Chapter 1: Welcome To The Pelican
Chapter Text
Waterdeep - One Year Ago
”Mr. Dekarios… what happened?”
”I - I don’t know Tara. I opened the book, then everything went black. When I woke up I felt a tightness in my chest and,” He jestured to his left side “This had appeared.”
Tara left the bed to join him, and jumped in his lap.
”You’ll be alright Mr. Dekarios. Don’t worry.” Gale breathed out and gave a soft smile. Tara was there. Everything would be ok.
She stretched to touch his cheek with the top of her head, and died.
Baldur’s Gate, spring of 1492 DR
Astarion exited into the cool night air, pausing to admire the lingering purple and gold as the sunset. He took a breath. There was something important gained when he replaced the stale air of the palace with that of the outside world.
Along the road to the seedier parts of town he took a detour, and walked up to an abandoned building. Around the back of the building there was a loose stone in the foundation covering a pit where he’d carefully placed a few things to help him lure prey. The first was a bit of cologne, something to cover the smell that always lingered after a night in the kennels. Blood and fear he’d supposed. Next, he took out a small pouch of money. Enough for a few drinks.
Tonight he was looking for some fresh hunting grounds. He’d recently ensnared a victim and needed to be scarce from that locale for a tenday or two. He strolled through the streets, looking into the bright windows of inns and taverns. One sign caught his eye, a seabird with open wings, piercing its breast to feed its chicks its blood.
It had been a long time since he’d hunted here. Looking in the window, he saw something promising. Simple stools filled with sailors and no faces he recognized.
Astarion opened the door, a dented tin bell rattled announcing his entry. He found a stool at the bar with a good view of the rest of the space, and fairly close to where patrons might walk up to order a drink.
The bartender approached. He was a tiefling man with a burgundy skin and curving horns.
“Welcome to the Pelican, what can I get for you?”
Astarion leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. With a smile he said “Oh, something red and strong, if you please.”
The man smiled, turning an even deeper shade of maroon. “Ahem, one cup of the house red coming up.”
As he waited for his wine he surveyed the room. It was relatively early, and none of the patrons were deep enough in their cups to look for someone to go home with.
He let out a contented sigh. He could relax a moment.
To be Astarion was to seek out small fragments of peace. Tonight would be especially good. Just two nights ago he’d netted a prized meal for his master. This meant if he returned empty handed tonight his time in the kennels would be mild. Likely something painful, but not disfiguring. His master would want him back out hunting immediately. He still needed to do some hunting otherwise, if discovered, the punishment would be brutal. Worse, he’d likely be banned from leaving the palace at all.
Sipping his wine he settled in to enjoy the simple pleasures of a shirt on his skin, clean air in his lungs, and the sounds of life.
As he nursed his wine he idly examined his potential targets. Three sailors near the entrance looked like they were out on the prowl themselves. Promising, but they’d likely try to stick together, so unless they left one behind they could be ignored. A woman sat further down the bar from him. She fidgeted nervously. She would be meeting someone then. Maybe if her date stood her up she’d become interesting, but not yet.
A small smile played on his lips. These were the brief moments where he almost felt like a real person. No immediate threats, no commands forcing him into motion. The only thing that could make this better was-
Blood
He looked up with interest. He smelled the aroma of fresh… chicken’s blood? Interesting.
A voice from the back of the kitchen called out. “Cal? Are you sure I can’t convince you to add chicken cabidela to the menu? Maybe a blood sausage? Both are quite delicious, and would prevent waste.” The voice approached a window to the bar, resolving itself into a man with shoulder length brown hair, and an odd tattoo on his cheek. Like smoke reaching up to his eye. The man continued “Besides, our sign shows a bird feeding its chicks blood. It would be apropos.”
The bartender turned to face him. “You know this isn’t that kind of place.”
“No? What about a Kara-Turian dish? Steamed chicken’s feet? I think with the amount we’re saving by butchering our meats ourselves I could afford to expand our spice collection an-“
The bartender, Cal, interrupted with a wave of his hand “Baldurians don’t really eat that kind of thing Gale.”
The man wagged a finger at the bartender. “I will make a convert of you yet! You’ll see how divine these foods can be, and beg me to put them on the menu. But tonight, at your behest, I’ll settle for mastering the simple elegance of our existing menu.
“In any case I’ve started processing some chickens. Do find me if you, or your sister, need anything. Everything for tonight is prepared, it just needs to be plated.”
The bartender nodded and waved the chef away from the kitchen window.
Astarion’s interest moved back to the main tavern. He adjusted the neckline of his shirt, put on a soft smile, and leaned on the bar with a carefully constructed posture that acted as an invitation. He’d cast his line, now he just had to wait for some poor soul to take the bait.
~*~
Gale looked over the the dough for tomorrow’s bread. He’d draped cloth over them to let the yeast do its work. Peeking below the cloth, he could see them rising splendidly. Next, was the whole reason why he was working as a cook in the first place. The Orb demanded life itself, and the most reasonable way of satisfying this was to kill something that would already be killed.
The more complicated the life, the more The Orb was satisfied. Chickens were better than clams and prawns. Presumably pigs and cows would likewise satisfy even better. As it stood, the volume of life it needed to consume could be covered by the appetites of The Pelican’s patrons.
Daily a farmer dropped off crates of chickens. Gale would calm each one, stroking their feathers with an ungloved hand, and then delicately touch them on their comb or cheek. In an instant the skin-to-skin contact would connect them to The Orb, consuming the their life’s essence. They would drop into a death so complete it that lacked any of the usual spastic mania of a recently killed bird. There would be no headless running, flapping or twitching. Just peace.
From there Gale would use a combination of cantrips to bleed, pluck and clean the birds. Taking a life with his own hands like this made him desire not to let anything go to waste. The feet, neck and offal would become broth. Livers would become pate. Excess fat would be rendered for cooking. He would even prestidigitate the feathers clean, keeping the down for pillows and bedding.
And the blood? Baldurians seemingly didn’t like the bitter taste. He’d save it in a saucer and put it out for the neighborhood cats.
He usually processed the birds after he’d finished the day’s cooking. It was a messy task, even with the aid of magic, and he didn’t want to cross over the mess into his kitchen.
Tonight, he finished hanging the carcasses from the rafters and wiped his hands on his apron. His labors were done. He waved himself clean with a cantrip and untied the apron, hanging it onto a hook. Next he donned the overshirt that had been hanging on the next peg. He buttoned the cuffs around his wrists tightly. He also donned a pair of kidskin gloves to protect from accidental touch. He didn’t purposely go near anyone these days, but he did work in a tavern, and people were always about.
Passing through the swinging door from the kitchens to the restaurant proper, he waved to Lia who was serving drinks to some jolly sailors, before settling down to the bar in front of Cal.
~*~
Astarion ran his finger over the rim of his cup. He watched the tavern change throughout the evening. Those who’d arrived for a meal were gradually replaced with those coming in for a drink.
He’d remained posed in his seat at the bar. The position was meant to project sensual relaxation. In truth his back was beginning to ache. It didn’t matter. He was savoring the solitude.
It couldn’t last. Eventually the chef from earlier emerged from the kitchen. Beaming with a smile for the bartender.
“Another day done! All is ready for tomorrow. Would you give me a mug of the new ale we procured? I’d like to give it a try, and see what it might best pair with.” The bartender shrugged turning to pour a cup.
Astarion glanced in time to see the bright grin drop for the moment when the bar-man was turned. And, just as quickly as it left, the smile reappeared.
The cook began talking.“This ale comes to us from a small farm just outside Wyrm’s Crossing, you know. If it’s a good fit I dare say we can order several kegs a month. The farmer also hinted at some stronger distilates available in small batches. Now, I’m not sure how much I trust the amateur isolation of ethanol from the more toxic…oh” The bartender had left to serve someone else. The melancholy expression returned.
He was, for all the world, a lonely man looking for companionship.
The elf stood up and moved a few stools down to sit next to his mark.
“Hello, darling. Tough day?” A pitying pout on his lips.
“Ah, hello. No, no. Just a tiring one. I’m quite proud of all I create, but it is a lot of work.” His brown eyes met Astarion’s, before glancing away. “Have you tried any of my creations? The stew is quite popular, but I’m especially proud of the paella recipe I’ve been working on.”
A pale hand played with the rim of his cup again. “I’m afraid I’m only here for a drink and a bit of company tonight.” Astarion looked up at the cook. “I’ve got the drink. Maybe you could help me with the rest?”
The man raised his mug to take a deep swallow of ale. “Ah. Well, if you ever return with an appetite, I could try some of my favorite recipes on you. I’m rather new here and am working on learning the culinary preferences of the Baldurian people so as to best please my clientele, and-“
“You’d like to please me?”
The chef’s eyes widened in surprise.
Now that he was closer, Astarion noticed some curious things about him beyond the unique tattoo. His clothing was in the style of a working man, but made from a much finer fabric, and even finer stitches. This shirt would have cost at least a week’s wages alone. Furthermore, the gloves he wore were a supple black leather, and perfectly fitted. His trousers were likewise far too fancy for a lowly tavern cook. Even more strange, though his body language was one of someone who had worked a long day in a kitchen, there was not a spot of grease nor a whiff of acrid sweat one would expect after a hard day’s labor.
That last part was a relief. It would make what came next more pleasant.
“I do have an appetite. Just not for food.” Pale fingers reached out to run along the chef’s sleeve. He twitched away.
“I’m sorry. I- You are a handsome fellow, but I must decline. Please have a pleasant evening.” He gulped down the last of his beer and stood to depart. Astarion’s eyebrows rose in surprise. This man was surprisingly prudish. He watched him climb the stairs, presumably to his quarters.
Mild disappointment followed. He would likely have been a painless catch. But the feeling was quickly replaced with contentment as his solitude returned. He had no idea how long it would last before his orders to hunt forced him into action again. He needed to savor it.
Not long after, the trio of sailors from earlier were now thoroughly inebriated, and two departed upstairs with equally tipsy dates. Leaving one forelorn soul behind. Another perfect candidate. The compulsions Cazador had imparted forced him foreward. Astarion caught the man’s eye and waved him over. As habits took over, his mind wandered to a far away place, leaving his body behind to do the work.
-
Twenty minutes later, Astarion was kissing the sailor out in the alley. His lips applied the right amount of pressure. Tongue probing to increase excitement.
His quarry’s mouth tasted foul. Astarion idly suspected he didn’t own a toothbrush. His hands groped the man’s body, eliciting a moan. Hands pulled on the hem of Astarion’s shirt. He flinched briefly, but allowed the mark to proceed.
“Darling, care to come with me to my place? I could show you a very good time.”
The man nodded. What a relief. This could be over with quickly.
They began to move.
“Derry!? You out here?” A voice shouted from the street.
The mark stopped. Shit. Astarion tried to push the kiss to keep his mouth occupied, but the man turned.
“Yeah? I’m back here!” He shoved Astarion away. Looking apologetic he looked back at Astarion. “I’m coming!”
Damn! That would be the end of things.
“Sorry! My mates are calling me.”
“Don’t worry darling. Have a good night, and do be careful. You never know what dangers are lurking.”
The man hugged him goodbye. As soon as he rounded the corner, out of sight, Astarion spat, trying to clear the taste of the rancid saliva from his mouth. He grimaced, wiping his lips. He looked down at the purse he’d lifted during their parting. It held a few coins. Enough to replace what he’d spent tonight.
Now that the distraction of the hunt was gone, he looked around the alley. A little further down he caught the glowing eyes of a pair of cats crouched over something. Sniffing the air he realized were lapping at saucers of blood.
He paused. Do not drink from any creatures without my permission. A rule designed to keep the spawn starving and obedient.
Astarion didn’t like to drink from cats anyway, but… drinking from a saucer was not drinking from a creature. He smiled, finding a loophole he could exploit.
“Beg your pardon loves, but I will have to cut in.” Astarion strode over and the stray cats startled away. He grabbed the first of several saucers and took a sip. Fresh. Left from the chickens that chef had butchered. What was his name? Astarion heard the bartender say it, but hadn’t bothered trying to remember it.
As he relished the blood, draining each saucer the chef had left in the alley, he decided the night wasn’t a complete loss.
He hadn’t had to fuck anyone, and while he’d be beaten for not bringing someone in, if questioned he could honestly say he’d tried.
He had fresh blood in his system and would be able to heal.
What a wonderful evening it had been.
He smoothed his clothes, and started the process of returning his coins to his stash and making the long walk to the palace. He savored the cool air on his skin, and in his lungs.
The wide night’s sky above him shone with starlight.
Chapter 2: Investigations
Summary:
Gale reflects on the current state of affairs. Astarion returns to the manor.
Notes:
This chapter includes the horrors of the Szarr manor. Please read with care.
The tough stuff begins after “With that, Cazador dismissed the three spawn to their misery.”
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Waterdeep - one year ago
Days after the disaster with The Orb a manic wizard could be found on the floor of his tower surrounded by discarded summoning circles.
Familiars could not be revived like a being that was fully of the material realm. They left no body, and so there was nothing with which to target the spell.
As he cast the Find Familiar spell, he could feel Tara’s spirit approaching the material plain from wherever she had gone, but something impeded her.
He’d only summoned her the once, as a child. She’d been an independent spirit, and had been happy to live her own life when not studying alongside Gale. He’d never had a need to unsummon her.
He knew he was doing it right. This was a beginner’s spell. He tried fully simplifying the spell, hoping she’d forgive him for summoning her as anything other than a tressym. But every time she came close, the vessel she needed never materialized.
He wept with rage.
He couldn’t get Tara back.
-
A tendays later the mania had faded and a raw determination had set in. He’d deduced a few facts about his current condition.
First, whatever was in his chest was not a known type of magic. It absorbed life and did not match the features of a necromancy effect. In fact it seemed as similar to necromancy as psionics were to enchantment magic.
Second, a layer of clothing between himself and a living thing was enough to prevent its death.
Third, to prevent extreme chest pains he needed to consume several animals a day.
Tara.
He hated himself for what he’d done to her. He hated that even more because it had brought physical relief.
He had to find answers.
A deep dive into the history of the book that had started all this eventually lead him to a crumbling tome that mentioned a wayward protege of the Mad Mage himself, who was a necromancer and had survived the fall of Netheril. He was also rumored to be surrounded by spirits of Netherese wizards inhabiting their own skulls.
That last revelation twisted in Gale’s stomach. He couldn’t imagine embodying Tara in such a form. But it did give him enough clues to form a hypothesis and a tentative plan.
Baldur’s Gate - Spring 1492 DR
Gale returned to his room on the second floor of the inn. Once he’d closed and locked his door, he sighed, another long day done. He removed his gloves, then his shirt. His room didn’t have a mirror, and for that he was glad. Looking down at his chest and arms he could still see the swirling lines produced by the orb. Seeing it never failed to cause him sorrow. The orb had lost him his goddess and killed his beloved familiar. He rubbed his face, dragging his hands down. He needed to keep moving forward.
He needed a bath.
When he’d arrived his room was relatively spacious, but bare. Over the last few months, he’d made some improvements. His favorite addition, even more than the bookshelves, was a large wooden tub. When he came to Baldur’s gate he’d brought his pitcher of infinite water, and he used it almost exclusively for his baths. There was also a spigot at the bottom of his bath tub connected to a hose that ran out the window for drainage. He was proud of his little setup. The sidewalk had never been cleaner, and he had a private place to bathe.
He set the pitcher to fill the tub and as he waited he stood, his mind empty. Eventually the bath filled, pulling him back to the moment. He grabbed a heavy bar of copper that had been leaning against the tub, put it in the water and cast ‘heat metal.’ The water immediately around the rod boiled, but swirling the rod though the water eventually disbursed the heat and after a few moments he had a steaming hot bath.
From here he finished undressing and climbed into the tub. When he was up to his chest in the hot water, breathing in the steam, he finally began to relax. It felt nice. He grabbed his soap and washcloth, and started to scrub himself clean. Prestidigitation was a good spell, but couldn’t replace this.
When he finished he rested his head on the edge of the tub and took stock of his situation. He’d been in Baldur’s Gate for a several tendays now and he had a steady supply of living things to supply to The Orb. He had been using his free time to investigate the nature of his situation further, and he was around people again which helped keep the deep melancholy at bay.
He, therefore, had found himself at a point of reasonable stability. Which meant that this could be his life for a long, long, while.
He didn’t know how to feel about that.
He sat ruminating until the water grew cold, and his fingers wrinkled.
He stood, put on a robe and drained the tub.
He sat at his desk, opened his journal, and began writing:
Tara,
It’s not been a very productive day. I spent my time working in the kitchen, and generally enjoyed the lifestyle of the ‘working man.’
I’m concerned that I’m gradually becoming more comfortable with killing. No, I must correct myself, it’s not killing that I object to. I’ve always eaten meat, so something has always died for my benefit. (Arguably a less necessary death. I can’t feed The Orb plant proteins as a substitute.) I should say that I am concerned that I’m becoming more comfortable with killing whatever I touch. It is my nature now, it’s how I occupy this world.
…Thank the gods The Orb doesn’t leave any contamination to the meat. I digress-
I need a plan. I have several goals, but I believe my primary two are intertwined.
If I can successfully interpret the means to summon you, I will develop a greater understanding of The Orb and maybe a means to control it. My recent research has produced a name: Shradin Mulophor, also known as the Lord of Bones. Information is scarce but it’s a lead. He appears to have lived in the aptly named Skullport. I’ll update you further soon.
Goodnight my friend,
Gale
~*~
Entering the palace felt like passing through a grimy barrier. Astarion’s chest would tighten and his vision would blur. It was deeply frustrating how strongly his body reacted to this place.
If he’d brought back a victim, he’d be sitting in the dining hall being presented a rotten rat, while Cazador exsanguinated the poor bastard.
Instead, he walked to the throne and stood waiting to be judged and found lacking. There was no telling how long the wait would be. Other spawn would likely arrive as well.
In moments like this each spawn would wish the master’s wrath onto someone else. He had no idea what the others had been tasked to do, so if there had been others out to hunting he might not be the sole focus of the lord’s anger.
He stood waiting for at least an hour before others showed up. Aurelia and Leon.
Leon was a surprise, and he didn’t know much about Aurelia. She was one of the newest spawn.
None of them bothered to talk to one another. Talking would do nothing.
Astarion was curious about Leon’s presence though. He was usually a good little dog for the master.
He would find out soon enough.
“Stand up straight you curs.”
All three flinched and stood abnormally tall. Not because of the fear that shot through them, but because of the command in the Master’s voice.
Cazador walked past the spawn to sit in the grand chair. With his master in view, despite every desire to the contrary, Astarion was terrified.
He willed himself to appear calm.
“Aurelia, Astarion. Both of you failed to bring prey yet again.” Astarion managed a glance for Aurelia, to see how she was reacting. She wore her fear openly on her face. He hated her for it. She was weak.
“Leon. You have successfully brought home a quarry.” Leon, the absolute bastard, had the gall to look smug about that. “However, once I got it to my chambers, I found that it was damaged goods.”
Cazador made a gesture to someone unseen waiting outside the door.
A servant brought in a nude corpse of a woman, dropping it face down on the stone floor. A long scar puckered and rippled along her back. Leon’s eyes opened wide.
“You’ve been deficient in your inspections. A marred body is unfit to be a canvas for my art.”
Astarion was suddenly very aware of where his shirt touched the scars on his back.
“For this oversight you will spend the day with Godey learning to be less precious about using your body to thoroughly inspect whatever you bring back.” Leon’s eyes stared down at the corpse. He was in shock.
Good. The bastard was always so arrogant, holding himself above the other spawn because he was less broken.
Astarion was glad he’d be getting an in-depth instruction on how they’d all come to be that way.
Cazador stood to depart, pausing next to Astarion. “You could take a lesson from this one.” He delicately stroked Astarion’s jawline. “He knows how little his body is worth, and so never hesitates to use it.”
“However.” Cazador now addressed both Astarion and Aurelia. “Your failures cannot be ignored. I want you both to take care of disciplining each other. I’ll have Godey provide you with the tools.”
Aurelia looked terrified at Astarion, but he didn’t return her gaze. He couldn’t look anywhere but at his master.
With that, Cazador dismissed the three spawn to their misery.
-
Leon’s screams echoed down the halls.
Between Astarion and Aurelia sat a tray full of horrific implements. Knives, thumbscrews, pliers, needles, scissors and saws.
He gestured to the tools. “Ladies first.” Her eyes flicked down and then up at him. She approached the implements.
Not knowing her plan, Astarion carefully removed his clothes, folding them neatly and placing them out of the way. He found a stained chair to sit in, and waited.
Aurelia was shaking. Her master’s compulsion was irresistible. She grabbed a scalpel.
How dreadfully uncreative.
She hesitated, then walked over to him. Her eyes crying.
Now that made him furious. Astarion locked onto those crying eyes. The selfish cow was making his impending torture about her own discomfort. Worse, her sobbing would make the process slower.
Aurelia began slicing into his thigh. She had no idea what she was doing. She blindly sliced across veins arteries and nerves with a slow, tremulous, hand. It was agony.
Stumbling worthless bitch.
A sound escaped him. It was somewhere between a growl and a curse.
She made a second cut, perpendicular to the first. Digging deeper. Into fascia and muscle.
She kept going. Slicing and slicing. Eventually meat of both thighs was bared to the harsh air.
He didn’t look down. He didn’t need to look to know what she’d done to him. He’d seen the every layer of flesh that lay below his skin before.
After flaying his thighs, she dropped the scalpel and cradled her face, weeping. Cazador’s compulsion was satisfied.
“Oh fuck you and your tears.” Astarion spat. “You will deserve everything I do next.”
In the quiet moment that hung before the command forced Astarion to act, she started to undress, as he had. He heard her whimper “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t give a fuck if you’re sorry. And don’t bother undressing. Hand me that scalpel, and…” he looked back at the tray of implements. “some needles.”
She complied, nearly dropping the tools before delivering them to her victim and tormentor.
“Now, give me that pretty arm of yours.” She knelt next to him. Producing her left arm. He slapped it away seizing her right. He was going to punish the arm that wielded a blade so incompetently.
Astarion’s anger had insulated him somewhat, but he needed to blink a few times to clear his vision.
“This is how you flay someone.”
Despite everything, he remained dexterous. The knife flashed across her forearm. The skin of her arm opened up, exposing the silvery tendons and blue-black veins. She let out a surprised and horrified shriek. It had happened in an instant.
“You see, if you aren’t an imbecile you can preserve major blood vessels and nerves. And look here, each muscle and tendon in your arm is working in beautiful harmony.” They both looked down at the exposed workings of her arm. He squeezed her wrist and growled “ so there is no excuse for whatever the hells you did to my thighs.”
He took a moment before continuing. Putting on a face of false empathy.
“Now, you might be wondering ‘Astarion why did you need those needles?’ Well, you see, we don’t get to quit until you’ve suffered enough. So now we begin some very efficient suffering.”
He grabbed her index finger delicately with one hand, and then held aloft a needle. It was not small. Both of them watched it shine in the firelight.
He then slowly worked it under the fingernail.
Her cries echoed down the halls.
“Don’t worry dear. Only four more to go.”
As he worked her screams broke into gasping sobs.
When the last needle went under her thumbnail, Cazador’s words let both of them go. He immediately grabbed her hand ripping out the needles, gaining some personal satisfaction at the way she barked out another wail. She curled in on herself cradling her injured arm.
As the both sat slowly processing how they would get back to the dormitories, footsteps sounded outside the room.
“I heard lovely screams from everyone, except… you boy.” Cazador entered, reviewing the scene in front of him.
He leaned over Astarion’s exposed muscle tissue. “Aurelia, you don’t lack for gusto, but you lose points for style.
“And really, you were so close. All you need is a bit of creativity.”
Cazador pulled a brazier from the wall. Astarion’s eyes followed the burning dish until it hovered over his flayed legs.
“Do you beg for mercy?”
Astarion shook his head.
“And why not?”
“I-“ Astarion couldn’t think. He was frozen.
“Pitiful. Though you do prove my point. There is nothing about you worth begging for.”
He unceremoniously dumped the burning coals onto the exposed muscles of Astarion’s legs. The air filled with the smell of roasting meat. Astarion screamed.
“You. Are. Worthless.”
Smiling, Cazador admired his handiwork while Astarion’s screams turned to quiet heaving, then looked over at Aurelia. “There. See? Easily done.”
Somehow the smell of his burned flesh, knowing that others could smell his body being destroyed, filled Astarion with shame.
Cazador stroked Astarions cheek where a tear had escaped. “Mmm… that is more like it.”
He stood upright, and spat into the still sizzling open wounds, before turning to leave.
“Aurelia, go fetch Dalyria. Astarion, leave the coals until she arrives, then you can put yourselves back together. I expect you’ll be properly motivated to work harder tomorrow night.”
Aurelia nodded then ran. Astarion was left alone in the dark.
Through it all, Leon had never stopped screaming.
Notes:
Thank you to everyone who has read this so far. This is my first work fiction I’ve written since I was a kid.
This work will be much more D&D compliant than BG3 compliant.
It’s also going to be a verrry slow burn. Gale can’t touch anybody, and Astarion hates being touched. It’s a match made in Avernus!
Chapter 3: Just another day
Summary:
Gale and Astarion both go about their days. One garners the others’ interest..
Chapter Text
Baldur’s Gate - Spring 1492 DR
After Dalyria had arrived, she’d painstakingly cleaned Astarion’s wounds. The cooked flesh would inhibit healing, and so needed to be cut away. Aurelia stayed the whole time, staring at the process. Eventually all that was left was to stitch up the wounds. Dalyria produced a needle and some horsehair. She handed it to Astarion, knowing that he preferred to do this part himself.
Astarion was shaking before the needle touched skin, and then his hands immediately calmed. Habit and skill winning over shock. He hardly registered the needle traveling through his skin.
Once he’d finished he reached for Aurelia. She froze.
“You can have Dal stitch you if you want, but you’ll look like a flesh golem for a tenday.” His voice was hoarse. Exhausted. “Your choice.”
She looked at Dalyria who nodded before stepping closer. She handed him her arm. Astarion immediately began adding delicate stitches, closing the wound neatly.
“There. Done. Now get out.” She nodded, then took a roll of boiled rags with her from Dalyria’s kit, and left.
As Dalyria helped roll the same rags onto Astarion’s legs she finally spoke. “You didn’t have to do her right arm, you know. She has to write.’”
“Tsk, I specifically chose methods that will heal quickly. After what she did to me, you should be praising my beneficence, not scolding me.”
“Most of the damage wasn’t from her.”
This infuriated Astarion.
“Yes! Yes it bloody was! Her incompetence both did excessive damage and was so amateur that it drew the attention of-“ he froze at the name, and the energy left him as suddenly as it arrived. He rubbed his face with his forearm. His hands were too bloody and he didn’t want to make a further mess.
He gestured to Dalyria to help him stand up.
Coming to his feet unsteadily he asked “Why did Cazador make that awful thing a spawn anyway?”
“You didn’t know?”
He shook his head.
“He needed an accountant.”
Astarion barked out a laugh, this time in actual amusement. What a cosmic joke. Eternity as a vampire because some immortal bastard had to do his taxes.
He leaned on Dal’s shoulder as they both hobbled back to the dormitory for whatever rest they could get.
~*~
When Gale awoke the sun was already quite high. He stretched before standing and pouring a basin to wash his face.
“One must not forgo their morning ablutions, eh Tara? A fastidious creature like you surely understands.”
He knew she couldn’t hear him, but it helped to talk out loud.
Once he was dressed and ready, he began his day. His usual first stop was The Wide, Baldur’s Gate’s giant plaza that normally hosted an impressive open air market.
The Wide had many different vendors. Gale could both meet local food vendors and peruse the stalls of merchants who often had strange and rare tomes. Most of the time the books he found lead him nowhere. Occasionally the tomes were fascinating but usually about irrelevant topics. His favorite find was an antique atlas of Faerûn from before the Spellplague. It was highly detailed, and contained Underdark regions as well. He didn’t have a use for it. It contained cities and roads long destroyed. it was still fun to pour over, and wonder at the world that was.
This time he didn’t find anything terribly unique. A junk dealer had some interesting ship’s navigation tools that were fun to look at, and he managed to procure some early season strawberries for The Pelican. He was sure no one could object to those joining the menu as a simple dessert.
Before departing The Wide he would stop by The Unfurling Scroll, located on its southwest corner. The Unfurling Scroll was a temple to Oghma that doubled as a shop that carried interesting spell scrolls and tomes. Today Gale perused the racks quietly. He’d made the mistake of trying to small talk with the resident priests before, but they were too busy or uninterested. Here he spied a few books of interest. One tome was called Light, Shadow and Beyond: a History of the Weave which promised to explain the many ways the weave had changed since it was first created by Mystryl. Another tome was a series of articles that conjectured how magic could exist outside of the “schools” it was called Beyond the Art. He made his purchases and moved on.
From there he wandered the different avenues in town, stopping by some different bookshops to try and discover more clues as to his predicament. He found nothing more of terrible interest, and so returned to the Tavern to begin another day of work.
It wasn’t until Cal and Lia arrived later that he realized he hadn’t spoken more than 5 words to an actual person all day.
Baldur’s Gate - 2 months ago
Gale stepped off of he ship and onto the docks of Baldur’s Gate. On its surface the city should have been similar to Waterdeep. Both were large ports and boasted a robust economies, but that seemed to be the only thing they had in common. As he walked up the cobblestone streets, Gale’s eyes soaked in the darker colors, and even darker mood. Strange, for a city in a warmer climate it also seemed to carry an unpleasant chill in the air. Eyes were more watchful, purses carried closer to the body.
No matter, Gale hitched his bag up onto his shoulder and headed up the road. If someone wanted to pick a fight with a wizard who couldn’t help but kill whomever he touched, let them.
As he moved away from the docks the mood of the city did seem to improve. Streets became cleaner, and the air smelled sweeter. He supposed that made sense.
“Don’t judge a book by its cover, eh Tara? This could be an adventure!”
He continued walking, silence the only response.
“Now, I know you’ll be worried about me finding some sources of energy for the orb. Rest assured I have a plan.”
He continued to hold a one sided conversation with himself as he attepted to get his bearings. Lucky for him, it didn’t take long for him to stumble into something promising. A placard had been placed outside of a tavern.
“Help Wanted - Chef.”
-
Gale would quickly find out why the position was available. It seemed no one worked here long, The pay was miserable as were the customers. The owner was a cheapskate and a bit of an absentee landlord. He demanded his wait staff also clean the rooms upstairs and that his chefs not only cook but also procure all of the ingredients themselves.
In short. It was perfect.
Currently working there were two wait staff. Tiefling siblings who had arrived to Baldur’s gate recently as refugees, and a halfling manager who would occasionally visit from some of the owners other (better) locations. She would balance the books, and give the supply budget for the week.
The pay was abysmal, 3 silver a day, but he was able to negotiate a room for himself as part of his wage. Apparently the rooms rarely filled up, so it wasn’t any sacrifice for the business. It did come with a pay cut though. In the end he’d get 2 silver a day plus meals and a bed.
Gale didn’t mind. His bank has a branch in Baldur’s Gate. His finances would be his least concern.
After negotiations were complete, he dropped his bag on the bed of his new room.
For the first time in days, Gale was truly alone.
After a few moments he dropped the mask of cheer.
He felt exhausted. Sitting on the edge of his paltry mattress, he dropped his head in his hands. He didn’t cry. He just sat a little while without projecting optimism he didn’t feel.
He could keep going. He had to. He just needed to breathe for a little while.
Yes. Just a a few deep breaths, then everything would be fine.
Baldur’s Gate - Spring 1492 DR
That evening, as soon as the sky turned orange Astarion readied himself to go back out.
He was still in a great deal of pain and he had only tranced fitfully. He found a bucket, and pulled water from a tap near the dormitory. Washing efficiently he cleaned the flakes of blood from his arms and legs, taking the moment to inspect how things were healing under the bandages. The little bit of chicken’s blood he’d had the night before had surely helped. Even so, the flesh on his legs still rippled where the muscle tissue was missing. His legs felt weaker too.
He was silently grateful for Dalyria’s ministrations the night before, he hated the way his body healed when it had to purge destroyed tissue and her removal of the burned flesh had prevented that. He wouldn’t tell her of course, she had been commanded to be there by their master. She’d no more ‘volunteered’ to help than he’d volunteered to sit for his maiming. Still, she was not commanded to do it in any particular way. She could have been far less kind.
Once Astarion rewrapped his legs and dressed for the evening, he waited for his lord’s permission to leave. As he stood at the doors Cazador walked up behind him.
“Go boy, and fetch me a meal. I’m hungry for something beautiful.” With that last clause he stroked Astarion’s back, caressing the raised scars he’d placed there.
Astarion nodded, and then managed to push out a ‘Yes, my lord.” Before departing into the city.
He knew where he wanted to go. If he could exploit the presence of that blood again, he might heal fully. He went back to his stash, donning the perfume and taking the coin purse. This time he would keep his ear open for when the cook started to kill the birds, and then intercept the saucers before the alley cats got to them.
-
The old bell on the door made a weak rattle. “Welcome to the Pelican Saer.” The same bartender was behind the bar. “Oh! It’s you. Welcome back, would you like the same as last night? House red?”
Astarion made his way to the same stool he’d occupied the night before. “Paying close attention to me, are we?” He said leaning on his wrist. The bartender smiled, and went to retrieve the wine.
Tonight he watched the kitchen instead of getting lost in thought or canvassing the patrons. He noticed things he didn’t last night. Based on the activity, the kitchen sounded like there was at least a half dozen people in the back, but there wasn’t any of the talking he expected save for the voice of that cook. He was talking to himself.
Listening in, Astarion found himself smirking.
While could see little of the back kitchen from where he was sitting he could hear humming, exclamations of excitement, muffled expletives (possibly from a burn?) and unanswered questions of a person thinking out loud. Most of what he could hear were the funny little sounds that someone might make if they didn’t realize they could be heard.
Occasionally the cook would round the corner from the back kitchen to the pass through window to drop off a plate of food or pick up an order slip. Tonight he noticed the cook wore a thin shirt with rolled sleeves, his hair half up in a little bun. He was sweating and his shirt clung to him a bit. He’d opened the top buttons of his shirt showing more of that tattoo that Astarion had noticed the night before. It appeared to go down to his chest, getting lost in the folds of the shirt.
The man was sweaty and working hard, but also joyful.
On of his trips to drop off an order, he stopped to let the bartender know he would be starting on the chickens. Shortly after Astarion dropped a couple copper for the wine and went out to the alley.
The back alley had a low wall that separated the outdoor aspects of the kitchen from the narrow path. The low brick wall was where the saucers had been placed the night before.
He heard many tiny hearts beating on the other side of the wall, and a few in the alley with him. The former were the chickens, looking for the source of the latter group he spotted the glowing eyes of alley cats waiting in the shadows. He hissed at them. He was not interested in sharing.
From the dark place where he stood he saw the cook come out and open one of the chicken crates that rested out here. Astarion looked around for a chopping block and didn’t see one. Was this fellow one for snapping necks then?
Instead he saw something completely unexpected.
As Astarion watched, the man gently picked up the bird and rested it on his legs.
“Sshh, shh. You’re ok. Be calm.” When the bird relaxed he appeared to pet it on its head. Then a subtle light was drawn away from the bird as the tattoo on his chest emanated a light of its own. The sound of its heartbeat vanished. The bird was dead. Fascinated, he watched as the man did this to at least a dozen other birds. While he siphoned off the life from these creatures they were carried away by what looked like mage hands, while some other force scalded and plucked the carcasses. It took him a moment to puzzle out what was going on; unseen servants.
This chef was a bloody wizard? He stood stunned in the dark. What in the hells had a wizard working as a lowly cook? Was he a spy? If so, this was a rotten place to be one. The clientele were nobodies. Most mages could only summon one mage hand at a time. This man had many more.
So he was a powerful bloody wizard working at a shitty little tavern. Inexplicable.
Once the birds had been killed and plucked, the wizard went through them one-by-one with a small sharp knife and hung them over shallow bowls to drain their blood. He used the mage hands to massage the flesh a bit, encouraging the blood to fully drain. Once he felt satisfied he set out the full saucers. Once the messiest parts were done he carried the birds inside to finish.
As soon as the wizard was out of sight Astarion jumped at the nearest saucer. It held just a few sips, but it was fresh and clean. He drained them all down the line, licking them clean as he went. He tried to taste if the thing the wizard did had changed the blood but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had anything other than a diseased rat.
The alley cats looked on. Tiny bodies full of fury.
“Oh piss off. Go get some fish guts down at the wharf.”
When he was done he touched up his face, making sure he hadn’t made a mess while enjoying his miniature feast, and then went to return to the tavern.
He could move on to better hunting grounds, but he was now in a much better mood than when he’d started, and he was feeling very curious.
Notes:
Thanks again for reading!
My listening play list to get into the vibes includes: The National, Bauhaus, Joy Division, The Church, Neko Case, and Lana Del Rey
Other honorable mentions that fit very particular moods: Depeche Mode, Amanda Lear, Scissor Sisters and Frank Turner,
Chapter 4: The Mysterious Magic Man
Summary:
The boys FINALLY get to know each other.
Chapter Text
Baldur’s Gate Late Winter 1492 DR -1 week after Gale’s arrival
One day while setting up the tavern for a night’s work, Gale was talking with Lia and Cal as they all prepared to open the tavern.
He filled the quiet with chatter. “And of course on the way to The Gate, our ship passed over several Merfolk settlements. Now, some people mistake Merfolk and Merrow as being the same, but they are wildly different.” He saw Cal doing something with his fingers as he looked over at Lia. “And while one group will be actively hostile as a matter of course, the other is much more diplomatic and often very kind to travelers.“ Lia was giggling. When Gale paused to look he could see that Cal was counting on his fingers. “Anyway, like I said, -“ Cal reset his count to zero.
“Pardon. What are you doing?”
“I’m counting how long you go between talking.”
Gale was confused.
“So far you haven’t made it passed 5 seconds. Except for now of course.”
Lia giggled again.
Gale finished his work in the seating area silently, before excusing himself to the kitchens.
-
The farmer who delivered vegetables to the tavern pulled up her cart in the back alley.
“Well, hello hello! Wonderful to see my favorite farmer. How are you this fine morning?”
“I’m well Gale, thanks. Help me with these crates?”
“With pleasure and alacrity madam.”
“Right. How’s the restaurant business treating you?”
“Well indeed! In fact I’ve prepared a little gift for you. It’s a pot pie, feel free to take the crock with you and bring it back next time.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind.”
“Oh! And you’d mentioned that the tack for your mule was in poor shape. I happened upon this replacement up at The Wide.” He handed her a bridle and other harnesses.
“Oh okay. That’s…” She looked uncomfortable.
“Think nothing of it. It’s my pleasure.”
She hesitated. “You know we’re not friends right? That this is a business deal?”
“Ah- yes. I’m aware.” His heart dropped. He’d overdone it hadn’t he? “I just like to give gifts, and when the perfect gift comes along, I can’t help but want to give it.”
“Right. Ok. Thanks.”
Baldur’s Gate - Spring 1492 DR
By the time Astarion had made it back into the interior of the Pelican, the cook was seated at the bar. Taking up a spot near enough to start a conversation he noticed that the ‘cook’ already looked quite different. He was once again covered in a thick shirt and black gloves. He also didn’t have a whiff of the day’s work on him or any lingering sweat.
The spawn’s curiosity really was getting the better of him. A powerful wizard was not good prey, and he should focus on hunting. But whatever this strange man was about had him curious and in 200 years he rarely had any occasion to entertain his curiosities.
He was out in the city, and he’d just eaten the most he had in decades.
He decided he could pretend to be a person for just a little longer.
“Hello again stranger.” Astarion leaned in and waved at the bartender for another drink.
The brown haired man turned, just now noticing him. “Oh, ehm. Hello again. What brings you back? Finally interested in trying some of my culinary delights?”
“Alas, no. Still here for just a drink and some company. This time I promise to keep my hands to myself.” he raised his hands in mock surrender. “I am terribly curious about you though, there’s something special about you.”
That last comment had done something, the brown haired man’s face brightened and he turned the rest of the way toward Astarion.
“Why thank you. Though I hardly know why you’d think so. You haven’t tried a morsel of my cooking, and that is the most stand out thing about me.”
“Don’t undersell yourself darling. You have much more going on than your ability to make a decent stew. And I don’t just mean your handsome face either.”
He ducked his head looking away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Astarion wasn’t enjoying this dance, and decided to be direct. “Oh, don’t be coy magic man. You’re not advertising, but neither are you hiding. What brings a man who can run an entire kitchen with a series of spells down to a lowly place like this?”
The wizard chuckled. “You know, you’re the first to notice? Besides Cal and Lia I mean.” The brown eyed man looked at Astarion, then away. “I’m in a predicament that requires me to be in Baldur’s Gate for the time being, and cooking seemed to be a way to pass the time.”
Astarion was used to liars, he was a fabulous one himself, and he could identify just when the man’s words had turned away from the truth.
“Tell me then, what is your business here? I admit a clandestine mage in a seedy tavern has my curiosity piqued.”
“Research. And it’s not seedy. It’s rustic.”
“Fine, if you say so. Are you seriously spending all your time in a rustic tavern in lower town because you’re on an errand?”
“As far as I am willing to share with a total stranger? Yes.”
Hmm. “Let me start us off properly then. I am Astarion.” He held out a hand to be shaken. Or kissed.
“Gale of Waterdeep, and I do apologize. I must insist that I’m not one for touches of any kind these days.” His hands remained on the mug of whatever he was drinking. Astarion detected a forlorn cast on Gale’s face at that remark. He put the proffered hand down. Curiouser and curiouser.
“You are an enigmatic man, Gale of Waterdeep.”
“Ah, well. What is a wizard without a bit of mystery? We don’t secret ourselves in high towers just for the aesthetics.” With that he offered a playful grin.
“Do you have a tower?” Astarion’s eyebrows raised.
“I do. It has a splendid view looking down over Waterdeep.” He paused, furrowing his brow. “I suppose in that regard it is for aesthetics.”
That made Astarion chuckle. Gale smiled in return. After a few moments of just looking at one another, Astarion pressed further.
“So you’ve abandoned your lovely tower in Waterdeep to work a tavern, getting paid coppers to do so, in order to do something in Baldur’s gate? Why not get hired by one of the Patriars and stay in a manor? …Wizard, are you in trouble with the law?”
“Hah, no. No, I have my own reasons for working here, not the least of which is getting to serve good food and perfect recipes. I just… I’d rather not overlap with that side of the city too much. I’d rather only a necessary few know that I am here.”
“Well, Mr. Secretive, have you had any luck with your mystery project?”
“A bit, though unfortunately not a lot. Information I’m hoping for might not even exist. I’ve scoured Waterdeep finding little, and now I’m digging into Baldur’s Gate.”
“Is there anything that you can tell me about what you’re working on?”
Gale was thoughtful for a moment.”I did buy two books that might be of interest this afternoon but didn’t get a chance to read them yet. They are on the history of The Weave in Toril, and on the nature of magical schools. From the little I glanced through them they might be able to help me answer questions as to the nature of a certain magical effect that I’m curious about. You see, I’m encountering a magic that is untyped, but it’s also not Ki or Psionics-“ He froze.
“Why did you stop?”
“Ah, I just realized I was about to talk your ear off. I am aware that I tend to… overshare.”
“Nonsense, I enjoyed it. It’s nice to be able to bask in a conversation instead of carrying it.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.”
“Well then, let’s begin at the beginning. It’s a misconception that the weave is magic itself, it’s not. It organizes the chaos. Music instead of a cacophony. Many millennia ago, shortly after Selûne and Shar created light and dark in the universe, Mystryl’s apotheosis was generated by their conflict. It was then that she created the first incarnation of the weave…” The mage continued. His voice a soft tenor that rose and fell with enthusiasm and a theatrical inflection. Astarion felt himself relaxing, wearing a smile he hadn’t consciously placed there.
…
“… and now my studies have introduced a new conundrum. You see, if a magic is not arcane, divine or generated by the caster then it is completely new. Or at least unknown to contemporary scholars. It could be a product of a different deity while not exactly divine like the Shadow Weave was, a yet unknown internal ability beyond ki and psionic energy, or a novel way of organizing the existing weave beyond the eight schools practiced by wizards.” Gale finally stopped talking, looking at Astarion hoping he hadn’t overdone it.
Astarion smiled arching a brow. “And all this means you must be a cook in a tavern?”
Gale was surprised, usually people either quit paying attention or outright left. “Well, there’s more, but I’m afraid that’s all I can share for now.” He smiled. “Maybe another night?”
Gale yawned. “I’m terribly sorry. I forgot to ask about you. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Nonsense darling. I enjoyed myself.”
“I did too. It helps to talk out loud.” He sat contentedly before another yawn took him.“Alas, I am subject to human frailty and must abed.” He stood and bowed his head slightly “Thank you for listening Astarion. Truly. I was the highlight of my day.”
“Mine as well wizard. I shall see you again soon.” Astarion waved his fingers.
With that Gale departed. Once he’d disappeared up the stairs the spell he had cast on Astarion’s evening evaporated.
The smile faded. He had to quit playing pretend. It was time to hunt.
-
After settling back into his normal routine, Astarion spied a forlorn woman drinking and looking out the window. It didn’t take long to convince her to let him sit at her table (sending a drink via the barmaid did the trick) and soon enough she was flirting and touching his arm enthusiastically.
He went through all the motions, centuries of practice making them flawless, while his mind was on his earlier conversation. It was upsetting to him just how much of an impression his evening with the wizard had made.
Was he so pitiful that a single conversation would linger on his mind like that?
There were different stages to reeling in his prey. The first had been initiating the conversation, the next hurdle was encouraging her to leave the tavern with him. He suggested a late night street vendor selling hand pies and that did the trick.
Next, he made sure to avoid Leon’s mistake by mimicking a moment of passion. He pressed her against the wall of a closed shop, his hands searching her skin, checking for imperfections. Hers found their way into his pants. Every point of contact felt like glass shards against his skin. This was going well.
Once she was comfortable with him, and he had assured himself she wouldn’t be rejected as an offering, he suggested that they go back to his house to ‘keep the evening going.’ She accepted.
When they got to the doors of the palace she looked up in awe. She was from lower town, this was likely the first time she’d ever been invited somewhere so grand.
Once inside, they were shown to the dining hall. Astarion and the girl were escorted to seat in front of a cloche covered plates. She was so excited. Astarion smiled. Cazador entered the room.
The servants removed the covers revealing the rats.
Astarion watched the girl became confused and terrified.
Then he was forced to eat the dead rodent on his plate.
Cazador walked up while she was frozen in fear.
The vampire bit down on her neck.
