder. Once she reached Nareen, the Hand's assassins took over, springing into action to fix the problem, attacking Xilona's basement en masse. The Guildhouse healer took a few sessions to patch her up and she moved on. After a fashion.

The overwhelming feeling of guilt is something she keeps to herself. If I had been smarter, I could have seen this coming. I shouldn't have let lust leave me blind. I could have stopped her, maybe even saved her. I could have diverted things, nudged her away before I had to tell the others.

It's my fault she's dead, even if it was Nareen's blade.

Time gradually changed her recollections, turning guilt to anger to loss to fear, and eventually crystallising into resolve.

She had rules now.

Never care enough that a loss could hurt.

Nothing without consent.

Nothing ever without consent.

And absolutely no kissing. It didn't matter what else she had to do, to keep a mark's attention, but that was not on the cards. The mere thought of it made bile rise in her throat.

Sorcha carved her pain upon her flesh as a reminder, a way to cleanse herself whenever she found navigating the world alone too overwhelming. Thin lines across her thighs, watching the trickle of blood well up and take away her doubts. She was in control of the hurt, and she could remove that at will with a quick health potion. Others would not get near enough to hurt her any more.

Her only fault was trusting too much. That soft creature of old now hardened, a protective shell firmly fixed around her, a string of lovers used then discarded, never allowing vulnerability to show. Sorcha saved her heart for her friends, yet always remembering not to love too deeply even in friendship.

Sorcha came back to herself, drifting, unsure how much time had passed, blood dried across her legs, sticking her to the blanket. It's dark but then it was always dark here. She lay in a pile of broken things, a broken thing herself, and willed the realms to just let her die.

Her silence spell had dropped sometime in the night and she could hear the sounds of the usual morning tasks taking place. Normal. As if nothing at all had changed when everything had changed. 

She heard footsteps approaching the tent. 

"Soldier? Do you want breakfast? We saved you some. We've all had ours and we're ready to head out." Karlach, checking up on her. 

Sorcha rummaged in her pack for a moment, finding the prism. She opened the tent flap and tossed it to Karlach. 

"You go,” she said bluntly. “I've had it with this shit. I'm done."

"Soldier?" Karlach asked, looking stunned.

"I mean it. Leave me here." 

Karlach paused, then there was the sound of heavy footsteps, heading away, and the whispers of some kind of hushed discussion.

The camp sounds faded, the jangle of armour and clank of weapons retreating to leave her in blessed silence once more. She drifted a while longer, too exhausted for thought, watching the interplay of the shafts of lantern light creating patterns on the canvas above her. Her mind was elsewhere, thoughts slipping past like tiny clouds of moths before she can raise the energy to grapple them for examination. Just let me drift away.

Halsin's calm voice floated through to her inside the tent.

"Little bird, I know you are feeling rough. I have no wish to disturb you but you should eat." She heard the clink of a spoon in a bowl. "I have placed a bowl of porridge and honey just outside for you. If you wish to eat undisturbed that is your choice, but know that I am here if you wish to talk, or if you wish for silent company."

The smell of honey crept through the canvas walls. She reaches a hand out, drawing the bowl inside and ate without tasting. The warm porridge turned to a leaden lump in her stomach and she had to bolt out of the tent as she retches, bringing the entire mess up. Sorcha lay face down on the grass, next to a pile of vomit, bleeding from a myriad of self-inflicted wounds, unable to care, waiting to be washed away with the litter in the next rainstorm.

Slow, cautious footsteps approached her. A low rumbling voice, Halsin, murmuring words of comfort that she couldn't make out. He reached to touch her shoulder and she flinched. He said a few clear words, maybe in elvish, and green light surrounded her momentarily. Not the sickly necrotic green of the shadows but the bright druidic green of his magic. A calm washed over her. The abrasions tingled as they heal. She feels empty, and numb, but that is alright. Anything is better than feeling right now.

Halsin looked at her steadily, but without judgement.

 "I know that you are deeply heartsick at the moment. I realise nothing but time helps that pain, but know this - that it will get better, no matter how bad you feel today. I owe you a great debt, little bird, for you have brought Thaniel back and begun the healing of the land. You must know that anything that I can do to ease your own burdens, I will gladly do."

He paused, a thoughtful look on his face.

"I have two remedies that may help you right now. I would offer you the comfort of a hug, without expectation of anything more. And I have a potion of sleep, to give dreamless rest for a while. Either or both are yours, you need only ask."

Shameful tears burned down her face. Anything but kindness, she deserves none of that. It was her fault, her arrogance that caused this.

In a small voice she said "The potion please, Halsin. I don't think I can touch anyone today."

Back in the privacy of her canvas fortress she drank the potion down and fell into sleep, mercifully blank.