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When the vampire comes to consciousness thirst is the least of his problems. Astarions arms are pinned to his sides. There is flickering light filtering through the obscured window of the capsule he's in. His head is pulsing with the light of…flames outside? He can hear distant screaming, yelling, begging to be let out, for someone to be let out. Oh how he wishes they would shut up, his head feels like someone decided to hit it with a shovel. Something smells of burnt flesh.
He feels sick, he's sweating and weak. It's hardly the first time and Astarion wonders what has Godey done to him now. But then the distant urgent thudding makes him want to focus, because it's different this time and his survival instincts kick in. There are things moving out there but it's hard to see through the fogged up window. He tries to move but something is anchoring him upright. He twists his arms trying to get free, but he's stuck fast. He's able to look down slightly at the frame that is pressing down on him keeping him in place. He jostles himself experimentally, but it's a mistake that makes him shut his eyes at the nauseating pulse in his head. The frame remains secure and strong. Maybe with enough time he could slip out but he'd still be trapped in the pod itself. Who knows what state he might be in by that point. With his head threatening to split itself open at any moment.
The area around him shakes like he's on a ship fighting crashing waves. He recalls walking the streets of Baldur's gate, before something landing atop him bringing with it a feeling of displacement.
Something writhes behind his eye and Astarion panics because something moved in his head, something is definitely wrong with him. Well more wrong then usual. The screaming outside hasn't stopped and it hurts. He leans his head back trying to escape the noise, but it's a futile endeavor. There is another brief recollection of a tentacled monster hovering over him, but Astarion doesn't have time to dwell on it. He tries to focus on the now because when next he blinks the figures that were moving outside his pod are back and they're moving toward the screaming girl's direction. Between his head and the fog of his window it's hard to make out details of the figures. But it seems they don't have tentacles and they aren't levitating like the beast he can barely recall from earlier.
Perhaps they're here to punish her; she certainly is annoying. It's hard to focus on her words as his head pulses unforgivingly. At least if they killed her he might have some time to regain his wits.
Mercifully the girl stops her tirade. The figures stand before a console by her pod when her pod opens and it seems the girl simply falls loose. No frame keeping her pined? Was it unlocked? Damaged? But instead of a sword coming for the girl's neck they appear to be pulling her to her feet.
They're helping her? Leading her? But no, she's walking under her own power.
Astarion's head works through the ramifications too slowly. But his mouth starts moving anyway. He's not with Cazador that much seems clear. Perhaps some dimwitted fools could be persuaded to take him to their master as well. If he wasn't contained his chances are better right? Astarion tries to call out urgently despite the migraine-like pulse in his head. "Please, I need help!" But he can't muster much volume.
His voice is hoarse, was he screaming at some point? The figures don't react. Did they not hear him, or were his screams not pretty enough for their attention? The figures start making their way toward the direction of a possible doorway he'd seen them vanish through before when was just coming to consciousness.
The capsule the pale elf finds himself in suddenly feels too stifling. How long is he going to be trapped in here? The frame doesn't even groan as he pushes himself against it. He doesn't have to try to sound more desperate, "No, wait! Come back! I'll help you! Just get me out of this!" His voice at whatever volume was too loud for his head, but it mattered little at this moment.
Whoever they are, they don't pause. Astarion gets out another "Please wait!" Before the arch seems to twist closed behind them.
And Astarion is alone. Why should he have expected someone to save him. No one ever has before.
He hadn't even been in here that long, but it doesn't stop him from taking too many breaths that he doesn't need, becausehe'senclosedandhecan'tgetoutandnobodycanhearhim.
The room lurches again, and he's not sure how long he was…away. He swallows, ashamed of such weakness overwhelming him so quickly. Really he had suffered so much worse this was nothing. He's shocked to realize he's still wearing his leather armor. His captors had failed in that regard and it gives him a small sense of comfort. His daggers are gone but that can be quickly remedied when he was freed. Because he was going to get free right? How far was he from the palace? How far could his masters control reach? He'd never left far from the city. If this was far enough away perhaps he could escape his master. He didn't feel the compulsion to return yet, but then he couldn't escape his current confines yet either. The thought is tempting, but unrealistic. Cazador would hunt him down like a dog either way. He wouldn't like his property being misplaced, and Astarion knew just what type of welcome awaited him when he returned.
He still had some limited sight of what was going on, occasionally little creatures are scuttling past and through the doors that strangely twist closed. One of them gets close enough for Astarion to make out through the fogged window and it's literally a brain with legs.
How absurd? Perhaps he's hallucinating after all. But that's not all, more figures charge through and Astarion is almost relieved enough to call out to them as well. But he quickly shuts his mouth as he sees devilish wings. After they're gone he lets out an exasperated laugh followed by disdain. A parade of devils, restraints, he should feel right at home.
His head still pounds in his skull like a drum, but he finds himself squinting less when looking toward the flames. Perhaps he's managed to recover somewhat. And they are flames because he can smell the smoke now even if he doesn't see the fire spreading. The ship, because it must be a ship of some kind, takes another hit. Astarion renews his struggles with the frame because nothing about this situation was boding well for him. Never mind his captors, if the ship crashed while he was trapped and couldn't escape that sounded like a gruesome fate indeed. But then again maybe he'd get lucky. Perhaps it's an airship and it would fall and then sweet nothing.
But if he sunk into ocean…the water would fill the pod and eat away at him, slowly and painfully. What time was it? Was the sun out? His struggles are urgent, because of course a nice slow death was how he was going to go. When could he remember fate promising him anything else? He's putting his efforts of escape into his right arm, pulling upward. It's pulling at the skin, but he doesn't think he needs to break any bones to free himself. He'd rather be able to wield a weapon when he got out. Now if he can twist just right…
…he almost has it, when the ship starts pitching forward. Power floods the ship. The feeling of displacement, or sudden teleportation comes. Then the ship is diving. Now there is no finesse to what Astarion's doing because his arm scraped back down with the pitching of the ship. He can hear explosions as though the gods felt as if his situation wasn't entertaining enough. Naturally one of these explodes beside his pod. He wasn't in the ships interior walls apparently because his pod and at least one other are falling spinning through the air out of the ships side. Debris of all sorts is spinning careening through the air. Something hits the window and cracks it.
Then there is terror. Because he is not dead yet, he's still conscious, and still trapped.The lightly obscured window is letting in sunlight and he doesn't feel it burning him yet but he knows it will be soon. The pod is spinning toward the ground, no…. water.
It's spinning toward the water coming down fast. Hells below. Astarion is cursing the divines again, and he can't remember how many times he's done it now. He doesn't deserve this; he knows he's done terrible things. But most was out of his control. He enjoyed bloodshed, and some good debauchery but what other sweet joys did life have to offer a vampiric slave for two hundred some years? What deity did he have to have to blame to conjure up this special hell for him. The possibility of freedom into the worst death he could conjure.
But Astarion doesn't have to imagine his coming second demise much longer because the pod, sails down to earth just barley hitting a beach, sand exploding outward. Then Astarion isn't met with slow death of running water like acid, or the unrelenting burn of sunlight, but the sweet nothingness of unconsciousness.