She fell to the ground.
Cazador patted the still seated Astarion on the shoulder.
“Good boy.”
Notes:
Whew! I wanted to get through to the boys finally getting to know each other. Sorry it took SO LONG! I didn’t think they’d be so standoffish from one another. I suppose it makes sense, neither feels particularly connected to others.
At least both of their perspectives can include each other’s names now. I was running out of replacement descriptors that didn’t feel overdone. ^_^
Chapter 5: Paths diverge and reunite.
Summary:
Gale does some reading. Astarion experiences the continued torments of the palace.
Notes:
This chapter contains some Cazador level trauma for dear Astarion. (Non-con & torture.) Read with care. More notes on how to avoid this at the end.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When Gale awoke the next morning he was in a pleasant mood. Talking with that elf last night had really helped him organize his thoughts. He made himself a coffee by magically heating a kettle in his room, bypassing the walk downstairs. He grabbed one of his two new books taking notes as he went.
Reading through the first book, he annotated some points of interest. His pen could be heard scratching out notes as he read.
….The longest lived creatures in the realms know how much the weave has changed in these many centuries. Mystryl was a much more fluid and quixotic being than her successor Mystra. When Mystryl perished during Karsus’ folly the weave unraveled, and when reformed by the ascendant goddess Mystra it was a very different…
…Each of these transitions in the life of the Goddess has lead to some spells ceasing to function, or functioning in a very different way. Take for example Detect Magic. It used to be a flash-in-the-pan type of spell, lasting less than a minute, and rarely giving the caster details as to the school of magic. Now, in the current incarnation of the weave, the spell lasts a full 10 minutes, and universally reveals the school of magic that was used. This is not due to an improvement in the spell but rather a change in the weave’s receptiveness to such spells…
...We mages have a habit of treating the weave as something that can be fully controlled by a powerful and learned mind. But, in truth, we must contest with something far more variable and enigmatic. We must learn from the Netherese who had the hubris to believe that they could possess and control the weave. They created whole floating cities around the idea of an unlimited font of captured weave. Their demise at the hands of Karsus’ Folly teaches us that no one but the Goddess herself will have full control of the weave…
Gale put his pen and notebook down. This book had opened him to some novel ideas. The source of his blight had been trapped an ancient Netherese tome. Could this Orb be of a past incarnation of weave? But why would it be deadly? The notion of ‘captured weave’ was interesting, was that not exactly what he had discovered? He made a note to do more research on Netherese magic items, and to also explore the ways different incarnations of the weave had worked.
His day was otherwise uneventful, and his evening went off as normal. Dinners made, chickens prepped for the next day, the orb fed. He was feeling good about how far he’d gotten today.
He looked through the window to the the bar several times that night hoping to see the Astarion, but he never came. He hoped that he hadn’t put him off.
~*~
The next night Astarion hadn’t been permitted to leave. He spent his time cleaning and repairing his clothes. The lord’s clothes and his bed linens were washed with a soap that had a mild rose scent. The spawn had a rough, lye-based soap that burned the hands but got the job done. He carefully set out his good shirt and trousers to dry, wearing a spare set that had long ago become too ragged for hunting. He used the diluted soap and water to clean his skin.
His shoes were next. They needed oil if they were going to survive. He took some liquified tallow from a guttering candle rubbing it into the leather while it was still warm. That would waterproof them for a bit longer. .
His clothes took ages to dry. The cool evening air did nothing to help, and even on the coldest nights the spawn’s only source of heat was the candles and braziers that lit the rooms. Once it was dry though, he could pull a bit of the warp thread from the rags he’d used for bandages, using one of his precious needles for darning holes and reinforcing seams.
By the time the night was done, his clothes were mended and his body was clean.
When the next evening arrived Astarion’s meditations were interrupted by the door to the spawn’s dormatory opening. A human servant told them to all dress and assemble in front of their master. They all hastily readied themselves and all lined up according to age. Violet was the eldest. Next came Astarion, Petras, and Dalyria. The last three were Yousen, Leon and Aurelia. If you’d asked them to line up by how damaged their bodies and minds had become, you’d likely find them in the same order.
Both Violet and Astarion had been turned when Cazador was a new Vampire lord. It had been just the 3 of them for a long while. He’d turned them both for his own gratification and their usefulness at seducing prey. The others had been picked for other qualities. Violet and Astarion were just there for their bodies. Violet had coped by becoming a bit mad. Everything was a joke to her now. Even her torture. It made her less fun for Cazador to play with, so he’d honed in on Astarion instead. He had a hard time hating her for it. If anything he felt envy that she had managed to lose so much of her mind. His had stuck with him only brief escapes into nothingness.
As they stood waiting, Astarion knew what was coming, but still his stomach dropped when he heard it.
“Children, we will be having a party this evening.” No.
“We will be entertaining the greatest patriars in Baldur’s Gate. You will not disappoint me.”
Cazador’s idea of the ‘greatest patriars’ were the those who were corrupt enough, and depraved enough, to be easily manipulated by bribes and blackmail. Cazador handled the blackmail, the spawns’ flesh was to be the bribes.
-
There was never any food in the manor unless there was a party. For that reason the smell of food mixed with the ever present smell of decay in the palace produced anxiety all on its own. By the time the sounds of the music Cazador preferred began his mouth was dry and his vision had started to spark and blur.
His job was to walk around and offer to bed any of the guests. Some guests liked to pretend that this was a consensual arrangement and expected flirtation, others were earnestly excited that it wasn’t. He didn’t know which he hated more.
The ones who liked to pretend took a longer song and dance, but tended to be more gentle. He would have to hope that he could convince them before one of the more eager rapists swung in and took him to a room. He had no ability to say ‘no’ or defer even if he was talking to someone else. Whoever made their demands known first got their way.
His head was swimming in dread as the guests arrived. His body was practiced enough that a good majority his mind could go elsewhere while he did as he was commanded.
His consciousness was wrapped in a bubble of nausea. Observing at a distance.
The first who took him was an older dwarven woman. It was an unpleasant clash of flesh, but not painful. His face was forced into her groin before she demanded the rest.
The next was a human man with a personal hatred and lust for elves. This involved not just penetration but a beating. He was instructed to beg for more. He did.
The last was one who became excited when Astarion had returned from his previous ordeal. He was a gnome who liked knives and a captive victim who couldn’t die. The bruises Astarion already had excited him. This one enjoyed the torment. It was the point.
-
As Astarion lay in an opulent bed now saturated in sticky dark blood, he heard off in the distance “Oi! Caz! That boy of yours was bleedin’ like a stuck pig this time! Thanks for good time, I look forward to doing more business with you again soon.”
Astarion tried to jump up. To look around at the room for some way to hide the blood. Maybe new bedsheets? He devised a plan to hide the soiled sheets and replace them with new ones in quick succession. His mind worked out the a hasty but workable solution.
But his body refused to respond. He couldn’t move.
The cuts were too numerous and deep. One must have damaged his spine.
As he lay on the bed, he saw the silhouette of his master enter the room. He was grabbed by the hair and dragged, naked, down to the kennels. Leaving a trail of the blood he had delighted in two nights before.
He was thrown against the wall.
“Where did you get the blood boy?”
He gasped, thinking. Trying to get enough air in his lungs to respond. Cazador’s clawed thumb dug into one of his many wounds. He cried out.
Gale, butchering chickens behind the restaurant. “A butcher!”
“You begged a butcher for blood?”
“N-no.” Saucers lovingly set out for cats. “He was throwing it away. I f-found it.”
“So you are less than a rat. Drinking effluence along with the other vermin. Does this butcher shop have a name?”
He steered his mind away from the greeting he’d recieved upon entering the front. He’d been asked about a butcher shop. Not a tavern. He fixed his mind on the alley. The outdoor kitchen where the butchering happened didn’t have a sign, or a name of its own.
“No. No name. Just blood.”
Astarion saw glowing red eyes bore into his own. He couldn’t lie. Not when commanded to speak by his master. Cazador knew the spawn could be tricky, but apparently after a few moments he must have seen something that satisfied him.
Crouching down to be nose to nose with Astarion, he used a mockery of paternal warmth. “From now on butchershops are off limits boy. We can’t have any unfairness between you and your brothers and sisters. It wouldn’t be right.”
Never taking his eyes from Astarion he said “Godey hang him upside down and slit his throat.”
-
Swinging from his ankles, he felt his weight digging the shackles into his skin. He had a neat slash from ear to ear. He felt the blood run down his cheeks and into his hair, before dripping onto the stone.
Tap tap tap. tap tap. tap. tap.
Once his blood had slowed to nothing he was dropped to the floor. He still couldn’t move. He waited on the floor for 3 nights before healing enough to walk out of the kennels.
~*~
A tenday later Gale was working in the kitchens when a familiar face walked in. The elf, Astarion, had returned. At first he was excited, but then a closer look showed that he was exceedingly unwell. His movements were slow and he was all but gray with some fading injuries.
He was slumped onto a chair a the bar, when Gale spotted him he was already looking directly at the window to the kitchen. With a short delay he ‘brightened’ into a smile waving his fingers at Gale. It was unnerving. His eyes stayed hollow and exhausted while his mannerisms had transformed.
Gale rushed to put on his outer gear, then dashed out to see Astarion.
“By the gods! What happened?” Astarion flinched when he got near but then relaxed.
“A rough few days. Could I impress upon your generosity for a cup of wine? One of the many things I lost was my purse.” This wasn’t a lie. While he’d been down in the kennels one of his ‘siblings’ had taken his coin purse from the hiding place where he’d left it in the manor.
“I’m not sure if anyone who is unwell should be drinking, but I won’t stop you from whatever you need.” He didn’t wait for Cal, he quickly gave a large pour to Astarion.
“Thank you magic man. Now do go about your business. I don’t want to delay you, I’ll stay here until you’re done.”
“Are you sure? Please let me know if I can get you anything. Soup, bread, roast chicken, fish? You name it, I’ll make it.”
“Just the wine is fine. Go on. Don’t delay.”
“Alright.”
-
When Gale returned from his final duties for the night he found Astarion’s stool empty. Worried that his new friend might have become too ill, he stood fretting a bit. He didn’t have to wait long before he spotted Astarion walking back inside. He looked brighter than he had earlier, though his bruises seemed more florid.
“My goodness! You gave me a fright!”
“Me?”
“Yes! I thought you’d gotten sick and left. I’m happy to see you again.”
“I just stepped out for some fresh air. Fresh air and a drink have done me wonders tonight.”
“… can I ask what happened?”
“I was injured by a runaway horse cart. I was recouperating in hospital these last days. Just got out.”
“My word! You poor man. Can I get you a healing potion? I keep one or two in my room upstairs.”
Astarion imagined the punishment for arriving back to the palace in too good of health. “No. I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Do let me know if I’m being presumptuous, but I’d like to help you feel better. I can offer the potions, some analgesics, or a hot bath?”
Looking at the man beside him. He was covered with close fitting clothes and uninterested in even a handshake. He also thought back to the sorry wipe down he’d had to give himself just to go out tonight. He was sure he still had blood on his scalp. He couldn’t resist.
“You know. I would love a bath.”Gale smiled.
Astarion had decided that at worst Gale would demand a show. He could handle that.
-
Going upstairs Gale was nervous. Even back when he had his tower he rarely had any guests. Now he was inviting someone into his modest room here at The Pelican.
“Ah, do pardon the mess. Active research can create a lot of it.”
“Aww… don’t worry wizard. I’m sure it’s not so bad.”
Gale unlocked the door. “Please, come in. Feel free to look around, though don’t remove any of the paper scraps from the books. They’re for reference later. “ Gale watched as Astarion looked over his cluttered room with over-full bookshelves and piles of notes, journals and diagrams. His eyes however landed on the tub in the corner of the room. There was no privacy divider.
“I’ll start your bath immediately Astarion. Do you like any oils? I’ve picked up a few here in town.”
Astarion watched Gale tip a pitcher into the tub, it continued to pour as he spoke.
“I have lemongrass, rose, sandalwood, citrus, bergamot, lavender, evergreen, …” Astarion made a modest grimace at the sound of ‘rose.’ Gale made a note. No rose fragrances.
“I would adore some bergamot and citrus together. That sounds heavenly.”
The water kept pouring. “Wonderful. You’ll see it in that cabinet over there. There are also some soaps and lotions. Take your pick.”
Astarion went over to the cabinet. It was over the wash basin. He looked through the many vials before he spotted the ones he wanted.
Gale finished pouring the water, and raised his rod for heating the bath. When he swung it over the tub he saw Astarion, flinch and tense up. Deciding not to mention it, he dropped the rod in the water, heating it and stirring to distribute the warmth. He did put the rod away in a closed cabinet when he was done. He turned to get Astarion a towel and wash cloth, when he came back around the man was already undressing.
“Oh! Wait a moment! I can conjure you a bit of privacy.” He moved to sit on the bed and then made an illusory wall between himself and the tub.
He reached a hand through to demonstrate its nature “See! We can talk through it just fine, but you wont have to worry about prying eyes.”
Astarion laughed at the disembodied arm from the other side of the wall. Gale could hear him disrobing. “Are your eyes otherwise the prying type Gale?”
Gale blushed a bit, glad Astarion couldn’t see him now. “I can admit when a man is handsome. But I dare say while I offer you a chance to relax from your injuries is not a time to oogle.”
“Ah, but you would oogle me?”
He reddened further. Feeling verbally trapped, he remained silent. His gloved hands fidgeting in his lap. He heard Astarion chuckle.
The smell of citrus and bergamot filled the room. After some soft splashing sounds Astarion let out a happy sigh.
“Gale?”
“Yes?”
“Can you make that wall look like anything?”
“Probably. So long as it’s not moving too much.”
“Can- can you make it look like a sunny day?”
“Absolutely.”
Notes:
Skip from “ His consciousness was wrapped in a bubble of nausea.” to “ A tenday later” if you’d like to read but don’t want to experience that part.
Chapter 6: Things Learned and Decisions Made
Summary:
Astarion contemplates his choices. Gale gets some exciting leads.
Chapter Text
Astarion sat in the warm water. It was scented to is preference, and he had the closest thing to the sun shining on his skin that he’d had in 200 years. He was overwhelmed. He was very glad the wizard couldn’t see him.
His mask slipped while intrusive visions flickered through his mind.
By returning today, he’d guaranteed eventual punishment. No doubt orders of magnitude worse than the last one he’d suffered.
“…Astarion?”
“Yes?”
“You got quiet, just wanted to see if you were awake. Do you want me to change the illusion at all? Is it good?”
He looked over at the simulated sun. It was little but pretty. Gale had made a scene of a city overlooking an unfamiliar bay. “This is nice. Where is it? Is this Waterdeep?”
“Yes indeed. This is the view from my tower.”
“Do you miss it?”
“… I don’t know. It’s been a lonely place since last year.”
Conversation was helping relax the knot in Astarion’s stomach and bring him back to the moment. He sighed, settling deeper in the water. “What happened last year?”
He heard Gale shift. “A mistake. One that I’m still paying for.”
Astarion’s eyes were closed. He focused in on the sensation of warmth and the smell of bergamot. “Oh? A lover’s quarrel? Something salacious happen?”
“No. I’m… I’m not sure I want to share that right now. I don’t want you to think less of me.”
Astarion swished his fingers through the warm water. Hard to look down on someone when you’re staring up from rock bottom.
He put on a playful tone. “Oh, now you can’t just say that sort of thing and expect me not to be curious.”
There was a long pause. “You know the marks on my face?”
“The tattoo?” The one he’d seen glowing when Gale killed chickens. “I did notice. It has a certain roguish charm.”
“It’s not a tattoo. It’s a side effect of a magical accident. It-“ he took a breath “it cost me everything.” Gale sounded defeated. After a moment he cleared his throat and seemed to decide something. “Right, tonight is NOT about me, it’s about helping you to feel well my friend. Is there anything else I can get you?”
Astarion didn’t know how to respond. This moment was pure bliss, and there were no comforts he could take with him. None that he could keep anyway. “This is already wonderful.”
That seemed to please Gale.“Alright. You take your time. There’s no hurry.”
Astarion could hear Gale settling down into his mattress. He used this transition to begin a thorough washing. He hadn’t been this warm since last summer. He combed his fingers through his hair, feeling them loosen tangles and bits of blood from the scalp. He cleaned every inch of himself. He felt new.
Astarion sat silently for a while. This game, this fleeting charade where he was not a monster on a leash, was something he could get lost in. He had to be careful.
After a while the illusory wall disappeared. He jumped, but then noticed Gale’s relaxed breathing as he was lay on his bed, his hands clasped over his chest. He was asleep.
Astarion just watched him from the tub for a while. This man made no sense. He didn’t want the one thing Astarion was good for, and hadn’t asked for anything else. It worried him a little, but he knew whatever this was wasn’t going to last long anyway. You can’t owe the dead any favors.
Cazador would find out about this one way or the other. He would surely kill the wizard to make sure Astarion knew he would never have something like this again. He imagined the wizard would be able to give a few licks before being taken out. Maybe Cazador would be disfigured. That last thought made him smile.
He did feel badly for bringing doom to this generous person, though.
No. If you invite a wolf into your bed, it is not the wolf’s fault when you lie bleeding.
Astarion was death itself. Any attempt made to avoid his nature lead to torment. He could not run from it.
What else could he do except try to snatch brief glimpses of respite? If he was destined to doom anyone who came into his orbit, why not someone who could at least ease his pain?
-
Eventually the water cooled and Gale was still fast asleep. Astarion quietly dried and dressed. He moved to leave, but then thought it would be interesting to poke around a bit first.
He quietly explored the stacks of books. The room was full of literature referring to magical schools, items and rare effects. On Gale’s desk there was a coarse sketch of a human, with lines traced across its left side emanating from a circle in its breast. The lines crawled up to the eye of the figure in the same way it did on Gale. The lines also connected down to the left hand, pelvis and thigh.
It had annotations with dates showing how the markings had expanded after certain dates.
Hmm. He looked over at the sleeping wizard. His brow was furrowed in his sleep. This man remained an interesting puzzle.
On his way out he saw a stack of novels hidden amongst the highbrowed academic tomes. One had a tantalizing title.
He took it with him.
~*~
Gale awoke the next morning to an empty room. Astarion was gone, his tub was emptied, and the towels he’d used were folded and draped over the edge. He was disappointed that he’d once again succumbed to sleep while the elf was around. But then again, he was human. That was likely to happen when associating with anyone who needed half as much rest.
He needed to do better, Astarion had been nothing but kind. He didn’t need to go ruining things by falling asleep all the time. Maybe if he could meet up with Astarion earlier in the day he could do better.
-
Today when Gale returned to The Wide one of his favorite booksellers was back. Gale immediately went to see if she had anything new.
“Good morning!” She waved “It’s good to see you! How goes the restaurant business?”
“Most excellent! Though I’m at an impasse trying to convince the other staff to let me expand the menu. Alas their vision for cuisine is narrow. Tell me, why is it that a dish that is most commonplace in one region, is seen as repulsive in another?”
She looked at him skeptically “… What are you trying to get them to eat?”
“Oh! There are a number of foods that are delightful. One such dish is fried intestines seasoned in a spiced fermented bean paste, another is a soup made from the stomach lining of...”
She put up her hand to stop him. “You have a more adventurous palette than most I’m afraid.” She said after sticking out her tongue to pantomime disgust.
“But that’s just it! It’s not adventurous. Were I in the far regions of Toril, these things would be mundane. The Sword Coast’s own obsession with cheezes is seen as bizarre in some places. Why, if you think of it from an outsider’s perspective taking the solids from another mammal’s milk, and then allowing to age and grow mold until pungent, is strange indeed!”
“Your mind is a strange indeed.” The look she gave him was bemused but warm. “In any event, I’ve passed through Luskan, Neverwinter, and Waterdeep since I last saw you. Most of what I have is pretty mundane but I picked up several tomes from an odd fellow who I’d never seen before. Might be worth a look. I’ve been on the road since the exchange, so I’m not sure what exactly I’ve got. But it is definitely unique.”
Gale clapped, enthusiastic at the idea. After being pointed to the trunks containing aforementioned books he began his perusal.
The books were definitely aged. They were written in Draconic Script, so he resorted to sounding out the titles slowly to determine the language. He also flipped through looking for interesting diagrams or images.
“Tell me more about this strange trader you met. What was he like?” He kept his eyes on the books while they chatted.
“Hah, well there’s not much to say. He intercepted me late at night to sell his wares, looking terribly ominous in a deep hood so I couldn’t see his face. Once we closed the deal he said something about 'the wheel of fate turning as it should.’ Just a generally spooky, you know? I would have departed without making the deal, but he had a young apprentice with him who seemed happy and healthy so I decided he was just deeply strange.”
“Mmm.” Gale said. He’d found a few books that seemed interesting. One that clearly categorized different potion and spell components, another looked like it was a repair manual for an intricate device (the diagrams were beautifully rendered.)
He held another book. It looked like a simple trade ledger, but because it had the entries from traders that had passed through wherever these books were from, it contained other languages too. Flipping through he saw bits of common, elvish and… under common? Gale combed carefully through the book looking for clues as to its origin. Eventually he found a page where it seemed someone had done a trader a favor and translated the fields of entry.
The booked asked the following questions: name, date, city of origin, types of wares, number of days staying in Skullport…
Gale was breathless. “Jen. You are an avatar of Tymora herself. I’ll take the whole lot.”
“Don’t let my goddess hear you say that.” She laughed gesturing to an amulet of Selûne around her neck. “I’ll tally you up.”
-
He made no further stops that day bringing the trunk of books back to The Pelican on a floating disk. He was itching to dig into the materials therein but needed to wait. He returned to the tavern and did a preliminary sorting, looking for anything that stood out. Hours passed while he was still determining what exactly he had purchased. Before he knew it, the day had passed him by. It was time to get to work.
Heading downstairs he heard Cal and Lia speaking with another tiefling, their bother Rolan.
“Will you please speak to him for me Lia? He’s always liked you far better. My new master requires a smith of his talents, and Dammon refuses to work with him. Or me for that matter.”
Cal chimed in “In your case Rolan, it’s because you can’t help but be a self centered prick, and Dammon has had enough of you since you ran off during our trip here. As for why he refuses to work with Lorroakan, well that’s his business.”
“I said I was sorry didn’t I? Lia, come on. Please. I need a smith who can work in exotic metals and he’s the only one in Baldur’s Gate.”
“Sorry doesn’t bring back Cerys, Rolan… But, I’ll see what I can do. Later. Not tonight. We have work.”
Gale waited until their conversation was over to descend the rest of the stairs and start working. He was full of ideas and questions. He wanted to do so many other things, but the orb demanded his attention, and he dared not neglect it.
Notes:
Thanks for reading! I know the chapters are short, but I’m excited to post, and natural breaks in the story line are good excuses.
Things will start to pick up soon. We need some action!
Chapter 7: Roses and Thorns
Summary:
Astarion is back at the palace. Gale continues his research.
HEY! If you’re a returning reader, go back at look at the previous chapters. I added some drawings I made for this fic in some of the previous chapters.
Notes:
Don’t forget to go back and look at the art I added, if you last looked over the last chapters over a week ago.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Baldur’s Gate - Spring 1492 DR
After Astarion left Gale and the Pelican, he wandered down the road.
The night air felt even better on his skin now that he was clean. He purposely walked through some crowds of people, snatching a few purses along the way.
Looking cleaner and smelling a bit better than he usually did, he decided to drop by a slightly better establishment. With his injuries still fresh, he would have to play to the sympathy of drunks. He decided that he’d been assaulted by brigands, and looking for some comfort and safety.
He turned on the charm and walked through the door of The Blade and Stars. Unlike the Pelican, this tavern was bustling. Full of lower class Bauldurians dressed to their best, and sailors of a slightly better sort.
He always tried to point himself toward the horny drunks, and not the pitiful and desperate, but in the end the commands didn’t let him choose. If he knew someone was a good target, he wouldn’t be able to do anything else but try to lure them back to the palace.
He used to hope he didn’t snare any good people. These days his mind left him before he could worry about any of that.
He stood for a beat, taking a breath he didn’t need.
Entering, he found a man drinking alone at the bar, sat beside him and began the hunt.
-
Several hours later Astarion returned to himself. He reeked of sweat and old smoke. His skin felt like it was covered with a thin film of sweat, saliva, and he hoped nothing else. There were also some fresh bruises on top of the ones from his tormentors. He had rat fur in his teeth.
He’d been successful then.
He looked around to see where he was. It seemed he was in the hall after just having been dismissed by Cazador. That was nice. Sometimes he came back to himself too early, and everything that happened had to be real.
He entered the dormitories exhausted. Some of his siblings were already in their beds, asleep or pretending to be. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring into the middle distance. Had he really felt good and clean a few hours before? Did that memory belong to the same man? He ran his fingers through his hair, then brought them to his face, trying to catch a whiff of bergamot and citrus. He thought he could smell it but…
Leaning back he felt the book he’d tucked in the his waistband shift.
So, it was real. He could barely believe that could happen to him at all, let alone happened just hours before.
Violet returned from wherever she’d been not long after he sat down. Her cheek, neck and hands all a deep purple from bruises, it looked like she’d been strangled and beaten again. She spotted him and started laughing.
“We match!” She came bouncing over to him swaying a bit on her feet. “Look! We’re both covered in pretty flowers.” She held out her heavily bruised arms to show him. She paused, and started looking at him more carefully, tracing a hand above his still healing cuts. “Ooh, but your flowers have thorns. I’m jealous. I LOVE roses.”
He remembered her before she’d gone mad. She’d been so sensitive, she’d cried at the littlest things. Cazador had loved that about her. The vampire lord had enjoyed finding all of the ways he could make her wail.
She’d coped by telling stories to herself. She would imagine stories of heroes and devils, dragons and castles full of dancing maidens. Eventually she’d decided to live in those stories. She’d left them all behind. She rarely, if ever, returned.
“My king loves roses too. Every time he’s near I smell the roses. He’s always giving me flowers. Lots and lots of flowers.”
Astarion looked into her eyes, she was far away. “Go away princess. This knave is in no mood.”
“You’re not a knave silly! You’re a prince! A prince wrapped in roses.”
“Hey! Vi!” A voice shouted from one of the spawn beds. It was Petras. “Shut your crazy ass up! No one wants to hear your madhouse bullshit!”
Violet snapped her head to face Petras, instantly full of fury. She hissed and leaped across the room to slash at him with her hands.
“I will KILL you! I’ll kill you! I’llkillyou! I’ll-!” Her voice turned into unintelligible growling as her surprise attack had him covering his head.
Astarion was so tired. He watched his elder sister rage, tearing at Petras, before he lay down and tried to sleep.
When Violet finally tired, her hands were spattered with Petras’ meager blood. He was seething on his bed, but was at least wise enough not to attack her at the moment. Her eyes unfocused and her face softened. She’d disappeared once again. Back to safety. She stood walking over to her bed.
She looked over to Astarion “Now he has roses too!” She smiled.
~*~
Dear Tara,
I’ve had such a wonderful breakthrough. I need to identify the variables for the spell, but the material components are largely sorted out. I hope you are well. Wherever you are.
-Gale
Waterdeep 3 months ago
Gale was struggling. His progress had frozen. The most information on the origin of the tome he’d uncovered was that it was procured from the Mad Mage’s dungeons below the city. There was only one Netherese mage associated with him, so the book was likely his.
He put his head in his hands.
I give up.
He walked his way to his bed, and laid down. His hand resting where Tara used to sleep.
Nearly a year’s work, and the most he’d found about the book or its author, was a 110 year-old newspaper clipping about some adventurers travels through the Underdark. They’d reported on the death of a surviving Netherese necromancer known to apprentice to Halaster Blackcloak. There had been 13 flying skulls in his retinue. That’s it.
He decided he wasn’t going to get up again.
-
Days later, his body was on fire. He hadn’t fed the orb, he’d barely fed himself. He didn’t care.
Maybe when someone found his body they would learn something from his folly.
He awoke to a fish slapping him in the face.
He startled, scrambling up in his bed, there was a dead fish next to him. He looked at it, baffled. While he stared he was hit by another.
Finally looking up he saw The wizard Elminster was in his armchair, with a basket of flopping fish next to him and another ready in his hand.
“Wa- What are you doing here?!” Gale said as he deflected another fish thrown at his face.
The old sage had a bemused look on his face. “I’m saving you.” Another fish. “Idiot.”
Ah. Elminster was feeding the orb.
He slumped back onto his elbows. “Why do you suddenly care? I’ve been trapped in a hell of my own making for months now. Our lady refuses to talk to me, you must have known.” He flinched as another fish smacked onto his face. Disgusting.
“Because, you daft fool, you’re trying to die. And if you go and die you’ll take the whole of Waterdeep with you.”
Now that had Gale’s attention, he sat up fully shifting himself in bed to rest his back on the headboard. He took a moment to wipe the slime from his face and then gestured to get the basket. Elminster passed it over.
“Look at your arm. Hells, look at the rest of you! If I didn’t stop you, The Orb would drain you, and when there was nothing left to consume? Boom. It would detonate.”
Gale looked at himself for the first time since he’d laid down days ago. The marks on his skin were a deeper purple, and spread further. It persisted down his left arm to his middle and ring finger. Looking at his chest, it had also expanded down his abdomen. Lifting his blankets he saw that it had also extended down to his -ahem- hips and left leg. It terminated before the knee.
He felt a renewed sense of fatalism.
“Finish the fish lad.”
Gale ran his fingers over each remaining fish, draining the life from all of them. He flopped the fish that were now scattered around him on the bed back in the basket and dropped it to the floor.
“Well. Alright. Where should I go then? Got any deserted islands I should visit?” Gale looked gloomily out the window.
This time Elminster threw one of his sandals.
“Hey!”
“You self-pity riddled ass. You really going to give up that easily?”
“What do you want from me? I’ve scoured all of Waterdeep! This magic is incomprehensible. I’ve used every tool at my disposal. I’ve followed every lead to a dead end. I can’t summon Tara, and I can’t figure out why. I kill everything I touch and now you say I’m a gods-damned bomb!”
Elminster sighed. His eyes gained a paternal condescension. “You’ve ‘scoured’ one city out of thousands in Toril. I thought you were more tenacious than that.”
Gale was silent. Feeling like a scolded child.
“The realms are vast m’boy. Waterdeep is just a small part of it. Start making your way through the cities of the Faerûn, and if that fails. Get on a boat and head to the far continents. If you still don’t have a solution, walk the outer and lower planes until you’ve learned what you must.”
After hearing that Gale looked down, then shut his eyes. What he said next came out as little more than a whisper. “What if I don’t want to? What if I didn’t have anything left waiting for me?”
“Eh? Speak up! This old man thought he heard nonsense.”
It was Gale’s turn to throw something. He lobbed Elminster’s sandal right back at him. “She’s abandoned me Elminster! My whole world!” His voice cracked. “She is my everything and she just left me to ruin.” He sighed. “I was doing this for HER.”
Elminster waited a while before putting the returned sandal back on and taking a breath. “You and I both know that wasn’t the reason lad. You wanted to give her that bit of weave, but it wasn’t for her. It was for you.”
“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“Ye want me to spell it out? You wanted her to be so grateful she’d grant you more power. That makes it a bribe. Not a gift.”
Gale was furious at the accusation, he glared at the ancient wizard. When Elminster did nothing but return his gaze, the fury went out of him. He stared at his hands, eyes tracing the new purple lines on his left.
“Yer alright lad. You’ll get through this. Mystra isn’t quite so fickle as Lady Luck, but she is as unknowable.
“I’ve known her longer than anyone, as much as anyone can. I’ve served her for just as long. You haven’t lost your worth just because she’s turned away.”
Gale was genuinely confused by that. He looked up, searching Elminster’s eyes for a clue as to what he meant. Elminster was Mystra’s chosen, THE chosen in many ways. He’d walked this plane and many others for over a thousand years, all in Mystra’s name.
While he contemplated the meaning of Elminster’s words, the old man left for a bit, returning with a pitcher of water and a cup. Gale accepted the water, drinking it helped ground him and he eventually let out a long sigh.
“Now. Get dressed, and get yourself fed. The ‘greatest wizard of his generation’ has work to do.”
Baldur’s Gate - Spring 1492 DR
This morning started as usual. He began brushing his teeth. “Today I’ll be heading down to that smith I overheard Rolan talking about. I think he might have the skill set I need. With any luck we’ll have you back on the material plane in no time.” He rinsed his mouth and spat, then dumped the whole basin out the window. The Baldurian practice has horrified him at first. Now it was old hat.
Wiping his chin with a cloth, Gale looked over his desk. It contained a myriad of notes, diagrams, careful calculations and drawings. He’d also maintained several correspondences with wizards in Waterdeep, and some of their thoughts were present as well. He was sure he was on the right track, and now he’d found a missing piece of the puzzle. He picked up a note that simply said “Dammon - exotic metals smith.”
Time to query an expert.
-
The warm weather made Gale’s current ensemble uncomfortable. He wore a wide brimmed hat, long sleeves and his black leather gloves. He idly considered whether or not he should splurge and buy an enchanted shirt that would regulate temperature while he made his way to the smithy.
Inside was a handsome tiefling with his hair in a pigtail, his tail swishing thoughtfully as he did some fine work on a dagger. He spotted Gale’s approach and put down his work.
“No, no. Please don’t let me interrupt you.” Gale waved his hands in a mock defensive gesture. “I’m no expert, but I know timing and temperature are important.”
The smith, Dammon, smiled. “I’m inlaying a bit of rune work. It’s more tedious than anything. Happy to have a reason to stop for a moment.” He put his hand out, still covered in his work glove “Dammon, at your service. A recent escapee from Avernus who brought some rare metallurgical knowledge back with me.”
Gale hesitated a moment, eyeing the thick glove, before reaching out and shaking his hand. “Gale of Waterdeep, and a man who would love to pick your brain about a problem I’ve been facing. Could I hire you for some consulting work?”
“Getting paid to chat?” He smiled. “No need, I’m happy to share what I know.” He put his work away, then ushered Gale into an adjoining cottage.
“Tea?”
-
A few hours later the two men had sussed out details of their project. Gale would still need to work out the details of the necessary spell work, but after their conversation he was sure this part was correct.
“Alright, to get what you want done, we would have to cross alloy infernal iron with star metal. It would need an intermediary neutral material. Silver would work, but platinum would be best. I’ll leave open chambers in each piece for you to add what you need, then we should cap those openings with an uncolored gem. I think diamond is our only good option. You’ll need 252 of them, each cut with the same number of facets. That brings us to a hefty price tag.” He paused and looked to Gale.
Gale’s eyes never left the diagrams they’d drawn out. “Money is no object. What kind of deposit do you need to get started?”
Dammon looked around, then grabbed an abacus for proper math. “Since you’ll be doing the spell casting, I won’t have to charge for a subcontracting mage. It will be labor and materials.” He pulled out a pricing ledger from a bookshelf. “I’ve got infernal iron, so no upcharge there… I have a source for star metal from a local guild, it will have a 10% suppliers fee, but keeps you from having to procure some on your own. The platinum is easy, and the diamonds shouldn’t be too difficult either. Both are available, just pricey. “ His hands flicked along the abacus, as he muttered about weights and ratios.
“5398 gold pieces to get started. Then an additional 300 gold for the specialty work. We can wait until we’re further along to procure the diamonds.” He up from his calculations to see if Gale would try to haggle.
Gale was miles away. He had a plan. He had a plan!
He came back to himself after noticing Dammon had gone quiet. “Good. No, no, I’m not thinking about... That price is good.”
“One last question.”
“Hmm?”
“The being this is for is willing, right?”
Gale looked in Dammon’s eyes. “Absolutely.”
He hoped it wasn’t a lie.
Notes:
Thanks for reading everyone. I wanted to post this one sooner, but I had to suss out some upcoming scenes first. Now all is good.
I hope you like the art!
Chapter 8: Ravished and Ravenous
Summary:
Our boys spend time getting to know each other better. Then, reality comes for Astarion.
Notes:
TW: Astarion’s life. Read end notes for details.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As Gale wrapped up his night’s work he looked out over the bar to see Astarion seated, reading and enjoying a cup of wine. The sight warmed him. He hadn’t seen him like this before. Pleasantly wrapped in his own little world.
Gale’s smile faltered when he recognized the book in Astarion’s hands. Oh gods… that was his. At the moment a blush flooded his cheeks, Astarion looked up at him over the top of the cover. Most of his face was hidden by its pages, but a smile reached his eyes. Astarion twiddles his fingers in a playful ‘hello.’
When the night’s work was over and he’d donned his protective shirt and gloves, Gale entered the main tavern. He took a deep breath and sat down next to the avid reader.
Astarion tapped a finger on the title of the book as he continued to read. “Ravished and Ravenous! Hmm… for how buttoned up you are, I wouldn’t have taken you for someone who enjoyed such carnal delights.”
Gale coughed, studiously looking at something on a far wall. “It’s um… It’s got some very good character development.”
“Unless that’s a euphemism for something, I highly doubt it. If I dared to play a drinking game with the word ‘supple’ I’d have died of an alcohol overdose before page 30.”
“Oh ah- the author could use a thesaurus but-“
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
“Oh?”
“It has a certain panache. Tell me. When you read this do you imagine yourself the ravished or the ravenous?”
Astarion peered over the pages studying Gale’s bashful face. He coughed, unable to make eye contact, a blush rising to his cheeks.
“Ah! The ravished! Very interesting. Hmm...” Astarion lowered his eyelids and looked back down at the book. “That would be a good look on you.”
Gale looked back like a trapped animal. He had no idea how to escape this.
Astarion gave a laugh. He set down the book and they began to chat. He asked about Gale and his research, and deftly pivoted th conversation away from anything about himself. Gale, for his part, was so excited to have someone to talk to he hardly noticed. When he did, Astarion waved his hand dismissively, and redirected to another topic.
“I’m so excited. I met with a smith named Dammon, who has experience working with infernal iron. It’s normally an extremely rare metal, but with Elturel’s return from Avernus, well…” Gale paused, he waited to see if Astarion would interrupt him or had flagging attention. Seeing neither he continued. “Infernal iron is what they make soul coins with, it’s incredibly effective at binding souls, and he’s agreed to work with me on my project. It’s terribly exciting.”
Astarion’s face briefly betrayed alarm before schooling back into something inviting. “And what does the wizard-turned-chef need with souls?”
Gale stared at Astarion for a while, not quite understanding the question. Realization dawned and his eyebrows shot up. “Oh! No. I- I’m trying to make a voluntary vessel for a spirit. Nothing nefarious or unwilling.” He held his hands up. “Honest.”
Trying to recover the conversation Gale continued. “It was nice though, getting to talk to someone with expertise like that. I so rarely get a chance to be humbled by someone else’s knowledge in a subject.” He rubbed the back of his neck. He looked… bashful?
This was interesting. Astarion wanted to learn more about what captured his interest. Gale was the architect of this fleeting bubble of peace he’d found and he wanted to find whatever he could do to keep it.
He looked over at the awkward, yet invariably kind, wizard. What a strange landing place for someone like him.
Later Astarion brought the conversation back to the bath he’d had before. Gale was delighted that it had been appreciated, and offered to repeat the experience. Astarion gestured toward the stairs. “After you.”
Upstairs Gale filled the tub, just as he had before, while Astarion fetched the bath oils. Once everything was ready Astarion put the book on the edge of the tub and began to ready himself to get in.
“Gods! You can’t put a book there!”
Astarion flinched, before realizing Gale’s shout was playful. “What?”
Gale walked over to the book, and carefully picked it up. “The steam can damage the pages, not to mention dropping it.”
Astarion dismissed his own nerves with a laugh “Wizard, cook, and now librarian.” He put a hand on a cocked hip, gesturing with the other to where Gale had sat before. “Well then, if the librarian insists on protecting the book, he’ll just have to read it to me from a safe distance.”
Gale looked at the daunting title and his eyebrows knit in mild panic.
“You choose. Book safe and sound in your hands as you read, or I will read it in the tub.”
Astarion watched as the Gale stood frozen, unsure what to do. His eyes locked on the cover of Ravished and Ravenous. Astarion could nearly see the gears frantically turning in his head.
He seemed to make a decision, looked up at Astarion, and breathed out.
“You live to torment me.” Gale flashed a nervous smile, then turned toward the bed before putting up the illusory wall. “Same landscape? Or do you want a different sky?”
“Show me that view from your home. It looked nice.” The wall rippled, becoming a panorama of Waterdeep’s harbor.
After a few moments, Gale heard the sound of splashing as Astarion settled into the tub.
“Alright wizard. Read.”
Gale hesitated a moment before starting. “Ahem. Lufien entered the village, where he was greeted by it’s imposing king, a half-orc warrior named Kulfic. Lufien was immediately taken with his rippling biceps, supple lips wrapped around gleaming tusks and sensual brown eyes…”
-
Starting with that night a routine formed. First, Astarion would arrive either reading a book of Gale’s that he’d absconded with or, eventually, he’d read a book that Gale had left for him behind the bar.
After Gale finished his night’s work, they’d chat. Most nights Astarion came up to use the bath, and he’d ask Gale to read to him while he relaxed. They read various genres of books together although, because Gale invariably stammered through romance novels, Astarion requested those kinds of books most often.
Astarion also found himself beginning to unconsciously relax while with Gale. His sonorous voice was grounding, and (given the option) it also rarely quieted.
The sound came to mean he was safe in the little world of the Pelican. So long as he could hear that voice he knew he was where no one would touch him. He could do little things like close his eyes, or let his mind get lost in the stories.
If Gale ever noticed that Astarion often arrived a bit worse for wear, or was sometimes was gone for days before returning exhausted, he said nothing. If he noticed that despite his dapper dress, Astarion needed to borrow a stranger’s bath, he likewise never once called attention to it.
He also eventually quit offering food since Astarion always declined. Gale replaced the meal recommendations with those of wine. Apparently he’d gotten to know several small vintners in town, and enjoyed offering the various types to Astarion for review.
The evening would usually end by Gale by professing a need to sleep (or simply falling asleep), and Astarion would leave to find a different bar where he could cast his line.
For Astarion, it started to feel as though the moment he entered the Pelican he became someone.
Leaving, and leaving that version of himself behind, felt like stepping out into a cold rainy night. He didn’t want to, but he had no other choice. He was already having to do serious rules litigation in his mind to make his time spent at The Pelican fit within the confines of Cazador’s orders.
If the commands said he had to do his best to hunt, he needed to convince himself that a hot bath and relaxation in the first half of the evening was a benefit to his task. It was part of why the bath was so important to the evening routine. He could justify getting clean and smelling nice as a tool for predation. It sullied the time he spent there, but it was also the only way he could.
-
One night during their ‘bath and book club’ Gale was reading from the pages of a crime novel. As he read, Astarion began to interrupt.
“That is NOT how evidence should be collected.”
“You cannot just shout ‘objection’ whenever you dislike what the other side is asking. The judge should have that lawyer thrown out for contempt!”
“What in the hells-? No you DON’T get to add a surprise witness at the end… There’s a little something called ‘discovery.’ Has this author EVER seen the inside of a court room?!”
Gale laughed at each growing indignation, especially since it came with the sound of splashing.
“Careful Astarion, if you keep that up I think you may become the first ever actual ‘tempest in a teacup.’”
From the other side of the illusory wall he heard an indignant sound. “All I ask is for a bit of accuracy that’s all. Hard to suspend disbelief without it.”
“How do you know all this anyway? I will readily admit I’ve had the pleasure of avoiding the court room for my entire life.”
“Your entire life so far. And I -“ He paused. Astarion preferred to lie by omission. “I used to be a Magistrate. A long, long time ago.” His voice faded. It was apparent this was one of those things he didn’t feel like talking about.
Gale was quiet a moment. “Hard to imagine you in a Magistrate’s wig. Are they itchy?”
Astarion laughed softly. “Yes, but it’s terribly undignified to scratch.”
~*~
Astarion arrived at the Pelican to enjoy his little routine.
He reached behind the bar, to find another book left out for him. It was a murder mystery this time. Interesting!
He opened the book to get started, when a sweaty and drunk woman sat down on the stool next to him.
He tried to keep his attention on the book, but her rheumy eyes were locked onto him. He could feel the whispers of his hunting orders awakening.
“Hey there handsome. Can I get you a drink?”
No.
He put down the book. “Well hello darling. And who might you be?”
No no no no.
She ran her hand up his arm. “I’m the one you’re taking home tonight.” She leaned in to kiss him.
He felt sick.
He put the book down and pulled her in for a deep kiss. From the corner of his eye he could see Cal’s eyebrows raise in surprise.
Pleasestop.
Pleasepleaseplease.
She smelled like cheap drink and bad breath.
His mind raced. Could he escape this? He was ordered to hunt. He was ordered to bring back whomever he could so long as they were willing and suitably unblemished.
“Follow me darling, I have just the place.”
He stood to leave, grabbing her hand to bring her along.
He had no way out.
He left the book.
~*~
Gale glanced out from the kitchen to see how Astarion was enjoying the book. The elf was gone, and the book was on the bar.
He considered that sometimes Astarion stepped out, maybe this was one of those moments.
However, as the night wore on, he never returned.
Before moving on to his final tasks for the night, he leaned on the window to the bar and waved over Cal.
“Hey! What happened to Astarion?”
“Your elf friend?” Cal looked up and blew out a sigh. Trying to find a decent way to say things. “He left with some woman.”
Gale returned a confused and worried look.
“She was real drunk and aggressive, I was about to tell her to leave, when he pulled her into a kiss, and then walked her out the door.” He put a hand on the bar for somewhere to lean. “I’m sorry Gale. Dunno what you two had planned, but whatever it was, seems like Astarion has other priorities.”
Gale looked back over to the book left on the bar. He furrowed his brow. This made very little sense. He knew Astarion was flirtatious, but this felt out of character. Then again, it’s not as though Gale were a social butterfly, it was possible he simply didn’t understand his friend the way he thought he did.
“Alright. Well. Thanks for the heads up Cal. Can you put the book back where I’d stashed it before? He’ll be back again soon.”
~*~
This time Astarion returned to himself still in the dining room. His cheek stung. He must have been slapped.
His eyes struggled to focus and identify what was going on. The drunk woman was in the chair across from him, Dead. Completely drained of blood.
There was still a rat in front of him.
Ah, he hadn’t fed yet.
He looked up to get a better clue as to what stage of the process he was still in and was met with Cazador’s glowing red eyes. He looked away quickly, but not fast enough to avoid earning another slap for his insolence.
“You should be ashamed of yourself boy. This one was hardly worth the effort to come all the way to the dining hall.”
He was frozen. He couldn’t quite put thoughts together yet. The combination of pain, hunger and the return to himself made things jumbled and confusing.
“What do you SAY boy?!”
“Sorry Master.”
“Hmm.. I don’t think you’ve quite earned my forgiveness yet.” Cazador paced on the other side of the table. Directly across from Astarion. “I spend all this time trying to teach you, I house you and feed you and THIS is the best you can do? Two hundred years and you still are barely worth the space you take up in this house.”
“Sorry Master.”
“You say that, AND YET YOU NEVER LEARN.” He reached across the table and hauled Astarion to his feet with one arm.
“Sorr-“ He slapped Astarion a third time. Astarion would have toppled from the impact if not for the arm holding him up.
“I regret the day I let you become my spawn. Your pathetic begging should have been a clue as to the kind of disappointment you’d be.”
Astarion kept his eyes down. He wanted to escape back into his mind, but he couldn’t when the Master was upon him like this.
“You’ve proven again and again, your mind is a worthless thing. The only useful bit of you is that body.“ Cazador seemed to think a moment, before turning his red eyes back to Astarion. “And that’s how you’ll make it up to me. It’s hard to look past your failures, but I’ll get some use out of you tonight.”
Astarion’s fingers felt numb. His skin prickled, nerve endings firing. A flood of panic with nowhere to go.
Knowing that he had to acknowledge what he’d heard, he managed a “Yes, Master.” Before being dropped.
-
In the morning, he was struggling to stay conscious. All night the commands had forced his mind to stay present, there had been no escape.
There also had been no need for restraints. Cazador could simply command his obedience and it would be as rigid as any cuff or chain.
As he lay on the bed, feeling a ringing pain throughout his body, Cazador walked up to him with a limp rat in his hand.
“Open” Astarion’s mouth opened, and the rat was shoved inside. “Bite.” He bit.
“There you go. Eat up.” Cazador patted him on the cheek.
”I guess you’ve earned your keep for a while longer yet.”
Notes:
TW: Astarion is forced to take prey back to the Palace, and also gets sexually abused (between two scenes. Not directly described)
I hope you enjoy this chapter and the two quick art pieces I added. Like every other artist who has ever lived, I can see every mistake.
They say that seeing where you want to improve is a sign that you’re growing. I choose to believe this.
Chapter 9: Worth and Worthiness
Summary:
We revisit Gale’s youth, research, and a return to The Pelican.
Notes:
TW: Mystra and grooming. Read end notes on this one. It may be triggering to some.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Waterdeep 1475 DR - 17 years ago
Gale entered the lunchroom eager to sit with his new friends. The day before, they’d told him he would be permitted to sit with them if he brought them something, and today he had.
At the long table they made a place for him down at the far end. He distributed to the treats he’d begged his mom to pack for him down the table. He received high praise from a few over the offering. When it came time to join the conversation however, they all turned toward each other, their backs on him, and returned to their usual banter.
He wore a smile, hoping to find a way to join in.
He’d try again tomorrow.
He was excited.
-
At night, when Gale went home, he would sit and play with Tara. She would fly through the air as he cast dancing lights, and chase him with a mage hand to play tag.
After both she and his mom had fallen asleep was when Mystra would appear. She would listen to his complaints about his day, and offer condolences when things hadn’t worked out with making friends.
She was also effusive with praise for his magical skills, telling him him frequently how much better he was than his peers. She would sit with him long into the night teaching him new cantrips and spells. He loved learning, so he loved her instruction.
When he would remain melancholy about friendships, she would tell him how much more mature than other kids his age he was, and how they were missing out on having a friend like him.
He felt like he had a secret world with just the two of them. It made him feel special.
-
Eventually Gale gave up on finding a friend group and started to avoid the lunch room altogether, opting to try to eat lunch with his teachers. Some would cave into his insistent demands for a place to sit, others would turn him away to get a brief respite from young teens during their busy day.
His alchemical studies teacher was the most supportive. The man had said ‘if you’re willing to sit through the stink of all the reagents, you must have a good reason to be up here.’ So Gale would frequently eat his lunch amongst the smells of saltpeter, sulphur and preserved biological specimens.
-
Mystra’s praise came with counsel that other people wouldn’t understand his great purpose. She was a goddess and he was to be her chosen. He shouldn’t brag about their nightly meetings to his peers, or even his teachers. They hadn’t the aptitude he did, and might be resentful or even jealous.
When he told his alchemy teacher about his nightly conversations he’d confirmed Mystra’s words. He’d questioned why a goddess should be meeting with someone so young. This made Gale furious, he wasn’t just a kid. He was a great mage! He’d learned his first spell before others learned to write.
This man must be envious of what the Mother of Magic herself saw in Gale.
The teacher doubled down, saying Gale should spend his time with people his own age. That that was what a boy of his age ‘should’ be doing. Gale couldn’t stand such condescension.
He never returned to that teacher’s room for lunches.
-
At about the same time that Gale began sporting a wispy mustache Mystra’s attitude toward him began to change. She started to offer ‘advice’ on his looks, and how to present himself as her chosen. She gave him little gifts like an earring with an eight-pointed star. Her symbol. He hadn’t had a piercing yet, but he went and got one for her.
She chose what he wore so that he would impress upon others his greatness. Gale wasn’t all that interested in fashion, but he liked the way she looked at him when he looked ‘right.’
She also corrected his failings. When he was to inattentive during her nightly lessons, or when he’d let himself get distracted by other kids at school, her response was harsh. At one point he had expressed an interest in another boy at school, and asked if he could try and spend an evening with him instead of with Mystra.
Mystra was disappointed in him. No, she was furious. Her fury was an overwhelming voice directly in his mind, demanding his loyalty. Demanding that she be his everything.
She filled his mind with visions of everything she’d done for him.
She reminded him of his greater purpose at her side.
It helped him learn his duty.
-
The night she first took him to the astral plane was also the first night she’d kissed him.
When he’d arrived he was completely overwhelmed. The lack of gravity and the surreal nature of the space around him was beautiful and terrifying.
He clung to her, and asked her to take him back to Waterdeep.
She laughed, making reality sing.
That is when she’d wrapped herself around him, pressing her form against his body.
He was shocked.
He was scared.
His first reaction was to push her away.
But…
Someone wanted him.
A GODDESS wanted him.
Why was his reaction fear?
He was just confused.
He told himself that this was great.
This meant HE was great.
He kissed her back.
Baldur’s Gate 1492 DR - Late Spring
It had been nearly a tenday since Astarion had left. Gale still hadn’t figured out why. An insecure part of himself thought that Astarion must have grown bored. Gale hadn’t seen any signs of that, but he rarely did. He always seemed to miss the cues that other people found so obvious.
Gale let go of his ruminations with a sigh and continued to inspect one of the books he’d gotten from Jen. He had also purchased a series of books from the Unfurling Scroll on languages, and was painstakingly translating what he had.
His challenge was not a small one. Netheril had fallen over 1000 years ago, and its survivors had kept its language alive. In the intervening millennium the language had split into several, each taking on different linguistic changes, and adopting loan words from various other tongues. These books were definitely written in one of those offshoots, but not one of the well studied ones, like Haluaan. He had to decipher it himself.
The work was slow, Gale hadn’t studied Draconic at Blackstaff, and so he struggled to decipher the script. At first, he’d transcribed it into Thorass, the alphabet he was most comfortable with. Now, nearly a month and a half later, he could easily read it on its own, though that didn’t change the larger problem, which was actually understanding what he read. He had to pause frequently to determine what individual words meant, cross referencing several living and dead languages. As he went he filled notebooks with translations as well as another book with definitions.
Overall, he found the task pleasant. It was meticulous and required a great deal of decernment, prediction, and cross-referencing. Each day provided a few revelations, a few mysteries unshrouded. It was as close to meditation as his overactive mind would permit.
So far, the book that had most interested him was one on potion brewing. Most recipes relied on underdark derived ingredients, but there were many he’d simply never heard of. It seemed whomever this trove of books had belonged to was as well researched in alchemy as one could get.
The ledger that he’d looked at in Jen’s tent turned out to be more than he’d suspected as well. The merchant registry wasn’t some municipal form, it was a customer log. The business it’d belonged to seems to have been a defense contractor, supplying caravans with protection. The book described the details of purchases in words he didn’t quite understand yet. There was something in the way things were talked about. As though people were renting constructs of some kind. Not mercenaries.
Some books were total dead ends. They were either insufferably banal, or simply too damaged to read. Those he’d set aside. There may be a way to recover the damaged books, and you never know what might be useful later.
He toiled away deep into the evening. His quill scratching into two separate notebooks, while his hand traced along the ancient tome. Several reference books propped in front of him. The lamp light giving the whole experience a soft glow.
~*~
Astarion stood outside The Pelican. He was afraid to go in.
He’d been trapped in the palace since he’d left with that woman.
Cazador had continued to demand he make up for his deficiencies by servicing himself or his ‘guests.’ Each time he repeated the same things he had for 200 years. That Astarion was worthless. That making him a spawn was one of his greatest regrets. That satisfying the urges of Cazador, and whichever monstrous patriars he invited to the palace, was the only thing that justified his continued existence.
Each night he returned to the dormitories was also a miserable experience.
Aurelia couldn’t stop sobbing and Yousen and Petras would destroy furniture in their quarrels. Leon was never there, after his night in the kennels he’d returned to being the favored spawn. Dalyria kept to herself, she traded wound care for mending after Astarion returned at the end of each night. She cleaned him up, stitching injuries he couldn’t reach, then he’d handle the rest himself and do repairs to whichever of her posessions she asked for as payment.
And Violet? She was the wildcard. Some nights she would be nearly normal, save for the odd conversation with an imagined figment. Other nights she saw devils all around her. On those nights you just had to hope that she saw you as a harmless imp, and not a devouring hellspawn. Astarion was pretty good at playing along. His brothers and sisters far less so. About half of the time Violet would devolve into a raging creature, bent on the destruction of the offending sibling.
Now, Astarion stood alone. Free of all those torments.
Inside he saw Cal and Lia. He didn’t see Gale yet.
He closed his eyes a while, trying to understand the current fear he was feeling.
He objectively knew that it was his task to bring back prey, and that someone interrupting his night to throw themselves at him was a gift. Yet, the prospect of that happening again was upsetting. He didn’t want that to happen here.
Maybe it was better if he just moved on. He wasn’t sure if he’d damaged his reputation beyond repair, and wasn’t keen to find out.
When he opened his eyes he saw a familiar face in the window behind the bar.
Gale looked the same as always. Long hair half up in a pigtail. Shirt sleeves rolled up and collar open to deal with the heat of the stoves. He was resting his elbows on the pass through, talking to Cal, one hand holding a mug of ale. His fuzzy forearms betraying muscles as he glistened with perspiration.
He caught himself wondering what he smelled like. Gale always removed all traces of a hard day’s work before sitting with him. He decided he must smell like sweat and spices, maybe with a hint of soap and old parchment. Astarion found his mouth twitching into a smile.
Before he finished his thought a horse carriage rapidly passed behind him startling him forward. His body moved on its own, the old tin bell rattled and Astarion was drawn into the warm light of the tavern.
Notes:
TW: The grooming is described from the POV of Gale who hasn’t processed what happened. This means it is described as though what happened is normal. It is not. The whole point of grooming is that it tricks the groomed into acting in the way the abuser prefers. Skip all of Gale’s flashback (the first section) if this isn’t for you.
-
In this we see a bit more of how Gale has also had his will superseded. Poor guy. The nasty ones always pick the most vulnerable and young Gale certainly was.
Chapter 10: Hello Mol
Summary:
Astarion works to make amends, and shows his worth. Gale does research and encounters a problem.
Notes:
No unique warnings, but our drama is going to ramp up a bit again.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Astarion froze inside the door. He wasn’t ready to come in yet. He wondered if he should be here at all.
Fresh from a week of abuse his mind swam. Each night in the palace served to remind him of what he was. He was a tool of something hidden and sinister. He felt sharp as a knife.
You’re an ill omen. A monster. Such things aren’t welcome anywhere, and so they have an equal right to be everywhere. Why SHOULDN’T you go where you please?
Gale was chatting with Cal about plans for the menu, once again trying to convince him to at least try some of the recipes before nixing them, when Astarion walked over from the door.
When Gale looked over he saw that, once again, the elf was looking worse for wear. Tonight he seemed far away as well. Gale gave a warm smile and wave, Cal looked less excited to see him.
Astarion put a smile on his face and sat down.
“Cal! Get our returning friend a cup of the new red from down the coast! The one from Athkatla.” Gale smiled, hands tapping on the ledge of the window. “Astarion it’s great to have you back. I’ve left the book from last time behind the bar, with another option, in case that one wasn’t to your liking.”
Astarion leaned on his fist. “Thank you darling, you sure do know how to make someone feel welcome.”
“I’ll be back as soon as the night’s work is done.” He hopped on the balls of his feet a few times. “Enjoy the book and the wine until I’m back.”
When Gale turned to leave, Astarion directed his attention to Cal who was looking much less excited to see him.
He put the cup of expensive wine on the counter with a ‘thud’ before moving away to polish a section of bar.
“Now, what is that for? Why are you so sullen tonight?”
Cal ignored him.
“Nothing? Not even a word? Have I offended?”
The tiefling bartender slapped the cloth down onto the counter, before crossing his arms and facing Astarion.
“Well, what is it? I’m not a mind reader.”
“I don’t know what it is you’re up to, but I know your type, and I’d rather you prowled somewhere else.”
Astarion retreated into his charm. “I wouldn’t know what you mean darling. The good chef and I are merely friends.”
“A friend who buys you wine every night, and entertains you in his room? A friend who you’ll also happily drop when something easier comes along?” Cal wiped an invisible smudge from the counter before picking the cloth up again, draping it on his shoulder. He turned away, sorting through some odds and ends behind the bar. “Just, watch yourself, yeah? Like I said, I don’t know what you’re after, but I don’t like it in my bar.”
Astarion should be relieved he was presumed to be an opportunist. It was much better than what he really was. He could work with this.
He kept the smile on tightly. “And how might I prove to you that such a thing isn’t the case? Other than inviting you upstairs to watch?” He gestured palms up to illustrate his innocence, before leaning over the bar with a disarming smile.
Cal frowned.
The elf continued, his words silken. “Our dear friend is his own man. I will endeavor to show you that I’m harmless, but in the mean time, please let him decide what he does with his own time.”
The bartender shook his head, turning away to handle someone who had just walked up.
Later that night Astarion would hear the two tiefling siblings chatting at the other end of the bar. His ears catching more than the pair expected.
“I mean, maybe you should just lay off.”
“Nah, I mean, a beautiful elf swans into a shitty tavern and gives lots of attention to Gale? I mean he’s not a bad guy but he’s also… Gale.”
“I think you’re overly protective because he reminds you of Rolan.”
Some things were said that Astarion couldn’t quite hear.
“I know, I’m still mad at him too, but that doesn’t change that he’s our brother.”
“Maybe… I dunno. I’m still not sure. Just keep an eye out for anything weird, yeah?”
“Of course.”
Astarion kept his eyes on his book, he felt less on edge as the night wore on. The damage from the way he left last time didn’t seem to be too bad after all. He had no intention of turning rabid in the middle of the dining room, so likely this would blow over soon.
He also started to feel less sharp and predatory as he sat. An expensive cup of wine in one hand, and a decent book in the other. He was starting to relax into the character of Astarion the Man. It felt nice.
Eventually Gale announced he was headed out back, and Astarion waited his customary few minutes before departing a moment himself. Cazador had made him promise that he wouldn’t drink any blood from butcher shops, but technically neither the tavern nor the alley were ’butcher shops.’ He had learned his lesson in one respect, however. He would only drink a single saucer’s worth of blood, to prevent his blood from being too ample the next time he was beaten at the palace. It was just enough to take the edge off
It was torture to leave the rest of the blood for the vermin of the street. In that regard, Cazador had been right, he was no different than those creatures.
Astarion returned to his spot before Gale finished his work with the chickens. He’d picked up the book, and was seemingly deep into it when the mage sat down.
“Hey! Do you like it? The murder mystery I mean.”
Astarion looked up “Hmm? I do. Though I already know who the killer is. It is fun to see how they get there.”
Gale looked at the slim distance Astarion had made into the story. He couldn’t have been more than 50 pages in. “Really? When I read that one I was stunned at the conclusion.”
“No, no. It’s well done, but the evidence is all laid out plain as day in the first act. That AND no one ever writes characters chatting in a garden pergola if they’re not up to something. That sort of scene is meant to be witnessed by a secondary character who will reveal what they saw later.”
Gale’s brow furrowed, comparing Astarion’s description with his own memory. It all fit. “Well, color me impressed.”
“You shouldn’t be, it’s just that people are terribly predictable. Both as characters, and as writers.”
Gale rubbed his neck. “In that aspect I’ll have to take your word for it. I’m not a gifted student when it comes to human nature. “
Astarion looked over at the wizard now, smiling. “We can’t be talented at everything. Good thing you have me.”
-
They eventually retired up the stairs for their customary book and bath.
Since Astarion had last been here the mess of books had expanded. Gale had paired journals with several different antique books.
Before he could ask about it, Gale stepped in front of him, drawing his attention.
“Um, yes wizard?”
“I just wanted to check in with you. I was worried when you just up and left the other night.”
Ah, Astarion wouldn’t be able to avoid this conversation after all. “Something came up that’s all.”
“Something involving an aggressive drunk woman?”
Astarion hadn’t dealt with this kind of conversation in a long time. He rarely saw anyone again after he’d made a catch in a tavern, let alone anyone who had more than a passing awareness of him.
He redirected into familiar territory.“Yes darling. I’m sorry if that bothered you. Are you… jealous?”
Gale’s heart sank. He never knew what to do in these situations. Was he wrong to worry? Was it a sign he was misunderstanding something fundamental? “No, I-“ he rubbed his still gloved palm over his forehead. “It just seemed out of character is all. I wanted to figure out what was going on.”
“Well, what was going on was a bit of carnal pleasure. Happy?” He gave sharp smile.
Gale signed. “Not really. In any case I wasn’t trying to pry. I just-“ he nearly said ‘missed you.’ “But… it sounds like you were ok so I shouldn’t have worried.” Gale sat down on his bed looking at an arbitrary bit of wall.
He took a few breaths before looking over at Astarion, his face betraying all kinds of insecurity. “I’m not terribly good at dealing with people. Is it strange to be concerned when someone leaves like that?”
Astarion stood staring at the man. He was so guileless that it left him fumbling. He shut his eyes a moment, the human’s earnest gaze was distracting. He decided to try a novel tack, to exchange like for like. He opened his eyes and crouched lower so he could look directly into Gale’s eyes.
“I can tell you, with absolute sincerity that I would have much rather have been up here.” Gale’s eyes focused onto his. “I’m sorry I made you worry.”
Gale furrowed his brows. Clearly full of questions. He took a breath, seemingly about to ask all of them.
Astarion snatched a pillow from the bed and pushed it into Gale’s face. “But I would appreciate no more questions…” He let it drop and met Gale’s eyes one more time, red shining into brown. “Please.”
They both sat in silence for a moment. Gale hugging the pillow. “Alright.”
The quiet between them allowed the sounds of the tavern to resonate up through the floors. They heard the thuds of chairs and a roaring laugh from someone.
Hoping to restart the conversation on safer ground, Astarion gestured to the impressive collection of books. “What’s all this?”
“Ah,” Gale also seemed relieved to change the subject. “I’m actively translating some older tomes I purchased some tendays ago. There are a few of interest, but I’ll soon be hitting a wall with what I’ve gotten. It seems like whoever owned these books was magically apt, and it’s come from a place of extreme interest for me. But…” Gale signed and put the pillow aside, readying himself to get up.“Of all the books only one has proved to have anything of arcane relevance.”
Gale stood and moved to start prepping the tub as usual. Astarion stood to look over at the books.
“Tell me about this place you mentioned.”
“It’s an Underdark city named Skullport. It seems a Netherese necromancer lived there until his death about 150 years ago. He’s the one who interests me. I think he might be related to the accident I had.”
“Netherese? As in over a thousand years-old?” Gale nodded in reply. Astarion continued, “A thousand year-old necromancer who manages to survive the Underdark of all places. Fellow must have been impressively conniving or powerful. Probably both.”
“Too true, and while I can’t prove anything, I am deeply hoping that these books might have belonged to him. They are written in an unknown variant of Netherese, and they seem to be the right age. But other than the potions book, and a ledger, most of what I’ve found is either damaged or not about anything of interest. It’s been a disappointment.”
By now the tub was ready. Gale took his spot at one side of the room putting up the illusionary wall. Astarion once again undressed and settled into the warm water.
“Would you like me to begin reading the mystery where you left off?”
“Honestly? Since I’ve already sussed out the conclusion, I’m more interested in your little mystery. What have you done so far?”
“Well, I’ve been cross referencing old Netherese with other modern languages found in the region of Skullport, then gradually building up a dictionary of terms as well as translations of several of the works. It’s been slow going, but I’ve been making progress.”
“Can I ask, have you cast ‘detect magic’ on the books?”
“Of course!” Gale didn’t want to admit that he’d only done so in a fit of frustration just the other night.
“Alright, alright. Is there a means of hiding magical things from that spell? Surely mages have a motive to develop something like that. You lot are terribly competitive with each other.”
Gale thought a moment. “Hmm... There’s been several over the years in fact.”
“Because if I had a thousand years to plan, and the resources of a wizard, I wouldn’t go about hiding something important in a secret spot, I’d make it something no one would look twice at. After all, an unrelenting search will eventually find a hidey-hole or crack a lock, but once a search has passed over something, it’ll usually be ignored.”
Gale was stunned.
“Of course this is all conjecture, you may just have some useless books.” Astarion swished his hand through the water. “But, on the off chance you do have something, it stands to reason that it would be made boring so as to be overlooked by other mages.”
“Astarion, how… how do you think like that?”
Astarion froze looking at the illusory wall in the direction Gale would be.
Your mind is a worthless thing.
He shivered despite the heat of the bath.
“That’s brilliant!”
“Well…”
“Seriously, I- I would never have come up with that! Of course. I will have to pick up a scroll of true seeing, hmm…“
Astarion smiled. He could almost see the gears turning in Gale’s mind. He relaxed but it was now him who was preoccupied with his thoughts.
brilliant?
As the two men continued to chat, the activity downstairs gradually quieted, and outside in Baldur’s gate the moon shown down on the streets, making them as bright as the night can be.
-
The next morning, Astarion was once again long gone, and Gale was excited to try out their hypothesis. He took his own bath (on nights Astarion came by he washed in the morning.)
“Tara! Isn’t it wonderful! We have something to try! A bit of experimentation. I love the puzzle of translating, but nothing beats channeling the weave and solving a mystery.”
He dressed and dashed down the stairs. Heading in the direction of The Wide once again.
He found himeself disappointed. Oghma’s priests there didn’t have the spell scrolls he wanted. He’d have to go to Sorcerous Sundries. It was closer to The Pelican but… if the staff at the Unfurling Scroll weren’t friendly, the staff of Sundries were downright hostile.
He enjoyed the sunny walk, despite the destination. Using his wide brimmed cap to keep the sun out of his eyes, and his staff to make the walk more comfortable. He was still not trying to advertise as ‘wizard’ when he was out in public, but he did enjoy those two trappings of the uniform.
When he arrived at Sorcerous Sundries, a spell chimed announcing his entry. This time Rolan was the one behind the counter.
“Hello, Gale. What a surprise to see your illustrious personage. How can I help the chosen of Mystra today? Ah- apologies, former chosen of Mystra.” The sarcasm that dripped from Rolan could have corroded iron.
“Ah, hello Rolan I’m well. I’d just like to have a look at your spell scrolls in the schools of divination and illusion if you’d please.”
“Right this way, Gale.” The deliberately missing honorific ‘of Waterdeep’ was noted each time. “Please, don’t hesitate to ask any questions you might have.”
“Of course. Thank you Rolan.”
Gale searched out several scrolls for purchase, including two copies of True Sight.
Before he departed, he decided to peruse the other shelves. He’d already subjected himself to the vitriol of this shop. He might as well make the most of it.
In the corner he found a dusty crate labeled “dead spells.” Hesitant to deal with Rolan’s attitude he didn’t ask what these were about, but instead looked at them hoping to deduce an answer. All of these scrolls were spells that he’d heard of in history books, but had never seen function. They must have been from before the Spell Plague. Spells that no longer conformed to the current shape of the weave. Maybe one day he could research ways to get them functional again. An interesting possibility for when this was all over.
The orb in his chest began to ache. It seems it was time to go back to work.
-
Gale had begun dealing with the chickens for the next day. He outside in the evening air, and sweaty from a hard day’s work. He sat on a stool out back. His sleeves were rolled up and his collar was loose. His gloves were tucked in a pocket so he could do what needed to be done.
He let himself get lost in his thoughts. Astarion was back tonight. Maybe he could use a scroll of True Sight and see if his hypothesis panned out. He was anxious for anything that helped him bring back Tara.
Tara… He was trying to avoid pestering Dammon as he worked, so he limited his visits to twice a tenday. Dammon didn’t seem to mind, which was good. Gale was aready struggling to avoid visiting daily.
He respected how thorough the smith was, and all the time he was taking seemed like a more-than-fair investment. It was just painful to wait. In the mean time he needed to research information for his side of the equation.
He signed, he hoped that all this waiting would be over soon.
He had just killed the first bird when he heared a disturbance on the road at the end of the alley. He tried to continue his work. This part of the city was always seeing some kind of violence. It was as much a part of Lower Town as the taverns and docks.
As he continued to work the sound of the fight resolved itself into many angry men and one pleading voice. It sounded young.
Gods damn it.
He got up and walked down to the end of the alley staying in the shadows. In the street, six angry locals had surrounded two tiefling kids. One looked nervous and was begging for mercy, the other had an eye patch and looked indignant.
One human spoke to the man Gale presumed was the leader. “Theysn’t listenin’ Javid. I say we cut our losses and make an example of ‘em. The rest of the hellspawn maggots that are infesting the city might learn a lesson.”
“Agreed.” The leader jabbed a finger at the kids. “Listen you arrow-arsed shits, I’ll give you one last chance. If you don’t fucking tell us what you did with our gear, we’ll gut ye. That ain’t a threat, it’s a promise.”
“… Mol?” The scared one looked at the one with the eyepatch. She, in contrast, was glaring at the leader of the men.
“I hate to break it to ya, but we don’t got whatever you’re lookin’ fo-“ The child was abruptly clubbed across the temple by a heavy fist. She crumpled.
“Mol!”
Mystra Ryl- Gale reached to put his gloves back on while emerging out from the alley. He didn’t have his overshirt, but he hoped this would be enough protection.
“Hey!” Gale shouted, calling their attention from the alley way. ‘What in the hells are you doing to those kids?”
One of the men shouted back “Leave off! This ain’t about you.”
“It is when it happens outside of my tavern.”
The leader, Javid, turned to ignore Gale, kicking the downed child and grabbing the other by one of her horns.
Fucking hells. “Please, I don’t want to hurt you. Just leave, and leave the kids alone.”
Javid looked back at Gale, sizing him up. Months of working as a cook had certainly helped him put on some muscle, but he was one man against 6.
He gave Gale a flat look. “Make me.”
Gale cast Thunderwave.
The men scattered. The little tiefling in Javid’s hands dropped to the ground next to her friend. Gale had sculpted the storm of force away from the two children.
The leader turned back to him, furious. He gestured for half his crew to follow him after Gale, and drew a knife from a sheath at his side.
Gale’s stomach sank when he saw them coming for him. He’d been hoping the shock of having a spell cast against them would have made them run. This was not the case.
Gale wasn’t set for a fight. He had shield prepared, along with some spells that were useful for any tavern related problems, but he’d also burned a lot of spells running the kitchen during the day.
He looked, there were still 3 men harassing the kids. The injured one wasn’t waking up.
He cast Watery Sphere, dropping it onto the attackers who’d remained behind with the two kids. It engulfed one of them and rolled toward the next. The attacker it had captured was floating, trapped inside the water, stunned at his sudden change in predicament.
The three men that were now charging toward Gale reached him quickly, and began to attack. He cast shield, protecting himself from their blows.
The one of the men who’d stayed behind with the children turned to try and rescue their friend from the sphere, just one attacking the kids. Good. Gale rolled the great ball of water to engulf that one as well.
Unfortunately the one that was left was still fixated on punishing the two children.
Gale was low on options. He didn’t have much magic left that he could use to defend himself and he couldn’t use concentration spells. If he used one of those he’d lose the sphere that was keeping the assailants away from the two children.
The little tiefling crouched over her friend. “Mol! Wake up!” Her voice rose in panic “Mol? C’mon…” As Gale looked, the downed tiefling wasn’t moving. She wasn’t breathing either.
The attacker grabbed the girl by the horn, restraining her. His fist balled to punish her, his face screwed up in rage.
This was not going to end well.
Gale made a hasty decision as he backed toward a wall. His pleaded with the men. “Last chance! Please, just leave!”
The response he received was another hail of blows. This time he didn’t cast shield. He needed to use the time to cast a different spell. In his mind he silently said ‘I was fair, I gave them a warning.’
He cast Protective Ward to defend the little girl, then let them hit.
Javid grabbed him by the shirt, to hold him still, the other two to commenced their attack. One succeeded hitting him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him.
In the distance the little girl kicked the man hard in the groin, getting him to drop her. As he tried to strike back in revenge, the Protective Ward did its job and the man’s strike was blocked by an invisible barrier.
The final man who was attacking Gale swung at his jaw.
The punch connected.
In a flash of purple the man died.
It was as though he was a puppet whose strings were cut. Gale felt a surge of power in his body. Not anything he could access, but it was like a swelling heat in his chest. He began shaking from the power that seemed to overflow from the orb.
Gale fumbled through, using the time he’d bought himself to cast a spell called Life Transference on the little tiefling on the ground. He felt his own body weaken in the same moment he saw the child gasp.
He swung the watery sphere to envelop the final man attacking the kids. All three men were now trapped in a rolling sphere of water and Gale started moving it, and them, as far away from the kids and fight as possible.
“Run! Both of you!”
The kids didn’t need to be told twice. Mol used her friend to haul herself up, and they both raced off into the dark.
Seeing this, Javid and his final friend went from surprised to furious. The one reached to grab Gale by the throat “What did you d-.” He crumpled the moment his hand touched Gale’s neck.
“Cursed BASTARD!” Javid stabbed Gale in the abdomen. He twisted the knife.
“Don’t know what you did to my boys or why you’d protect those gutter rats, but you’re fucking dead!” He wrapped Gale’s shirt in a tighter fist and stabbed him twice more in the gut for good measure.
Gale grimaced, and grabbed onto the man’s shoulders. He looked down at the blood leaking through his shirt, about to touch the fist holding the dagger.
His blood was as much him as anything else was, and it was connected in a stream to his body.
He looked up at the man, resigned. “You first.”
Like a circuit of electricity once the blood connected with the man’s skin there was another burst of purple light, and the dead weight of a heavy corpse caused Gale to stumble back into a wall.
He giggled at his own stupid line before slumping to the ground. His chest thrummed with an incomprehensible power. His mind and body however, felt incredibly weak.
The Life Transference spell and the rapid blood loss were compounding one another, surprising him. He collected his thoughts as his belly and side became sticky with blood. He could work this out. There was an answer to what to do somewhere, he just had to figure it out.
A few moments later, far down the road there was the sound of a great splash. The three men who had been drowning up to that moment dropped to the ground as the Watery Sphere dispelled. They ran away into the night.
Notes:
Hurray! This bit was especially difficult to write. I hope it came out sensibly.
Here’s some crunchy DnD Details (DnDetails) for those of you who are into that:
Here’s why he had these spells prepped: Shield - try not to kill someone who might accidentally touch him. Watery Sphere - Put out a fire or haul out violent drunks. Life Transference - Heal someone who got hurt in an accident/bar fight. Protective Ward - for protecting Cal and Lia from drunks. Thunder Wave - this is the one truly ‘in case I need to scare a bastard’ spell he had prepped.
Life Transference is one of the few ‘healing spells’ wizards get. It’s necromantic since it involves draining life.
Examples of other spells he had prepped - Control Flames, Create Water, Counter Spell (you never know when you’ll need it), Find Familiar (he still tries on occasion, even though he knows it doesn’t work) Tenser’s Floating Disc, Locate Object, Sending (even though Morena will tell you he never uses it)… etc.
Up to this point he’s never really fought anyone, so he’s not thinking like that. This will be changing.
Also, he takes the shots to the body because rules-as-written you can’t use two reactions in a round. He chose the child’s safety over his own.
I’m also going to leave Gale’s level ambiguous for now. He’s not tadpoled and the orb doesn’t eat magic, so he hasn’t lost any levels. We have to assume he is pretty high level though, since he’d resorted to bribing Mystra to get more power.
Finally, I’d goofed when I called Oghma’s temple The Unfurled Scroll. It’s The Unfurling Scroll.
Literally no one cares but me.
… There’s a reason the character speaks to me. I love me some crunchy details and rules.
Chapter 11: Choices made
Summary:
We see into Astarion’s past. Then a choice is made.
Notes:
TW: death, disassociation, physical and emotional abuse, non-con. See end notes for details (contains spoilers.)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Baldur’s Gate, 1392 - 200 years ago
Astarion had been a vampire for several months now. While he was still a spawn and his sire was still restricting him to rats, he’d been promised that when he was more experienced things would change.
“You just make too many foolish mistakes boy.”
“Without me you’d be staked within days.”
“Better to let me do the thinking.”
While this rankled Astarion, he couldn’t argue that he was inexperienced. Lord Cazador was an elf and well aware how young Astarion was. While physically adult, he was still less than halfway to true elven adulthood.
You couldn’t preserve your own life, how could anyone trust you to manage your undeath?
He shook his head and looked over the ballroom. Cazador had insisted he stay by his side at all times, and so now he stood next to the regal chair the lord occupied, while the room was filled with dancing patriars.
His new ‘sister,’ Violet, was making her way through the crowd. She was the picture of seductive charisma. During prior balls he’d seen her disappear with a patriar, returning later only to do it once again.
She must have quite the appetite for lovers.
Before Cazador he’d loved to flirt and dance but s omething about being killed, and then pitied enough to be brought back to life had changed things.
He’d been over confident, and careless. Cazador had saved him from his own frailties and had reminded him he was just a boy, pretending to be a man.
“Do you like any of them?”
He startled and looked toward his lord.
”Master?”
”You’ve been very well behaved these last few months, and I’d like to reward you with a bit of fun. So I ask for the last time. Do you like any of them?”
He was surprised. Cazador had insisted on Astarion’s obsequious servitude. His lord had promised that if he was able to learn his role precisely he would gain autonomy.
Maybe this was the beginning.
Astarion surveyed the crowd. On the far end of the hall a human male stood nervously sipping a flute of champagne. He was in that narrow window of human lives where he was an adult but not yet showing age. The man’s tone was medium dark with short curly hair. Astarion's sharp vision showed eyes the color of tea in sunlight.
Cazador’s eyes followed Astarion’s.
”That one Master. That one is nice.”
“Then you shall have him.”
He looked quizzically back to the vampire lord, but did not move. The lord’s commandment against drinking the blood of thinking beings was still in effect. He must mean sex.
”Go boy, show me that irresistible charm of yours and enjoy some carnal delights.”
Astarion nodded, and then moved from the dias where his master sat toward the human across the room.
Seeing him approach, the man smiled.
-
Astarion moaned in delight.
Shamas, the man he’d met hours before, collapsed over him briefly depositing a sloppy kiss. He was riding Astarion’s hips. He planted his hands on Astarion’s chest and pushed himself back up burying the elf deeper inside him.
They were in one of the side rooms. Rooms where guests were encouraged to stay and enjoy themselves. It was sumptuous, far more decadent than the small dormitory where Astarion usually slept.
A handsome man in his arms, and a soft downy mattress below his back.
Tonight was heaven.
As Shamas approached his climax, so did Astarion. One of those rare, miraculous, moments.
Intimacy was rarely so convenient.
Astarion opened his eyes to look at his lover, and saw the glowing red eyes of Cazador behind Shamas’ shoulder.
He startled, his own orgasm suddenly aborted, Shamas, unaware, did one final grind with his hips and came.
As the first tight moans of release began, Cazador buried his fangs into Shamas’ neck. The human’s eyes opened in shock, hands jumping from Astarion attempting to reach for the assailant behind him.
In moments, Cazador had dragged his prey backwards, pulling him unceremoniously off of Astarion. Shamas struggled and looked down at Astarion for help.
For his part, Astarion could only look up in horror. His mouth agape, and his hands braced to his sides to steady himself.
Cazador tightened his grip. The Shamas groaned in pain.
He reached, pleading for help as his shocked body began to fail.
Eventually the human stilled, and Cazador dropped the corpse onto the floor.
The Master looked from the discarded body to Astarion with a bloody smile.
Astarion couldn’t speak. After a few moments Cazador huffed out a laugh, rolled the body away with a boot, and began to tidy any remaining blood from his chin.
“Wipe that idiot look from your face and clean yourself up, boy. There’s still work for you back in the ballroom.” With one final bloodstained grin, he departed.
Astarion was alone. He was still sticky with sex. Shamas’ cooling orgasm on his belly.
He put his head in his hands, hyperventilating into useless lungs. Too horrified to cry.
-
As time passed Cazador attempted to train Astarion into an obedient spawn. Astarion did his best to comply with the elder vampire’s demands but they were convoluted and often seemed to conflict.
Within six months of being turned, Cazador routinely expressed regret at turning him.
“I had no idea you were so stupid.”
“I thought you had more potential. I see I chose poorly that night.”
“If you’re unable to learn by words, then you shall learn by deeds.”
Astarion’s first beating came after he’d failed to bring back a victim for Cazador.
He was ordered to stand still. The command of the vampire lord prevented any other action, and he stood frozen while Cazador whipped stripes into his back.
If anyone had bothered to ask him, he would have said the inability to move his body on its own was worse than the pain. The pain had served to show him how much his body was no longer his, and that fact cut him deeper than any whip.
His body belonged to Cazador, he was a tool of a greater monster, and he would never be free.
Cazador also began to demand Astarion in his own bedroom. Saying it was to 'teach him to be useful.'
He would be doing what he’d now learned Violet had been doing all along.
In the beginning Violet had been someone he could, not necessarily talk to, but from shared suffering gain some solace. Over time, however, she drifted further and further away.
He knew she was far gone when as she left to seduce victims for Cazador she would say things like “Father has sent me to rescue a poor lonely sailor!” Or “There is a handsome prince waiting in town for me! I shall find him and bring him home.”
When Astarion tried to reason with her, she’d attack him. Desperately trying to protect the fantasy.
Over time Astarion learned his own strategy to leave his body behind in the most painful moments. He didn’t know where his mind went, but he often found hours or even days missing. The only evidence of the passage of time was the hunger and bruises.
One day he realized that his entire life before his death was also missing. Some piece of him had determined that those memories, like everything else that went missing, were too painful to remain. They had departed without notice, never to return.
Astarion began to only exist in liminal spaces.
Moments between.
Between pain.
Between fear.
Between his own cruelties.
He began to doubt if he ever existed at all.
Baldur’s Gate - 1492, Late Spring
The Pelican was very quiet tonight. Just a pair of habitual drunks passed out in a corner. Apparently they were good tippers and relatively polite to Lia, so they were allowed to stay after they’d blacked out.
It meant that Astarion could relax a bit, and he found himself lost in thought.
“I’m sorry I made you worry.”
Where had that come from? That wasn’t the usual way he performed with others.
He shook his head to clear away the thoughts. He couldn’t forget the reality of his situation. This was like just like any other brief respite. It would end. Each time he returned he increased the likelihood that the end would be brutal.
Gale had been out back for a while now. Astarion was pretty sure the work with the chickens should be wrapping up. Even though he only allowed himself one chicken’s worth of blood, it was a highlight of his night.
He stood to exit the bar. He no longer put down coins as he left. Gale always gifted the cup of wine in exchange for a review.
The night was cool, but no longer as cold as it had been. He always felt cold, but his fingers weren’t threatening to stiffen so he categorized the experience as pleasant.
As rounded the corner to access the alley, he saw a dismal scene ahead of him. Three men lay dead and someone was slouched bleeding out against a wall. That was the Gate for you.
FUCK the smell of blood was intoxicating. He took a deep breath. This blood had a rich and rugged scent.
Astarion froze when he recognized the smell underlying the pungent aroma.
It was the same smell of the room upstairs. Parchment and soap.
Gale.
He ran over to the wizard.
Now that he was close it looked like he was trying to cast some kind of spell with his hands. Hearing the sound of footsteps he looked up. Eyes widening in fear.
“Don’t touch me! Don’t!” He gave up on his spell and held out his gloved hands to ward Astarion off.
“Wizard! it’s me!” Astarion reached for him.
Gale was still frantic.
“Nononono! Don’t! DON’T! PLEASE! You’ll die!”
Astarion froze and looked at the 3 bodies on the ground. There wasn’t a hint of damage on any of them. They were just… dead.
As Astarion looked over the scene, Gale resumed trying to cast a spell. He was shaking, and it kept faltering.
“What are you trying to do?”
“I’ve-“ he swallowed. “I’ve got a healing potion in my room. I’m trying to cast an unseen servant to bring it down, but my hands aren’t…” He started to trail off. Gale’s teeth were red with blood. His hands were shaking and his movements were uncoordinated.
Astarion was momentarily frozen. He should just leave. Getting involved in anything that could cause notoriety would rain hell down upon him. If Cazador found out he’d involved himself in a triple homicide his punishment would… Gods. He wouldn’t be allowed to leave the palace until the city had forgotten. That could take a generation.
He looked down at Gale, his hands still struggling to form a spell, breathing shallow and stilted.
This could be it. The little game could be over. While he would mourn the loss, it was bound to happen regardless. If he just walked away now, it would end without Cazador ever finding out. He would avoid any punishments. It was a perfect exit. The main witness to his disobedience would be dead. It wouldn’t even be his fault.
He stared at the fading wizard for what felt like forever.
He could hear the change in his heartbeat. Little struggling palpitations emerging between each beat.
Gale was going into shock. His hands dropped.
Astarion closed his eyes. He needed to walk away. He needed make the wise decision.
He opened his eyes and saw Gale’s. They were flickering back and forth trying to find a solution. He looked up at Astarion, not pleading, but aware that he had run out of options.
This man was about to die without asking anything of him.
Gale’s gaze faltered. His eyes lost focus.
Astarion made his choice.
He stooped to search Gale’s pockets for his keys. He would run up and fetch the potion.
Looking out onto the street however, he saw a group of men storming up the road, wearing the same style of clothing as the three dead men.
He hesitated for one more moment, considering Gale’s warning.
Fucking HELLS.
Cazador had always said he was a fool.
He scooped Gale up into his arms and made a dash for the tavern.
-
Inside the tavern Astarion bolted up the stairs, paying no attention to anyone inside, unlocking Gale’s room in a swift motion.
He deposited him on his bed before ransacking his desk looking for something healing. He found the bottle under a pile of disorganized papers.
He popped the cork with his teeth using his other hand to pick Gale’s head up and gently and tipped in the potion into his slack mouth.
Gale sputtered and coughed and was slowly lowered onto the mattress, a pillow tucked behind his head. Astarion could see a faint glow where the magic was doing its work. Gale began to breath normally.
There was someone coming up the stairs. Lia had run up after them.
“What happened?”
“He’s been stabbed. I gave him a potion, he’ll be alright.”
Her eyes flicked between the Astarion and the bloody wizard.
“Should I-“
“Go back downstairs, there are men coming. I’ll take care of him here.”
She blessedly didn’t ask any more questions. She just nodded, and dashed down the stairs.
He stumbled over to where she’d been, closing the door and slumping against it, sliding down to the floor. He reached over his shoulder to lock it. He kept his eyes on the unconscious wizard.
From downstairs he heard shouts.
“Where IS HE?!”
“Who are you talking about?”
“The gods damned human who works here!”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about. It’s only the two of us here tonight. Ain’t that right Cal?”
“Wha-“
“It’s just the two of us working tonight, isn’t it?”
“…Yeah. Just us two. Why?”
“They say they’re looking for a human who works here.”
“Must be mistaken. Just us tieflings.”
“Fucking shit! Alright, you boys go north, I’ll take these three and head south. We’ll find that bastard.”
Astarion relaxed a moment, and made a silent promise to steal something very nice for those two.
~*~
Gale awoke. He felt awful. He felt like he’d taken a beating.
Oh, right.
Startled and eyes wide, he sat up to take in his surroundings. How’d he get up here? He looked across the room, and saw an Astarion slumped by the door, eyes closed.
“A-Astarion?”
The elf looked up at him, and gave him a tired smile. “There you are. You’re back.”
Gale was relieved his friend wasn’t dead. He still looked panicked. “How-“
Astarion stood, walking over to the bed. “There were more coming up the road. I had to bring you up here.”
“But how aren’t you-?”
“I took a calculated risk. I touched your clothes and hair. No skin. I have no idea what you were talking about I guessed that would be ok. Seems it was.”
“But my blood. It’s soaked through your shirt.”
Astarion looked down. His white shirt was absolutely caked in congealing blood.
Gale was looking at him like he was seeing a miracle. “You should be dead.”
Astarion got up moving to sit at the far end of the bed.
He looked over at Gale, resting his elbows on his knees. “Please explain what that means. I am rather involved now.”
Gale took a breath, and explained what had happened to the best of his knowledge. What had transpired tonight before Astarion showed up, what he knew of The Orb and what happened to Tara. He also spoke of Mystra for the first time, and the reason he’d been exposed to The Orb in the first place.
Astarion laughed. “All this time, the wizard-turned-chef was the erstwhile lover of the goddess of magic herself?” He looked him up and down. “My, but you are full of secrets.”
Astarion thought for a moment, looking across the room, before turning back to Gale.
“Bit of a bitch isn’t she? Abandoning you like that?”
“Wh- Astarion! That’s a goddess you’re talking about!”
“Yes, and one who apparently loved bedding you until you became inconvenient.”
“I-“
“Where am I wrong Gale?”
They sat in silence for a while after that.
Gale finally spoke. “I killed those men tonight.”
Astarion sighed. Patting Gale on the top of his shoe. “And it sounds like they were going to kill those tieflings. No net loss for the Gate.”
When Gale looked at him confused he explained further. “You changed which side of that fight would die, but there were going to be deaths tonight regardless.”
“That’s a - fatalistic way to view it.”
“In my experience, live long enough and life is 100% fatal.” That caused Gale to give an undignified snort.
“I feel like I should feel badly about it.” He stared up at the ceiling. “Instead I’m just fascinated. How it felt when I absorbed three men’s lives. I felt a huge power well up in my chest.” he moved his gaze to Astarion “I’m also fascinated by your survival. Was it because I was unconscious? Was it because three was enough? Maybe it’s your elven-“
Astarion stopped him short. “Maybe it’s luck. I wouldn’t think too hard about it.” He paused. “And don’t try to convince yourself to feel badly. Don’t inflict regret where there is none.”
They sat in a brief moment of silence before he changed the subject. “Is there any chance you can wizard this blood out of my clothes? I think tonight it’s you who deserves the bath.”
Notes:
TW: The first half of the chapter delves into Astarion’s early days as a spawn. It includes non-con, abuse, memory loss and dissociative coping strategies. If this is troubling to you, skip everything in italics, and return when we get to “Baldur’s Gate - 1492, Late Spring”
This bit of Astarion’s past was one of the first things I wrote for this story. I’m so glad to finally find the right place to share it with you.
If anyone here has ever been in a long-term abusive situation, you know how much of yourself you lose. You come out a different person and it’s hard to reconnect to who you were, if you ever do.
If you’re currently in an abusive situation, don’t give up. You might not be able to find an exit yet but you will, and its so very sunny on the other side.
Chapter 12: Cornered
Summary:
The days that follow the rescue.
Notes:
TW: Disassociation, flashbacks, physical harm.
See end for details (Spoilers)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Gale was able to do a cantrip to get both Astarion and himself clean. He wasn’t up for standing and filling the tub, so that would have to do for tonight.
Tomorrow he would also use Mending on his shirt, but he was too tired for any of that.
Eyes closed, too exhausted to keep them open, he thought out loud as he lay on his pillow. “My chest feels as though it’s about to burst, and my arms and legs feel like they’re made of lead. I’ll have to write all this down so I can better understand the nature of what I’m dealing with.”
Astarion had moved to an armchair in the corner. “Always the academic.” He looked over at the bed, relieved to see a pink flush to his friend’s cheeks. He could hear Gale’s heartbeat. It was still faster than normal, but it was strong. He would be alright.
With the panic of the moment over, a new fear set in.
What in the nine hells was he doing? He should leave.
But he thought back to the alley. How even in his last moments Gale hadn’t asked anything of him, only that he stay safe.
“Gale, has anyone ever told you ‘you’re a strange man?’”
The wizard gave a soft chuff of a laugh. “I’d be surprised if they said anything else.”
-
It took three days for Gale to go back to work. The Orb in Gale’s chest gradually settled, and delightfully he didn’t need to feed it for all those days. Even though his body was exhausted, it felt freeing.
He’d been making an inventory of side effects of The Orb consuming so much life at once. By the end of the first day, he could shuffle around his rooms and do a bit of writing. He had felt much better on the second day, but he seemed to have lingering trouble concentrating.
He was itching to try his scroll of True Seeing. He wanted to wait until Astarion arrived so he spent the afternoon laying out each book, cataloguing their appearance prior to casting the spell. It was surprisingly challenging. He kept forgetting about one or the other, finding them discarded to the side or misplaced. He kept having to reorient and check his notes.
After verifying multiple times and cementing the number, placement and description of books on a sheet of paper, he went downstairs to get something to eat.
Cal and Lia were prepping the dining room.
In the kitchens he heard the halfling manager hustling through meal prep. She was filling in while he was injured.
“Hello Efa.” He called to the kitchen, getting her attention.
He saw a hand appear over the pass through window “‘Ello Glyn!”
“It’s Gale, Efa.” Lia shouted out. She looked over and nodded at the human who hadn’t quite decided if he were going to correct the woman or not.
Efa’s face appeared in the window. She’d apparently brought a step-stool to deal with the inconveniently placed window.
“Righ’, Gayle.” She leaned on the sill, out of breath, and wiped a palm across her brow. “Ye wouldn’t be feeling better yet would ya?” She smiled. She still hadn’t gotten the name quite right, but her friendly demeanor made him return the smile.
“Not as yet, I’m still light headed. I’m afraid I’d only do damage in the kitchens.”
“S’ alrigh’. Ye kept this place runnin’ smooth for months, and it’s actually clean back here. I think it’s fair to take a few days after getting beat by some thugs. Pity they got away.”
Gale’s eyes flicked over to Lia and Cal. It seemed they told a sanitized version to Efa. No need to let her know he’d killed three, and the rest of the gang suspected he worked here. He was increasingly in their debt.
“Thank you Efa. I was just coming down to get a bite to eat before going back up to rest.”
She nodded and stepped away from the window, returning with a bowl of stew and some bread. “Ye do that. I don’t want to see ya down here for anything other than food or drink until ya feel better.“
Now that Gale was at the window, he could see she’d already modified the kitchen with some wooden risers wrapping around all the counters and cooking areas. She’d definitely had to handle over-sized kitchens before. He was relieved. His knees had already been aching in solidarity at the thought of her having to ascend and descend a step stool all night due to a poorly accommodated kitchen.
“Thank you Efa, and thank you for the lovely meal. You know, I like to think I’m a dab hand at cooking myself, but I am humbled by a true master’s work.”
“Sweet of ye to say. Now go on upstairs.”
Once he was upstairs he settled into his chair to enjoy his meal. He hadn’t been giving empty flattery about the food. A halfling stew was a thing of beauty, as was the boule of bread to go with it. Of course while he recuperated it was also the only thing on the menu, but The Pelican’s usual clientele wouldn’t mind. As Cal often told him “it just wasn’t that kind of place.’
As he chewed through a broth soaked piece of bread, he contemplated the events of that night. How had Astarion survived? The Orb had been 100% lethal to every living thing that he had touched for over a year. What about the context surrounding that moment was different?
If he could sort this out, it might lead to a way to prevent future deaths.
He grabbed one of his notebooks dedicated to loose hypotheses that didn’t merit one of his proper journals.
Things that were unique about the situation with Astarion was as follows:
1. He had been near death
2. The orb had been fed more than ever before
3. Astarion was an elf
The first didn’t seem plausible. According to Elminster, if he died the orb would have no life to draw from and it would detonate. It stood to reason that if he were dying The Orb would even more likely to consume something.
The next was possible, but he had never noticed any change in the ‘hunger’ in that way. He could feed it to a point that the chest pains abated, but that never slowed how hungrily The Orb consumed. On the other hand, he had no idea how the complexity of life ‘scaled’ according to The Orb. The dozen or so chickens he consumed daily got the same reaction, but if a human life were one-hundred fold, or one-thousand fold more potent, it could explain only finding an upper limit now.
The final variable was Astarion himself. If the potency of life was related to lifespan, then Astarion would have much more it. But it seemed that The Orb hadn’t affected him at all, not just that he survived it. Wouldn’t there have been some reaction? Astarion had acted as though he’d completely avoided any effects. Perhaps his life was so ample The Orb couldn’t even try to take it?
Gale tapped his quill on the edge of the notebook. He didn’t like any of these ideas, but couldn’t rule them out yet and he didn’t have anything better.
When Astarion arrived, he came with two cups and a bottle from Cal.
Gale was excited, talking with his hands even more than normal. “Astarion! It’s a pleasure to see you! I’ve gotten everything set up. I’m attempting to minimize variables in this experiement of ours. I’ve been puzzling all afternoon about how to turn this bedroom into a proper lab. I doubt that I’ve managed to eliminate everything that might cause an error, but I’ve done my very best.”
“Hello to you too, darling. Any news?”
“Not yet, I wanted to wait until you were here to cast any spells. At first, because I just wanted you to be here to see how the experiment panned out, but now I’m also glad because I’ve been having trouble focusing today. I really appreciate having another person here.” Without waiting for a response, Gale sent a quill and ink as well as one of his informal notebooks over to Astarion via mage hand.
“Could you take notes for me while I spellcast? It would be immeasurably helpful.”
Astarion looked at the quill, unconsciously flexing his fingers. When was the last time he’d written anything? He couldn’t remember. Cazador banned him from any pursuits like writing, deeming them inappropriate for his ‘purpose.’ Would this be one of the things he’d forgotten?
No. He still read, and his hands were dexterous, he would be fine.
Even if he was as stupid as Cazador believed he was, he could take notes.
“Astarion?”
“Hmm?”
“You seemed miles away just now.”
“Don’t worry darling. I was thinking about whether we should enjoy the wine before or after the experiment.”
Gale smiled. “If we’re both a little distractable we should probably wait.”
Astarion picked up the quill, twirling it in his fingers. He didn’t have any writers’ callouses. It felt strange in his hand.
Gale got out the scroll of True Seeing and components for other spells. He looked over his set up “Ok, I have the spell of True Seeing out, I’ve also got Comprehend Languages and Identify prepped to get the most out of the time the spell would be active. Once we get started, things may move quickly.”
He continued to fuss.
While Gale was distracted, Astarion tried to dip the nib and practice a few strokes on the page. The first time he hadn’t picked up enough ink, and his lines came out patchy. He tried again, pushing too hard, splitting the nib apart, losing the line. He tried once again, this time over-filling the nib with ink getting it on his fingers and dripping ink onto the page and his lap.
His own blood dripping from his fingers. Fingernails ripped out.
Red eyes piercing his. “Let this be a lesson.”
“Weak minds should leave thinking to their betters.”
Astarion blinked, staring at his hand. His nails were there. Just covered in blue ink. He was whole.
He stood suddenly, chair scooting back loudly as he rushed toward the basin where he could wash his hands.
Gale jumped. “What? What happened?”
Astarion struggled to maintain a mask. “This task is just- too horribly plebeian! I’m not here to do your work for you.”
He spoke in an even tone but was studiously looking away from Gale as he began to wash his hands.
How gods-damned embarrassing. Clear your head Astarion.
Gale’s brows knit in confusion. “Apologies. I hadn’t meant any offense. I’ll take those back.” Gale used the Mage Hand to bring the materials to his desk.
“Thank you. These hands are meant for cups of wine and idle musings I’m afraid.” He demonstrated rolling a wrist in the air, his back still facing Gale. “I’m just here to see if my theory plays out.”
“I see… And- uh, it’s a ‘hypothesis’ at this point. Not a ‘theory.’”
“What?” Astarion looked over his shoulder, vigorously scrubbing the ink from his fingers.
Gale was fussing over his experimental setup. “You have a ‘hypothesis.’ A ‘theory’ is for when something is nigh universally accepted by the academic community. Like the theory of the weave, or gravity.”
Astarion’s shoulders tightened.
Gale glanced over and noticed he’d misstepped and tried to backpedal. “I’m sorry. I’m being pedantic.” He paused, unsure of what to say. “You are, of course, colloquially correct. As a layperson who hasn’t studied this sort of thing, that’s an acceptable word use. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He kept trying to fix things. “In the future I’ll try not to be so linguistically prescriptivist when unnecessary.”
Astarion turned to face Gale. Surprising him with how cold he looked. Like he was wearing a brittle mask. “Don’t worry about dumbing things down for me darling.”
“You never learn. This is why I have to teach you not to embarrass yourself by pretending to be more than you are.”
He strode toward the door “You know… I think I need to be elsewhere. Do tell me how your little experiment goes.”
And with that he departed the room, shutting the door with a resounding ‘thud.’
Gale stared after him. What just happened? How had he ruined things so quickly?
He sat down on the edge of the bed, and gave up on spellcasting for the night.
~*~
Astarion was walking down the street quickly.
Fuck, he was angry.
He was going to do something he was good at.
He could still feel how awkward the quill had felt in his hand. He shook out his fingers trying to clear away the sensation. He’d been a gods-damned magistrate, hadn’t he? Why couldn’t he fucking write!?
He snatched some coin purses as he stormed down the street, crashing his shoulders into his targets to distract them. It both served as an outlet for his anger and got him enough coin to go to a more expensive establishment. He was plenty proficient at this.
He was going to buy expensive wine, ensnare a horny idiot and then go home.
-
“What is that?” A quiet voice rumbled in his ear.
Astarion’s mind returned. He was in the dining hall, the corpse of some laborer across from him.
He didn’t see Cazador.
“There’s a blue stain on your trousers.”
A hand snatched his arm from behind holding it up.
“It seems there’s some here as well. Time to answer me boy.”
He looked, his hand was held up to his face. Underneath his middle and index fingernails there were slim crescents of blue staining.
Oh- In his agitation he’d never finished cleaning it off.
It was a direct question. He couldn’t do anything but answer. “Ink.”
“And how did ink get on your fingers?”
He frantically tried to find a way not to answer in a way that avoided punishment. The compulsion prohibited lies, but not misleading truths.
His mind was only half back. He came up with nothing. “A mistake.”
“A mistake with what?”
What could he answer?
Ink pot? Cazador would see that as an insubordinate answer, and this would go to Godey and the kennels.
Note taking? That would beg the question of what he’d been trying to write, or who he would be writing for. Exposing the company he’d been keeping.
A victim? No, that would lead to more questions. And since it wasn’t the dead man in front of him, those questions could lead back to Gale.
He was only left with one answer. He had to hope Cazador wouldn’t dig too deeply. “A quill.”
The next words were laced with venom. “Were you writing?”
“… no.” He hadn’t been successful.
He now heard a menacing smile in his ears. “Aw…Did you try to write?”
His voice choked, but he couldn’t prevent the answer from coming.“Yes.”
Cazador barked out cruel laughter, he winced a the sharp pain.
He leaned in, his breath tickling Astarion’s ear.
“Even after all the lesson I give trying to teach you, you still never learn.” He examined Astarion’s wrist. “I think the only answer is to remove the temptation.”
Cazador held Astarion in a cruel embrace, one arm still clutching Astarion’s tightly. In front of them was a beautiful place setting, with a dead rat on top. He brought Astarion’s right arm onto the plate, shoving the rat onto the table. He reached over with his other hand, grabbing a silver knife that had been placed adjacent.
“Now, watch carefully.” He held Astarion’s arm on the plate, palm side up.
Astarion’s eyes could look nowhere else.
He stabbed deep into Astarion’s wrist, then began sawing across.
As each tendon was cut he felt a ‘snap’ muscles recoiled away from the wrist, the tension holding them in place destroyed. The spasms alone were agony.
A thin trickle of blood dotted the plate.
“There. Much better.” He released Astarion’s hand.
As he sat, dazed, he heard Cazador’s footsteps retreating. They paused for just a moment. “You need to return to what you are best at. Until that’s healed, you’ll serve in the palace.”
Astarion stared at his hand. His fingers could no longer close. His hand was useless.
These kinds of wounds could take months to heal, even with his vampiric healing. Often longer if he wasn’t fed. He was maimed and wouldn’t be seeing the streets or Baldur’s gate for a long, long, time.
When he was alone, teardrops joined the blood on the plate. He was silent.
Notes:
TW: Astarion has a flashback to torture because of dripping ink, this leads to him departing Gale’s place. Unfortunately Cazador spots this and punishes him for trying to do things outside his ‘purpose’ by maiming his hand.
Astarion’s frustration about writing is based loosely around my own dysgraphia. Nothing sucks the confidence out of a person when you go to write and your brain/body fails you. Astarion doesn’t have the same issue as me, he is able to write and spell functionally. Writing with quills though? Too fussy to pick up first try after 200 years. If he could be patient with himself, he would figure it back out in a short period of time.
Another fun fact about me is I have dyslexia too, and while I was writing this chapter I realized I was writing for slow readers like me. When I speed myself up to skim, I hate what I’ve written, but when I read it at my usual pace it passes muster. Do you agree?
Reading slower =better experience?
Chapter 13: Revelations
Summary:
Gale and Astarion are separated, information is gleaned, more questions arise, and an unlikely ally appears.
Notes:
Last chapter was really tricky. This chapter feels like it wrote itself :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The next day Gale couldn’t bring himself to identify the books without Astarion so he decided to go visit Dammon and see how things had been progressing.
Walking up to the forge he was full of excitement. He felt sure the time was coming soon where he would be able to move forward in his quest to bring Tara back.
Dammon wasn’t outside today. The forge was cold, and his tools away. Gale looked around, and saw him sitting inside the house, working at a desk inside.
He knocked.
Dammon came to the door, a huge smile on his face.
“Just the man I hoped to see! Come in! I’m doing some double checking on our project, it’s nearly complete.”
They moved to the desk where the product of hundreds of hours of labor and many thousands of gold sat, carefully arranged on a velvet bed.
It’s hundreds of beautifully crafted parts were made from an amalgam of star metal, infernal iron, and platinum. Each piece laid out in perfect order.
Shining in the sunlight streaming through the window was a glimmering skeleton of a tressym.
A replica made the most soul and magic receptive materials in all the realms. Each had a tiny chamber, that would be capped by a diamond with facets that numbered the same as the number of pieces, all 252, so they would operate as a cohesive whole, despite being separate parts.
Dammon put a jewelers loop in his eye, examining a small piece. A metacarpal bone.
“You know, I have to say, I don’t usually do fine work like this. I’m more of a swords and ploughshares kind of man. But this has been a very interesting challenge.”
Despite the beauty of Dammon’s work, it was also a reminder of her death.
He felt his eyes sting as they threatened tears. “This is a work of art Dammon. Thank you.”
“Likewise, I may begin to do more work like this. Well, not this exactly, but items ready to be imbued with magic. You’ve given me a lot to think about.” Dammon gave him a smile. “You may find me looking to hire you for some consulting in the future.”
Looking at the skeleton, each piece perfectly crafted, polished and glittering in the sunlight, Gale replied, voice tight. “After this? You can call on me for anything, any time.”
-
Gale went back to his rooms at The Pelican. The pieces would be ready in just a few days and then the gems soon after. He needed to get himself ready for his part of this process.
The ‘bones’ he and Dammon had devised were meant to be ‘sticky’ both for souls and magic. This should make them capable of hosting a spirit for an indefinite period of time, instead of a temporary summons.
If he could summon Tara, she (hopefully) could use these ‘bones’ like ones from her own body and would have a complete, ambulatory, body.
They had considered something that wasn’t skeletal but found themselves hitting walls. First, it would have required exponentially more precious metals and stones. It also would be less likely to move in a way that felt natural to Tara, since it would be made up of rigid plates. And finally, the soul wanted to stick to the familiar, that’s why you can’t Revivify with just anyone’s body, you need the actual body of the person who died. The only rigid things a soul was familiar with were its bones.
Each bone in the skeleton would be set up like a reliquary. Some religions of Faerûn had a longstanding practice of producing such items to facilitate the summoning of spirits. His would (hypothetically) be able to use these reliquary bones to replace actual bones for the purposes of spells that could bring Tara back to the material plain.
He opened a trunk he kept in the corner of his room, and carefully examined tiny glass jars he’d packed up from Waterdeep all those months ago. They contained shed fur and the occasional whisker. He also had her letters, favorite blanket, and other things that were definitely ‘hers’ and part of her life. He would implant one of these into each of the 252 bones, and then cap the opening with the diamond. It would be time consuming work. Each tiny bone would need it’s own ‘relic’ of Tara, and capped with its own inset gem.
As he sorted through things, working out how he would use each item he had, he hoped that Astarion would visit. He desperately wanted to make amends for whatever he’d done.
He wasn’t sure what had happened to start things off in the wrong direction, but he knew what had happened that made it worse. His apology had sounded like it was part of a dissertation.
He paused, sat back, and ran his fingers through his hair. He’d been so wrapped up in his experiment, he’d been in thinking and talking like he was back at Blackstaff. A place that demanded ‘competitive verbosity’ and sincerity meant a person wasn’t objective. A way of thinking completely unsuited for an apology.
He was a damned idiot.
-
Gale waited a tendays before he decided that he would go forward with casting the spells. He really wanted Astarion with him, since it was his idea, but he didn’t know if he would be back again, and didn’t want to wait any longer.
He reviewed his notes and had the spell scrolls laid out. He took a deep breath, and began.
Gale had never cast True Seeing before. It was a high level spell, and one he didn’t know. When he pulled the spell from the scroll, spinning it into existence, he experienced a sudden expansion of awareness.
Everything in the room was sharper, and more vibrant. He glanced around. His pitcher of infinite water had an ethereal ocean behind it, the spell revealing the connection it had to the elemental plane of water. It was beautiful.
He looked over to his books from Skullport, and his vision reeled. He leaned in further to get a better idea of what was going on, his heart beginning to race with excitement.
The books looked, for lack of a better word, ‘slippery.’ Like they were meant for his eyes to slip over them, his attention finding no purchase.
Beneath that, there were two more effects. One that seemed to shadow the auras of the books. The final effect was revealed by the ‘boring’ tomes fading in-and-out, replaced with imposing tomes with titles written in draconic script. Something was hiding the true identity of the books.
Astarion would be happy to know he’d been right.
Gale cast Comprehend Languages and out jumped the titles of the books.
Before him, though he still struggled to keep his attention from sliding away, he read the following titles:
Before the Fall
Wandering the Broken Weave
Blackcloak Apprentice
Sargauth Enclave
Skullport
Codex Fracti
Codex Anima
Motus per Immortui
The final three, through the understanding granted by True Seeing were spell books. The others were mundane books, but of apparently enough import that the previous owner had thrice cloaked them.
Gale began to get a headache. He needed to diagnose the spells attached to the books, so he could remove them.
He cast Identify.
It worked in a way it never had before. Normally the awareness of what magic effect his was dealing with was revealed clearly inside his mind. This time, the knowledge felt warped and incomplete.
Very strange.
The first spell, the one that tried to prevent his focus, he now understood was a spell to protect from or abjure notice. Something that redirected his attention.
The next, was something meant to disguise the aura of a magic item.
The final cloaked each book in a remarkable multisensory illusion.
Normally when using Identify, he would have it’s name, school, and other important details, but while he comprehended the mechanism and intent, he didn’t get such details.
It was as though it had been created from an entirely different… something. How was it that Identify didn’t even glean the type of magic?
Wait, untyped…
He looked down at his chest, suddenly wishing he had a mirror.
In his excitement he had missed a unimaginable phenomenon right under his nose.
The Orb pulsed and danced. Even True Seeing and Identify together, it was still an unknown type of magic. This magic, however, was completely different than whatever suffused the books. The book’s magic didn’t feel as alien as this. The Orb’s magic was wild and ever changing. He saw it dancing down his limbs, and even suffusing his own magic.
While the angle was terrible, as he craned his neck down he saw something that was wondrous. Later, the closest he would be able to get to describing it, was that it was like an impossibly deep well. At the ‘bottom’ of the well there was scintillating energy. An energy that appeared raw and pure.
As he examined it, it seemed to react to being seen and grow in his minds-eye.
As he was lost in wonder studying The Orb’s shape and movement, the spells ended. His usual senses felt blunted and dull. He touched his chest.
The Orb was more than a terrible power, it also held breathtaking beauty.
He sat down on the edge of his bed, looking over at the books, now returned to their boring and mundane appearance. He had an easier time paying attention to them now, though it still wasn’t easy.
He frantically took out a notebook writing down as much as he could remember.
~*~
Astarion lay on his bed in the spawns’ dormitory. It was night, and his siblings were gone, off to do chores for the Master. There were no patriars at the palace, and he was useless for anything else.
Useless.
He stroked the purple healing skin on his wrist. The flesh underneath it was strangely ‘empty’ the tendons severed and retracted. He could feel the bones if he pushed. With surgery to reconnect the tendons his healing would be over in days, but Cazador had forbidden Dal from helping him in any way.
It would be months.
He tried willing his fingers to work anyway.
You’re undead, your muscles are dead, how is this different? Just squeeze.
Nothing.
Days and nights rolled on. He spent all of it on his cot in the same position. Without the need to breathe he was indistinguishable from a corpse.
He had nothing to prepare for, he would be going nowhere. He couldn’t mend his clothes or make a trade by helping with anyone else’s mending. The spawn did nothing that wasn’t for their own benefit. He would not receive any help.
Helpless.
Unless summoned to be tormented by Cazador or his twisted guests, he could do nothing. So, he did nothing at all.
He found himeself drifting for long periods of time.
Days went by.
Unlike before, he did not go into oblivion, but into memories.
Books and laughter.
A stuttering blushing wizard.
A warm bath.
A friendly face.
Wine.
Bleeding in an alley.
Panic.
Shame.
Anger.
No. Willed himself back to the pleasant memories.
A sunny day looking out over Waterdeep.
-
Daylight approached and the other spawn returned to the dormitory . Once again he hadn’t moved.
He was curled facing the away with his eyes closed, mind fuzzy. Despite it all, he could still identify each spawn by the sounds they made.
Yousen’s light but angry presence, Petras’ boorish movements, Dalyria’s careful and prim steps, Aurelia’s timid shuffling, and Violet’s sashay. Leon was, of course, not present.
“Aw…. Is our big brother still having a bad day?” Petras pouted before kicking the frame of Astarion’s bed. He didn’t move.
“He’s having a pity party. Leave ‘im.” Yousen.
The other spawn bickered in the room, as they settled in for they’re day’s rest.
The spawn went to sleep.
Nothing changed.
-
Astarion heard the erratic footsteps of Violet in front of him, then the sound of shuffling clothing as she lowered herself down to eye level.
“Brother, are you lost?”
She stayed there, not moving. Long minutes passed by. He eventually broke the silence to get her to leave.
Using his voice for the first time in days, he spoke. “I’m right here Vi.”
She poked his cheek, causing him furrow his brows. “No… Some of you is here. Some of you is long gone.”
He wanted to bat her hand away, but wanted to lay without moving even more.
“Be careful Starry, It’s easy to get lost.”
That made him crack an eye open, and look at her face. She looked worried.
She fidgeted before speaking again. “I left a long time ago and I never made my way back.”
He closed his eye. “I thought you liked where you’ve gone.”
“I do!” She said, laughing and suddenly cheery. Then, just as quickly, reversed to a grave tone. “But, I wish I could find my way back home.”
“Vi… what do you want?”
She seemed to shuffle back and forth on her feet. “You’re acting like you did when you got back from that long trip through the dark. The one where I didn’t see you until the snows returned. “
Entombed in the dark.
Agony, standing on legs that wanted rest, but no room to sit.
Fingers worn to the bone trying to escape.
Throat raw from screaming.
The distant sounds of footsteps that never came to free him.
That same sound letting him know that his screams could be heard, and yet no one would acknowledge him. No one would help.
He didn’t know when he’d abandoned his mind and body during that time, but he had.
He curled into himself into a tighter ball.
She was silent a while. “Even after that terrible trip, you found your way back.”
That made him open both of his eyes this time to really look at her. She seemed genuinely worried, and her red eyes were sharp and present.
“You found your way back. But this time you’re going away without the dark. You want to go.”
He closed his eyes again. “I have place I want to be.”
Warm bath. Sunshine in Waterdeep. Laughter.
“That’s why I left too.” She sounded sad.
She waited one more moment, before punctuating a comment with a finger pressed firmly into his forehead. “If you leave this way you won’t find your way back. So, don’t go.”
He slapped her away with a hand.
She grabbed his chin, sharp claws piercing his cheeks. He was shocked into alertness, and open his eyes.
“No, Starry. I won’t LET you go and get lost.”
She let go of his face and booped the tip of his nose with a finger. He heard her walk away, shouting (presumably) at Dalyria. “DOLLY! Guess what?! I rescued a sailor today so the king gave me a prize!”
Under his arm, and out of sight of the other spawn, she had left a rat.
Notes:
Thanks for reading!
I’m really excited for what’s up next.
Chapter 14: Reaching out
Summary:
Dammon’s part of the project is ready. Astarion walks the palace.
Chapter Text
Astarion ate the rat while the other spawn were asleep, but feared that when the other spawn awoke they would smell it, giving him away. Whether on purpose or on accident, Violet aided him here too. In the middle of the day, while the other spawn rested, Violet had reclaimed it and shredded it to pieces, scattering it throughout the dormitory. It was a disgusting mess, and made the room reek of death all the more. Any heightened smell from where Astarion drained it was lost.
He was laying on his side, contemplating his predicament. He had enjoyed the rat, but was furious that she would prevent him from taking refuge in his own mind. Hypocrite. Still, once she had gotten something in her head, she wouldn’t let it go easily.
Her madness let her behave outside the normal rules of spawn, making her whims a force to be reckoned with. She’d once decided that Petras was a spy, and had tried to ‘make him talk.’ And during that time she’d acquired a myriad of weapons, which should have been impossible. Decades later she still eyed him suspiciously, but no longer stole torture devices out of the kennels to get the information out of him.
A long undeath had taught Astarion to always go with her fantasies, so at least while she was around he wouldn’t escape into reverie.
Because of all this he’d been staring at the ceiling for hours now. With nothing else to distract him the fear that permeated the place could not be avoided. Like tinnitus in a silent room. With no way to escape, and no where to go, it just made his chest tighten, and the working fingers on his left hand dig their nails into his palm. After 200 years of practice he knew not to show it. So, he squeezed his hand and contained the trapped animal feeling that was overwhelming him. He’d experienced his many times. He was used to it.
Once the other spawn went to sleep, and the castle had quieted down for the day, Astarion left his bed.
Vampires are notoriously quiet, and Astarion was doubly so. His maimed hand didn’t limit this ability.
As he slipped down he hallway, even thought the windows were shut and the curtains were drawn tight, he could hear the birds outside rousing for the day. He leaned against a wall, and just listened to them, their songs helping to unwind the tightness in his chest. He wished he could see them, but even indirect sunlight was painful.
He sat and imagined Waterdeep harbor adding the songs of the birds to the scene.
The hallway was too exposed, so he couldn’t fully escape into the memory, but it did feel nice. It put a momentary smile on his face.
After a while, he stood back up and continued to pace the halls of the Szarr palace. Cazador had no need to guard the spawn during the day. He didn’t care if they hurt each other and the sun and threat of kennels did the rest of the work keeping the spawn obedient and inside the palace. Unless, of course, a spawn wanted to attempt suicide, that was prevented by Cazador’s commands.
You are MINE.
He stalked the halls, becoming increasingly agitated. He had gone over possibilities of escape, in one form or another, thousands of times. Suicide seemed the most viable, since if he ever did manage to escape to be recaptured would be a fate worse than death. And he would know.
As he walked he heard a frantic banging against the glass of a window. He approached cautiously and noticed it was a tiny sparrow. It had somehow found itself inside, and was banging itself on the glass on the other side of a curtain, occasionally falling to the ground, where he could see it, before getting up to try and escape once again.
“You too, hmm?”
He watched it for a few moments before deciding to use the heavy curtain as a shield against the sun. He grabbed the window latch through the cloth, opening the window and letting the little bird free.
He didn’t hear much except for the fading wingbeats as it flew away.
He latched the window once again, wishing it could be that easy.
~*~
With how strange and layered the protections were, Gale had to be extremely careful removing the magic on the books. He chose one of the books that was not a spell book to experiment on. He had made some tentative attempts to dispel its magic, and had met with mixed success. He had an easier time paying attention to it, and could sense its magical aura, but it still was disguised by an impressive illusory spell.
For the first time in months, he prayed to Mystra.
My lady, I know you have chosen to sever our connection, and I endeavor to respect it, however now I beseech you to aid in my understanding. I am encountering things I have no knowledge about, and they are related to your Weave.
He furrowed his brow now, and his hands were clasped tighter, his knuckles turning white.
I do not wish to repeat the mistake I made which caused you to abandon our relationship. But, I refuse to abandon my desire to understand this world better, and that includes understanding the situation I find myself in as well .
If you would offer insights I would be most appreciative.
Gale.
He sighed, dropping his hands, and descended the stairs to begin working down in the kitchens.
He hadn’t felt any pains from the orb since the night he’d been stabbed. Still, he didn’t know how long it would last and didn’t want to lose the job that offered him his lifeline. Most importantly, he didn’t want to take time off, or leave, if Astarion might come back.
Passing by Cal and Lia as they set up the dining area, he was preoccupied wondering what had happened to his friend. It had been three tendays now, and he hadn’t returned. Gale had gone from hoping he could apologise to genuinely worried. What if he never came back?
He lit the fire for the stove and oven, checking over the bread. He let habit take over as he continued to ruminate. They were friends right? They had spent so many evenings together, and Astarion had even saved his life!
Gale shook his head, this was one of the areas of understanding where he felt entirely lost. So often he had thought he was friends with someone, only to find they’d tolerated him, or seen the relationship as a transaction.
When he looked back on a life devoted to Mystra and magic he now saw the holes it left behind. He’d missed out on friendships, relationships, and the understanding that came with both. He knew so much of the arcane, and so little of the mundane. At one point he wore that as a badge of pride, but now he railed against its limitations.
The combination of frustration and distraction got the better of him, and he burned his wrist on the oven.
That shocked him back to the present. “Shit!”
He shook his arm, willing the burn to settle down. As the pain throbbed, he was struck by another potentiality, that something had happened to Astarion.
Did those men see him carry Gale to safety? No. They would have explored the tavern further if that was the case. But Baldur’s Gate was a dangerous place, and there were lots of ways a person could get hurt.
He decided that he needed to know if something had happened. But how would he find out? Gale didn’t want to bother him if he’d rather be left alone. He could attempt to scry on him, but that would be a huge invasion of privacy. He continued to debate what to do until he looked up and saw that the evening hadwrapped up on its own.
As he had for months, he sat down in front of Cal at the bar to get a drink.
“Damn, Gale. What’s on your mind?”
“Hmm?”
“Exactly, you’re never this quiet. Is this about Astarion?”
“I- it’s about a few things, but yes, a large part of it is about Astarion. I just wish I knew what happened.”
“Do you want my advice?”
“I’ll certainly hear it.”
“Leave it be. If he doesn’t want to talk to you, then good riddance, and if something’s happened to him? Well, there’s nothing you can do.”
“That’s a pretty dark view of things.”
Cal shrugged. “Surviving in Avernus will do that to you.”
“I see. There’s just one problem with it.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’m a wizard. There’s a lot I can do.”
-
Dammon delivered the reliquary skeleton personally.
It was a sunny morning, earlier than Gale would usually be awake. He’d been expecting the package however, and so he opened the door before the smith could knock.
After exchanging greetings, Gale took the box that held it with reverence.
“My hard work is done, yours is just beginning. Good luck, eh Gale? When you’ve succeeded bring your friend over, I’d love to meet her.”
“Thank you Dammon. I would be delighted.”
Dammon gave a friendly nod, then departed, back to his forge.
-
Gale set up a station in his bedroom to lay out each of the bones and impart the elements for the reliquary. The tiniest bones would get individual strands of fur, others would get elements of life she was deeply connected to. He had already laid out a scraps of letters, bits of cloth from her bedding and components from favorite spells. After adding the little relic, he would have to inset the diamond and make sure they were firmly placed, trim off any excess material from the mounting prongs and polish the ends. Even with mage hand helping, it would still take him days.
As he sat organizing things, and beginning the tedious process of setting up his work station, his mind began to wander.
Astarion had still not returned, he was becoming increasingly worried. As he sat at his desk, his mind wandered to what may have happened to Astarion. His mind kept on generating more gruesome and horrific events until, finally, he had to put down his tools and lean back.
Astarion had been so frustrated when he left. He should probably just leave him alone. If history was anything to go by, Astarion just didn’t want to deal with him anymore.
In the past when Gale had tried to find out what he’d done wrong, he’d made things worse. The word people used was ‘pestering.’ After a certain point he tried to accept when people were done with him.
But was that really what was happening now? GODS why was this still so hard to figure out? He wasn’t that far from forty years-old and still didn’t understand other people that well.
He shoved his chair back, stood, and started pacing.
He would send Astarion one Sending spell, just to make sure he was ok. He’d let him know he was just checking to make sure he was ok, and then he wouldn’t bother him any more.
That would be ok wouldn’t it? Even if it wasn’t, he just needed to know. This ‘not knowing’ was killing him.
Yes. That’s what he would do.
-
Gale twirled a piece of copper wire in his fingers. He was anxious.
He had mulled his words over in his mind a few times to make sure it would work.
He pulled the weave into his hands. The wire floated between them and, as he finished speaking his message, it became a streak of green light disappearing from sight.
*Astarion, its Gale. I’m worried. Are you ok? When you get this message please reply. Even if you don’t wish to speak again. 25 words.
There. That would work.
Now he just needed to wait.
He paced his room biting a nail. Hoping he hadn’t overstepped.
*Gale, how-? Right. Wizardry. I’ll be gone a long time. Don’t look for me. The message seemed to end, and Gale’s heart sank. A few moments later, however, it resumed. *Don’t forget me, alright? It’s a balm to hear from you.
What? What did that mean? He rummaged through his component pouch, pulling another bit of wire.
He bit his lip. Then made up his mind and sent another message.
*Are you safe? What can I do for you? Please let me help if you are in trouble. Even if you are still angry.
More agonizing seconds of waiting.
*Angry? No. But cannot go to you. Message me again? After sunrise. I am glad to hear from the outside. Tell me, how are things?
Now Gale was less worried about Astarion’s mood, but even more worried about the man in general. Pulling out another bit of wire, he decided to send one more message.
*Last message for today. I will message again tomorrow morning. You were right about the books. You are a genius. Wish you could’ve seen it.
*You’ll have to tell me all about it. Thank you for this. It is good to hear from you. I will expect your messages.
~*~
Receiving messages had shocked Astarion. He’d been caught off guard and hadn’t covered his feelings very effectively. And Gale had thought he was angry? He wanted to laugh, the problems of that day felt like a lifetime ago.
He was laying on his cot when it had all happened. He was glad he hadn’t been in front of Cazador. He probably would have fallen apart.
Hearing from the wizard had awoken a part of himself that had been in torpor since he’d returned to the palace. It was as though the world was sharper, or he was more awake. It also made his body fill with fear.
The conversation had awoken the man became when they were together, and that was very different from the spawn he was at the palace.
To be a spawn in the palace was survivable, to be a man was truly terrifying.
He hugged his right arm to his chest, and tried to remain calm.
Notes:
Thanks for reading! And thank you to everyone who leaves a comment. It’s always a delight to see them come in. This weekend’s update should pick up speed again.
:)
Chapter 15: Reunion
Summary:
Life in the palace gets a bit worse.
Notes:
TW: Descriptions of graphic violence, suicidal ideation.
(Details and spoilers in the end note.)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Baldur’s Gate 1492 DR - Late Spring
Astarion woke in the evening to a summons with the rest of the spawn. Anything which required his presence was bound to be torment.
These days he was having a harder time distancing himself from what was happening. He felt more alert and alive from the messages from Gale, something that was desperately welcome but, as a side effect, it made it harder to tune out what was happening in the world around him.
Some days Cazador had ‘guests’ and he would speak with Gale while he lay ravaged and bruised from the night’s abuses. Tears would stream down his face. The sweetness of the conversations made his reality all the more bitter by comparison.
That was a large part of why he requested the messages be sent at dawn. If they arrived before the horrors of the night, the contrast would make the difference even more stark and unbearable.
Tonight the spawn lined up in their customary order. Violet to his left, Petras and Dalyria to his right. He hadn’t noticed he was shaking until Violet had tried to grab his hand. He pulled away, breathing in the fetid palace air as he tried to calm himself. It only made his lungs feel dirty.
Cazador approached their group from behind, stroking Astarion’s jaw as he walked by.
He shivered.
Cazador stopped.
He smiled and turn to Astarion, enjoying the fear he found on his spawn’s face.
He leaned in whispering to Astarion. “You haven’t been this reactive in a long time. What a pleasant turn of events.” A little louder, so that the others could hear he said “Aw… is this because you’ve been cooped up? You’ve been neglected for so long, but don’t worry. You will be the star of the show tomorrow night.”
He stepped back and addressed all the spawn present. “Children! Your cousins from afar have set out to visit our estate and partake of the delights of the city. I expect each of you to do your part to make this palace ready to receive them.”
The vampire lord walked up and down the line of spawn. “After you’ve prepared the palace, you must prepare yourselves. You will each have a part to play in the welcoming festivities. Most of you will entertain guests in private, so be sure to dress your best. Dalyria, you will be showcasing your medical prowess by demonstrating a vivisection, so be sure to pay extra attention to your medical supplies.”
The news of the vivisection turned Astarion’s stomach. He’d seen her do it before on a hapless mortal. Dalyria pulled his organs out for display and removed all but the ones needed to keep him alive. Eventually, of course, he’d died. But she was very good at making it take a long, long time.
“And dear boy,” He paused in front of Astarion, leaning in close. “To make up for your idleness over the past month, You will be at the center of everything. These are our dear cousins, so they deserve something special. As such, you will perform your labors in ballroom itself. Since the only thing good about you is that pretty face and body, we’ll be making the most of it.”
Astarion’s vision began to swim and darken. He knew what was coming.
“After everyone to gets to see and experience that singular meritorious feature of yours, you will be the subject of Dalyria’s demonstration. It will be all the sweeter for our guests if they know your body intimately, don’t you think?” Astarion’s vision had shrunk to a pinhole in front of him.
Astarion’s eyes tried to meet his lord’s but he couldn’t. He glanced away to look try and look at Dalyria.
Cazador grabbed his chin redirecting his eyes back to him. “No answer? Well, no matter. Do not bother with any clothes, but do wash up. You’ll be the premier entertainment after all.” He traced a clawed finger down Astarion’s chest, miming the shape of the Y-incision Dalyria would be making the next night.
The vampire lord redirected his attention back to the rest of his spawn. “Now go. Prepare the palace, then prepare yourselves. I expect you to be ready immediately as the sun sets tomorrow.”
And with that Cazador swept out of the room, leaving the spawn to do his bidding. Astarion was the last to move.
-
Astarion moved mechanically. Somehow his body still managed to sweep the halls, dust chandeliers and prepare bedding. That would be the compulsion that had accompanied the Master’s orders. He wore an expression that was frozen into a neutral shape. However his one working hand betrayed him. He was clumsy tonight. He dropped several things, as well as knocking a few over. Blessedly nothing had broken so far. Though what punishments could possibly out do tomorrow’s impending torment, he couldn’t say.
The panic in his body did not dissipate as the night wore on, instead it only increased.
The last time these ‘cousins’ visited, even with blood to help him rejuvenate, his body took ages to be functional again, let alone be healed. They delighted in causing not just pain, but lasting harm. They were also vampires and knew just how much destruction they could inflict without permanently damaging Cazador’s property.
And after these ‘cousins’ had their way with him he’d have to watch his organs be methodically removed and offered up as a show. He would be left without even lungs with which to scream.
He collapsed against the wall. He felt dizzy.
It could be a year before he could get out. No, after everything that was destroyed or removed tonight, it could be even longer.
He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t. He would rather die. He-
He had an idea.
As dawn approached he sought out his elder sister. She had been humming to herself as she cleaned. Her mop moving to the tune.
“Vi?”
“Hmm?”
He couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice. “Could you come with me please? I would like to show you something.”
She dropped her mop to the floor, and happily joined him. “Of course, my prince. I heard you would get many roses and thorns tomorrow, are you excited?”
“Yes. About that.”
He walked her to a window overlooking Lower Town. The sun was brightening the sky and would soon break the horizon. Because of the position of the palace and the city wall the streets here were farther down in this area than anywhere else. The view was beautiful. The fall was deadly.
“I must tell you a secret. I’m not really a prince. You see, I’m a bird.”
“A bird?”
He grabbed her by the shoulder, he was desperate for her to understand his meaning. She was the only one mad enough that the rules didn’t apply to her. Even so, he couldn’t directly ask for what he wanted. What he wanted was forbidden.
A way out.
“Yes, but birds are not meant to be in the palace, and birds cannot escape by themselves. Do you know how to get a bird out of here?”
“Oh!” A huge smile on her face. “I know just what to do.”
Just as the sun broke over the horizon, she opened the window and, without another word, shoved him hard.
Astarion sailed out the window and felt blissful relief as he plummeted down to the street below.
~*~
Gale messaged Astarion every day at dawn. It was hard for him to stay awake that long, but as he waited he worked on getting Tara back, and removing the magics from the books.
He was deeply worried about Astarion, some days he sounded like himself, and some days he barely responded. In no instance would he share where he was, or what was happening, and refused any offers to help. Still, each time he wanted to talk again so Gale saved as many spells as he could each day to be able to communicate.
Tonight Gale was finishing insetting the final gems on the skeleton. He ended up needing to purchase a large magnifying lens to be able to even see what he was doing on some of the small bones. He was silently grateful she’d been a rather large tressym.
She IS a large tressym. She’s not gone. She’s just away.
When the final gem was set, and it’s prongs polished and shaped, he leaned back looking over the entire project. Assembly? Construct? What should he even call this thing he’d made?
“Tara, we’re so close now. I hope you don’t mind the bits of your possessions I had to use for this project. I promise to use Mending if it bothers you.”
The birds were chirping outside. It was soon to be sunrise and time to message Astarion. He stood and stretched, drinking some tea he’d forgotten hours ago, and fishing out a length of wire from his spell pouch.
*Good morning Astarion, Tara’s new skeleton is finally done. Later I’ll attempt to resummon her. If we’re lucky she’ll be here when you get back.
Since he’d gotten used to the messages, Astarion usually responded right away. Today was different however. He got no reply. Not for a long while.
After a few minutes he was pacing his room. After even longer, he was looking out the window watching the sun rise over Baldur’s Gate, a rising panic in his chest.
Finally, a response arrived.
*Open the door. Now!
~*~
Astarion lay groaning on the sidewalk. He’d landed on his shoulder. The bones there must be shattered. He rolled up onto his knees, surprised to be conscious. A heavy piece of cloth fluttered down to land on top of him. It was one of the thick velvet curtains.
Looking up he saw Violet leaning out the window, her skin was starting to smoke as the early morning sun reached the high walls of the palace. “You forgot your wings!” She waved eagerly and then darted back into the palace, vanishing from sight.
He clutched the cloth around himself with his one good hand, shrouding as much of his body as he could, and ran.
-
Astarion tumbled into the Pelican as Gale unlocked the door. He was wrapped tightly in the curtain, the long shadows of morning and the thick velvet had protected him from direct sun. Still it hurt to be out there. Inside, the tavern window’s were still shuttered for the night and it was blissfully dark.
The wizard was in stunned silence. Astarion was in the worst shape he’d ever seen. His face was covered in bloodless cuts and he was hunched grimacing in pain.
“Astarion? Are you-? Oh gods, you’re hurt!” Gale ushered his faltering friend to a chair. Astarion collapsed into it, still holding the fabric tightly.
Gale glanced around looking for something, anything, of use in the space around them. “I have medicine upstairs. Can you make it up the stairs or should I bring it down.”
“Look at you, fretting over me. It’s quite a fetching look.” Astarion attempted his usual roguish flair, but fell short. His body was ringing with to much pain. Giving up, he smiled weakly and nodded. “I can get up the stairs.”
When they arrived at the top of the stairs, and Gale opened the door, Astarion saw sunlight was streaming in the windows.
“Close the curtains please. I- don’t want to be seen.” Astarion said before slouching onto the floor by the bed, away from any beams of light.
“Of course, right away.” Gale closed the shutters and curtains quickly, then rifled through a drawer looking for a small red vial. “Here.” He tossed a potion to Astarion. Astarion made no move to catch it, and It fell to the floor. He had to let go of the curtain to pick it up, and did so gingerly.
Looking at Astarion’s body a little closer, now that it wasn’t as tightly wrapped in velvet, Gale could see that his right hand was tucked against his chest, and hung limply. His right shoulder was also crushed.
Astarion drank the vial, and the wizard saw the cuts heal along his forehead. The potion wasn’t a strong one, and Gale saw that his shoulder was still mangled. Astarion noticed the same and sighed, leaning back on the bed.
“Apologies for the surprise visit.” He gave a weak laugh, fiddling with the now empty vial in his left hand.
“Astarion, may I… may I assist further?” Gale crouched down and leaned in.
Not knowing what he meant, but knowing that it wouldn’t involve any physical touch, Astarion nodded.
Gale cast his only healing spell. Astarion’s shoulder began to knit back together, and the wizard hissed in pain.
Astarion was still not fully healed, but a wave of relief washed over his body.
He looked down, carefully flexing his fingers on his right hand.
“That is one hell of a spell.” His eyes were wide.
Looking up he saw that Gale was smiling, but now looking pale, and had a sheen of sweat on his brow.
“Ah, yes, that is much better I should think. Forgive me, I need to settle into a chair… post haste.” Gale stumbled to his feet, and deposited himself heavily in his armchair.
Astarion was beyond confused, and just looked at Gale with obvious concern.
As if reading his mind Gale explained. “That one is a good, but troublesome spell. You get a bit of my wellbeing, I get a bit of your pain. Alas, it’s also the only one that I can use.” He leaned his head back, but kept an eye on Astarion “If bearing even this much of your burden feels like this, you are a strong man indeed.” He closed his eyes, and began breathing carefully.
Who in the hells is this wizard? Someone powerful yet also willing to take on his pain without a second thought.
It was kindness like this that had made the misery of The Szarr palace too stark to survive any longer.
And… He’d escaped.
Astarion could see the daylight glow around the edges of Gale’s curtains and shuttered windows. The daylight would prevent Cazador from being able to turn him to mist withdrawing him back to the palace, and likely no one would notice he was gone until sundown. He had a brief moment to rest. Seeing Gale breathing softly in the armchair, he decided to risk closing his eyes.
He was free.
For now.
-
When Astarion opened his eyes again, he saw that Gale’s chair was empty. He must have left while Astarion was drowsing.
Shit! The time.
Looking at the light outside the window, it was still morning. The sudden panic in his chest eased. He still had hours to think of a way to stay out of Cazador’s clutches.
He sat, contemplating his options, when the latch on the door opened and a cheerful, if weary, wizard entered the room.
“Good morning! You look a sight better than when you arrived. How do you feel?”
“I- “ Astarion was at a loss for words. How did he feel? Grateful? Terrified? “I feel better. Thank you.”
“Good! Now I know it’s a bit early but, to toast your return, I brought up a bottle of something I think you’ll like.”
Looking down at Gale’s hands he could see he had some shopping bags of various kinds. He must have been gone for a while then.
“Oh, it’s to be that kind of day is it? I won’t say no.” Astarion smiled. Wine would be wonderful. Anything in his stomach would be wonderful.
Gale smiled as he took a dark glass bottle and two cups out of his bag. “I have to say, after hearing your reviews and getting to know you better, I think I’ve picked a real winner.”
He poured a drink into each cup. Passed one to Astarion and they clinked their cups together and each taking a sip.
Astarion’s eyes flew wide open.
This is blood!
Looking over his cup he saw Gale smile, taking a drink himself.
Without thinking any further, he downed the rest of his portion. Gale passed him the bottle.
He went to pour more and froze. His mind catching up to his hunger.
“What- Gale listen I can explain-“
Gale shook his head, conspicuously silent. He just smiled and continued to sip his own cup of blood and waved for Astarion to pour more for himself.
Once Astarion finished pouring himself more, all the while keeping his eye on the wizard, Gale finally began to speak.
“Did you know it’s common for nomads who live on the fringes of the desert to drink the blood of their cows as a regular part of their diet? It allows them to gain the necessary nutrients to survive, without having to kill the animals of their herd.”
What?
Gale continued. “While I was running errands just now I went down to the butcher. He’d just begun to work on a bull. It was the perfect opportunity to give such a practice a try.”
He kept his bright smile, and passed his cup to Astarion, still largely full. “I think the taste isn’t for me. But you seem to like it.”
Astarion carefully set the extra cup down, cradling his own in his hands. “How long have you known?” His voice was quiet and cautious.
Gale’s was not. He replied cheerfully. “Embarassingly, not long at all. When you arrived and your cuts weren’t bleeding, and you wanted the windows closed, it hit me.” He smiled. “I’m glad all the healing magic worked. Looking back on it, it wasn’t a sure thing for someone of your disposition.”
Gale stood, “Now, don’t hold back on my account. You must be famished. I bought some food for myself, so I’ll dine with you.”
“You don’t- it doesn’t bother you?”
Gale’s smile softened. “Only in as much as it seems to cause you to suffer.”
Astarion looked down an the cup in his hands, and closed his eyes.
When he’d organized his fall from the palace he’d hoped to be too injured to escape the rising sun. He expected to be dead by now, sent to whatever hell someone like him deserved.
Instead, he’d survived.
He was sitting in a room with a full belly, two working hands and someone who knew his nature yet still saw him as a friend.
Saw him as a person.
He took careful sips of the blood in his cup, savoring it.
What was this feeling rising in his chest?
If he’d been a sentimental person, he might have called it a number of things.
Instead he decided he was ‘happy.’
Notes:
Astarion finds out what impending tortures awaits him the next night, so he attempts to die via falling and sunlight. References throughout the chapter.
-
Ah! I had a lot of fun putting this chapter together. So many things came together that I’ve been waiting for. Yes even back in chapter 1 where Gale complains that Baldurians are closed minded about food.
The nomadic blood drinking is a real thing here on planet Earth btw. At first it seems mean. Cutting your cow’s leg so you can get blood? But then I remember industrialized farming and realized that those nomads are being as nice as they possibly can, and those cows are happier than any whose meat you can buy at a super market.
In any case, Thank you everyone for your super kind comments! They make me smile.
Lastly, I have a Tumblr where I post drawings, the ones for this fic and ones that I do just for fun (mostly DnD related. I may have a problem.) It’s also use Martlet Sable over there: https://www.tumblr.com/martletsable
You could get an early spoilie for an upcoming chapter, if I have a drawing for it.
Chapter 16: Seeking safety
Summary:
Gale and Astarion try to find ways to keep him out of the Palace
Notes:
The boys get to know each other a bit better an help each other out.
See you this weekend!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
After Astarion finished a full bottle of blood, Gale deposited two more on an open patch of floor between the piles of books.
“I’ll pick up a chest of preserving later so we don’t have to worry about it going bad.”
Astarion sat, still on the floor, and still cradling an empty cup in his now working right hand.
He’d run here without any plan. He was in a better situation than he could possibly dream, and yet he was also awaiting a terrible doom if he were caught. It seemed inevitable. He felt terrified, he felt giddy, he didn’t know what to do next.
Gale watched him from his chair, he himself just finishing a sandwich he’d purchased while he was out.
“Astarion?”
The elf turned partway toward Gale, acknowledging hearing, but didn’t look at him.
“I know you don’t like to talk about yourself, but…” He shifted uneasily in his chair, he wasn’t sure how to ask this question. “No one shows up like you did when everything is alright. Please let know how I can help you.”
Astarion was silent a little while then asked in a soft voice “Why?”
That response confused Gale. “What do you mean ‘why’?”
Louder now he replied “I mean, Why would you do that? Why would you do any of this?” Astarion’s question came out earnestly, his arm sweeping past the bottles of blood and the various objects they’d interacted with over the weeks.
“What do you want?”
“I still don’t know what you mean. I want to help.”
Now it was Astarion was getting frustrated, Gale’s answer was nothing. “What reason could you have? You spend money on me, go out and buy me wine, buy me blood. What is it all for?”
Gale didn’t have any other response He wanted to, so he did. He tried to come up with something that would satisfy Astarion.
“I like you? You’re an interesting person to be around. I do nice things for people I like”
“That’s a lie.” Astarion clenched his eyes. “You know better now. I’m not a person, I’m a bloody monster!”
He was nearly shouting now. “There’s no good reason to help a vampire unless you want something. So what is it?” He turned toward Gale, his face a mask of loathing. “Do you think I can give you immortality? Because I can’t. I’m a spawn. Only thing I can offer is death, either for you or someone else.”
Astarion turned away again, rubbing the palm of his free hand against eyes.
After a moment of watching Astarion Gale got up and sat on the floor next to him.
“As much as I respect your perspective on the matter, you being the expert on your own condition, I’ll have to disagree with you on a few points.”
Astarion snorted. Something about the way Gale defaulted to sounding like a professor in conflict was funny in an absurd way.
Gale continued. “First of all, you offer a lot more than death. You’ve got a knack for understanding people that I’ll never have.”
He didn’t look at Astarion, he wouldn’t be able to focus on saying the right thing if he did, so he kept looking at the wall. “And you’re not a monster, you’re my friend.”
Gale put a gloved hand the ground, as close as he dared without touching. “I value your companionship, your wit and your insights.”
He always had trouble phrasing these things unless he was extremely careful. He closed his eyes.
He continued. “Though I’d like to make something clear about myself; even if you had nothing to offer me, I’d still want to help you. However, because you’re my friend I do it gladly.” After he finished speaking he didn’t move, just opened his eyes and stared at a plain bit of wall. They were both silent. Eventually something dawned on him.
“So if you’re a spawn, does that mean you have a master?”
Astarion flinched and turned abruptly to Gale. “I don’t-”
Gale held up his hands. “What I mean is, is that why you’re here? Have they done something?”
That made Astarion laugh. It was high, and derisive. “‘Has he done something?’ WHAT HASN’T HE DONE?” He looked up at the ceiling with wide and desperate eyes.
The wizard looked over at his friend then. The depths of his ignorance at Astarion’s life were beginning to come clear.
Astarion looked away, putting his cup down and then put his head in his hands. “I’ve escaped, but it can’t last. And once I’m back there it will be worse than anything he’s ever done. I can’t go back.” He said this more to himself than anything.
Gale knew he was out of his depth in many regards, but this he understood. “Well then, we won’t let that happen.”
Astarion snorted. “Can you keep a vampire lord out of here?” Astarion said pointing at his head. “Can you keep him from turning me to mist and withdrawing me from wherever I hide?”
Gale sat back, thinking. “I- I mean, yes? probably?”
Astarion raised his brows in nervous worry and expectation. He and turned to look at his friend in the eyes, expectantly.
“Well, the mist thing should be pretty easy, at minimum you can spend the night in a sealed barrel. Really, any air tight space.” Astarion grimaced, Gale nodded. “That would be very uncomfortable but effective. As for the” He pointed at his own head. “There’s a spell or two we could use.”
Astarion blinked. He was frozen.
Was that…? that could actually work.
His eyes softened and he turned to Gale as he considered what he’d just heard.
The thought of being trapped inside anything again was terrifying, but he could bear it if it meant he could stay out of the palace.
He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling again. He could stay out, he could stay free.
At least to start.
At least for now.
After a moment they heard a banging on the tavern door, downstairs.
Astarion’s eyes snapped toward the door of the bedroom. Gale stood. “I’ll get the door. You sit tight. It’s probably just a traveler looking for a place to stay.” The elf nodded, and stayed where he was.
Whoever was at the door was banging incessantly.
When Gale opened the door, at first it looked like there was no one there. Then he looked down.
Before him were to tiefling girls. One in front with a singular cunning eye. The other sheepishly hiding behind her.
The girls from the night in the alley.
The three of them stared at each other awkwardly. Finally the shy one blurted out “We’re here to repay our debt!”
The brazen one scoffed. “When they heard what happened, the leader of us Tieflings and that big Druid said we had to.” She said. What was her name? ‘Mol’?
“I’m not sure I follow… what are you here to do?”
“We’re supposed to give you this.” Mol held out a package to Gale. “Also say that ‘if you need any help later, to come to the refugee camp just outside of town. Ask for Zevlor or Halsin’.” She said that last part like she was reciting the most boring lecture ever.
“Um, yeah.” The shy one said. “Who are you anyhow?”
“I’m Gale, and thank you. I’ll be sure to drop by in the future.” He gave a little bow. “What are your name-“
The little girls had already started to run away.
…Well then.
Gale returned upstairs with a bemused look on his face.
“I heard a bit of your exchange downstairs. We’re those the little ones you nearly bled out for all those tendays ago?”
“The very same. It seems they were coerced into gratitude.” Gale showed Astarion the small box.
“Well go on, open it. Here’s hoping the kids didn’t pick out the gift. It would probably be a dead toad or flowers or other such children’s nonsense.”
Gale smiled, and opened the box. From where he was sitting, Astarion saw several emotions pass over the wizard’s face. Surprise, confusion, then amusement.
“What is it?”
Gale held out the box to Astarion.
Astarion took it in his hand looking it over. It was empty.
Gale pointed to the inside. “It seems the imps left a note.”
“Dear wizzerd, we needed this more.”
“Well, well. It’s a pity I wasn’t able to meet the gutsy little thieves. I think I might like the little bandits.”
“Do you have a soft spot for kids?”
“Only those who are full of mischief and cunning.” Astarion looked up and gave his own sly smile.
“I’d hoped that there would be something in there we could use. Wasn’t likely anyway.”
“Going back to my imminent problems. Is there any way other than the barrel to keep me from-“ his hands mimed ‘poof’.
Gale started walking back and forth through the room. “As far as I am aware, there is no one spell that stops something like gaseous form, especially since what would be happening isn’t a spell per-se but a inherent relationship between vampire and spawn.” That made Astarion grimace. “However, there are creatures which cannot be effected by such things. In fact some are completely immune from anything that would change their shape. Therefore, if we could find a way to transmit those properties to you, we would have a way to completely protect you from being recalled in that way.”
Gale rubbed his temples as he paced. “This is far outside my expertise… I know someone I could consult to make an item something like this, but I dare say a solution won’t happen today.”
Gale froze and his eyes lit up. “UNLESS! Someone has already made an item like that.” He started pacing faster “It’s rather rare for a creature to WANT to be immutable, most magical creatures benefit from having things the other way around. For them losing the ability to change their shape would be detrimental.” He was getting excited now, and getting louder “ERGO, someone who wanted to remove that ability from a foe might have already crafted something.”
He had a manic grin on his face when he looked in Astarion’s eyes, having found a possible solution. “Astarion, we need a monster hunter.”
-
Gale hadn’t slept and morning was passing to afternoon. With a possible solution in mind, he had become restless. Yes, he would seek out a monster hunter, they would give him what he sought, then he would cast Mind Shielding before night came.
“Alright I’m off, I’ll be back as soon as can be.”
“Do you even know where you’re going?”
“No, but I’ll trust I can ask around and find someone.”
Astarion was nervous. He looked at the windows and saw how the glow of sunlight in the windows had changed. He knew where he could send Gale, but desperately didn’t want to. Still, if Gale didn’t find a solution tonight, he would spend the night confined in a barrel, unable to move.
Finally he made his decision.
“I know where you can go. There’s a…. A Gur encampment at Wyrms Crossing. They are notorious monster hunters.”
And murderers.
“Excellent suggestion! That’s quite the trip but I’ll manage. I’ll rent a carriage.”
“Gale- What if you don’t return? What if night falls and I’m still not protected?”
“I won’t let that happen, but if it did, I would find you. I won’t let you down.”
“…Alright.” He didn’t have full confidence that he would be safe and protected, but what else could he do?
With planning, and discussions finished, Astarion tried to recover his usual outward nonchalance. He took a breath of the air, the scent of parchment, soap, and now a masculine musk filling his lungs (Gale hadn’t prestidigitated it away recently, so it permiated the space.) “Alright. Before you leave could you set up the bath?” He looked at his fingernails, pretending there was something he wanted to inspect. “It’s been ages since I had a proper one.”
“But of course, saer.” Gale winked and started things up.
After getting the necessary wizardry done, Gale gathered his things to depart.
“Oh, Gale?”
“Hm…”
“Do you need to let your boss know you’ll be gone today?”
Gale smiled, took out a piece of wire, and with a green flash it transformed into a streak of light. “There, informed.”
“Gods you wizards are smug.”
-
Gale walked along Wyrm’s crossing. In the distance he saw what looked like the tiefling encampment. He would have to visit another day. He wanted to meet the people who were bold enough to tell either of those two girls what to do.
After asking a few locals for directions, he eventually made it to the Gur encampment.
“Salutations my nomadic friends.” He called as he walked past their makeshift wall. “I would like to speak with someone who is interested in trade.”
A strong woman in late midlife greeted him. “Hello, what brings a single wayfarer to us?” She held out a hand to shake.
Gale shook his head. “A wizardly wayfarer with a condition that prevents him from shaking hands.” He gestured apologetically “Even so, I am in need of some wares that only the most knowledgeable monster hunters might have, and I hear tell that the Gur are the best of the best.”
“Hmph,” She looked him over. “you using am illusion spell? That why you can’t shake?”
“No no, I’m really here, just afflicted with a— curse of sorts.”
“Alright.” She eyed him, looking for falsehoods or manipulations. Seeing none she called out “Gandrel! Someone needs a monster hunter!”
A moment later a mustachioed man trotted out of a tent nearby. He was looking worse for wear. Still he wore a ready smile.
“Hello there, Gandrel’s the name, best monster hunter the Gur ever had.” He held out a hand.
“Gale of Waterdeep. Wizard.” He once again had to politely reject the physical contact. “I assure you I mean no insult.”
“Very well, what sort of thing are you looking for? You in need of my services?”
“Just supplies for now. I need an item that can prevent a monster from changing its form.”
Gandrel stroked his chin. “What are we talking about here, dopplegangers? Lycanthropes? Devils?”
Gale wanted to share as few details as possible. “Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters! You need to make sure what you’re doin’ will stick. If you use the wrong strategy to deal with a foe, they might be able to circumvent it.”
“Alright, what if I needed to prevent shape change in an intelligent humanoid. Like a lycanthrope or vampire.”
Gandrel’s eyes betrayed surprise before narrowing. “I didn’t say vampire... You going after one?”
Gale did his best to portray cool indifference. He wasn’t good at it. “And, if I was? Would you have something for it?”
“Depends entirely on the vampire you’re after. I’m willing to part with a lot more if it’s the right one.”
Gale didn’t respond. Luckily his inability to think of what to say meant that Gandrel kept speaking.
“You see this village?” His hand swept around. “You see any kids?” Gale shook his head. “Of course you don’t, because they’re all gone. Taken by a vampire in the night.” The Gur’s voice had turned to a growl. Gale was appropriately horrified.
“If the one you happen to be after is a male elf with fair skin, and nearly white hair, then we’re on the same hunt.”
Gale just stood, staring at Gandrel for a few moments before making a decision.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what the one I’m after looks like.” He tried to pivot the conversation to a place where he felt more confident. “What I’m looking for is a magic item that could prevent them from going into gaseous form. Do you have anything like that?”
Gandrel was now fully focused on their conversation. “Hmm. I may. Tell me what you know, and I’ll at least go have a look.”
Gale had to think quickly. “I know he has at least one spawn who he sends out to…”
Only now did it dawn on him why Astarion had arrived in his bar in the first place. “…Who he sends out to gather victims.”
The floor dropped out of his stomach, but he continued. “I’d like- I’d like something that could prevent the vampire lord from turning to mist, or for him to turn his spawn into mist.”
Gandrel eyed him for a moment before clapping his hands. “Ah, don’t want to let them get away like cowards eh? Alright, come with me I’ll have a look in my supply chest.” He gestured for Gale to follow.
They walked between several tents to find a large one in a central location. Gandrel held the flap open for Gale, and he entered. The inside of the tent was homey, it had distinct areas for sleeping, cooking and working. Gale froze when he saw two small bedrolls with stuffed toys carefully arranged on top. They looked like they hadn’t been used in a while.
Gandrel looked over his shoulder and saw what Gale was looking at.
“My two girls. Taken with the others.” The tall Gur turned away to look through his supplies. “You can see why I take a keen interest in your purpose.”
He crouched looking through his supplies. Carefully organizing materials on the floor. He had vials, charms, weapons and others.
“Hmm…” He considered a lot. “This would do the trick.’’ He held aloft a belt.
Gale looked at it, then quickly cast identify. “A belt of hill giant’s strength?”
“Hah! Glad to know it works even on you wizardly types. It’s a cursed belt, it’s called the belt of Golem’s strength. Once you’ve got it on, you can’t get rid of it or its effects unless someone removes the curse. You get the strength alright, but at the cost ever being able to change your form. No barkskin armor, no spells of diguise, no wild shape and no turning to mist.”
Gale looked closer, now that he knew what to look for he could see something spidering through the aura of the belt. Something carefully disguised among the powers it offered. “Amazing.”
Gale held out his hand, Gandrel pulled it away. “Can’t just let you have it.” He held the belt further away but leaned in to say his next words carefully. “First, I’ve got to know how you’ll use it on that bloodsucker in Baldur’s gate.”
Notes:
You have no idea how much I wanted to be nice and just deus ex all the answers into their laps. But that’s less fun, better to make them work for it a bit.
I hope you enjoyed. This one was a low key chapter.
Thanks for reading!
Chapter 17: In a tight spot
Summary:
Astarion must survive the night, Gale negotiates to the best of his abilities.
Chapter Text
Gale got out of the carriage and opened the door to The Pelican. He had been troubled by what he’d learned in the Gur camp the entire ride back. He climbed the stairs and entered his room.
From where he stood he could hardly see Astarion, he was curled in the corner of the room behind the bed. He’d been resting.
Hearing the door open he looked over the mattress to see Gale.
“Did you find something?” He stayed where he was eyes moving from Gale to the windows where the light was turning golden. Anxiety worn plain on his face.
“I did, though I wasn’t able to get them to part with it just yet.”
Astarion nodded.
“They also told me about an incident a few months ago.”
Astarion closed his eyes and leaned back. “Did you bring them with you? Is there a mob of Gur outside ready to kill me?” Again.
Though he was the one who’d sent Gale to the Gur, this was an outcome Astarion had been dreading all day.
With nowhere to go while the sun was up, and a desperate need for protection when the sun went down, he’d felt it was worth the risk.
“I see. So, it was you then.” Gale crossed into the room where he could see Astarion more clearly.
He scowled. “Of course it was me!” Astarion all but shouted. “It’s not even the worst thing I’ve done! Hells in this very tavern I’ve taken two souls since we met. That drunk woman, and another you didn’t even know about. It was ME who took countless lecherous fools from countless alleys, bars and brothels for the past two-hundred years.”
He kept his head facing away, but turned his eyes to meet Gale’s “I would have taken that handsome face of yours to the gallows too, you know. If you’d given me the chance.”
Gale walked up to the vampire who was still curled in the corner. He didn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say.
Astarion rose from the floor, dusting off his trousers before lifting his head to look Gale in the eye. “Now you know my sins, and the fantasy of the lovable vampire is dispelled.” He held himself proudly. “You can hate me all you like. My one request is that if you won’t offer safety, then you kill me here and now.“ His face hardened with conviction. “I will not go back.”
Gale still still didn’t know what to think. He still cared for Astarion, but was shaken by what he’d learned.
“I don’t hate you. I said I would help you, and I will.”
Astarion shut his eyes for a while, before turning to look a the orange light streaming in the windows.
He was done with this.
He walked passed Gale, approaching the door. “It’s time. Let’s begin this miserable night.”
-
In the basement of the Pelican, Gale cast Mind Shielding on Astarion, before readying the barrel. It was a huge keg, but still too small for a person to stand.
Astarion looked into the barrel, his body refusing to move.
“Astarion?”
“I- I know. I need to go in, but I’m-“ Fingertips worn to the bone. Throat raw from screaming. No escape.
Several times today Gale had wanted to put a reassuring hand on Astarion’s shoulder, and this was one of those times. Still, he didn’t risk it, even if it was likely that the vampire would be unaffected by The Orb.
“It’s only for tonight, we can work on another solution for tomorrow.”
Astarion couldn’t stop the shaking. He was terrified.
“It’s time, my friend. Now or never.”
It was too much. His mind left Astarion, as it had countless times.
Gale noted the sudden change in his friend. Raw trepidation replaced with a languid movement. Astarion turned to him gave a perfect smile, climbing into the empty barrel.
“See you in the morning, darling.” His pale brow arched just so, and a perfectly tempting smirk played on his lips.
Gale nodded, unnerved at the sudden change.
Astarion crouched into the barrel, and the lid was hammered in, with heavy mallet strikes, sealing it tight.
He was trapped in the dark.
Again.
There could be no cracks, so after the lid was on tight Gale wedged snakes of soft wax into the joint.
“There. Astarion? You’re all set for the night. Are you ok in there?”
“Right as rain.” His voice was uncannily calm.
“I’ll read you a book I think. I brought one down I think you’ll like.”
“Whatever you want, dear.”
-
At first when the sun went down, it seemed nothing had happened. Gale and Astarion were able to talk, and Gale got several pages into a new novel.
Without any warning Astarion went silent. Gale called his name, but there was no answer.
Inside the barrel, Astarion’s mind was still gone when suddenly he lost his body too. He distantly felt himself rip into infinitely tiny pieces. It was over in a flash but it was as painful as it had ever been.
The shock snapped his mind back into the here and now. He was disoriented and had no memory of entering the barrel. He wanted to scream, but he had no mouth, no lungs. He was nothing.
He had no ears either but he could faintly hear voices.
He spiraled.
Normally when he was distressed he would look at things, or touch things to ground himself. Reconnecting himself to the present moment. But he had no hands with which to touch, and nothing but empty blackness to see. He tried to thrash, to spasm for some kind of sensation, even if that sensation was pain.
There were no limbs to move.
No sight, no touch, and not faint sounds.
He was immediately back in the wall. Agony in phantom fingers replaced the absence of sensation. He could feel the tips of finger bones grinding against the roughness of the masonry, the stickiness his pulped skin left on the stones.
His mind strobed, hallucinations coming unbidden. The limitations of chronology were cast aside and he was feeling all the stages of his time trapped there. After a week he hadn’t been able to speak, after a month he hadn’t been able to move. After several months he’d had so little blood his body started to break down. He would become a destroyed creature. A creature with no body, only pain.
Just. like. now.
~*~
Gale listened closely to the the barrel. He didn’t hear the sound of a person inside at all.
The vampire lord must have tried to call Astarion back.
He decided to try Sending so he could get a response.
*Astarion? Are you there? Are you alright? It’s been some minutes since I heard you.
*-out-let-me-out-I-have-to-get-out-please-master-I’ll-do-what-you-want-just-let-me-out-I’ll-be-good-please-
Gale was rocked by the intensity of emotion that had been thrown back at him.
*Astarion?! This is Gale. You’re here, you’re in The Pelican with me. You’ll be out as soon as the night is through.
*-won’t-run-again-please-I’ll-be-good-I’ll-bring-prey-I-won’t-run-send-me-to-Godey-flay-me-burn-me-anything-just-let-me-
Astarion was in a blind panic. He was deep in a terror Gale didn’t understand.
He looked at the barrel that held Astarion. He didn’t know what to do.
The evening had just begun.
He sat, helpless to do anything about Astarion’s distress. They were inches apart, but it may as well have been continents.
This was going to be a long night.
The door to the basement clicked open.
“Gale?”
“Lia? I asked to have the basement undisturbed this evening.”
“I know, but… There are men asking after you upstairs. I think it’s the same guys who came looking for you that night. They’re asking a lot of questions.”
“Did they see you? Did they see you come down?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. But if they start looking, they may find you down here, or break into your room.
Tara.
Gale looked at the barrel with the terrified Astarion inside.
“Ok, I’ll try to do something.” He stood. “Lia, I’m going to go invisible now, please don’t be alarmed.” He reached into his spell pouch and put a dab of a resinous substance on his fingertip, then pulled a single eyelash from his eye. Twisting the weave around the two, he disappeared in an instant.
“Gale, that is so creepy.” She started back toward the stairs.
“Apologies.” He said closer than she expected.
Lia let out an undignified squeak.
“Gods DAMMIT Gale!”
-
At the top of the stairs, Gale could look over the tavern.
What he saw was not one, but two problems.
He recognized members from the gang by what they wore. There were six of them up at the bar questioning Cal.
His problems did not stop there.
There was also a table full of Gur, Gandrel and the Matron among them.
Mystra Ryl.
He could figure this out. He needed to keep Astarion, and the artifact he’d made for Tara, safe.
Looking over at the gang members, they were questioning Cal, and he was holding his own. The Gur were seated at a table nearby, there were four of them. Their posture was relaxed, and they chatted amongst themselves.
Of course they followed me. I’m an idiot.
He had to pick a strategy. He had about an hour of invisibility before he had to cast it again, so he had a some time to think.
He decided to address the Gur first. There was an open seat next to Gandrel. He walked over and sat down next to him.
“Hello.”
The heads of everyone at the table snapped to his location.
“Come to see what the wizard is about? Please, keep your eyes on each other and act normally. I’m about to deal with another problem which requires me to be incognito, but wanted to address you first, before I dealt with a much more worrying situation.”
The woman in charge nodded and did not look in his direction. “You have to understand, this issue you’ve interfered with is of the utmost concern to our community. The children must be found, and since your ability to bluff is atrocious” she glanced to Gandrel who offered a quick smile in response. “We know you know something of the white haired vampire.”
Hells. He was awful at this cloak and dagger stuff.
Fine. If he was an open book, he’d attempt to use it in his favor.
“I do.”
One of the Gur he didn’t recognize shifted into a more aggressive posture. The old woman calmed him with a gesture.
“So, why bother hiding it? You made up some nonsense strategy about bluffing a vampire, tricking him into putting on a cursed belt. I mean this with all due respect, but you couldn’t bluff your way out of a burlap sack.”
It hadn’t been that bad, had it? He was a bit insulted. He thought his lie about offering to become an advisor to the vampire, then coercing him into the belt through clever machinations was a rather good fib!
Not the point. “Because he’s not the one you want. In fact, he’s not even the one who did it. Not really.”
“And how do you know that?”
Fuck. He had to make a decision. He wouldn’t be able to take back what he said next.
“Because I know him.”
Now Gandrel shook his head. “Not only are you bad at bluffing, but you’re gullible too.“
GULLIBLE? Gale frowned. It was one thing to tell Gale he was uncharismatic, of that he was well aware. But, to say that he was gullible? THAT rankled.
“Alright, then. Let’s say I’m too gullible to tell what’s true or not. Let’s walk through this logically.”
He froze for a moment, one of the gang members passed by the table heading outside. That was an unfortunate wrinkle. He’d deal with that later.
Once the man was out of earshot Gale continued. “Tell me, what is the difference between a true vampire, and a spawn?”
Gandrel answered without hesitation ticking those qualities down on his fingers. “They retreat to their coffin as mist when you take them down, they can put the living under their thrall, they can turn to mist or a bat, summon swarms of vermin and” reaching his thumb “create spawn.”
Interesting, Gale hadn’t known a few of those. “Did the vampire who attacked your encampment do any of those things? Certainly it would have been useful.”
The Gur conferred with each other and Gale waited, looking around the room. Cal and Lia both looked nervous. The gang members were still occupying the bar, but that one had left. Why?
“Alright, none of the witnesses in Wyrm’s Crossing reported any of that, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have done that.”
“You’re right, that’s inconclusive evidence. I’d be disappointed in you if you’d accepted such an argument so readily. Here’s another question: If you were an immortal vampire lord that, for reasons unknown, wanted to antagonize a camp full of monster hunters, would you do it yourself? Or would you send someone to do it for you?”
Four of them eyed him skeptically.
Gandrel however, surprised him with his own comment. “Or, if you did go yourself, would you leave behind any of your advantages?” He twisted his mustache between a finger and thumb, looking thoughtful. “Why wouldn’t you take your thralls or spawn with you? If a vampire went itself, it would be for a show of power.” He looked at the Matron then. “It’s true, it doesn’t make much sense for the white-haired one to me the main vamp. If a vampire lord came himself to our camp to intimidate us, he would have done it with a show of force. It wouldn’t have been a kidnapping, it would have been a bloodbath.”
Gale was surprised. He hadn’t expected one of them to look at things from his perspective. He was used to people digging their heels in and sticking to their first feeling about something. This was a pleasant surprise. Was it a trick?
“Wizard, you’ve gone quiet.”
“Sorry, I was just- I’m impressed. I’m not adept at forensic psychology, and I was surprised you’d applied it to take my side.”
“I’m not saying I’ve taken your side, and from context I’m guessing that word salad you just said means that you’re not very good at reading people or monsters.”
Gale was lucky to be invisible, ‘word salad’. Heaven forfend he speak with precision! He glowered.
Gandrel continued, “But, I do take monster hunting seriously, and the wellbeing of my daughters even more so. I’m not so married to a theory that I’d put it before either of them.”
Hypothesis. Gale crossed his arms. You mean hypothesis.
“Well then, what can I do to convince you?”
“Let me talk with the white-haired one myself. You may not be good at ‘four-ends-ick psychosis’ or whatever you said, but I am good at reading people, and even better at reading monsters.”
Oh gods…. Once again he would need to make a choice he couldn’t take back.
“I- I can’t decide that for him. But-“
Just then a noise pulled everyone’s attention to the bar. A thug was in the kitchen with Efa and was pushing her against a wall by the kitchen window. The rest pulled knives.
Gale turned back to the Gur. It was time to make a snap decision.
“Tell you what, you get these men out of here, and I’ll arrange a meet-up here tomorrow during the day. If you like what you hear, you let me buy the belt.” He just needed those gang members out of the bar. Away from witnesses.
He decided the two Gur he didn’t know must be here as body guards. They looked to the older woman. The Matron nodded, and Gandrel smiled. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Gale moved out of the way trying to assess what to do. He’d run around to the kitchen to help Efa, the Gur would handle the ones in the tavern proper.
As Gale wanted the element of surprise, so he raced out into the alley to access the kitchen from the back. From there he heard her shouting. “I’m telling you! That’s all I know!”
Efa was being slammed into the wall again. “You heard her. We’ve got a name.”
Gale looked down at Efa’s face. The half that wasn’t crushed against the wall was already injured. The eye was swollen shut and she had a nosebleed. She’d been hit repeatedly.
Without any hesitation, Gale removed his glove and touched the man on the neck. The man crumpled, as light travelled up his arm and Gale lost his invisibility.
His chest buzzed with the energy absorbed, but it was less shocking this time.
The thugs in the tavern saw him appear, and their mate suddenly drop.
The Gur used this moment to make their move, and each of the four showed how the Gur survived as nomads in such a hostile world.
The two guards used heavy fists to each grab a thug by the shoulder, and haul off with a haymaker. The two were so aligned it was nearly choreography.
The older woman and Gandrel had more finesse. She pulled the attention of one and stepped back and letting him expend energy trying to grab her while she shifted and juked between tables. When he finally became reckless in frustration, she slipped next to him using her leg to take his balance, and her arm to guide his head directly into the corner of a table.
Gandrel likewise goaded the final pair into fighting him. He was hopping from foot to foot in a classical boxer’s pose. He looked rigid, formal, and damn near laughable. That was, until the two gang members went after him, and he lithely dropped a palm onto a table using it to vault into the air. He scissor kicked one, wrapping his calves and ankles around his neck. Then used his momentum to slam him into the other head first.”
The moment over, Gale recast invisibility and ran out to the alley.
Before reaching the front of the tavern, he saw that the Gur were already outside with the remaining thugs. One dead in kitchens, leaving it five against five.
The streets were wet from rain earlier that night, and so the street lamps reflected from the cobbles. It was quiet. The cool night had driven most indoors. There were no witnesses.
Gale quickly sized up the situation. He cared much more about the Matron’s opinion of him than anyone else’s so he decided to go after the one that was attacking her first. He walked up, stripping his gloves, grabbing that one by the arm before turning to cast Magic Missile at one of the two attacking Gandrel.
Purple and orange light lit the street. To an observer it would have looked like Gale materialized out of a swirl of lethal magic. The one beside him dropped to the ground like a stone. The other, now bloodied, wheeled on him and began to charge. Gandrel was able to use the opportunity to punch him in the kidney, dropping him to a knee.
The Matron turned to finish that one. She pulled a sap from her belt and, whipping it across his temple, he went down.
Now five to three, the thugs became desperate. One tried to break away from the two guards and attack Gale, a trip attack from the Matron and an awkward bare-knuckled punch from Gale had left him dead.
The final two surrendered. The matron sapped them both where their skulls met their spines, dropping them to the cobbles.
“Hate these fuckers. I would have beaten them for free.” She spit on one. “They’re always trying to take turf and boss around anyone they can.”
Gale replaced his gloves. “What do you recommend doing with the survivors? I’m afraid I’m not practiced at this sort of thing.”
She looked at his now gloved hands with a new understanding apparent on her face, before looking up. “Drag the bodies outside, they’ll come and collect them. Don’t worry, they won’t inform the Fist. They don’t want the heat either.” She looked back into the tavern. “You’ll need to find a new hangout though. Now that you’ve killed six of ‘em and they know you’re here. They’re not going to leave you be.”
She looked around the now quiet alley. “Tell you what. Tomorrow goes well, we can set you up in an abandoned house in The Crossing.”
Gale considered. “Is that entirely legal?”
“You tell me.” She gestured to the dead and downed men. “Was this entirely legal?
“Touché.”
-
Gale entered the tavern, Cal, Lia and Efa watched him silently. They were sitting together, Lia was holding a cool cloth to Efa’s swollen eye. He didn’t look at them, he just walked through the door to the kitchen to drag out the body of the one he’d killed.
After leaving it in the alley, he returned to the tavern, sitting down in a chair opposite from the trio.
“I’m sorry this came about. Tomorrow evening I’ll leave and take the troubles that seem to follow with me.”
Efa started to cry. “I’m sorry. I told them your name.”
Lia looked at her quizzically. “What exactly did you say?”
The halfling sniffled, using the wet cloth to wipe her nose. “I told him everything. That you’re a tall hairy human, That you’re name’s Gwynn and you’re from Neverwinter!” She blew her nose loudly.
Lia rubbed circles into her back. “It’ll be alright.” She looked Gale dead in the eye, shaking her head. Gale wasn’t great at reading social cues, but he knew this one meant ‘don’t say a word.’
He didn’t.
-
Gale returned to the basement shortly after. Even with how necessary his leaving had been, and how little he could do for Astarion, he still felt guilty leaving him at all.
He leaned his head on the barrel, and just… started talking. Talking about what had happened upstairs, what he’d agreed to with the Gur, and what he hoped to do next.
He kept talking hoping Astarion would be able to hear him. If he’d had any kind of concern whether or not Astarion had been a willing participant in anything his vampire lord did, the terror he’d observed earlier in the night had dispelled them all.
So he just- talked. It was the only think he could think to do.
-
Eventually Gale must have dozed off. He was awoken by the soft sound of something sliding down the inside of the barrel.
As he opened his eyes, the sound was replaced by frantic thumping and clawing. He could hear quiet keening resonating through the wood.
“Astarion-“ Gale fruitlessly grabbed the barrel trying to calm him. “Astarion! It’s me, you’re safe.”
No response came, but Gale could hear hands scraping the inside of the barrel and quiet sobbing.
“I’ll be right back.”
He ran up the stairs to check on the status on the night. He saw the first streaks of dawn coming in from outside.
He vaulted down the stairs as fast as he could, grabbing a pry bar to open the barrel.
Pulling open the lid he saw his friend looking so small. His hands now cradling his head as he rocked back and forth. His fingertips bloodied leaving red stripes in his hair. He was still sobbing.
Gale couldn’t see his face, it was tucked in tight to his body.
“Astarion?”
No response.
Gale was at a loss. Not wanting to scare his friend any more than he had to he exhaled and took a mild risk.
He put his gloved hand on Astarion’s shoulder.
Astarion’s terrified face whipped to look at what had touched him, then up at the owner of the hand. He blinked as though he was blinded by how bright things were, even though they were in a dim basement.
“Hey,” Gale removed his hand. “It’s over.”
Astarion nodded, his eyes were rimmed with a deep bluish purple. He carefully examined his surroundings, like a caged animal being released into an environment they didn’t recognize.
He slowly stood, and seemed to take stock of his appearance. His was covered bloody smears. Looking for the source he looked down at his fingertips. They were bloodied, slivers of wood wedged under the fingernails, but not worn to the bone. Seeming to accept his appraisal of himself, he nodded.
His eyes were still unfocused, but he looked up again and put out an arm to be steadied so he could get out. Gale hesitated, but then relented and put out his own arm to assist.
After Astarion had exited the barrel, he looked at Gale, searching his face. His own expression was hollow. He made no move to do anything else.
For his friend’s dignity, Gale prestidigitated his clothes clean. Then he offered his gloved hand, and led Astarion out of the basement, and back up to his room.
When he opened the door to the room, Astarion’s eyes locked onto the bed, and he took a small step back.
“No.” His eyes round with fear. “No. Please, no.”
Gale looked from his friend to the target of his fear.
Horrified, he understood. He also realized why Astarion had done his resting next to the bed earlier.
“Not to worry, that’s not for you. Here,” He brought Astarion to the armchair, encouraging him to sit.
Astarion sat, still staring with unfocused eyes. Gale poured him a cup of blood, and put it in his hands. “My friend, please have some breakfast.”
The smell must have reached his nose because a moment later Astarion’s eyes jerked to look down at what was in his hands. He didn’t move to drink it though.
“What do I have to do?”
Gale sat on the edge of the bed. “What do you mean ‘what do you have to do?’”
Astarion didn’t reply, just looked back down at the blood.
“Nothing, I need nothing. Please, enjoy your drink.”
With that Astarion cautiously lifted the cup to his lips. One sip quickly became draining the whole cup. When he was done he cradled the cup in his lap.
“Do you want more?”
Astarion blinked seeming a little more lucid. He looked around, now focusing in his eyes to see where the question had come from. They eventually alighted on the human in front of him.
“Gale?”
“There you are. You made it.”
Notes:
Whew! This chapter was a toughie! I have a lot left on the cutting room floor. I’m pretty happy with how it turned out in the end.
Next weekend there may not be an update. I have to travel and may not get a chance to fully write and revise.
I hope you enjoyed!
Chapter 18: A Deal Between Foes
Summary:
Astarion must take the risk of trust to get what he needs.
Notes:
No specific chapter warnings.
Also, I may have to skip the next update. I am traveling this weekend. Have no fear, I’m fully stuck on this story, and I’m not letting it go any time soon.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As the dawn brightened in Baldur’s Gate, Astarion watched the light change around the edges of the shuttered windows. He looked across the room to see Gale asleep in his bed. He was laying on top of his blankets, and still fully dressed.
Before the wizard had fallen asleep, he’d informed Astarion of what happened while he’d been trapped in the barrel. He’d mentioned the Gur had followed him back to the tavern, and he’d managed to talk to them, but truthfully Astarion had been unable to listen very closely.
His night had been a waking nightmare. Looking back on it, those hours didn’t feel real. He’d been all too present for it, but in such a mental state that it felt like it had happened in a different lifetime. The only thing that reminded him it was true was his still healing fingertips and the exhaustion down to his bones.
He had tried to trance, but even with how bone tired he was, he couldn’t relax. Currently he was silently walking through the room. Since he’d been here last, Gale had assembled a perfect Tressym skeleton inset with diamonds. It was a work of art. Gale had told him about it over the Sending spells they’d sent back and forth over the last several tendays, but it was something else to see such a creation.
Thinking back on those early morning chats, he was certain that if he hadn’t had those conversations he wouldn’t have had the presence of mind to escape. He would still be at the palace. He would-
A knock on the door roused Astarion from examining that darker path. It was a diminutive knock, almost shy. He opened the door to see the halfling woman Gale said was the manager. Her face was heavily bruised from the night before.
She greeted him cheerfully. “Oh! Hi there. You must Atywyn.”
“I assure you, I am not.”
“Erm… Sorry. Anyway, I brought up some food for you both.” She was carrying a tray with two bowls of soup, and two fresh rolls of bread. “Listen, Glew told me that he would be moving out tonight.” She looked past Astarion to see the heavily sleeping Gale. “He’s a good fella. I’m sorry to see him go. You tell him that when he feels like the heat is off, he’s welcome back any time.
Astarion accepted the tray. “I’ll tell him. Have a lovely day.” He then shut the door without waiting for a response.
He set down the tray and intentionally avoided the thoughts he’d been having prior to the interruption.
Eventually Gale stirred, cracking open an eye. “You’re already up.”
“Perks of being an elf once.” He gestured to the tray of food “You had a visitor.”
“Oh! Is that Efa’s stew?”
“Indeed it is. And you, lucky boy, get a double portion.”
Gale nodded. Astarion watched in mild fascination the way Gale woke. His process was made up of a lot of lip smacking, face rubbing, and awkward stretches. It was like watching some large animal awake from hibernation. The one part that stood out from the animalistic yawning and stretching was when he waved a hand and cast some kind of spell.
“What’d you just do?”
Another huge yawn. “Took care of the morning breath. I’ll brush later, but didn’t want to stink things up for you.”
“Wizard, you are something else.”
Gale smiled groggily and pulled the tray with the soups over to himself. It had a strong aroma. Mouth watering to Gale, vaguely pleasant to Astarion. “Did you get enough breakfast? Need me to head out for more?”
“Yes to the first, no to the second. I’ve had more in the last two days than I normally would have had in a month. I’m quite well.”
Gale paused, he didn’t look up from his meal, but his brow furrowed.
“What?”
Gale squeezed his eyes tight, he wasn’t awake enough for this. “The more I learn of your old life, the angrier I am on your behalf.”
“My knight in rumpled armor.”
That made Gale snort. “I’ll change soon.” A few bites later he had a realization. “Would you like to borrow any of my clothes? At least for now?”
Astarion looked down at his often mended shirt and trousers. He had put a lot of effort into keeping them in decent shape, but it would be nice to change into something fresh.
“Maybe later. Now that you’re awake, we should talk about the Gur.”
“Right.” Gale continued eating. “Alright, they have a belt that is cursed. Once you put it on your body will be as immutable as a golem’s. No mist, but no shape changing of any kind either. I think it’s our best shot. They may be willing to give it up, if we can be helpful to them getting back their kids.” Gale stopped to chew a piece of warm crusty bread. “I convinced them that you weren’t the one responsible for the kidnapping. Well, mostly. They wanted to meet you. Apparently they don’t believe I’m a terribly good judge of character.” That last bit came out with indignation between bites.
“Did you convince them it was some other vampire that went into their camp? Because that’s going to be a problem as soon as they see me. I wasn’t exactly skulking about when the children were taken.”
“No, but I was able to convince them you weren’t the one giving the orders.”
Astarion sat down and leaned back in Gale’s armchair. He didn’t say anything.
“What?” Gale said over a mouthful of broth soaked bread.
“Why would that matter?” He wasn’t looking at Gale now, just dead ahead of himself, brows furrowed in thought.
“Shouldn’t it?”
“You tell me.” He looked Gale in the eyes briefly before turning away again. “I may have been commanded to do things, but I’m the one who did them. It was my own knowledge and abilities that made it possible…“ He paused then, before chuckling darkly. “It’s been a long time since I was a magistrate, but I do recall that ‘just following orders’ is not a credible defense.”
Gale was feeling wildly out of his depth in this conversation. He didn’t know how it had happened, but it seemed things had a quickly pivoted away from the day’s plan, to the philosophy of culpability.
“Tell me then, what kinds of things would you consider? Knowing someone had committed a crime, what would you see as something prompting leniency?”
Astarion frowned.
Gale continued. “If we’re earnestly looking at whether or not the Gur should see your actions differently, let’s think like magistrates. Imagine a case like yours appeared in front of you: a man coerced to commit crimes for a violent and powerful person. What would you see as ‘mitigating circumstances’?”
“You’re really going to ask me hypothetical questions right now? About a job I can hardly remember from 200 years ago?”
Astarion had been a vampire for 200 years? Gods. “Yes. Exactly that.”
Astarion scoffed, crossing his arms and thinking. ”They would have to demonstrate something that is entirely impossible for me.”
“And what is that?”
“That it wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t been forced. I would not only need proof it wasn’t their idea, I’d have to see that that was counter to their nature.” He looked at Gale. “I’m afraid that defense is right out for a bloodthirsty vampire.” He curled his lip, and licked a fang for emphasis.
Gale couldn’t help but think about the pure torment he’d encountered last night by way of the sending spell. He knew in his bones that choice had never been involved, only force. He desperately wanted to reach out to his friend, to give him some sort of comfort.
“What about making amends?”
“To who? The dead? They can’t get much out of it, darling.”
His put down his meal. For the first time, in a long time, Gale wished he could touch someone, and to have that touch mean something. He wanted to squeeze Astarion’s shoulder or hand to give support and reassurance to his friend.
Instead he spoke, “I know at least one man who might be convinced if you offer to amends for the deaths of two.”
~*~
Wrym’s Crossing - Last month of 1491 DR
The Gur encampment was the same as they’d always been. The decorations on the tents, their clothing styles, and even their accents were the same. Apparently Cazador had heard that they were hurting for resources this winter from one of his pet patriars, and were ripe for exploitation. The vampire lord didn’t want anything but power and blood, and the Gur couldn’t offer him the first. So he sent Astarion to go for the latter.
Astarion looked out from the back of the carriage Cazador had sent him in, and shivered. It had a hastily written “Foxglove Charity for Children - Baldur’s Gate.” Written on the side. It was the darkest months of winter, meaning it was around breakfast time. There was still plenty of dark left.
The driver was one of Cazador’s human servants. Horses didn’t like spawn much. The man pulled the reigns to a stop, and clanged a loud bell.
It was time for Astarion to work. He was there to steal the pups from a wolf-pack. He was terrified.
-
Later he wouldn’t be able to say whether or not his mind had fled, or if he’d elected to forget what had happened. Either way he only remembered the very end.
He’d gotten nearly every child. There was just one left, and she small and was in the arms of an elderly woman. Cazador had said he could not leave any behind.
He was carrying a relaxed, kind and confident countenance. Inside he was fighting to be able to run. He’d seen many of the adults leave for different tasks, but there were still plenty of them in the camp. He was desperate to leave.
“Madam, please. Allow me to take the child. We’ll get her fed and have her bring home some warm clothes.”
“Sorry young man, but she’s sick, she’ll be staying home. I’m sure her brother will bring back something for her. He’s a thoughtful boy.”
The sky was growing orange, dawn would arrive soon.
He pressed harder. “I must insist. We have a doctor who could see her if you like.”
“The answer is NO.”
He looked at the driver, who was glaring back at him to finish.
Astarion was shoved forward by the compulsion. He snatched the child, brushing against the old woman’s pendant bearing the symbol of Savras. He hissed as it burned him, his fangs involuntarily bared.
Her eyes widened as he ran, the cart already moving.
“VAMPIRE! VAMPIRE!!”
He jumped onto the back ledge of the carriage, as the other folk tried to scramble and find out what was going on. He opened the latch to the door, and shoved the girl in the back with the others. He looked into a dozen confused and scared eyes before slamming the door and locking it in place.
He sat on the back of the carriage watching the sunrise chase him back to the dark.
~*~
Baldur’s Gate - Late Spring 1492 DR
Gale managed to get Astarion to agree to the meeting with the Gur, with a few conditions. The first was that he could have invisibility cast on him initially so that he could watch how things were going, and two that Gale would let him do most of the talking.
Gale had used yet another copper wire to send a message to Gandrel, and the Gur had told him they’d be on their way.
Now Gale and Astarion stood in the empty tavern. The windows shuttered for the day, so the sun wouldn’t be a hazard.
Astarion was shifting his posture from one foot to the other, his arms switching positions. He was nervous.
“Are you alright?”
“Do I look bloody Al-“ he stopped and breathed. “No. I’m not. I have no idea how this will play out. I find it hard to believe they won’t kill me as soon as they have a chance.” He fidgeted some more. “If this goes right, I’ll have to talk about all that happened. Neither will be pleasant.”
Gale got the feeling Astarion was talking about more than the kidnapping.
There was knock on the door. Gale cloaked Astarion in invisibility before opening it.
“Hello again. Oh, just the two of you?” Gale looked out and saw Gandrel and the woman he’d been calling “The Matron” alone at the door.
“Yes. After last night we learned a few things.” The pair stepped into the tavern. “One, you seem to want to work with us, and two you are exceptionally lethal. If things did go south today, a couple of guards would likely do very little.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment I suppose. Please, take a seat.”
The older woman looked around. “I assume the vampire will be arriving shortly?”
“He’s already here. Invisible, as I was when we chatted last night. He’s trying to survive this situation, and you two are fairly lethal yourselves.”
The Matron made eye contact with Gandrel. “An invisible vampire, not sure how I feel about that.”
Gandrel turned toward the open dining area put his hand on his chest, and spoke loudly. “If your friend is listening, hand on heart, I am here to parley. I want my girls back more than I want to see you dead. And, since you seem to be my only viable path to doing that, you are far safer with me than without.”
Astarion’s voice came from across the room. “You’ll have to forgive me I stay hidden a while longer, as it wouldn’t be the first time Gur killed me by surprise.”
“And what do you mean by that?” The Matron said, squinting, her eyes fruitlessly scanning the room.
“It means I’ve been trapped in hell for 200 years because several of your number decided they’d rather I were dead. So, I do hope you’ll forgive my hesitance to greet you forthrightly.” As Astarion spoke the sound moved. He was pacing. It was more than a bit disconcerting. His silent movement and the defensiveness in his voice made it all the more apparent that he was a cornered predator. A panther in a cage.
Gale hadn’t known the Gur were involved in Astarion’s death. He now had no idea how this would proceed.
“And so you kidnapped our children for revenge?” Gandrel spoke. His mood was rapidly darkening.
“Hardly. I would have very much rather seen neither hide nor hair of you lot for the rest of my days. One night of being beaten to death was enough.”
There was a pause. When Astarion spoke again he was in yet another location. “My vampire lord thought it would be funny if he forced me to go where I least wanted to be, and to do what I least wanted to do.”
The next words he said were very quiet. They came without theatrics, just resignation. “He killed them on a whim.”
Gandrel didn’t relax per-se, but he did seem less agitated at Astarion. The Matron had remained, as always, level headed.
She spoke next. “You know they’re dead? Have you seen their bodies then?”
“No. But believe me, they died that very night. It’s the only way C-“ He coughed. “It’s the only way he does things. If he did leave them alive, it would have been worse for them. I know that much.”
Moments later his voice appeared near Gale. It was nearly a whisper. “Wizard, would you be a dear, and cast that spell on me again? The one that protects my mind? He can’t give me new orders, and the nastier compulsions can’t happen during the day, but… I couldn’t say his name just now, and that’s...” He had a tinge of tightness managed to creep into his voice. “I’d rather he had no power here at all.”
“…Sure. Put your hand on my glove, and I’ll cast it.” Gale held out his left hand, pulling a tiny piece of dull metal from a pouch at his side. Once he felt the subtle pressure of Astarion’s fingertips, the spell rippled outward, like light blue erupting from the metal as it burned then expanded like shimmering water over the surface of Astarion, briefly highlighting his outline. He was stooped to watch the magic. His posture was closed and protective, making him look much smaller than he had seemed when it was just his voice.
“Thank you.” It came out with a relieved sigh. Fading from view once again, he addressed all three. “He doesn’t like it if we speak his name, so one of our many compulsions prevents us from saying it.”
While the exchange had passed between Gale and Astarion, the two Gur had been watching carefully.
“What do you mean ‘us’?” That was Gandrel.
“He has seven spawn, myself and 6 others.”
The Gur whistled. “Seven spawn hunting Baldur’s Gate, and a full vampire on top of that. That’s a lot of blood. How do you get away with taking that many?”
“Easier to do when only one of them is allowed to drink any.”
Gandrel frowned “Then what did you?-“
Astarion cut him off. “Something other than human blood. Let’s please leave it at that.”
During this whole exchange Gale had been quietly listening. There were already many revelations of Astarion’s life.
The Matron spoke. “What did you mean earlier, when you said ‘doing what you least wanted to do.’?”
“Cazador-“ He paused, experiencing the novelty of saying that name. “Cazador demands bodies. Bodies that are healthy, young and unscarred. The easiest way to do that is to find children, the homeless, prostitutes, or just poor. The city is always getting new waves of desperate people fleeing something. You can simply tell them you have food, or that you can offer them a job.” He listed these different categories and strategies matter of factly.
“It’s how most of his other spawn hunt. It’s more reliable and they can keep themselves in the master’s good graces.” His next words sounded almost proud. “I try to avoid it.”
His voice was stationary nearby, he had quit moving. “I tried to hunt a different sort. It meant more failure, but he let me because my alternative is an awful experience.” He paused. “For me. Well, everyone involved really.”
He sighed. “But, now and then he would hear of something that he thought would bring him what he desired and, if it tormented one of us at the same time, all the better.”
The Matron turned to Gandrel, exchanging a look, before turning back to Gale, and the general direction of Astarion. “We would like to offer you a proposal. But, first let’s meet properly.”
Gale sent a message cantrip to Astarion. *You ok with dropping the invisibility?
There was a drawn out pause before he heard his response. *Yes.
Gale ceased concentrating and, a small distance away from the group, sat a tired man. Astarion was sitting in an uncharacteristic pose. His elbows were on his knees, hands drooping between his legs. His hair was a bit disheveled as though he’d been nervously running his fingers through it.
Astarion’s eyes were flat. Empty. He stared at nothing.
Gandrel looked at him a while, then stood and walked across the room. “I can’t say that I’m pleased to meet you, but I am Gandrel. A monster hunter.”
Astarion looked up at him then carefully changed his pose, draping an arm over the back of the chair and combing his hair back into the semblance of a coif with the other. He turned on his characteristic charm. “And I am Astarion. A monster.”
The two men stared at each other a while, both seemingly waiting for the other to strike. When moments turned to minutes, they relaxed.
Gandrel reached into a satchel he had on his back, and pulled out the belt. It was a series of domed metal disks linked together with chain. He dropped it on the table, and it rang like tinkling bells. Astarion’s eyes affixed themselves to it, unable to pull away.
“If you agree to help us rescue or recover the children, you can have it without coin. If you refuse to help we, and the belt, leave.”
The Matron chimed in “And I hear tell you are homeless as of tonight. to sweeten the deal for you, and for us to be able to work together more easily, we can set you up in one of the abandoned homes in Wyrm’s crossing.”
Astarion looked to Gale, then belt.
Gale spoke up “It’s your call.”
Astarion nodded, then stood slowly closing the distance between himself and the Gur hunter. He eyed the man’s hand. Would he shake it, or would it reach for a knife?
“I accept.” Astarion held out his hand.
“As do I. Pleasure doing business with you.” Gandrel shook it. Agreement made.
Astarion reached for the belt, tentatively at first. He glanced back at the Gur, who was watching him closely but not moving. He picked up the belt, and draped it around his waist. When he clicked the buckle closed he felt an odd grounding in his body. It felt like the way your feet push ever so slightly further into the ground when you carry something heavy, though it didn’t come with any feeling of weight on his shoulders. Just ever more connected to the ground, and connected to his body.
He let out a breath that he’d been holding, filling his lungs with fresher air, and leaned on a nearby table trying to keep his balance. He was finally safe from Cazador’s pull. He could no longer lose his body at a whim or be forced to return in that way. There were still the compulsions, but he had Gale for that.
He was as free as he’d ever been.
Notes:
I always thought it was strange that Astarion seduced people from taverns to get bodies. Human trafficking is unfortunately much more commonly done by preying on the poor and vulnerable. I’ve decided he must have picked drunk lechers on purpose. Maybe at the beginning it was à la “Promising Young Woman” before it became simply out of aversion to the other possible ways.
-
Thank you everyone for your kind notes! Also, I’ve been posting the images that go with the chapters on my Tumblr, and I wanted to invite y’all to join me over there: https://www.tumblr.com/martletsable
(I was holding off because I’m a shy creature at heart.)
I don’t reblog much, but I do make other fan art, currently it’s 100% bloodweave because I am INVESTED O.O
Chapter 19: Transitions
Summary:
Things change, acquaintances are made and new troubles brew.
Notes:
No major trigger warnings. This chapter brings us into the next phase of the story.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
After the two Gur left, Astarion and Gale retreated upstairs.
“I’m going to need to leave for a while to rent a cart. I’ve prepared spells necessary for moving the supplies without to much effort, so we won’t need movers to get things down to the street. Now as far as packing, I could get some crates from the alley-“
Gale kept talking, but Astarion wasn’t listening. His hand brushed the belt around his waist. He the tiny silvery disks meant couldn’t ever be in the situation he’d been in last night. He felt immense relief.
But… he was still tethered to someone. He looked over to Gale, who was still nattering on about the particularities of moving, and fussing with some fragile apparatuses.
“Wizard- Gale, how hard is it to get a device that casts the mind protection spell?”
“Hmm? Oh, Something like a Ring of Mind Shielding? Not terribly hard. Patriars and high level merchants often have them. The more paranoid among them wear them all the time.” He scratched his chin whiskers. “I was planning of getting you one of those today. The spell lasts only an hour. When I’ve cast it on you it was enough to keep you from trying to escape the basement, and for our discussion earlier, it was sufficient but you deserve something more permanent.”
“Were you really?”
“Really what?” Gale was still mostly paying attention to his things, fussing over how to pack them.
“Really going to buy one of those today?”
He didn’t even look up. “Well, yes. While it isn’t an expensive spell, it would take many spell slots to keep you protected, and I’d rather use those for other problems.”
“Your only two options were to either spend your nights casting a spell, or to buy me an extremely expensive item?”
That made Gale slow down. “Why? Do you see other options?”
“You could…” leave. Let me deal with those problems on my own. Use the spell as leverage over me.
From where Astarion stood, he could see the side of his face. His expression was open and shifting between various expressions. Focus, confusion, excitement at solving a problem and back to focus. Thinking back on it, at no time had he seen guile, scheming or duplicitousness. He was just… Gale. And Gale didn’t see those things as options.
“I guess not.” Was all Astarion could say.
“Good, I was worried I’d missed something.” Gale stood and straightened his clothes. “You’ve reminded me that I need to get moving. It’ll be a bit of a walk to visit the various locations I want to today, but it shouldn’t be too long.”
Gale picked up a satchel, and gathered a few other things he wanted to take with him while he shopped. He put on his wide brimmed pointed hat and grabbed his staff.
“Egads wizard, you leave the house like that?”
“Yes? At least for long walks. The hat keeps the sun out of my eyes, and the staff makes the walk easier on my knees.” He glanced down at himself, then back up at Astarion. “Why?”
“When there’s any clothes shopping to be done, I beg of you, please take me with you.”
Gale frowned. “I think this is a practical fit. It would be improved with a wizard’s robes, but I’m trying to keep a lower profile.”
Astarion ran his hand down his face, trying to contain his expression. “I- Alright, I can work with that. But let no one say this is a low profile outfit.”
Gale shrugged, tipped his hat, and left.
Astarion was left alone in the room. Alone with the protection of the daylight and the belt. He was not going to be fully safe unless Cazador was dead, but for now he felt a strange jittery feeling, like expecting to fall, and being caught by someone instead.
He curled up in the armchair, and rested, breathing to enjoy the aroma of the room. Soap, parchment, the lingering scent of stew and… Gale’s unique smell. He found it relaxing and ended up breathing almost as much as a living person while he lost himself to reverie.
~*~
Gale swept through a few locations. He visited a local carriage house to rent a covered wagon for the drive down to Wyrm’s Crossing, commissioning them to arrive just after dark. They thought it was a strange request but didn’t put up much of a fuss after he paid them 20% over asking.
After that he also visited a farmer’s market to pick up the necessary food for his next meals, and purchased a few pints of blood from the butcher’s shop.
Finally he had to go to his least favorite place. Sorcerous Sundries. He’d rather go up to The Wide and try for what he needed there, but he wasn’t guaranteed to find them, and he didn’t want to dawdle with a long walk.
Upon entering was treated to a snide remark from Lorroakan, and the echo of one from Rolan. Paying closer attention now, he could hear how Rolan was trying to sound the part to fit in with his mentor.
Gale’s pride rankled. He despised Lorroakan. The sorry excuse for a mage was an absolute ignoramous, but one who had somehow stumbled into being the proprietor of the premier magic shop in Baldur’s Gate.
Lorroakan. Barely more than a hedge wizard. Gale found himself feeling righteous indignation as he was forced to pretend that the supercilious dandiprat was anything other than a contemptible fool.
He managed to get through the shopping trip without causing a scene, but it was a near thing. He departed with a Ring of Mind Shielding, a Chest of Preserving, more spell components and most of his pride intact.
-
Gale returned to The Pelican with the items he’d set out to get, and climbed the stairs to his room.
He stopped short on the landing right outside the door.
He held the ring in his open palm. Feeling its heft.
On his return walk it had dawned on him that with this, Astarion didn’t need him any more.
He’d needed Gale for comfort in his evenings while still under Cazador’s thrall, then he’d needed their chats while trapped, and yesterday he’d needed Gale for protection. Now he would need him for nothing.
Gale was already wearing out his welcome. He’d upset Astarion to the point where he’d left in frustration, and that had lead to catastrophe.
He chewed the inside of his cheek while thinking of how many ‘friendships’ he’d had that ended this way. Usefulness exhausted, people moved on.
That’s just how they were.
He suddenly felt immensely sad.
He kept his eyes on the ring. His vision becoming blurry.
In his life he’d found plenty of ways to ingratiate himself but none to make people stay. So he stood at the door, looking down at the gift that would spell the end of his necessity.
Still, he would never consider doing anything else. He took a deep breath and reminded himself of the logic of the problem. Objectively, his own fear of losing attachments was not of greater weight or importance than Astarion’s needs for safety. He’d made the rational and correct choice.
He puffed out a breath he’d been holding and nodded to himself. He could handle losing a friend. He couldn’t handle knowing that he could have made things easier for Astarion but chose not to.
And… They both needed a place to be tonight, so at the very least they’d probably stick together for a little while longer.
~*~
Inside Astarion roused with a start, hearing feet coming up the stairs. They stopped for a long while before the tumblers of the lock started turning. He was wound tight as a bowstring before his eyes found Gale and he relaxed.
Gale flipped the ring to Astarion immediately. “Catch!”
His throw went a little wide, but Astarion caught it effortlessly. He fitted it over his middle finger. The effect rippled over him before seemingly settling into his skin. It may have been his imaginination but he felt the protection.
Gale smiled and nodded at him before turning away. “I picked up a Chest of Preserving and some more blood on the way. I’ll have an easier time getting food in Wyrm’s crossing than you will. Well… Unless you go out hunting. Which you can.” He rubbed his neck nervously. “I suppose I needn’t have done it.”
Astarion walked over to Gale. “I appreciate the gesture. Thank you. And… Thank you for this ring. I cannot ever repay you.”
Gale turned to Astarion. “No, you can’t.” He gave his friend a cheery smile. “Because you don’t owe anything to begin with.”
Astarion looked more closely at Gale then, taking in his little mannerisms. His eyes shining and a bit red rimmed. Maybe from how little sleep he’d had over the last few days.
Gale noticed the eyes surveying him and turned away quickly. “The carriage is arriving just after dark. We have a few hours more before things must be downstairs.”
Astarion looked at the room, a bit worried. “How do you plan on getting all this downstairs?”
Gale shrugged. “I’ll probably shrink it and then get it outside. The spell doesn’t last long, but if I already have some unseen servants and a floating disk, it shouldn’t be a problem. Then we’ll have movers handle the rest.
“Of course.”
“In any event, you needn’t do anything. You can relax. I’ll just pack my more fragile items.” And with that Gale started to silently pack his things.
Astarion watched him from the chair. He was behaving oddly. Upset.
“Wizard… What’s on your mind?”
“I’m-“ Gale looked up. “I’m thinking of what to do next. I’m sure you have a lot to think about too. I’ll try not to take up too much space once we reach our destination.”
Astarion just scrutinized him a while more. “Alright.”
They retreated into a drawn out quiet. Astarion looking at the glow of the daylight that bled through the shutters, Gale fussing over his things.
-
As dusk arrived Gale shrank his possessions and had his unseen servants bring things down. In no-time everything was on the street, And Gale and Astarion waited for the for the carriage.
Astarion was nervous, standing out on the street. He felt extremely visible. He knew it was almost impossible for the other spawn to see him here. It was unlikely that they would appear on this street in this narrow strip of time.
Still, he was happy when the carriage arrived. He stood away from everything, looking disaffected and bored as the workers loaded the back of the carriage. Gale got up onto the front bench with the driver. Astarion climbed in the back. Ostensibly to watch over their posessions, but in reality it’s was so he didn’t spook the horses.
They were stopped by the Gandrel when they arrived on the main street running through Wyrm’s Crossing.
Astarion had deeply unsettled feeling, riding in the back of the carriage and hearing the voice of a Gur. It was all too similar to the night he’d taken the children. He didn’t want to remember it. He caught himself sitting frozen, not breathing or moving, before remembering the movers who sat back there with him. Seeing them he resumed his performance.
He heard him direct Gale and the driver to a nearby building. It was a large house, its roof partially collapsed.
What a dump.
The movers in the back looked around dubiously before shrugging and dropping off the posessions.
Astarion was aware of just how many Gur lived nearby, and how many could decide to kill him if they knew he was here.
He walked over to the house and reached for the door. It was unlocked. It swung open, and he entered.
The unoccupied house didn’t present a barrier. Or, maybe because it was to be his? Interesting.
“Astarion?”
“Just taking a look, dear. Please don’t mind me.”
Gale motioned to once again to summon the necessary spells to move his possessions into the house.
Astarion was a room or two deeper inside before the others entered.
Gale chatted with Gandrel while he dropped his things in the main room of the house. Then he went to find Astarion.
“Well, what would you like to do next? I could begin doing some quick spells to repair things, or we can set up a good fire in the hearth, maybe ready us both a meal? How about some wine?”
Astarion was still looking at the peeling walls and broken furniture, half listening.
He could feel it. He was free. There was nothing tugging at him to snatch drunks or to return to the palace, no walls against what he could say or do.
He was far outside the spawns’ usual hunting grounds.
Cazador had no idea where he was.
His world was… open. Limitless.
“I’ll be leaving for a while.” He turned to Gale.
Gale’s eyes were surprised and had the look of a rejected puppy.
“Gods! Don’t look at me like that, I’ll be back.”
Astarion went to exit the house when he encountered Gandrel. His expression far more dour.
“Do not think of hunting the good people of Wyrm’s crossing.” He stood with crossed arms.
“How about the bad people of Wyrm’s crossing, are they fair game?” Astarion was not feeling patient for anyone who stood between him and his first night of true freedom.
“I am already bending my ethics to recover my girls, but I wont stand for any innocent’s to be killed.”
“Relax hunter, I’m going for a walk. If I find a tasty morsel, it’ll be of the four-legged variety.”
Astarion then pushed past Gandrel. The hunter tried to remain solid in the face of the slim vampire, but found himself shoved to the side regardless.
Gandrel watched Astarion go.
“Prick.”
Astarion called back. “Yes, that’s generally how it’s done.” And continued to walk away.
~*~
Gale stood staring at the door until Gandrel came forward to engage with him. “You need anything wizard?”
“I do actually, could you connect me with a butcher who needs help processing animals? I have-“ He itched his chest over the marks The Orb left. “-an affliction, well- You’ve seen it actually. Astarion isn’t the only one who needs to feed on the living.”
Gandrel’s eyes betrayed surprise, then narrowed.
Gale raised a hand to explain. “It must be done and I’d prefer it to be livestock instead of anything else.”
Gandrel twisted a point of his mustache while he thought. “How soon do you need it?”
“I believe we have a fair while, It just consumed the life of three people last night.”
“It?”
Gale reached to pull down the collar of his shirt and expose the purple scar. He began to explain.
~*~
Astarion was out in the cool night air. His vision aclimating beautifully to the dark. He was excited to move, and explore.
He left the streets behind and went down a forest path.
He was silent as the grave as he walked through the woods of Wyrm’s Crossing. He was too close to civilization for any large predators like bears or wolves, but there was the possibility of large prey animals.
He eventually slowed and listened for heartbeats. He heard dozens of tiny hearts belonging to mice, squirrels and rats.
Rats. He’d never have to eat those again.
He extended his awareness, and discovered the sound of a pig’s powerful heart. No, not a pig, this was bigger. This one was huge. Maybe too big? Unclear. He’d never hunted before, but he was feeling confident, and decided it was worth a shot.
He crept closer until his dark vision revealed it to him in a nearby clearing. It was a boar. A huge male with vicious looking tusks.
He took off, running silently between the trees. He dodged branches effortlessly as he zigzagged between obstacles. It was a delightful rush to dash toward such dangerous prey.
Then, he leaped onto his quarry. With a strength that was unexpected, he grappled it to the ground and pierced its neck.
For the first time in his vampiric life he’d hunted. And it felt easy. Right. He was drinking from a real, living creature. Pulling its lifeblood from one of the fat arteries in its neck.
He drank deep pulls of the crimson liquid.
The blood tasted of nuts and mushrooms. Wild greens and fruits. It was gamey. It was hot. It was ecstasy.
He drank until its struggles ceased, and the flow slowed to a trickle and then to nothing.
He stood, wiped his chin, and licked the remaining blood from his lips.
Delightful.
~*~
Blackstaff Academy 1477 DR
Gale returned to the dormitory after one of his night classes. It was an astronomy/political science course that dealt with the heavenly bodies surrounding Toril and their political structures.
His roommate, Ludwik, was a gnome and enrolled in the artificer program. Gale was pretty sure he was doing so out of familial duty more than anything.
When he went to enter his room, there was a sock on the doorknob, the universal symbol that someone was getting laid, and to stay out.
He sighed. He’d been really looking forward to some sleep. He went out to the common area to lie down and saw one of the girls from down the hall. She was in his class too wasn’t she?
“How are you finding the course?” He asked.
She looked up from what she was reading. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not entirely sure why it’s required. When am I going to need to know the political divisions between the Githyanki and Githzerai. It all just seems like a waste of time.”
“Really? I think it’s facinating to learn that lol that drama and intrigue is right above our heads.”
She smiled, looked him up and down, then set her book aside. “You interested in tutoring me? I’ve had a tough time keeping the names and places sorted.”
“Certainly. Luckily I have what I need right here. My roommate has put out the sock. “
“Aww, you poor thing, you’ve been ‘sexiled’.”
“That is an apt portmanteau. And yes, Ludwik has quite the appetite.”
“You could come to my room to study there.” She leaned in smiling.
“Ah, I’m afraid the lights in the rooms are too dark for me to comfortably read by, and I don’t have any good light spells prepared. Here is better.”
She frowned. “Ok.”
“What part of class is giving you trouble?” He took out his textbook, and his thick notebook, filled with neat script.”
“All of it I’m afraid, I don’t even understand who the factions are.”
“Really? It’s quite simple, you see it all comes down to militarism-” Gale continued on late into the night. Years later he would be able to determine which points in the conversation had been flirtation, when she’d switched to genuine interest in the topic, and when she had been trying to escape and go to bed.
Gale, for his part never got to go to bed. The sock remained until late morning. When Ludwik blearily sent his date on her way he spotted Gale on the community couch. “Dammit Gale, you should have knocked.”
“I didn’t want to make you upset, so I stayed out here.”
“Ugh, make me out to be a piece of shit, why don’t you. Next time fucking knock.”
“But the sock…”
“Yeah man, but now everyone’s gonna think I’m an asshole for leaving you out here all night.”
‘“So… when you put out the sock I can go in?”
“Well, no. The sock means scram.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Now you’re being willfully obtuse. Just, if it’s late, knock, if it’s not too late don’t knock.”
Gale nodded. He didn’t get it.
Two nights later, when another late night astronomy class ended, the sock was back. Gale, very tired, knocked on the bedroom door. From inside he could hear ‘Lithanders shining tits, it’s my fucking roommate.’ ‘Who?’ ‘My roommate, he’s a pain in my ass always gets in my way. Hang on.’
Ludwik opened the door, he was wearing a towel around his waste. “Gale, what do you want.”
“To go to bed…”
“Can’t you see I’m busy here?”
“Right, but you said-“
“NOT RIGHT NOW THOUGH, gods you’re dense.” Ludwik shut the door.
Throughout his dorm life situations like that would repeat themselves. He would do his best to be considerate, only to find himself alienating people. When he would be in a group and started having fun, it would be in the ‘wrong way’. He was always just out of step with everyone.
During his junior year he met an assertive guy who he got along with great. He was a dwarf working on learning how to enchant weaponry. He was blunt, he pointed out to Gale when he should call people like Ludwik out on their bullshit. He was always spoke his mind, but was also kind, and Gale loved it. He always knew where he stood.
At around that point, however, Elminster did something to restore Mystra’s power and her behavior changed dramatically. She demanded more and more of his time.
Gale ended up leaving Blackstaff with a heap of acquaintances, and perfect grades.
Wyrm’s Crossing 1492 DR - Late Spring.
Gale was wandering through the house, exploring the different rooms. It wasn’t small. It had four bedrooms. Well- it had three bedrooms and a place that used to be a bedroom until the roof and wall collapsed in that section. Now it was an impromptu patio. It also had a full basement, which was blessedly dry.
He wasn’t sure where Astarion wanted to sleep (probably the basement, right?) so he was focusing his efforts there and in the bedroom that was most intact. He’d kept his unseen servants around since the move in, and they were now sweeping and clearing debris. He found himself walking around casting Mending on doors, windows and shutters. Anything that might keep light and the elements out.
Gale was glad he’d been saving all those chicken feathers. He’d turned the some of the down into bedding weeks ago, and was able to take a couple of mattresses with him.
As he worked, he tried to figure out how to approach Astarion. He’d realized up until he purchased the ring that he’d assumed that they would stick together but Astarion didn’t need him now. He had to hope Astarion would see the benefit of a magical companion for a while. At least until he’d satisfied the agreement he’d made with the Gur.
Gale chewed his lip as he repaired the brick around the hearth in one of the bedrooms. Ever since he’d caused Astarion to leave that night, he was deeply worried about bothering him. All his old anxieties about dealing with people were back in full force. He liked Astarion and didn’t want to settle with being ‘tolerated.’
Gale could show himself to be useful, both daily as well as assisting with his quest to retrieve the Gur children. That could by him time while he also found a way to make himself likeable.
As he worked, he strategized. Maybe he could take up less space, reduce the amount he blathered on. He could even switch to a daytime schedule so Astarion didn’t have to see him too much. That could work. He could make himself palatable.
That would be nice.
-
By the time Astarion returned, Gale had cleared out the debris and made functional both the basement and the bedroom.
On. Astarion’s shoulder as he entered, he had the carcass of a massive boar on his shoulder. When Gale went down to greet him he looked the huge animal over, impressed.
“Gale, darling. Care to explain this to me?” He hefted the boar like it weighed nothing.
“… Oh right! Yes, the belt is a cursed Belt of Hill Giant Strength. Did I not mention that?”
Astarion dropped the boar with heavy thud to the floor inside the main living area of the house.
“No, you did not.” Astarion didn’t seem upset. In fact he was moving with a relaxed and satisfied gait.
That was good.
“Apologies.” He said anyway. “I’ve cleaned up two spaces. The first bedroom, and the basement. Do you have a preference for where you’d like to rest?”
Astarion, looked thoughtfully in the direction of the basement, frowning. “I think I’d prefer the bedroom. So long as I won’t fry after sunrise.”
“A-alright. Splended! I’ll set myself up in the basement then.”
Astarion scrutinized him for a little while. Before rubbing his forehead in frustration.
Oh no.
“Wizard. You clearly don’t want to sleep in the basement either, just share the room with me for tonight.”
“Are you sure?” Astarion glared at him. “Right! Ok.” Gale stood to fetch the mattresses and have them brought upstairs.
Inside the room there were a shabby dresser, bed-frame, and armoir. There was also a pair of tattered armchairs and a tea table between them.
Before Gale could offer the bed, Astarion took one of the mattresses and rolled it onto the floor.
Gale looked at the bedframe, then back to Astarion. He wasn’t sure what the social norm here should be. He’d expected Astarion to take the bed-frame, then he could comfortably take the floor. Should he take the bed? But then he’d be elevated over his friend. That could be seen as arrogant right? But if he ignored the bed-frame and put his mattress on the floor that might look silly-
Astarion came up to him then. “What’s on your mind, I can see the wheels turning from here.”
“I’m trying to determine which location would be the best, as far as sociability. I don’t want to be above you, but it’s strange to ignore the bed entirely, is it not?” He was eying the furniture in question with suspicion.
Astarion rolled his eyes, before taking Gale’s mattress from him and throwing it out onto the floor next to his own. “There. Decision made. Happy?”
Gale did feel a wave of relief. “Yes, actually. Thank you.”
~*~
Baldur’s Gate - Same evening, late
Outside the shuttered windows of The Pelican, three figures crept in the shadows. One of them slipped lock picks into the door, all three entering the main chambers.
“I smell him. He was definitely here.” Came from a feminine voice.
“You two go up. I’ll go down.” Another voice. This one came from a smaller figure. It was masculine and impatient.
The figures silently spread out. The smaller one discovering the bloody barrel in the basement. The other two finding a place where the odors they were tracking were strongest. The room was empty however, bereft of any posessions.
They assembled back together in the main dining area.
“He was definitely here.”
“Yes. And now he’s definitely gone.”
~*~
Wyrm’s Crossing 1492 DR - Beginning of Summer
The days that followed were much quieter. Gale used the basement to set up a lab, and finished organizing his books. He set up the skeleton for Tara on a table, and continued his work. He also put wards on every door and window. The house looked as it had before, but was now protected from attic to cellar. It was as safe as he could make it.
Astarion slept. Perhaps for the first time in centuries he didn’t just trance. He slept. And slept.
After the first night, he didn’t even leave to hunt. He would occasionally wake up to drink some of the blood Gale had purchased from local butchers, or watch him putter around the basement getting things ready, but invariably he returned to his bed.
This allowed Gale to focus on his original purpose. He would summon Tara back to the material plane.
In the basement, a meticulously formed summoning circle was placed, with the precious facsimile of bones in the center. He attempted a traditional Find Familiar spell, and it didn’t work. He hadn’t expected it to, but it was still a disappointment.
Next, he tried to use the reliquary aspect of the bones, and summon her spirit. This felt closer to working, but also fizzled and failed.
Still, these bones were right. He knew they were, he was just missing the correct spell to bring her spirit back to the material plane and keep it there.
He took a break to work on his books instead.
The books were still largely obscured from sight. He no longer had trouble noticing them, but he still couldn’t read them.
One afternoon Astarion wandered down, bottle of blood in hand. He was groggy and in that place between cranky and content one could get if they were awake when they didn’t want to be, but knew they could go back to bed any time.
“Wizard. What are you doing?”
Surprised Gale turned. His eyes glowing white from a Detect Magic spell.
“Gods! You look possessed.” Astarion cringed away, before taking a drink from the bottle.
Gale waved, dismissing the spell. “Apologies. I’m trying to see what is so unique about these auras. They don’t look like any other magical auras I’ve seen. It’s like they’re made from something else.”
“Can I take a look?”
“Certainly! Here, I’ll cast it on you.” Gale cast Detect Magic on Astarion.
Astarion startled, he didn’t even get a chance to look at the books. In front of him Gale was a tempest of magic. His chest a strange swirl of light and energy, wildly writhing down his limbs. Behind it was a gentle glow of a much more sedate and tranquil magic. It was a composition made of contrasts. It was beautiful.
Blinking a few times to take in what he was seeing, Astarion finally was able to look at the books. “Compared to you, these books look practically mundane.”
“Maybe, but their auras are very perculiar.”
Astarion looked around to see the different auras throughout the room, to compare to the books. “It certainly looks different then the other auras in the room, but it doesn’t look strange to me. Are you saying this isn’t normal?” He leaned in looking more closely. “I definitely recall having seen things like this before, but I don’t really remember. It’s from before I died so its extremely hazy” Astarion allowed the spell to drop. “I believe this must be another area where I’m at a loss.”
“You think you studied magic before?”
“Only because I was an elf, and I’m getting intense deja vue at the moment.”
Gale cocked his head, looking at Astarion with curiosity. “Have you ever cast any spells?”
“Not in my recollection. Leon, another one of the spawn, was some kind of a sorcerer and Cazador” Astarion grimaced at the name “generally forbid him from using his abilities.” Astarion looked around, before taking a seat on the stairs that lead to the basement, and drank another pull of his bottle of blood. “If I ever knew it, I’ve long forgotten.”
“Do you want to try?” Gale followed Astarion over to the stairs, before realizing he was crowding him, and then taking a step back. “You don’t have to of course. Just- if you’re interested.”
“Maybe. Maybe later though. I think I may head back to my bed soon.”
Gale knit his brows with a bit of concern.
“I’m catching up for two centuries of lack of rest. Don’t worry.”
“If you say so, I’ve never met an elf who slept before.”
“Well, I believe they can when sufficiently tired, and besides I’m a vampire. A very VERY tired one, who can finally sleep.” He stood, leaning on the wall. “And on that note, I’m going to be heading back to bed.”
“Wait- Before you go back to bed. Do you need me to move my mattress?” Gale kept avoiding it, because he didn’t want to disturb Astarion.
Astarion looked up toward his eyebrows in thought, then shook his head and waved dismissively at Gale, walking back up the stairs.
~*~
Upstairs Astarion was back in the bedroom, and flopped down onto his bed.
His mattress was far from any of the walls. The floors of the house were wood, but the walls were made of stone, and the thought of his hands touching a stone wall reminded him of his year entombed, and that still brought panic up in his chest.
He’d also picked the upstairs bedroom because of the light that leaked around the edges of the shutters, making it easier to see where he was when he awoke.
A vampire with claustrophobia and who didn’t like the dark. How absurd.
For similar reasons, he liked the mattresses because they were soft, but didn’t feel like the guests’ beds from the palace, and were completely unlike his thin cot in the dormitories. It helped for those hazy moments when he was between sleep and waking and he wasn’t sure where he was. Sleeping next to Gale was better. By the gods that human could snore. It was so unique that he couldn’t possibly mistake that sounds for anything, or anyone, else.
All these factors had kept the nightmares to a minimum. They were the only drawback to getting real sleep. If he tranced he wouldn’t have to deal with that, but he was the kind of ‘bone tired’ that begged for full unconciousness.
From where he was laying he could see Gale’s mattress. It was several feet away, and had remained on the floor.
What a funny man, he was considerate to a fault. He was deathly afraid of accidental offense and seemed to like it when Astarion just told him what to do. Something about that felt… interesting. Astarion wasn’t used to having power outside of seduction and Gale still refused to touch him. Not that he minded, but it did seem odd. Hadn’t they determined that Astarion was immune from whatever effect Gale’s Orb had? Or was that still a ‘hypothesis?’
That thought made Astarion frown. His strong reaction to that comment from Gale had lead him down the path to those awful tendays in the palace.
He hated how ignorant he felt around Gale. To be honest, he felt ignorant compared to anyone who’d been out in the world for the last two-hundred years. Anyone who hadn’t been flayed for daring to think.
Looking up from his mattress Astarion saw a stack of paper and a quill and ink on the tea table between the armchairs.
Maybe before he rested he could try to remember how to write with a quill.
He got back up and sat in one of the tattered armchairs.
He dipped the nib. Taking his time and going slowly, he began to write.
The quick onyx goblin jumps over the lazy dwarf…
~*~
While Gale mulled over what to do next to get the spells off of the books, and to summon Tara, he started to take walks throughout Wyrm’s Crossing. He was feeling blessed that The Orb was still satiated. He found some small shops and a person selling the latest edition of Baldur’s Mouth. He bought a copy and tucked it under his elbow.
As he walked he found himself surrounded by more and more tieflings. He must be getting nearer their refugee camp. He smiled, remembering the two impish girls he’d met, wondering if he’d spot them.
Instead he spied two tall men, one a red skinned tiefling with wisened features, and another the most robust looking elf he’d ever seen. They were walking just the two of them, but people were flitting in and out of their orbit. Those visitors exchanged cheerful greetings, asked questions, and offered thanks.
These must be an important duo. He remembered the conversation with the little girls that last night at The Pelican. He wondered if this was the same two leaders they’d mentioned.
The men drifted nearer to him as he examined the cart of a spice merchant. As Gale was idly wondering if spiced blood would be an interesting experiment for Astarion he heard a bit of their conversation.
“…While I understand that you have your people to look out for, The matter of the Shadow Cursed Lands persists. I could not say why but something yet holds the Shadow Curse in place. Thaniel is whole once again, and yet it holds firm.” “I will give you what resources I can, but the needs of the people must come first. I’m sorry, friend.” “I respect your perspective, just as I hope you’ll respect mine.”
Shadow curses? That would be Sharran magic. Gale had never seen Shadow Weave before. It wasn’t something that the good wizards of Blackstaff trifled with. Certainly no chosen of Mystra would dabble in something like that. Still, if he could get a look at it, maybe he would be able to determine if any of the magical effects he’d been studying were similar.
He decided to pay the two men a visit.
He tried to unobtrusively follow the pair until they were free of distractions when the tiefling turned to him. “Human, you’re not cut out for espionage, why don’t you join us?”
Gale trotted up to them. Covering the distance, his manner sheepish. “Hello. Gale of Waterdeep. I was wondering if I could have a word.”
The larger of the two, the absolutely massive wood elf turned a friendly smile in his direction. “Halsin, recently Arch Druid of the Emerald Grove. And my sharp-eyed friend here is Zevlor, leader of the tieflings and former Hellrider.” He clasped Zevlor’s shoulder tightly.
Zevlor, already not a small man, looked up at Halsin. “Right on all counts, except one.” He gave his friend a warm smile. “Once a Hellrider, always a Hellrider.” Halsin chuckled and squeezed his friend’s shoulder tighter.
Zevlor was the first to regain his composure, the jovial nature of the Druid clearly outside of his usual comfort zone. “Now why were you following us so inexpertly?”
“I- Well. I was trying to find a good moment to say hello, but you found me out before I felt comfortable interrupting.” Gale was feeling feeling moderately defensive. “ I heard you talking about a Shadow Curse. My assumption is that this is Sharran. Am I correct?”
Halsin’s eyebrows raised in respect. “I’m impressed. Yes, it is indeed a curse from Shar. There is something holding it in place, keeping the area just east of here shrouded in a dark miasma.”
Gale thought a moment. “I’m no expert in curses, but I am currently researching unique magical phenomena. Maybe we can be useful to each other.”
It was Halsin’s turn to think, but in his case he seemed to be sizing up Gale. “Maybe.”
“By the way, Some days ago, you both sent some fiery little girls to my door to drop off an item of gratitude.”
That cheered Zevlor. “Ah! You’re the wizard who helped Mol and Silfy. Yes, It turned out they’d made off with quite the haul from a gang related to the Zentarim. We talked to our daring little thieves and found that much of what they’d stolen was related to healing magics, so we-“ He coughed, and looked to the side. “…confiscated the items for the greater good of the community. We did spare one of the most choice items to give to you as a gift.”
“Oh! What was it?”
That made Zevlor frown. “The girls…?”
“Took it yes. I kept their note. It’s quite charming.” Gale pulled it from pressed between the pages of his spell book, and showed it to the two.
Zevlor shook his head and looked to Halsin. “Looks like I have to stop off by their little hideout on our way back to camp.”
Halsin merely laughed and nodded, before finishing their conversation with Gale. “Wizard, Gale, come find us at the encampment sometime, we should speak about what you know, and maybe we can enlighten each other.”
“Sounds like an excellent plan. Have a good evening.”
~*~
Astarion was sitting at a wobbly table in what should be the dining area of the house. He was sipping his blood and toying with the ring on his finger. This was the first time he’d been awake for more than a few hours in several days, and he was feeling a bit bored. He would get up in a few minutes and find a book. For now he just sat, and thought about what he ought to be doing. He should be plotting the downfall of Cazador, or feasting on prey he took down with his preternatural strength and sharp senses. Instead he was sitting, groggy, at a table with no motivation.
Gale returned interrupting his ruminations, the sun already down, Astarion could walk over and meet him at the door without fear of any sunlight streaming in.
Seeing Astarion, Gale’s face lit up with a smile. “Hello! It’s great to see you up! I bought a copy of Baldur’s Mouth while I was out, and I met the two leaders of the tiefling encampment.” Gale put the copy of Baldur’s Mouth on the table, and then unloaded a few items he’d purchased.
Astarion picked up the newspaper and began looking through it. While he did that Gale kept talking, and unloaded some bottles of blood, and small packets of spice. “I had an idea while I was out. Would you like to consider trying spiced blood? If aromas are still pleasant to you, it’s possible it could be an enjoyable variation to your diet.”
Astarion looked up at Gale, then down at the various items. “Only you would meet a vampire and try to cook for him.” His eyes returned to the newspaper as he leafed through the various sections.
“I’ll take that as a compliment! When you’re done, have a sniff of these spices and see if there are any you’d like to try. My mortal palette thinks sage or rosemary would go well, maybe even lemongrass, but I’m excited to hear your perspective.”
Astarion looked back up from the news. “If you’re buying I’ll give it a try, though no promising that I’ll like any of it.”
“Of course! I’d want honest results. Please don’t falsify data to assuage my feelings.”
Astarion rolled his eyes and kept reading. Gale stood for a while, bouncing on the balls of his feet while he waited.
“Um…. Anything interesting?”
“Hmm? Oh! I just haven’t had the chance to keep abreast of the news in some time. I’m just- wait… What in the hells?!”
Astarion slapped the paper down on the table. “‘Lord Szarr hosts Gala for the soon-to-be Archduke Enver Gortash?” Astarion found himself standing, rigid. “That- Why? And Why HIM?”
Notes:
Missed you this last week. This chapter is mostly about transitions and the inner lives of the characters, with some key events. I hope you found it enjoyable. The action and drama will ramp up again soon.
I may come back to this chapter with a drawing of Gale and his trash fit he wares when he’s trying not to look like a wizard. I couldn’t make it work this week (all my drafts looked meh.)
I’m excited to bring in other tadpole crew members but this story will still be about Gale and Astarion.
<3
Chapter 20: Rough day.
Summary:
The boys both confront things they fear.
Chapter Text
Astarion was standing. Rigid.
Enver Gortash. That was the name of a new nightmare that had been cozying up with Cazador recently.
How dare he be celebrated? “A rising patriar?”
Gortash had two companions that occasionally followed him, and joined him in negotiations with Cazador, but it was Gortash that partook of Cazador’s ‘delights.’
The woman was terrifying but she had complained that she didn’t see the point of slicing into something she wouldn’t watch die. Cazador hadn’t been willing to give up one of his spawn yet. However, eventually she had disappeared with Cazador and come back exceedingly pleased. What he had to offer behind closed doors was worse than what he inflicted on his spawn. Astarion didn’t know what it was, but the thought of following them through that door haunted him.
The other companion, the old man, seemed bored of it all, and didn’t do anything but arrive for some kinds of negotiations and then depart.
But Gortash? Gortash liked to experiment. He would see how long it took a joint to reconnect after the cartilage was cracked and opened. Trepanning the skull to examine the undead brain, poking and prodding. When he was done he would pour blood directly onto gaping wounds to see how the vampiric body would struggle to heal missing flesh.
All the while smiling.
Astarion and the other spawn had all been his ‘test subjects.’ His mind would try to flee but the shocks to his system kept bringing him back. Even Violet would come back shaken, her stories insufficient armor against the experience.
“Are you alright?” Gale’s voice made it through his tangled throughts, and Astarion swiveled his eyes over to look a him. His body was still too tense to move.
Seeing his friend locked into this space Gale moved toward him. Astarion’s eyes tracked the movements as he attempted to calm down.
“Hey. I know you don’t have to breathe, but breathe with me anyway. Can you do that?” Those beautiful brown eyes searching his red.
He made no response.
Gale did deep breaths that were slow and exaggerated. His proximity brought with him the smells of the spices he’d purchased and his own unique aroma. Astarion watched Gale and he tried to mirror his breaths. At first they were short and shallow, but the smells that came with breathing helped pull him from the memories and into the present. Finally, his joints loosened and he collapsed back into his chair. He continued to breathe slowly.
“I-“ Astarion tried to speak but found words still hard to come by. Gale crouched next to him, initially reaching to hold Astarion’s hand but then stopped himself. He moved so that his hands were on the backrest of the chair and the corner of the table.
Ever concientious.
Astarion was glad. Right now, any touch would feel like knives. His nerves were so sure pain was coming, they wouldn’t sense anything else.
They sat like that for a while.
“What would help? Do you want to lie down? Go for a walk? Have something to drink?”
Astarion felt exhausted. Fear and anger like that was always followed by the heavy hammer of fatigue striking him between the eyes. He looked toward the stairs, up to the bedroom, and made to stand.
He was a bit wobbly, but found his feet and began to walk.
Gale followed him, hands hovering. Worried that he would fall, but unwilling to touch.
Astarion made it to the bedroom, and dropped onto his mattress. Gale gave him a worried smile.
“Alright, I’ll get you something to drink for when you’re feeling up for it, and maybe some scents to make the room more pleasant.”
Astarion shook his head, and pointed toward Gale’s mattress. He shut his eyes, leaning back.
Gale obliged and sat down next to Astarion, on his own mattress. Seeing that Astarion had no other instructions for him, he layed down on his mattress and looked up at the ceiling. Content with being silent company.
Many long minutes passed.
Gale eventually turned onto his side and faced Astarion.
Astarion was laying with his eyes closed, still deliberately breathing. Hearing Gale move he opened his eyes, looked at him, then moved to look up at the ceiling.
“Hey. What’s going through your mind?” Gale asked.
“I had a- I’ve dealt Gortash.” He paused, mouth shaping words silently, thinking. Astarion held a hand in front of his face, flexing the fingers, remembering the joints being snapped apart, and rehealed in many different configurations. The breathing he was doing was keeping him from becoming totally lost in his thoughts, but he was still feeling heavy with the weight of all those unpleasant memories and the adrenaline that came with it. He shook his head. “I don’t think I can speak about it yet.”
“Do what you feel is best.”
Astarion nodded.
“Can I read something to you? Occupy your mind?”
Astarion nodded again. Gale stood to fetch a book.
“I’ll be right back.”
-
Astarion was ruminating. He hated that these feelings could still get him, even though he was far from where it happened.
When Gale returned he had a selection of books, a bottle of wine for them both, and two cups.
Gale popped the cork and a cup of wine was set down next to Astarion. He glanced over at it, considering picking it up, but not moving.
A flicker of magic, and an illusion surrounded them both. They were no longer in the shabby upstairs bedroom, but a warm library, a door open to the harbor of what Astarion now recognized as Waterdeep.
This must be- “Your library.”
“Yes, the very same. I find it comforting to come here when things are overwhelming. I can replace it with something else if you’d like.”
Astarion shook his head. “No. This is good.”
Gale smiled. He showed off the cover of a book for Astarion. “I hid this one when I realized you were looking at my book collection.”
The cover read Married to a Mindflayer.
“It’s horrifically bad, but so much so it comes back to being a delight. I have other choices if you want-”
“No. You will read that one for me.” Astarion gave an exhausted smile. Rolling onto his side, and propping his head up with a hand, now facing Gale.
“I thought you’d like it.”
Gale lay down on his own mattress to read.
“Ok. Ahem.
“Benedick looked at himself in the mirror, studying himself. He was a plain looking man with mousy brown hair. Sure he had perfect pecs, big supple glutes, abs like a tray of raviolis, just the right amount of body hair, and an all-over tan. But he wore glasses, making him plain.
He played with his chest, studying it with his hands. They felt like fuzzy steaks. He wished he was hotter and sexier. He frowned. Would he be hot enough for his new husband?
In his mind he heard the lusty tones of his groom, Ulitharid. ‘See something you like? I do.’
He sensually floated across the room, already naked. Like a sexy piece of algae in a stagnant pond. Tentacles waggling with desire-“
It didn’t take long until Astarion was laughing.
This was the first time Gale’s face wasn’t hidden by the illusion. Astarion watched as his face reddened, and his expression contorted as he realized what lines he was about to read.
When they ended a particularly creative scene, which had included the unforgettable phrase “helical tentacle BJ” they both fell apart and couldn’t summon the energy to continue reading. Concentration lost on the spell, they were back in the rundown bedroom.
“By the GODS where did you find that monstrosity of a book?”
“You know, I have no idea? I think I’ve had it since I was in university. I probably found it somewhere.”
“Is it cursed? I feel like it could be cursed.”
“You tell me, there are copper plate etchings inside.”
Astarion’s hand darted out, snatching the book flipping to the pages containing the images. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand stifling surprise, a grimace, and then laughter. “Yes. I do believe it’s properly cursed.”
Gale smiled seeing his friend’s joy. “I have a theory this was funded by a rich patriar with zero writing talent. I can’t fathom how else it would have made it to print.”
Astarion slowed his laughs, wiping tears from his eyes. Before switching to a serious sounding tone. “Don’t you mean hypothesis?”
That made Gale suddenly sober. “I am sorry about that.”
“I know.” Astarion still smiled.
Gale shook his head, his eyes gazing down. “Still. I-.” He let out a deeply held breath. “I know I’m a frustrating person. But I don’t want to frustrate you.”
He started to get up.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll give you space.” He kept his eyes down. “I should have moved my things a while ago. I’d still like to stay housemates if that’s ok, but I’ll can start looking for a new spot if you want. I can-”
“Gale?”
“You don’t have to worry, I’ll keep the wards going, so you feel safe here-“
“Gale-“
“And I can bring blood over, or have the butcher deliver blood to this address so you don’t have to worry about depending on me.”
“GALE!”
That made him look up. “Oh gods. Sorry. I’m sorry. I was trying to make you feel better and I’ve made it all about me. I’ll can-” He looked around himself, as though he could find an answer somewhere in the room.
Astarion stood, not sure where this panic had some from. “Slow down. Now it’s you who needs to breathe.”
Gale looked at him then. His eyes were red and shining. He was breathing fast, he couldn’t hold Astarion’s gaze and squeezed his eyes closed. “I’ve ruined everything. I’ll get out. I’ll-”
“STOP!”
Gale froze.
“I never said I wanted you to leave. I don’t.”
Gale still didn’t open his eyes. He swallowed thickly.
“You said one thing that was moderately condescending. It wasn’t great, but it was fine. It wasn’t the reason why I left. Not really.”
Gale was listening, standing still and trying to slow his breathing.
“And I don’t want you to leave. Not just because of those things you do for me, but because you’re good company.”
Gale still wouldn’t look at him.
He reached to push a strand of hair that had fallen in front of Gale’s face.
Feeling the fingers brush his hair he flinched away. “Don’t. We don’t know that I won’t kill you.”
Astarion rolled his eyes and flicked Gale’s forehead where it furrowed with worry.
“There. Now we do.”
Gale’s eyes shot open and his knees buckled and fell to his knees mattress. He put his head in his hands and sobbed.
Astarion followed him down and put a hand on his shoulder.
“I was so scared.”
“I know, and now you don’t have to be.”
Gale reached up with a gloved hand and tentatively placed it on Astarion’s. Holding it there.
Astarion’s thumb brushed against Gale’s neck, causing him to release another wet sob.
He tucked his head against Astarion’s hand. His breath finally slowing.
Astarion thought back to the last few hours. “We’re quite the pair aren’t we?”
Gale nodded.
.
.
.
Notes:
Wow, only 20 chapters for them to touch.
This one was short, but felt emotionally full, so I stopped it here.
I share Gale’s fear of wearing out my welcome, so that part was both easy and tough to write.
Also, I’ve poisoned my Tumblr for you all so you could have that insane drawing.
https://www.tumblr.com/martletsableI hope you enjoyed reading!
Chapter 21: Something is afoot
Summary:
The duo leave the house. Old acquaintances show themselves.
Chapter Text
Waterdeep 1491 DR - Late Winter
“No!” Gale’s hands frantically moved through the space she’d been, as though he could grip her essence. “Nononono!”
When Tara died she didn’t even leave a body. Gone. Her form had dispelled before she’d fully collapsed. She was gone.
He looked around. His hands were shaking, even though the pain and nausea he’d had moments before were gone.
Don’t panic.
He could summon her back. He could do it. He steadied himself and prepared a summoning circle. It took him twice as long as it should have, the entire time his mind raced in terror.
When he released his spell, he felt the weave channeling through him, but as he touched the life that was building in the threads of the weave, he felt it siphon into himself as well. Something was wrong. Something killed her when she touched him now he killed her before she could even flicker into the material realm.
He was swallowed by fear and despair. He was beyond feelings he could ever describe. His chest pounded, his breath wouldn’t come. There was no answer, no way out.
“Mystra! Please! I need you!” His voice quavered as prayed ferverantly.
The only answer he received was a feeling akin to an earthquake inside his mind. Disappointment, disgust, and then a resounding echoing absence.
The goddess who had entered his life when he was a small child and demanded his obedience had just… cast him away.
He was alone.
Completely.
Wyrm’s Crossing 1492 DR - Early Summer
As Gale’s breath finally slowed Astarion looked him over.
Gale still had his hand on Astarion’s, keeping it on his shoulder.
“I’m- I’ll be ok.” He looked at Astarion. “I’m sorry. Thank you.”
Astarion searched his face skeptically. “What happened?”
He didn’t look at Astarion. “When I make a mistake people… leave.”
His hand still on Gale’s shoulder, Astarion flicked him in the forehead again with his free hand.
“Ow.”
“You calling me a liar?”
“No…?”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, if you were you’d be right most of the time, but not not now. I meant it when I said that that’s not really why I left.”
Gale nodded. He didn’t believe him.
Astarion squeezed his shoulder before releasing it and standing fully. “Well, on the bright side, we’ve now learned that if you ever need some sense knocked into you, I can slap you.”
That made Gale laugh. Then he squeezed his eyebrows together. “I meant what I said too you know. I’ll still help you if you want me gone. I don’t want you to be nice to me just because you need things.”
Astarion slapped him on the back of the head. “That didn’t take long.”
He looked down at Gale. “I’m not nice.” He cocked an eyebrow. “And you underestimate my talents.” He straightened himself, running his fingers through his hair. “If I wanted, you’d be half a city away and still doing whatever I wanted.”
He offered his hand to help Gale stand. “Come on. Let’s finish what we started.”
The two walked back downstairs, back to the table where the newspaper was still out, and the article about Cazador’s upcoming soirée.
“Maybe it’s time for us to meet with Gandrel again and make a plan.”
-
They strolled through the streets of Wyrm’s crossing. It was strange for both of them.
They had decided that, while they could use the Sending spell, they would take a walk through the town. They both needed some fresh air. Astarion was immune to any spells that would change his shape, but Gale could cast an illusion over him. Currently Astarion was a tanned wood-elf with green eyes. The rest of his appearance was relatively the same, but his natural coloring was so distinctive this would do more than enough to cover him from any Gur who might recognize him from that early morning when he stole their children away.
So they walked. The air was warm, but the breeze was cool. It was the kind of night you’d hope for in early summer. Gale was comfortable despite his layers, and Astarion was too, despite still only wearing only the clothing he’d arrived in, and a borrowed overshirt.
As they walked Gale would start talking about something that interested him, only to slow himself and inspect Astarion to make sure he wasn’t bored or annoyed. So far the worst that had happened was Astarion getting lost in his own thoughts, but he always wanted to know what he’d missed, so Gale felt assured that he hadn’t worn out his welcome yet.
They walked in front of a park that seemed to be entertaining a host of tiefling refugees. The music filled the air, as well as the laughter of the crowd.
That caused Astarion to stop. From the view from the road he could see the silhuettes of the gathered party goers and a bard in the center, playing a lute and singing a tune.
“Do you want to go over there?”
“I-“ He seemed momentarily torn, then shook his head. “Absolutely not. I’ve had enough of parties for several lifetimes.”
Gale looked at him. Even through the disguise he could see Astarion was tense. Trying out his newfound freedom, he reached over and gave Astarion’s hand a squeeze. “Then we’ll move on.”
Astarion gave a tired smile before squeezing Gale’s hand in return and letting go.
They eventually arrived at the Gur encampment. Here Astarion was decisive. He absolutely would not be entering. Gale nodded, and said that he’d go in and bring Gandrel out.
This was Gale’s second time entering the camp. Now that he knew what had happened the gloom that had overtaken the camp was obvious. The wind occasionally brought the joyful sounds of the tiefling party, heightening just how bereft the Gur’s camp was.
Eventually he found several Gur sitting around a fire. They were nearly silent, only occasional murmured requests, or thanks, between them as they ate and drank.
When he appeared out of the dark, several of the Gur who he hadn’t met jumped, their hands to daggers on their belts. Thankfully his intuition had been correct, and Gandrel and the Matron were both present. She put up her hand to calm them, then gestured to Gale to sit. He tried to indicate that she should follow him out of camp, she shook her head indicating the men around the circle.
Not now.
So instead Gale sat with them. He wanted to send a message to Astarion, but didn’t trust that these men wouldn’t find visible magic done by a stranger to be suspicious. So he waited, and joining the people around the fire.
~*~
Astarion waited in the dark, sitting on a low stone wall. He could still see quite well due to his dark vision, and could sense the pulses all around him. Many small creatures nesting in trees, or in burrows, Humans clustered in tents inside the camp, and the large thudding heartbeats of their cows and horses.
The feeling that came with sensing this heartbeats was one of visceral desire. He could anticipate the smell and taste of the creatures in the dark. Imagine the way their heart would race and their blood would flow. It was… distracting.
He was finally free to eat whatever, or whomever, he wanted. He drank plenty of blood earlier, but that didn’t fully sate the hunger. He supposed nothing really would.
While he sat outside of the Gur camp, contemplating the meaning of freedom, he heard the sound of wayward drunks in the street. His brain immediately filled with echos of old commands that demanded a victim and the newer urge to consume.
His fingertips turned white as he gripped the wall beneath him, both sensations unwelcome. The first as a reminder of a past he couldn’t escape, and the second as his doomed future. If he somehow wasn’t murdered, those horrific memories and this would alienating hunger would be his to live with for a long, long, time.
As he sat, desperately trying to keep it together, they came closer. He could now tell from scent alone that these were Gur. The smell of camp life, as well as the spices and incense they preferred could not be mistaken. He hated them. He feared them. He wanted to run. He wanted to hunt.
“Listen Jaef, You’re my best friend. My best friend in all of Toril. You’re going to be ok, man. You’ll be fine.” That came from one of the pair.
“Iss jus’, wha’s even tha point you know? Without my little brothers around, It jus’ feels like e-evrythin’s a waste. Like, wha’ why bother?”
Great. Another thing to make this even more uncomfortable.
They kept rambling as they walked, eventually they weren’t far behind him at all. When suddenly a new smell joined them, and his blood ran cold.
It was the smell of grave dirt. Of death itself.
“Excuse me saers, would you be able help me?” He knew that voice. It was Petras. “I’m looking for a friend of mine. Maybe you’ve seen him? He’s about this tall. Elf, pale skin, grey-white hair and bad taste in clothes.”
Astarion froze, thinking. He was down wind, and he had no heartbeat, meaning Petras had no ability to sense him. If he was seen he looked completely different, but his lack of heartbeat and smell would give him away. If he moved silently to a different location before he was noticed he could escape. But where?
He looked around. The only direction that was safe was the Gur camp. He steeled himself before taking a breath, clearing the feeling of stress from his chest, walking toward the camp. His footsteps as silent as ever.
~*~
As Gale sat at the fire, he slowly came to learn a bit about the people around him. These men and women were of many different trades. Most crafters of some kind, ferriers or herders. The skills they had were ones that suited a life on the move. A few negotiated quietly some trades between themselves, and planned some sales outside the community. Everything was subdued however, there were no smiles and nothing but the necessary was said.
This entire community was in mourning.
Eventually The Matron, which he now learned was named Ulma, stood and beckoned him to follow. Gandrel followed behind. They entered a different tent than he’d seen before. It was humble but exceptionally well cared for and in an exceptionally good location.
This must be her tent then.
She sat on a cushion near a low table, inviting him to sit. Gandrel followed suit without invitation. He apparently was familiar enough to forego that kind of deference.
“What has brought you this evening?” She said while pouring small glasses of an amber alcohol. “I must assume this about the vampire.”
“If you mean Cazador Szarr, then yes. Astarion and I have discovered something that we think could lead to something fruitful.”
She frowned a moment. “So everything is going alright in that house of yours? No bodies piling up in the basement?”
Ah, she’d meant Astarion. Apparently his story hadn’t swayed her entirely, and she still saw him as a monster.
“No, no bodies.” He’d thought about explaining, and disclosing Astarion’s recent habits, but thought better of it. It wasn’t her business.
Gandrel looked to Ulma. “If he does kill anyone, He’ll be meeting the point of a stake in rapid order.”
Gale didn’t know what to say in response. He didn’t like their attitude, but he also understood that Astarion had been the vehicle for a lot of hurt in their troop. Instead he moved the conversation forward.
“We discovered that Cazador Szarr will be hosting a Gala at his palace in some tendays time. We think that might be an opportunity for something.”
“And just what would you do?”
From outside the tent a voice called from the dark. “That depends on what you lot would like to do.” A tanned hand swished open the flap to the tent. It was Astarion, in his woodelf disguise. He was wearing a tense expression. “Beg pardon, might I come inside?”
Gale stood. “Is everything alright?”
“No. Not really. Please. If I may, I would very much like to be inside.”
Ulma narrowed her eyes, hesitating.
“Ah sorry, Astarion has a bit of disguise magic on.”
“Oh, I know. I just didn’t want him in my home.”
Astarion rolled his eyes. “I can say with the utmost conviction I don’t want to be in your home either. “
“Fine, you may come in for tonight.”
The invisible barrier keeping him from entering dissolved. He hurried in and closed the flap.
“Thank you. I have not been spotted, and I would like to keep it that way.”
“Spotted by who?” Gandrel asked.
“One of the other spawn. Petras. He’s walking around outside the camp asking after me. How in the hells he knows to look for me here, I have no idea. And I very much don’t want to find out.”
Gandrel stood ready to go. Astarion put a hand up. “Don’t. Cazador calls them back as mist if they’re too injured. All it will do is put your camp on the forefront of his mind once again.” The monster hunter didn’t look convinced. Astarion looked off in a direction as he listed off the facts. “He won’t have permission to kill anyone himself, and it’s too late for him to find anyone to bring back with him. He would need time for seduction, and then convincing them to go with him all the way into The Gate. It’s simply not possible. He’s here to search, not to hunt. I’d say if you caught any spawn from Baldur’s Gate here after….” He thought a moment,”…midnight, and they don’t already have someone on the hook, they’re not worth your time.”
Gandrel relaxed and then sat back down. Seeming to agree with Astarion’s reasoning, but not happy about it.
Silence lingered for a moment, then Astarion spoke. “If you want to infiltrate the palace, you won’t have a better shot then when he’s opened his doors. I can’t think of another time something like this will come again. We just need an invite.”
Ulma chimed in. “I think I know where you could get one. The duke’s wayward young son has apparently returned from galavanting through the realms, and is currently staying with the tieflings. If he decides to poke his nose back into the world of the upper city, he might have a way in.”
Astarion looked at Gale who was thoughtful. “The tieflings owe me a favor, but I don’t know why some young noble would help me.”
Ulma smiled. “You haven’t seen this one yet. The young fella lives to be the hero.” That made Astarion grimace. She continued. “You’ll see once you meet him. It’s as plain the horns on his head.”
“So is he a tiefling then?”
“Like I said, ‘you’ll see.’”
Notes:
Settling on how this would all come out took me way longer than I thought it would! This bit is short, and yet I rewrote it several times.
Also, I may gone into a fugue state and made fanart for Cweepa and Dummptruck’s Afterlife fic.
The art in question: https://www.tumblr.com/martletsable/783570216605122560/i-should-be-working-on-my-own-fic-instead-im
The fic in question
https://archiveofourown.org/works/56939380Sorry-not-sorry.
Much love everyone! Thanks for reading!
Chapter 22: Why, hello again.
Summary:
An old friend returns.
Chapter Text
Gale and Astarion ended up spending most of the night in the Gur camp. At about the time that dawn was approaching and he felt sure Petras would have been forced to return to The Gate, Astarion indicated they depart.
Before leaving though, there were many hours where they sat together, in the dim light of Ulma’s tent, sipping on some kind of liquor from tiny glass cups.
Astarion left his cup untouched.
He was pretending to be comfortable and bored, however careful observation showed him flinching as though any sound was a threat. Not just unknown sounds in the dark, but every voice from the Gur in the camp made him hunch further.
“Not that it doesn’t warm my heart a bit to see you in fear, but I promise you are not known to the camp. They do not know who you are, let alone that you are here.” Gandrel said, from his position lounging in a next of cushions. “Yet.”
Astarion looked at him, saying nothing, before turning back to watch the opening to the tent. He’d angled himself so that he could also see Gandrel and Ulma at the same time.
Ulma looked at the untouched cup of liquor then back up at Astarion, she eyed him thoughtfully, searching his expressions.
He noticed her staring and met her eyes.
“You really are afraid of us, aren’t you lad?” She said studying his reaction.
He frowned at her words before looking back toward the door. “Does that bring you joy as a well? I’d hate to disappoint.”
“You said some of our number are why you were a spawn. What happened?”
“It’s simple really. I was a magistrate and they beat me to death because they didn’t like one of my judgements.” He stopped. All eyes in the room looked at him saying nothing. So he sighed and continued. “As I lay dying a patriar I’d met revealed himself to be a vampire and offered to ‘rescue me.’ I was young, and didn’t want to die, so I accepted. That was 200 years ago.”
He looked down at the liquor, “They smelled of whatever that spirit is. It was on their breath. They reaked of it.”
Gale, who was sipping the drink froze, looked down on the little cup, before setting it back on the low table.
“And you still blame us for the sins of those who died generations ago?”
“If you’d been bit by a dog as a child, would you not become afraid of other dogs?”
That made Gale’s brow furrow. Twice now Astarion had made references to being young. He looked over at his friend. “Astarion? How old were you?”
The vampire still disguised as a wood elf, looked over at Gale. His eyes, temporarily green, conveyed long years of resignation. “Thirty-nine.”
Thirty-nine? Sure elves’ bodies grew at the rate of humans, but socially? He’d been over 60 years away from his adulthood. He’d truly been just a kid.
They all sat in silence a while.
The Gur had killed him as a child, and now centuries later he had been forced to lead theirs to their death.
A sick joke.
Ulma seemed to think for awhile before shaking her head. “I do not know what transpired to anger those ancestors. I know of no stories passed down about the death of a magistrate.” She cocked her head. “How does an elven youth become a magistrate in Baldur’s Gate?”
“I couldn’t say. I’d imagine learning the legal code and passing the exams. Beyond that?” He shrugged. “Those memories left me a long time ago.”
Gale couldn’t help but watch his friend. He’d had over half of his childhood stolen from him. He wasn’t sure the details of Elven maturity, but he knew the elves that he met at Blackstaff as fellow students had been in their 80s, and that they usually lived with family until they were 100. Why was Astarion already working before 40?
They all sat ruminating in the tent until the earliest birds started chirping, and Astarion determined that they could safely depart.
-
They returned to the house just as silver edged the horizon. Both Gale and Astarion were exhausted from the emotions of the day. Gale shed his gloves and overshirt at the door. Astarion shed his disguise. His skin was startlingly pale compared to what he had looked like moments before, his hair nearly white and his eyes a deep red. Gale wondered idly if vampires had a similar magical effect like the one that had disguised his books. Now that he knew Astarion was undead it was unmistakeable, but before? Somehow the thought had never landed.
“I’m dead tired. Do you want a bath?” Gale looked over at Astarion, who cocked his head at him and just stared in his direction. “Oh! I’m sorry I meant no offense it was a turn of phrase!” Gale suddenly frenetic.
Astarion smiled. “You’re too easy.” He laughed openly, showing his fangs. “I’m just fine. Though use some magic to get the road dust off, won’t you?” Gale nodded and both were suddenly wearing pristine clothes, and were completely clean. Astarion softened. “I absolutely adore that spell of yours.”
They both adjourned up to the one room they were sharing. Transitioning into their undergarments and laying in their individual beds. Gale rolled to his side to look over at Astarion. The pale elf was staring at the ceiling.
“Today was tough, hey?”
Astarion nodded.
Gale flopped an arm off of his bed his hand palm up toward his friend, offering. Astarion looked down at it a while before taking his own hand out and threading his fingers through, meeting their palms.
They fell asleep like that. One occasionally squeezing the other reassuringly, until they were both at rest.
-
Now that his deep fatigue had begun to ease up, Astarion awoke first. Next to him Gale was lightly snoring. He looked over at the peaceful human, and in the quiet of the room he could hear his heart beat.
It was slow and relaxed.
It was… troublesome.
He squeezed his eyes shut, before shaking his head and sitting up.
He needed to eat.
He’d never had to have self control before. The iron clad orders imparted by Cazador had meant the decision was already made, no matter how hungry he was.
Now he was next to someone who he liked and trusted, and who trusted him. And the desire to taste him was overwhelming.
He stood quickly not trusting his own impulse control, and silently descended into the kitchen.
Inside the Box of Preservation Gale had deposited several bottles of blood. He’d taken the time to label each with the animal it came from.
He decided to go for pig. To see how it differed from the boar he’d had when they’d first arrived.
He uncorked the bottle and sniffed the aroma. There were some parts that were definitely similar, but it was it’s own. He took a drink. It tasted of corn and wheat, apples and carrots. It had some of the musk of a farm, but also something of a field of grass. It was subdued compared to the boar he’d hunted, but it was still pleasant.
It helped calm the hunger that was driving him. Unfortunately, it didn’t sate his curiosity about scent that accompanied his friend, and the blood thrumming beneath his skin.
Even thinking about it made him feel like a bastard.
He rinsed the now empty bottle, and upended it to dry.
He leaned on the countertop in the kitchen. He was still thinking about how much he wanted to taste someone. To see what they were made of.
To enjoy them down to the essence.
He pushed off and began to walk. He couldn’t go anywhere, not yet. It was still well before noon. But Gods he needed to clear his head.
He paced back and forth before realizing that it was an insufficient distraction. He decided to go to the basement and look at Gale’s setup.
Something about being below ground made the vampiric part of him relax, but the rest of him tense. It wasn’t dire, but it was felt. He didn’t like to feel enclosed.
He looked around the room, Gale had set up two work stations. At the first was the skeleton of the tressym still waiting for a soul, and at the other the books from the Netherese wizard. He decided to look over the books from the past. It was truly bizarre how boring they looked and how hard it was to care about them. He knew intellectually that these were important books, but as soon as he saw them he thought they were the most boring thing in the world.
He found some of Gale’s books about the history of the weave and began reading. That would settle things down.
Dry academic books. The opposite of arousing.
~*~
When Gale awoke, he was alone. That was to be expected, Astarion didn’t really need much sleep.
He stretched and went downstairs.
Astarion was reading in a chair in the living area, he looked up as he heard the footsteps descending the stairs.
“Morning! Have you had breakfast? I’m going to make myself a bit of something.”
Astarion waved him off.
It didn’t take long for Gale to cook up something and join Astarion. He stopped a bit short when he realized what Astarion was reading, then smiled and sat.
“You interested in the nature of the weave?”
“A bit. It’s also a welcome distraction this morning.” Gale cocked his head at that but condinued listening.
“So, different gods have made a form of weave, and each has its own nature?”
“Yes, very much so. Most notably Mystryl, Shar and Karsus.”
“Karsus?””
“The Netherese wizard who killed Mystryl. For the briefest of moments he created his own weave, he was briefly the God of the Weave, before he fell from the sky and turned to stone. He shattered the weave of Mystryl and his own died with him. Moments afterward the young magic adept Mystra ascended. The rest, as they say, is history.”
Astarion nodded. “What happens to the old weave that was embedded in items then? Do they all break?”
“No. There are artifacts dating all the way back to the Netherese that still function. I haven’t encountered any before, but they do exist.”
“So they continue as pockets of weave?”
“In a sense. That’s part of why I had my accident. I encountered a tome from ancient days that was said to hold a huge resevoir of weave inside. I was going to give it to Mystra as a gift. Return her weave to her.”
Astarion frowned. “But that’s not her weave.”
Gale froze. “Say that again?”
“It’s not her weave. You said it yourself. Anything from before Mystryl died is from the goddess Mystryl, and her weave shattered. The current goddess is Mystra. You have a pocket of the original weave, from a completely different diety.”
Gale was stunned. But that couldn’t be right. Could it?
“No wonder she quit talking to you. You have a fragment of her predecessor. And by the looks of things,” Astarion rapped the book in front of him with a knuckle. “The more powerful, if more chaotic, goddess.”
Gale looked down at his chest.
Astarion smiled. “I dare say Gale, you made your girlfriend jealous.”
Gale sat, eyes unfocused, trying to find holes in what Astarion said, when a loud knock came at the door. They both jumped.
“Gale M’boy. It’s time we had a chat.”
Elminster.
-
Astarion leaned against a wall and eyed the old wizard dubiously. He was sitting at the table drinking down wine and devouring a plate of cheeses.
Gale sat across from him. “Why are you here?”
“Just a moment. These old bones need a bit of a break.”
“Come off it. You didn’t travel to a backwater town outside of Baldur’s Gate for a plate of hors d’oeuvres.”
“Now, is that any way to treat an old mentor? You should know better.”
Gale sat chastened, Astarion rolled his eyes.
“Fine, if you’re in such a rush, I guess we can forgo niceties.” He combed a few fingers through his beard knocking crumbs loose. “Mystra has some plans for that.” He pointed to the mark The Orb had left.
Gale rested his hand on it. “Why? Why now?”
Astarion shoved away from the wall with his shoulder. “Because she realizes you know what you have.”
Elminster nodded. “Astute deduction. I can see why you got into law at such a young age.”
That silenced Astarion.
The old wizard turned back to Gale. “Her ladyship is a rather young goddess, I’m afraid she hasn’t handled this matter very well.”
That made Gale frown. “What do you mean, she’s been around for over a thousand-“
Elminster raised his hand, stopping Gale short. “That was the first Mystra. My Mystra. She died over 150 years ago.”
Gale was stunned. Elminster continued, leaning back in his chair. “She defied Ao, and was killed for it.” He looked sad. “Then, as though one woman could simply replace another, the Over God plucked the wizard Midnight from the realm and positioned her in the heavens as Mystra.”
What in all the hells? How had he not known? He’d lived his entire life with Mystra, served Mystra, bedded Mystra… And had no clue.
Elminster was watching him. “Very, very, few know this. Only myself and my Mystra’s daughters. Others were not to know. Even,” and for this he pulled Gale’s gaze, “her chosen.”
Gale nodded. Looking over at Astarion he saw the elf looking on in concern. “Why are you telling me all this then if it’s meant to be a secret?”
“Well, simply put: the jig was up. Despite a lifetime of lessons meant to steer you away from doubting the continuity of The Goddess. I suppose I should thank Mr. Magistrate over there for piecing it together.”
Elminster pointed to Gale’s chest. “In there is something more wild and powerful than anything in all the Realms. And while her ladyship has her orders, I’m adding a spin of my own.”
Gale listened intently. “You both about to stumble into an intensely dangerous plot, and the Goddess of Mysteries herself would like to solve it with finality.” He produced a dagger, wrought from the weave itself. “When the time comes: stab yourself with this, detonate the power you hold, and she will forgive you.” He passed it to Gale where it dissolved into his skin.
Gale looked up, alarmed.“She wishes me to die?”
Elminster nodded. “She believes it to be the only way to prevent a most horrible outcome.”
Astarion approached the pair. “I believe you said you would be adding something of your own?”
“Yes.” With this Elminster smiled. “She told me to give you that spell, but I’ve created a little spell of my own.” His eyes twinkled as he produced a scintillating sphere of energy. Without saying any more, he shoved it into Gale’s chest, still careful not to touch the younger mage.
Gale immediately felt a connection to something that felt akin to fire, and ice and electricity. It wasn’t painful, but it was like every sensation imaginable was dancing in his chest. He felt connection.
“There. Now you can tap into that thing you’ve been lugging around in your chest for a year.” Gale’s scars were glowing a fiercely as he reveled in the experience. “I believe you’ll soon learn the details of how that thing works, but in the meantime you have Mystryl by your side. And she, unlike her successors, is not so bound by rules.”
Gale looked at his glowing hand and arm, before looking up at Elminster for an explanation. “The original One True Spell Herself is not so beholden to anything done by her successors. If a spell exists, or has existed, she can cast it.” Gale’s eyes widened. “IF, in this limited form, she has the energy to do so.”
Elminster stood, smoothing out the wrinkles in his robes. He looked over at Astarion. “Take care of the lad would you? I dare say you’re the only one around who can.”
He snapped his fingers and was gone.
Gale sat. Hand on chest.
Mystryl?
The Orb thrummed with delight.
A drawing of our sweet boys touching
Notes:
Elminster’s revelations are 100% Forgotten Realms lore compliant. The OG Mystra was furious at being cast out of heaven, along with the other Gods, by Ao, and so had tried to re-ascend to the Astral plane. Helm, guardian of the heavens, killed her.
There are two things that make my AU intrinsically different from the game. 1) No tadpoles. 2) It’s a sphere of Mystryl’s weave, not Karsus.
TADA!
Oof. I’ve been wanting to tell you all for 22 chapters now.
Chapter 23: Making Friends
Summary:
Astarion and Gale work on things at home, then depart to the city.
Chapter Text
The glow that suffused Gale’s scars eventually faded, and the thrumming connection settled into a faint presence.
Astarion eyed Gale as he sat in silent thought, contemplating and inspecting his new relationship to The Orb.
“What’s it like?”
Gale looked up. “It’s, ah… It’s a bit hard to explain. It’s a warm presence. But…. not insistent. Like knowing someone is in the next room.”
“Is it conscious?”
“I don’t think so. It’s a powerful something, but even so, it’s such a small piece of weave compared to the entirety of the realms. It’s definitely something special, but….. I don’t know.”
Gale sat thinking for a minute, then stood suddenly, looked at Astarion quickly before going down to the basement.
When Astarion caught up to him he was staring at the books from Skullport and he began to laugh.
“Astarion! OF COURSE! Of course these auras looked normal to you!” He turned, he was inadvertently terrifying with an ecstatic expression paired with the glowing white eyes from Detect Magic. “You- You learned magic a whole goddess ago. These are spells cast with the original Mystra’s weave! Not Midnight’s.” He put a hand on his forehead, still smiling like a maniac.
Astarion returned a worried looking smile. Not sure if he’d actually had any lingering memory of the magic he’d seen when he was alive, or if he’d just stumbled upon an accurate description.
“It’s not as different as The Orb. Since unless the entirety of Toril all forgot, the Weave never fully unraveled, but… Yes. That’s exactly what this is. And. OF COURSE, if the spells didn’t exist today, Identify would be limited on what it could describe.”
Gale stood, and closed his eyes. He was concentrating on something. His plucked a small pearl and a feather out of his pocket, his hands moved through different shapes, and his mouth muttered unknowable words.
His scars glowed as a spell finalized, and settled over one of the books.
“I can identify it now. Gods, no wonder these were so well hidden. Each book has Veil and Nysul’s Undetectable Aura cast on it.”
“Who’s ‘Nysul’?” Astarion said, looking over his shoulder at the mundane looking book.
“No clue! Someone to look into at a later date! But now knowing what’s been placed on these books I can safely…”
Gale moved his hands through the air into yet another form, this time creating a rippling wave that crashed against one of the volumes on the desk.
The book, previously looking worn and useless, transformed into an aged leatherbound tome. It was old, most definitely, but it was bound vellum and the edges were gilt. The title, embossed on its spine was Before the Fall.
Gale picked it up, and belted out another laugh. “Oh, this is very good.”
The wizard was completely transformed by the thrill of discovery. He was in his element.
Here there was none of the trepidation he showed in other spheres. He lost himself to the work.
-
By nightfall all of the books were now free of obscuring magics. It would take a long time to read and process them all, but Gale had done it, he’d finally freed the books from their spells. All it had taken was channeling his spells through the orb, using the new connection. This, combined with intention resulted in matching auras.
He was already exhausted. He’d channeled magic in completely new and alien way, on spells he’d never encountered before. He’d still only cast spells he already knew. He was excited at the prospect of casting outside the limits of the modern weave, as Elminster had implied.
As the dark encroached, Astarion tried to subtly get Gale’s attention. It failed.
He tried less subtly. It also failed.
“WIZARD!”
That made Gale jump. “Ah! Didn’t see you there.”
The elf frowned. “I’m aware. I’m departing for the tiefling encampment soon. Was it still your intention to join me?”
Gale looked over the books, and the huge wealth of information just waiting for him.
Astarion crossed his arms attempting to look casual about whatever Gale chose. He did not want to be cornered by one of the other spawn alone. He was one of the strongest spawn, but anything that could possibly cause him to return to the palace was too big a risk.
Gale didn’t look up. “These need examining now that they’re cleared of the magical obsfuscation and then summaries written of the proper books, and a even more extensive study of the spell books. All this should be organized, determining the priority of study…” A small sound caught Gale’s attention. Astarion had shifted, not wanting to forcibly alienate Gale, but he was also getting tired of listening to the reasons why he would be handling this on his own. He looked up, catching Astarion’s discomfort before the elf noticed and returned to studied neutrality.
Gale finally slowed down and understood what was happening. “It can wait. I’ll join you.” He tipped his head in gratitude. “Thanks for calling my attention to the time. I’ll dress to head out.”
Astarion tipped his head to the side. “You sure?”
Gale nodded and made to leave the basement.
They decided to head out into the Tiefling’s encampment immediately after it was dark enough for Astarion to leave. The lengthening daylight already meant that they would be departing after the standard dinner hour.
As soon as they were out of the house, Astarion was on alert. He knew he would assuredly have several hours before any siblings from the palace could make it down from Baldur’s Gate, but after that… he would need to be good enough, or lucky enough to avoid their attentions.
Maybe since he’d been asleep for days, they’d already searched here frequently, and would be giving up. That would be nice, but he sincerely doubted he could happen upon good fortunes like that.
They walked by a few shops on their way, some even still open. One was a tailor’s, which immediately caught Astarion’s eye. He paused just to look in the windows. Gale slowed when he noticed his friend wasn’t directly next to him, then returned to his side to see what had garnered his friend’s attention.
“Shall we go in?”
“I- well, it can wait.”
“We can spare a bit of time. Worst case we overnight in with the Tieflings, right? You still only have the clothes you’d arrived with.”
Astarion looked up the road toward their destination, then back in the shop, smiling a bit. “A little dalliance couldn’t hurt.”
When they entered a hidden bell chimed. A tired gnomish man with salt and pepper hair, and an impressive waxed mustache, perked up from behind the counter.
“Well hello, hello! Welcome to Bits and Bobbins! It is good to see new customers. Are you both looking for something to wear?”
Gale began to speak, when Astarion interrupted. “We’re just looking for tonight, thank you.” Astarion walked inside to examine things. He turned up his nose at the fashions on display and moved on to a wall of fabrics.
The little gnomish fellow perked up, and followed Astarion. “All of my suitings are of the highest quality. Many normal cottons, linens and silks, though I also have some more exotic materials that have an affinity for taking an enchantment.”
From the doorway Gale assessed the small man. His year with Ludwik had been miserable, but had taught him a thing or two about artificers, and he could spot the telltale signs that that was exactly what this man was.
“If you like, I can draft you up a personalized Cloak of Many Things, or an outfit that can transform once a day to an entirely new fashion of your choice!”
Gale chimed in. “Quite the talent you have. Why do you have your shop out here in Wyrm’s Crossing and not up at the Gate?”
The small man twisted his mustache into two sharp points, and then crossed his arms. “I refuse to pay those ridiculous guild dues! It’s extortion! I’d rather have a more humble life on my terms than live in opulence under the thumb of those arrogant tossers in the city.” He turned back to Astarion. “But my loss is your gain! My prices are more reasonable than most. My costs are lower and I’m, eh, less busy.”
Astarion ran his hands over various materials. Testing the feel.
“Would you be willing to sell yardage?”
The gnomish man frowned. “I’m not against it. What would you be interested in?”
Astarion immediately rattled off a list of different materials and quantities. The shop keep tallied it up. “ I’d say that comes out to about 10 gold, 3 silver, and 6 copper.”
The elf nodded, and turned to leave. “I’ll consider it. Thank you for your offer.”
The shop keeper frowned. “Alright 9 gold even.”
Astarion paused, smiling. “7 gold.”
“8.”
“8 and you throw in two spools of thread and a needle.”
The gnome grumbled. “Deal.”
Astarion smiled. “Gale darling, pay the man. Won’t you?”
Gale had been enjoying watching things from the entry when he suddenly jumped.
He stammered out something in his surprise, but eventually fetched out 8 gold.
Within moments, they were leaving with a bundle of carefully tied up purchases. Somehow Gale was also the one who ended up carrying it all. Astarion walked slightly ahead with a delighted smile on his face.
They’d lost maybe an hour to the tailor’s. When they arrived at the Tiefling encampment, the central fire was roaring, with a cook pot and other roasting meats on the fire.
Gale looked around, trying to find either Halsin or Zevlor. Thankfully both men were quite large, and their silhuettes appeared further into the assortment of tents.
Astarion followed behind Gale, keeping an eye out for his siblings. His nostrils flared, as he smelled for their mutual grave-dirt scent.
So far he detected nothing.
“Hello again!” Gale called, waving.
Halsin smiled and waved in return, Zevlor was more reserved but nodded in their direction.
“Good evening my friends, we’re looking to make the acquaintance of some guests among you.”
“We?” Halsin looked over at Astarion and stilled. His smile fading at the corners.
The minor change in demeanor didn’t go unnoticed by Astarion, whose eyes flicked over Halsin. “Hello. It is my utmost pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He made a low bow.
“Halsin. I hope the feeling can be mutual, vampire.” His voice and expression were both flat.
Gale stepped between the two. “I’m terribly sorry, I haven’t done my part in introducing my dear friend Astarion.” He gestured to the now tense man at his side. “He saved me the night I nearly died saving the two wee bandits.” That made Halsin’s eyebrow raise. He looked away from the elf to listen more intently to Gale. “We are here tonight because we need to speak with the duke’s son who is staying with you.”
Zevlor chimed in then. “Well, if you were here to here to cause trouble you couldn’t have picked a worse target.” He looked deeper into the camp. “Wyll Ravengard is The Blade of Frontiers these days, slayer of anyone who threatens the people of the Sword Coast.” He paused. Thoughtful. “He’s also a good lesson not to judge any book by it’s cover.” He reached out to shake Astarion’s hand. “If you are here to do no harm, and you’re looking to work with the young Ravengard, then I have no quarrel with you. I am Zevlor, leader of the tiefling refugees.”
Astarion tentatively put his hand out to shake it. Zevlor squeezed his hand tight. Bolstered by the strength of the cursed belt, Astarion was able to squeeze back, flashing a toothy grin.
Gale gave a cautionary cough, and then nodded his thanks to both men. Zevlor gestured toward where they could find Ravengard.
Before following behind Gale, Astarion turned to their hosts. “Beg pardon. But there is no small chance that there may be other vampire spawn about in the coming hours. They will not be permitted to feed from anyone themselves, but they may attempt to kidnap the unwary. Just… eh- hoping that information could be of use to you.” He looked at rapidly disappearing Gale, and then turned back to the two, nodded and left to catch up.
Further back in the refugee camp, they spotted a pair sitting around their own fire. Mugs of ale in their hands, deep throated laughs erupting from both. There were also some young tiefling children sitting and watching them in awe.
There was a red tiefling woman who was a solid head taller than Gale, and covered in tattoos and scars. One of her horns was snapped off, and her biceps impressively popped when she brought the mug to her lips. She was clearly a seasoned warrior enjoying a rare night of peace.
Next to her was a man of average height who seemed at first like another tiefling, but- no. There was something wrong. He didn’t have a tail, and his face looked like it had tracks of keloid scars, and his horns curved higher than others.
Seeing Astarion catch up to him, Gale leaned in, speaking softly. “Young Ravengard is a devil?”
“The young Ravengard also has keen ears!” The voice was young and jolly. “Well met. I am Wyll Ravengard, the Blade of frontiers. And yes. I am recently a devil, though-“
“Though the only thing about him that’s devilish is his looks!” The red tiefling woman toasted him with her mug. While difficult to see in his deep complexion and firelight, everying in his demeanor showed that he was blushing as he accept her cheers.
He was a bit bashful as he clarified. “I was a human man before I broke a deal with a greater devil to help Karlach here.” He gestured to his friend “The she-devil thought it was an appropriate punishment.”
“He was supposed to kill me!” She beamed, chugging down more of her beer. Astarion noticed it had started to boil in her mug. She slammed the mug down, wiping her mouth with her other hand. “He’s gone and gotten himself tangled up with Mizora, and I was stuck under Zariel’s thumb. She demanded he kill the ‘heartless’ soldier of Zariel’s army -that’s me- and when he wouldn’t? POW!” She put her index and pinky fingers up in front of her forehead mimicking horns.
Heartless?
Noticing Gale and Astarion’s confusion, she thumped her chest, and they could hear a hollow metallic sound. Looking at her closely the rippling light on her skin wasn’t from the fire in front of her but a fire inside her chest. There were vents on her shoulders, and flames seemed to lick her skin from the inside. “Devils love semantics. Zariel replaced my heart with an infernal engine years ago.” She smiled, shrugged, and stood to get more beer from a nearby cask.
Wyll leaned forward putting his elbows on his knees. “Enough about us, what brings you two looking for me hiding away at the back of a tiefling encampment?”
Gale spoke up. “We were told you might be interested in helping us deal with a bit of a problem hiding amongst the patriars of Baldur’s Gate.”
“Is that so?”
He nodded.
Astarion chimed in then. “Cazador Szarr is having a gala, and we need an invite.”
Wyll looked over at him quizzically. “Szarr? He’s well… he’s odd but-“
“He’s a vampire lord.” Astarion cut in. That caused Wyll to pause, he looked over at his friend who was returning from refilling her tankard. Astarion continued, “He’s got something going on with some of the least savory figures in The Gate.”
The woman snorted. “Well, your lordship what do you think?”
Wyll frowned. “I’m not overly excited to reinter Baldurian society looking this way, what’s going on?”
Finally settled in on a stump near the pair. “I’m not sure, but he’s been cutting deals with a trio of truly monsterous people. The only one with a recognizable name is Enver Gortash. But there-”
“GORTASH!” The tiefling straightened suddenly, sloshing beer that sizzled off of her skin. “That fucker is the reason why I was stuck in the hells fighting for Zariel to begin with! That piece of shit is why I have this!” She slammed her fist onto her chest, it rang like a metal drum.
She looked over at Wyll who gave her a sympathetic look.
Astarion moved to sit down with the pair. “Sounds like we have a common enemy. What do you say? Shall see if we can’t be mutually helpful to one another?”
Notes:
Hello Wyll and Karlach! It’s good of you to join us!
Chapter 24: A bit more context.
Summary:
We learn a bit more about how Karlach and Wyll made their way to the Sword Coast from Avernus, and then return home.
Chapter Text
Shores of the Chonithar river, a day’s walk from Wyrm’s crossing. Two days ago.
“Why isn’t she dead?” A flash of brimstone had preceded Mizora. Despite the beauty of the devil, the distinct smell of sulphur that accompanied her arrival was unmistakeable.
“She’s not a monster, she’s a tiefling!” Wyll said over his shoulder. He looked over at the impressive warrior in front of him. She was doubled over in pain, flames erupting from her skin.
“Tsk. Your contract states I can send you to kill ‘monsters, the soulless and the heartless.’” She ticked each off in on her fingers. She pointed to Karlach “That, right there, has no heart.”
Karlach was clutching her chest, hissing out pained breaths before cursing in infernal. “Fuck you.”
Mizora spoke now to Wyll, each word punctuated by moving closer. “You know very well that if you do not fulfill your contract I send you to hell as a mindless lemure.” With her final word she tapped a sharp fingernail on his prosthetic eye. He shook his head in disgust.
Lemures, the mindless blobs of agonized flesh who made up the fodder of the Blood War, a horrible fate but one he was willing to accept if it meant he’d stood by his beliefs.
“I’m not killing a mortal. Let alone a captive of the hells.”
Mizora rolled her eyes theatrically. She swept an arm across his chest, as she walked passed him.
She crouched down in front of Karlach, raking her fingers through the furious woman’s hair. “What a waste of a rare opportunity to kill The Archdutchess’ favorite pet while she’s out of the hells. I can’t kill her, Zariel wouldn’t forgive me, and if you won’t…”
She stood and turned back to Wyll, a predatory look in her eye. “You know, I don’t think I’m ready to let go of you just yet, but you must be punished. And, since you’re so obsessed with whether or not someone is a devil, I think I have a much better consequence for your disobedience.”
She snapped her fingers and he was engulfed in flames. Rippling ridges appeared in his skin, down his chest and arms, and up his cheeks. Rugged horns ripped from his skull, and his one remaining eye blackened. He collapsed in agony, his posture mirroring Karlach’s next to him.
Unlike her, his pain eventually faded, and he was able to look around and take stock of what happened. He realized he’d not been transported to hell, or turned into a mindless blob of flesh. He looked down and saw the changes wrought to his hands and arms. He was trembling as he carefully touched his cheeks before reaching up to feel the very base of horns sprouting from his head.
“Yes, I think it’s much more fun to turn you into something you swore to kill.” Mizora smiled. “Call me selfish, but I’m not done with you yet. In fact, I dare say I don’t ever want to let you go.”
She cupped one of his cheeks, running the fingers of her other hand up one of the new horns. “Not only can you still serve me, but now if you ever die you appear in Avernus like any other devil slain in Faerûn.”
She bent down to kiss him and he turned away in disgust. “Aww… Well, no matter. We have all eternity for you to get used to it.” She looked around for a place to sit, grimaced at the rocks and stones surrounding them, then cocked a hip and continued to stand, looming over the two people still crouched from their ordeals. “Well, if she’s not going to die, then you BOTH can be useful. After all, there has to be a reason the Fury of Avernus herself was sent to the Material Plain all on her lonesome. Zariel has plans for Baldur’s Gate. I want you” she pointed to Wyll “to keep your eyes on that.” She pointed to Karlach.
“And do quit being so dramatic.” She kicked at Karlach getting her attention. “Your infernal engine is a reminder that you don’t get to stay here, you’ll have to come back home or you’ll burn,” Karlach’s mouth was frothing at the corners as she tried to steady herself. “So long as you don’t dally too long you’ll be fine.”
Mizora took a few more moments to think before shrugging dismissively and snapping her fingers, disappearing in a puff of acrid smoke.
Still crouched next to Karlach, Wyll too a moment to consider what had just happened. Next to him was Zariel’s champion, someone who’d fought for the arch devil of Avernus at the front lines of the Blood War for 10 years, and had lived to tell the tale. A nearly impossible feat.
She was a true terror on the battlefield. But she was also just a person, currently in deep agony. He reached toward her to give her comfort, but recoiled at the heat radiating off of her skin. Even with his new devilish form, her heat could still burn him.
How was she even alive?
After some extended silence Karlach shouted. “Fuuuuuuck!”
She let go of her chest and rolled her shoulders. Somehow having managed to get some control over the pain. “I could go for a beer right about now. How about you soldier?”
Wyrm’s Crossing - Early Summer 1492 DR
“So you’re both here, sent by different devils of Avernus to do something in Baldur’s Gate?”
“That’s the long and short of it, yeah.” Karlach was bouncing a knee as she sat by the fire. “I haven’t been told anything yet except that I’m supposed to ‘protect Zariel’s interests,’ and Wyll’s only been told to ‘keep an eye on me.’ Meanwhile the ol’ ticker is a real pain in the arse.” She frowned and thudded a fist against her chest again, a hollow clanging echoed from its depths. “My real goal is to find a way to fix this thing so I don’t need to return to the hells, and tell Zariel to kiss my ass.”
Gale leaned forward, putting a hand forward. “May I?” She shrugged. He fished out the necessary spell components and cast Identify on the device in her chest. His mind flooded with understanding. “Wow. That’s quite something. It has layers of auras and effects to fuel your strength and stamina, and prevent you from burning up, and continuing to function at an inhuman temperature. I can see that the latter are starting to crack due to the stresses of being immersed in the Material Plain. A truly fascinating piece of…” He looked up noting her expression. She did not share his fascination with the engineering. “Ahem, right. Well… I happen to have met a fellow in The Gate who might be able to take a peek at it. He was in Elturel, and knows a thing or two about infernal machines.”
That made her smile.
“Well fuck yeah! That’s great.” She went to rib Wyll, but stopped short before his shirt caught fire. “Ah, what do you say soldier. Shall we head up to city, get ourselves invited to a party, and get a consult about this bad boy?” She jabbed a thumb at her chest.
She paused a moment and her bravado faded. She took a breath. Wyll was looking on with sympathy. To clarify to the two visitors she explained. “Baldur’s Gate’s my hometown, heck my family name is Cliffgate, named after one of the gates into the city. We’re as Baldurian as they come. But… I haven’t had the guts to go back in. I don’t think there’s anything waiting for me there.” She was quiet a moment then slapped a smile back onto her face. “But hey! Now there’s something worth seeing up there,” She turned to Wyll “a chance for you protect the good people of the city, and some good old fashioned revenge for me!”
Astarion had been quiet the whole while. he kept his ear out for footfalls in the dark. He could hear many, but so far they all came paired with a heartbeat. None were vampires. It was an almost futile endeavor, vampires were silent stalkers, but he was so familiar with the Cazador’s other spawn that he could pick them out.
He had been listening to them explain their stories as well, but was largely preoccupied.
During a lull in the conversation something occurred to him. “Wait. So you got transformed into a monster by a greater monster,” He said to Wyll “And you can’t touch anyone or you’ll kill them because of something in your chest.” He directed his attention to Karlach.
The pair nodded.
Astarion chuckled and dragged a hand down his face in disbelief, turning to Gale. “I think we’ll get along swimmingly.”
-
Gale and Astarion departed the encampment several hours later.
There had been a tense moment or two when The Blade of the Frontiers realized he’d be working with a vampire, but was reminded that they were all agreeing to work with a devil. Gale and Kalach bonded over not being able to touch anyone. She felt gratified that she didn’t need to kill any cute critters to stay alive, but was envious he had at least one person he could touch.
Gale used a mage hand to give her a fist bump.
It felt strange not to be totally alone in their predicaments anymore. Well, things weren’t quite the same. Wyll had been a monster for two days, Astarion had been one for 200 years. Karlach had her heart stolen by an evil being who’d kept her captive for years, and Gale had… Well, if you asked Astarion Mystra was a right bitch and it was fine to lump her in with an archdevil from hell.
Gale was still in a weird place about the whole thing. When he’d explained to Wyll and Karlach, he still blamed himself for his hubris, and made excuses for Mystra’s disappearance after he’d been afflicted by The Orb. He’d also pointedly left off the news he’d gotten just earlier in the day that he was ordered to kill himself.
As Astarion reflected on all of this on their way down the road, he heard the snap of a twig in the dark, as someone light on their feet was attempting to catch up with them. He spun around, drawing a dagger from his belt.
“Eee! Sorry!” It was one of the tiefling girls. The shy one. Astarion relaxed, but still kept his knife drawn.
“Mr. Halsin and Mr. Zevlor said Mol and I weren’t allowed to keep this. And, um… Mol said I shouldn’t give it back where anyone can see. It’s bad for our rep’tation.”
Astarion nodded sagely at her logic. “I’d like to inform you that you should only sneak up on people if you are trying to kill them or are good enough to remain hidden.”
The girl’s eyes got really round, and she nodded. She looked over at Gale and held out something in her hands.
Gale didn’t move to take anything. He looked at Astarion hopefully. The elf sighed and crouched, putting out his palm. “What have you got?”
She dropped something heavy in his palm and ran off into the dark.
Gale was bemused. “Those children are always running. What did she give you?”
Astarion looked down and saw a pair of sending stones. Standing up, he passed one to Gale.
“Well, no wonder the kids wanted them. These had to be very fun to play with.” He smiled.
-
They returned to the house as the earliest light was hitting the horizon and everything seemed peaceful. None of Gale’s defensive runes had been tripped, and the place was undisturbed. Astarion allowed his shoulders to relax once they were inside and the door was closed.
Gale’s continued residence in the house meant that they could never enter without permission, and the defensive runes would prevent them from attacking the house itself. If Cazador wanted him here, he’d have to hire underlings, and… well that was possible, but he was feeling pretty confident about himself and Gale vs. some sellswords.
Once they were back, Gale dropped the fabric they’d purchased onto the table and made for the basement.
“Wizard?”
“Hmm?”
“Where are you going?”
“Well, I’ve got work to do downstairs with the books. There’s a lot I can get done. Of course most of it will require me to read a dead language, but with the dictionaries and practice I have already put together I’m very hopeful. Now I’m aware that some things might end up being exceedingly difficult, especially certain nouns like the names of spell components which not only may be unique without carry overs to other known languages, but also might be labeled with euphemistic names as a means of obfuscating the information from any prying eyes and-“
A pale hand slapped over his mouth. Gale’s eyes pinched with worry.
“Darling, you started your day being told to die by your goddess and ex-lover, and then didn’t take any breaks… Maybe it’s time to rest.” Astarion left his hand over Gale’s mouth for a moment before dropping it.
“I-… I can keep going I just need to do additional research. There must be an answer somewhere that will bring a solution to this, If I can just-“ The hand returned. Now Gale’s expression went flat. Mildly annoyed.
He glared at Astarion for a moment before sticking out his tongue, slicking up the palm with spit.
“Yeugh! Gods wizard.” He snatched the hand back, disgusted. He looked at his palm, grimaced, and wiped it off on Gale’s shirt.
That made Gale smile a bit. “Alright, alright. I’ll go.”
“I should have left him thinking we couldn’t touch. I swear…” Astarion muttered as he went up the stairs.
Momentarily Gale paused on the way up behind him, worried that his playfulness went too far. Observing the persistent stream of theatrical complaints from Astarion, he was pretty sure everything was alright.
Astarion stopped a moment, then turned to Gale. “Wizard. When was the last time you bathed?”
Gale stopped short. “Eh? Do I smell? I can Presti-“
“No, I meant an actual bath. You’ve been helping me with my problems, and working on your own. Have you taken any breaks? Done anything other than working?”
Gale scrunched his face. He didn’t remember using the bath since they moved into this house. It was fine though, he could just keep going. He didn’t need to-
Astarion interrupted his rumination and grabbed his hand, dragging him down the hall to the bath. “This time I read. You clean up.” He walked away leaving Gale flustered next to the tub.
He tipped the pitcher to fill the tub. This was not his comfort zone. He felt most comfortable caring for others. He didn’t want to be needy, or bothersome.
As the tub filled, he fidgeted. He should try to make this as pleasant for Astarion as possible right? So he wasn’t a bother? What smells should he pick? Bergamot and Citrus? No that’s too samey for what the elf wore. Definitely not roses, he’d made that face the first time Gale had mentioned the scent. Was there something else he could to to be more accommodating?
He almost overfilled the tub. He grabbed the rod for heating the water, and kept thinking. He should definitely be changed and in the tub before Astarion came back. Probably should already have the walls up for privacy too. He at least knew what Astarion liked to look at that was good.
The water was starting to boil. Shit. He did some quick spells to cool the water again.
He was staring at the oils when Astarion came back in. “Can’t decide?”
He jumped. “Ah, yes. I’m trying to determine what would be mutually pleasant.”
“What do you usually use? I’m used to you being scentless because it was the end of your work day, or just skipping bathing, and using spells.”
Oh, right. Vampires have keen noses. “Well, I usually like a cardamom and ginger or something.”
“Then use a ‘cardamom and ginger or something.’”
“It won’t bother you?”
“No.”
“…Ok.”
He grabbed his two favorite bottles and added some drops. He started to take off his shirt when he paused. “Sorry.” He whipped up the illusory wall and then finished changing and climbed in.
From his chair on the other side of the room, Astarion heard Gale’ settle into the bath. He sighed, contented. “What book did you choose?”
“What else? Something salacious.”
Gale exhaled. He’d never been the one in the tub while they read these books. It was a much different experience to be naked for this whole affair.
“Ahem. Introducing The Barister and The Bartender.”
Unlike when Gale read, Astarion made even the most awful prose drip with sensuality. He seemed to relish the particularly bad lines exchanged between the protagonists.
Gale could feel the blush creep up his neck and ears. The heat of the bath making it even more intense.
He tried not to notice any reactions that might be happening below the water.
“‘Jermaine Tocase was exhausted and happy. He’d just won his first trial, and was ready to celebrate. He went to his favorite dive bar, and saw a new bartender mixing drinks. He was tall, dark and handsome. His hair was long, and lose around his shoulders, his beard sharp.
Jermaine grabbed a stool right in front of the tanned man. He watched him shake cocktails with his huge biceps. ‘Hey there, are you evidence in my trial? Because I want to discover you.’
‘Well hello there.’ The bartender smiled. ‘That was a top shelf pickup line. Are you on the menu? Because you seem like you might be tonight’s special.’”
Astarion delivered all the horrific lines with charisma and charm that seemed impossible for the given material.
It left Gale both laughing and surprisingly flustered. A few times he hid himself mostly under the water, even though Astarion couldn’t see him.
Astarion could hear the sounds of him bubbling under the surface trying to hold it together, making him extremely pleased with himself. He read the lines with renewed fervor.
At one point Gale snorted while under the water, and had to come to the surface sputtering and coughing.
He lost focus on the illusory wall.
His eyes widened as he made eye contact with Astarion, then looked down at himself and his hairy shoulders and chest that were exposed and ducked back under the water. After a moment he lifted his head, his eyes peaking over the edge of the wooden tub.
He was still half coughing under the water, bubbles rising each time. It was too endearing. Astarion laughed, and continued reading.
Notes:
This is the third awful romance novel I’ve made up for this story. I have no idea how this keeps happening, except Astarion and I both agree that it’s cute when Gale gets flustered.
Chapter 25: The Difference Between Sleep and Waking
Summary:
Things get a little closer
Notes:
A little more one-on-one time with the boys, and Gale finally gets time to read.
Sorry I missed the mid-week update this week. I like to stay regular, but I wanted to get my lore right, and this week was too busy to be both accurate and fast.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Astarion was still laughing, when Gale bashfully sat up and tried to recover a bit of dignity. Now that he wasn’t actively choking on water, his smile had returned, though he was red from his cheeks to his ears.
From here Astarion could see that the purplish marks from The Orb were quite extensive. They trailed down his neck to the circular mark, sure. That was something he’d already seen. But he hadn’t seen how it spidered across his chest and down his arm. Astarion remembered the sketch he’d seen on Gale’s dresser the first night he’d visited his room. The marks would extend much further below the water line.
Astarion’s eyebrows creased with concern, as he looked at the streaks that seemed to follow either blood vessels or nerves.
“Does it hurt?”
Gale looked down and over at his left arm. “Sometimes. Mostly if it’s ’hungry.’ Thankfully it’s been pretty stable since it -ah- consumed those people.”
He held up his left arm, flexing his fingers, as water dripped down back into the tub. “Sometimes my fingers tingle, or it will send a jolt of discomfort. Like a pinched nerve. But it hasn’t been debilitating in a long while. Not since I found a way to feed it regularly.”
Astarion looked at the marks that traveled up the well muscled arm, hair slicked to its surface and steaming from the hot bathwater. Gale made an experiemental fist and the muscles in his forearm and bicep flexed.
Unconsciously Astarion tilted his head as he considered the odd wizard. Gale was objectively handsome. If it weren’t for the way he carried himself, he would turn heads wherever he went. Instead he was somehow either unnoticed or quickly dismissed.
Astarion knew people. He knew how they wanted what was elusive, and discarded that which was given for free.
The wizard’s smile was too earnest, his desire to ingratiate himself too strong.
His desire to connect, in a twist of cruel fate, pushed people away.
Gale cleared his throat, uncomfortably. Looking away and then over at Astarion. “Is something the matter?”
Astarion blinked and cleared his head. “No, no. Well- actually… What are you going to do about what Elminster said?”
Gale exhaled. “About Mystra? Which part? The part where she’s actually a woman named Midnight? Or the part where she wants me to kill myself?”
“Both? Hard to believe the goddess of magic is younger than I am.”
Gale nodded, looking down. “All my life she was talked about as this ageless goddess who has lived since the fall of Netheril, having saved magic itself. Now I find she’s an adventurer who was plucked from Faerûn by Ao. A hasty replacement to replace the one he’d murdered.”
Gale rubbed his chest. “Still, I-“ He shook his head.
That made Astarion frown. He waited, listening.
Gale sat, staring blankly for a moment, hand continuing slow circles over the purple mark. “It doesn’t erase how much she shaped my life. She was there for me when I was a lonely kid all the way up until… Until I’d driven her away.” He told a deep breath in. “I don’t know what to do with the idea that she wants me to die. She’s my goddess Astarion.”
Astarion snapped the book shut, setting it to the side. “As someone left abandoned by the gods for two centuries of torture, I have given it extensive thought and I can say with certainty that each and every one of them is not worthy of anyone’s devotion.”
That made Gale refocus his attention over to his companion.
Astarion continued. “If they couldn’t have helped me, then they are impotent. If they could have helped me, but chose not then they are amoral or cruel. In either case they are unworthy of worship.”
Gale moved as if to speak, but Astarion continued, looking directly at him. “A goddess who only loves those who are useful to her, is no better than anyone else who manipulates others to gather power to themselves.”
Gale gave a halfhearted rebuttal. “But, they’re gods, aren’t they? Their motives are unknowable.”
Astarion shrugged, looking away. “When a person willingly lets someone suffer and die, we convict them of ‘negligent homicide.’ Why would I hold the gods themselves to a lesser standard?” He narrowed his eyes. “They have much more power to prevent suffering, I dare say they should be kept at a higher one.”
“Ao prevents outright intervention in the world of mortals...”
“Then they are cowards.” Astarion shook his head. “By the sound of things, the first Mystra was the only one with the courage to defy him.” He looked down at his hands. “Even she never came when I begged.”
He knew he had prayed to her, pleading for salvation, but couldn’t remember when or how many times. He had called out to all the gods he knew. None of them, ‘good’ or ‘evil,’ had responded.
He knew in his bones that they were all the same. They were all as useless.
Looking up at Gale then he said, “Do not let such callous beings dictate any of your decisions. Especially her.”
Gale nodded. He could think of nothing to say.
They sat in silence for a while. The water began to cool.
Finally, Gale looked over at Astarion. The slight sloshing of water as he turned got the elf to look up.
“Thank you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Thank you for…“ He wiped a wet hand across his own face. “For saying all that. For caring. I’m-… It’s nice.”
Astarion rolled his eyes. “It’s not a stretch for me to despise a god.”
He looked across the room at the troubled wizard. Seeing the melancholy there he stood up and crossed the room to the tub.
He leaned over and put a hand on Gale’s cheek, coaxing his gaze up to meet his.
He took a breath. “I do care, you know.” He stroked the damp beard, moving his gaze to follow the path of his thumb.“You liberated me from unending torment when a pantheon of gods did nothing. It’s not something I’ll forget.”
Gale looked up with soft eyes, as Astarion let go of his cheek and slipped a damp strand of hair behind his ear.
“Alright, dawn has long since arrived. Let’s go to sleep.”
Gale nodded. It took him a moment to speak, then cleared his throat. “You go on ahead, I’ll be right there.”
Astarion smirked, nodded, and departed.
Gale watched as the elf left the room, letting out a long sigh after he’d gotten out of sight.
He settled back, head resting on the lip of the tub. He would need to wait a little while before getting out.
-
Astarion was staring at the ceiling when Gale finally made it to their shared room. He turned to see the wizard smile at him from the doorway.
Gale lay down on his mattress, and looked over at his friend who was still looking in his direction. He tentatively reached over to touch his pale cheek, mirroring Astarion just a few minutes prior.
Astarion’s cheek was cool to the touch, of course, and Gale’s hand exceptionally warm. He didn’t have the courage to fully rest it there, but he didn’t need to. Astarion gently grabbed his hand and pressed it down. Smiling.
“Warm.”
“Always.”
Astarion nodded, holding the hand to his cheek, and rolled over, wrapping Gale’s arm with him as he turned away. Gale had to scoot himself over to the other mattress to keep up with the hand that Astarion was taking with him.
Satisfied with his gambit, Astarion pulled Gale’s arm fully across his chest, until Gale’s chest was against Astarion’s back.
Gale was stunned. He didn’t dare let go to grab his pillow, so used his other arm and shoulder to rest his head.
-
Gale awoke hazily as hands were weakly shoving against his chest and face.
“No. Let me go. Please.” Astarion was pushing against him, eyes squeezed closed.
Gale snapped to alertness and he recoiled to his own mattress. The sudden movement made Astarion flinch, and cover his face protectively with his arms.
“Astarion, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”
Hearing his name, and still tense from the sudden movement, Astarion awoke. His eyes searched the room blindly at first before realizing where he was, and who’d asked the question.
He groaned. “Ah, fuck.”
Astarion rolled onto his back, pressing his palm into his forehead, eyes squeezed shut like he was fighting a headache. He paused there a while, then his voice changed, sounding much more put together. “Just a bit of a bad dream. Think nothing of it.”
Still, Gale was worried. It had reminded him of when Cazador had tried to call him back. When he’d been panicked and unable to ground himself into the moment.
Gale reached over to touch his shoulder, and the vampire hissed. “Don’t touch me.”
Gale recoiled like he’d been burned.
Astarion looked over at Gale’s startled face and groaned. “Don’t touch me, ah- right at this moment.” He amended. Sounding more like himself.
Gale nodded.
Feeling like he’d done something very wrong, but not sure what, he stood.
“I’ll, take care of our breakfasts.”
He left the room quickly.
-
By the time his eggs and bacon were done, Gale had settled his understanding of what happened.
As he sat down, with his own breakfast and a small carafe of blood for Astarion, his companion came down the stairs. He was already dressed for the day, and was wearing a neutral expression.
His look softened when he saw that there was also a breakfast for him as well.
“You know, most people describe what a vampire does as ‘feeding.’ You’re the only one who refers to what I do as ‘breakfast.’”
Gale smiled and shrugged, continuing to eat his meal. “I’m eating the roasted flesh of a creature that was slaughtered, salted and left to age in a basement somewhere. I don’t see much difference, except mine requires the animal to die.”
Astarion shook his head. “You are odd.”
Gale nodded. “So I’ve oft been told.”
“I’m sorry about earlier. I wasn’t- ah, I wasn’t feeling well.”
“No need to worry. I’ll give you more space. I should have realized you wouldn’t want that sort of-“ He rolled a hand in the air, looking for words. “Closeness.”
Astarion was still a moment, seeming to think something over before nodding. “I suppose it was something like that. Thank you.”
Finished eating, Gale stood, and summoned an unseen servant to clean up. “Well, I think I’ll be working downstairs. Yesterday was left with several revelations just out of reach. I think it’s time to see just what those things were.”
He departed, leaving Astarion where he was at the table.
~*~
Once Gale was out of sight, Astarion put his head in his hands.
For most of the night the rumbling sounds of Gale’s breath in his sleep, combined with his gentle warmth and smell had been grounding.
But then he’d fallen into a deep sleep that had transported him back to Cazador’s palace, and once again touches had felt like shards of glass on his skin.
He’d only been out of the palace for a few days.
He knew it would take a long time to catch up on centuries of missed rest and process two-hundred years of suffering. He knew that. And yet, he was furious that he had to at all.
Looking over at the stairs to the basement, he wanted to watch the wizard work, but things were still feeling a bit off, so he decided to stay above ground.
He looked across the room to see the fabrics he’d purchased the night before. Now that was something he could do. He just needed- shit. He was still missing supplies. He’d have to bother Gale after all.
Going down the stairs half expecting to see glowing runes, and crackling lightning, instead he saw Gale sitting at a makeshift desk, reading and taking notes.
Hearing the stairs creak, he looked up from his reading with a questioning expression.
“I was wondering if you might have a few supplies.”
“I might, what do you need?”
“Chalk and some shears.”
The materials floated Astarion’s way. Looking over the edge of the scissors he grimaced. “And a whet stone?”
Gale gave a friendly nod, and that floated over as well. Seeing they’d landed in Astarion’s hands safely he turned back to his work.
Astarion returned up the stairs to work.
~*~
An excerpt from Wandering the Broken Weave
I write this from a small village north of our old lands. I am finally far enough from home that the hordes of refugees are far behind me, and the cities less disrupted. From here I can begin to take stock of what we lost.
I’m lucky to be alive. I’d been working in solitude in the mountains when Karsus seized the power of Mystryl. The great and powerful fool had reached too far, and now we are limited with the scraps of what remains.
The Mythallar all failed and our cities, including my home, fell from the sky. For millennia the weave had been as solid as the ground beneath our feet. As predictable as the flow of rivers toward the sea.
That new goddess, Mystra, has limited our access to spells. There will be no more Mythallar created, no more great workings by anyone. Blessedly the Mythallar that were not destroyed by collapsing cities still remain. But they are few, and one has already vanished to the Shadowfell.
I have lost all but one of my undead servants. This one who contains my greatest experiment, the very project I was working on when the Weave collapsed.
With the newly arisen ‘goddess of magic’ and her rules against high magic, this prototype is now the only of its kind.
I will be able to make no more attempts. I need a place to work, to experiment, and to keep hidden. I will begin the search in the coming days.
In the meantime I need a much better way of preserving my magnum opus. Since the collapse of the weave fuelling it, it has become insatiably hungry. I know not if the target of its hunger is such because of what carries it, or the nature of its caster. Either way I will undoubtably end up calling attention to myself as things are. And with a world desperate for that which was lost, I would surely be overwhelmed with those who sought to take it.
Still, it is a fragment of what was, and a potential font of power. Were I to harness it, it’s possible I could remake Netheril once more.
~*~
Gale was moving between the journals and the spell books.
The journals were clearly rebound after they were finished, and significantly older than the spellbooks.
Inside the Codex Anima Gale found some spells he knew, and many he did not, but most he’d heard of. As he got the chance to dive into them he was sure these had been the possession of Shradin Mulophor. This was definitely the spellbook of a Netherese necromancer, and one who had survived until a mere century ago.
The Codex Fracti was very interesting. Inside were spells that were unknown, or their descriptions did not match their current function. At first, Gale thought these must have been spells that Shradin had known before the fall of Netheril, but it contained others as well. Inside were the spells themselves and notes of when the spells ceased to function. In the early pages, it contained a bare few extremely high level spells. Then, later, there were short notations on how the common names of spells had changed. In an entry marked with the year 5217 NY things suddenly changed, and the list of broken spells expanded exponentially.
Gale leaned back, 5217 NY in Dale Reconning was… 1358. That was the same year as the Avatar Crisis, and what Gale now knew was the year that Mystra died.
As he examined the list of spells closer, he found each had a corresponding indexed page in the Modus per Immorti book as well. Flipping through that book he discovered something else.
Shradin had known about the Orb’s ability to revive dead spells.
His methods to do so were incredibly circuitous. He would impart the Orb into one of his undead, then lend out the undead to local merchants where it would kill a number of beings at their behest. Upon returning, if it had killed enough he could use the Orb’s energy and one of its abilities to have the undead creature cast it. If it hadn’t, he would have to send it out again.
In the earlier days he’d tried to do the killing himself, but he despised the risk to his immortal life, and didn’t like that it brought the attention of ‘self-righteous adventurers.’
The necromancer’s notes confirmed how risky the whole procedure was, and how rarely he would choose to use it. He had done extensive tests to see if any of the process could be shortened, but ran into insurmountable obstacles. If he imparted it into an intelligent undead it could be stolen. He was not a lich and had not attempted lichdom, so could not contain it himself.
Or so he thought.
Gale rubbed the mark of The Orb in his chest.
Gale would be the one to kill the creatures. Gale would be the one to channel the spells. It made the process much more streamlined, but also meant that he himself became the ticking time-bomb, and deadly on contact.
He caught himself taking shallow, clenched breaths. He closed his eyes inhaling deeply and then exhaling slowly.
Now was not the time to worry about that last part.
He looked over at the Tara skeleton on a nearby table. A necromancer’s book offered hope to be able to do what he currently could not.
Flipping through the pages, he found a number of very interesting spells that he might be able to use, but the adjoining notes told him just how many lives The Orb would need to cast them. Numbers included 64, 32, and even a few as high as 512 lives.
But there was one that only required 4: Summon Undead Familiar.
Looking through the spell, it was not terribly high level, and was meant to be used on the remains of an intelligent creature. The spell expected the caster to apply it to a humanoid being like an elf, gnome or human, but there was nothing about it that required the bipedal configuration. What was better, was because he’d spent centuries with the beings who he referred to as ‘the skulls’ he’d found a way to bypass the loss of intelligence that often came with undeath.
He looked again at the gleaming skeleton he’d created.
This was it.
He could bring her back.
Notes:
This story is getting complicated behind the scenes. That said we were back to exploring feelings and big lore dump. If you made it this far in the story you likely don’t mind these kinds of chapters, but we’ll be cycling back toward more action soon for those of you who like that sort of thing too.
Chapter 26: Welcome Back
Summary:
Hello again old friend.
Chapter Text
Astarion was upstairs using the dining table to draft out a pattern for some clothes.
He liked the fabrics he’d purchased, but that tailor had no idea how to make something with enough flair. In fact, Astarion was sure that no one in Baldur’s Gate had any idea how. The fashions these days just weren’t as good as those that had been in vogue when he was alive.
He’d been making and mending clothes for himself for so long, he didn’t need anything other than a bit of chalk to arrange things and line up any brocade in the fabric.
As he relaxed into the task at hand his mind wandered. His thoughts went back to how it had felt to sleep against someone warm. Someone whose smells, and sounds made him feel good. Safe.
He leaned over the table, stretching himself across the fabric as he drew his pattern.
He tucked his lower lip behind a fang as he focused. His fang pricked his lip just slightly, and he tasted blood.
This caused him to pause. The hunger never really went away. He wanted blood. Real blood. Not just cows and pigs.
His hunger said it needed something better. More.
How might Gale’s taste?
The chalk broke.
A quick breath in, then a slow breath out.
He was living comfortably. He had all the blood he could drink, and it came from healthy and clean animals. He was fine. He didn’t need anything else.
He removed the broken piece of chalk from the fabric, and continued to work on his pattern.
He’d never been able to have anyone at all.
Maybe he could go out and taste someone else.
No.
Too many monster hunters about. It wasn’t worth it.
Maybe if he could prove it was a ne’er do well?
He continued this newer train of thought. He fantasized about finding someone attacking a helpless villager, when he appeared out of the dark and consumed the assailant.
That Wyll fellow, and all the Gur wouldn’t be able to question the merits of what he did. No, they would praise him.
He let himself continue down this fantasy of being able to feast on real human blood without the threat of a stake to the heart, when he heard a thud from the basement, and a muffled shout.
He dropped the nub of chalk.
~*~
In the basement, Gale had been doing calculations based on Shradin’s notes. He’d killed 6 people, and many dozens of animals. The animals, according to his tables didn’t offer much in the way of energy for the spells. It was sentient life that fed The Orb enough to fuel spells.
The notes were clear. For every spell level, the number of lives needed increased by a square of 2. A first level spell needed one life, A second level spell needed two, but a third level spell needed four, and so on.
Summon undead familiar would be a 3rd level spell. He could do it. He could bring her back. Tonight.
Laying out the materials needed he drew the summoning circle, laid out the platinum bones, and found the spell components necessary.
There wasn’t much to it, really.
Well, there was one thing. Channeling weave inside The Orb instead of Mystra’s.
He read further into Shradin’s notes. He had ways of channeling spells through his undead, but this would be much different.
For this he would have to find out himself.
After everything was laid out exactly where it should be, Gale sat on the floor. Feet tucked underneath himself, hands resting on his thighs.
He closed his eyes, felt the crunch of dirt under his knees as he shifted his weight, and brought his attention inward.
With the help of whatever Elminster had done, as soon as he focused on The Orb, his mind lit up with awareness.
Later the best he would be able to describe was that he ‘saw’ scintillating energy, and ‘heard’ a sound not unlike an orchestra warming up. Untold potential, currently disorganized.
He furrowed his brow as he examined the energy inside. No, not disorganized. That word suggested there was something wrong with it. This was disorganized the way that life in a coral reef was disorganized, or sounds of the thousands of birds of the forest were disorganized.
Inside the confines of The Orb, the weave was free.
He reached for the energy and it leaped to him, dancing out to his fingertips.
As he explored this energy, he practiced some movements. The energy stretched, drawing ribbons as his hands moved through the air.
This was so unlike the weave he’d known. Mystra’s weave was like strings of a lute, plucked to make music. This weave, Mystryl’s weave, could be both shaped and played. Here he was both the luthier and the player.
The power filled him, it’s abilities were limitless.
It was intoxicating.
He allowed the weave he’d drawn to return to the orb for now.
The room seemed to echo in the silence left behind.
As he sat, he was reminded of the old story of the men in the cave.
The story goes that three men lived chained in a cave all their lives, and saw nothing but the shadows of light on the wall. One escapes and sees the world as it is, and when he attempts to free the others, they don’t understand what he’s describing. The only thing they knew were the shadows.
He idly touched Mystra’s weave. It felt so thin and rigid in comparison. A fragment of what now existed inside him.
He cast a quick cantrip, in the way he always had. The weave still felt beautiful, the song resonating into a spell was sweet. But it was so much less than what he’d just experienced.
He took a deep breath and began the spell to summon Tara.
Pulling on Mystryl’s weave once again, he concentrated on transforming it’s essence into the aura he’d seen on the books. The ‘color’ of the first Mystra. It twisted itself easily into the form he desired, and then he began the rest of the spell.
In front of him the platinum bones began to glow with a blue light. His hands moved, braiding the weave and creating a conduit to the Tara’s spirit.
He almost felt the galloping paws and flapping wings of an approaching tressim.
Without the problem of creating a living body the spell was able to continue. The Orb did not consume it.
His throat tightened at the thought of finally seeing her again.
She was coming.
The spell completed and the bones continued to shine.
Her soul was here.
“Tara?”
There was the tinkling sound of metal striking stone, as the skeleton shook and rattled. The bones began to rise from the ground and assemble themselves into the shape of a Tressym. Of Tara.
The skeleton sat daintily at the center of the circle.
The skull, eye sockets alight with a blue glow, examined a skeletal paw then looked up at him.
She spoke to him through their telepathic connection. Mr. Dekarios? What is this? What have you done?
She spun around, looking at the rest of her skeletal form before stopping and pawing at her skeletal face.
Mr. Dekarios, this should not be…
“Tara, I’m so sorry. This was the only way to summon you.” He had worried about this. This was an insult, a blasphemy. “I can- I can let you go.”
The skeleton leapt from the ground onto his chest. It pushed him down with a heft greater than the bones alone should have.
On his back he looked up at her. Glowing sockets inches from his face.
You will explain some things.
He nodded.
You killed me.
“I did. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know.”
You didn’t summon me back.
“I couldn’t! Every living thing I touch dies. The spell wouldn’t work.”
You’ve brought me back as a construct.
“Yes, I needed a way to summon you, and found a spell to summon you as undead.” Her glowing sockets stared into his eyes. “I’m so sorry. If its anathema to you. I’ll unsummon you immediately. It’s just-“ he looked away “I missed you.”
She stood frozen on his chest, seeming to think something over. Finally her posture seemed to relax.
Oh, Mr. Dekarios! She head-butted him on the chin. I don’t like it, but undeath is a price I’ll pay to be back with you.
A tear fell from the corner of his eye. He tried to hug her. It was a bit like hugging a candelabra, but with a funny amount of springiness to it.
She kneaded his chest with her sharp talons. Her bones tinkled against each other. She was purring.
He reached up at touched her shining skull, she leaned into it. “Tara, there is just so much to tell you.”
He began to try and explain when the squeak of the stairs called both of their attention. Astarion was peering down from the upper steps.
“Astarion!” Gale called.
Tara sniffed the air and hissed.
Gale put a hand on her honey shoulders. “Shh… It’s alright. He’s a friend.”
He’s a vampire Mr. Dekarios.
“And you’re a skeleton. Neither of you chose such a state of being. Please.”
She relaxed a bit, but she kept her eyes on the vampire at the stairs. Moving as though she was shaking out her fur coat, she cast Speak with Humanoid on herself.
She spoke, it sounded a bit far away. “Apologies. Mr….”
“Ancunín.” He was wide eyed, not sure what he was seeing.
She nodded. Then leaped off of Gale’s chest onto the floor, bones chiming.
She looked over at her wing bones, tentatively flapped them, then rose in the air to examine the man on the stairs.
“Ah, good. I’m glad these still work. Now, let me have a look at you.” She hovered near Astarion’s face, examining him closely.
“You have chalk dust on your fingers. Are you a spell caster?”
“No….Just tailoring.” She cocked her head, seeming to wait for an explanation. “I’m not a tailor. Just was tailoring.”
Mr. Dekarios, I think we have a lot to talk about.
This time he replied mentally as well. And I am more than happy to tell you all about it.
-
Once introductions had been made, Tara had decided that fretting over Gale was the top priority, completely ignoring the vampire in the room.
Initially Astarion had tried to be unobtrusive and continue working at the table, but found he was far to distracted by what was going on next to him. Gale seemed to be conscientious that Astarion might want to know what they were talking about, but Tara had no compunctions. He was able to piece together some parts of the conversation from the half he could hear, but some remained opaque.
Tara seemed angry about something. She was pacing back and forth.
“Yes, I- Well, Elminster put a stop to it didn’t he?… I’m not making excuses. Nothing bad happened anyway, so it’s not such a-… Well YOU kill your best friend and then live in solitude for a year and see how well you-…”
Astarion listened to Gale’s lone heart rate in the room. As Tara paced faster and Gale reported some incident that happened back in Waterdeep, he could hear increasing stress. Apparently Tara was also experienced at reading Gale because at about that time she relented and stopped her interrogation.
“And you’re not mad that you’re a skeleton? I am sorry you know. Apparently summoning counts as touching, and since I kill everything I touch.” He shrugged. She put her paws up on his chest and he hugged her boney form. “Yes, agreed. As soon as we get you a living body again, I promise we’ll go out pigeon hunting.”
The evening had thoroughly set in, and it was time once again to eat. Gale began to cook up some sausages and potatoes, and Astarion helped himself to some blood. It was lamb this time. It tasted like summer pastures and cool spring water.
As they were about to eat there was a knock at the door. Tara jumped onto Gale’s shoulder and Astarion had a listen. He heard the rumble of an infernal engine.
“It’s Karlach.”
Gale nodded, and opened the door.
In walked Karlach and Wyll. She was beaming with a huge smile on her face.
“Guess who can touch people now!” She ran up to grab Gale, before he cast shield and jumped back. “Oh, right. I forgot there were two reasons why I couldn’t touch you.” She turned and scooped up Astarion before he could protest, squeezing him tight. He heard his joints crack. She was still exeediingly warm, but now much more like being near a hearthfire, and less like an inferno.
When she set him down, she noticed the distressed grimace on his face. “Oh, sorry… I’m just so excited. It’s been ten years.” Astarion opened his mouth to make a cutting reply when she intterrupted. Sniffing the air she all but shouted “Oh my gods, that smells so good.”
Gale smiled, “Would you like some? I can toss more on the stove.” She smiled happily and sat.
Wyll for his part had hung back a moment, and was watching Tara with curiosity. She was watching him intently from Gale’s shoulder.
Gale turned, having ‘heard’ something from Tara through their connection. “Hmm? Oh yes. You’re right I do have strange bedfellows these days. I promise he’s a chivalrous devil.”
Wyll raised an eyebrow with that but bowed deeply to the Tressym.
Karlach sat in a chair, still beaming with delight. “You know food’s been turning to ash in my mouth for ten years? No idea how I’m not dead. Some kind of sick joke I’m sure, but now I can EAT!”
Gale smiled bringing over a heaping plate of food. “Then it is my pleasure to feed you.”
She seemed ready to go after the food with her hands before noticing the fork and knife being offered by Gale.
She stabbed a sausage with a fork and took a bite.
She moaned, turning eveyrone’s heads in her direction. “FUCKING HELLS! this is DELICIOUS!” She took another huge bite, cheeks puffing like a chipmonk’s.
Wyll sat down next to her. “As you can guess we met that Dammon fellow today. He had enough tools in his forge, he not just stabilized her engine, he reduced the amount of heat its putting out.” He smiled at Karlach’s delighted face. “It’s still not a permanent fix, but it’s clearly a huge improvement.”
Karlach nodded, spearing a roasted potato.
Gale moved to leave the room and work on his meal himself, before turning to Tara. “Oh? Well thank you very much! I appreciate the gesture. I’ll be sure to fill you in on anything you miss. Thank you very much.”
Tara flew away into the kitchen, using a mage hand to push the door out of her way.
After Tara left the room, Wyll asked “And that is?…”
“My familiar Tara, my predicament meant that I needed to be creative in resummoning her. She’s been very accommodating in accepting her current form.”
Wyll nodded. “She can join the ‘nefarious appearance’ club with the rest of us.”
Astarion chimed in “Beg your pardon, it’s not my appearance that makes me nefarious. My appearance is stunning.”
Wyll smiled, tipping his chin in agreement.
“Oh, speaking of beautiful appearances, we managed to procure tickets to Cazador’s gala.” Wyll reached into a pocket pulling out beautifully printed invitations.
“I just wish we knew why Gortash was involved. I had to go through some of my old contacts within the patriars, and they had no idea.”
A flash of fire and sulphur filled the air.
A resonant voice filled the air.
Thou knowest not as ye sit and wait,
While a cosmic rivalry seals thy fate.
Listen close and listen well
To the tale of Raphael
Notes:
I was bummed to miss y’all for over a week. Life got stressful (my job has been trying to get around paying me for my labor MULTIPLE times over the last few weeks. I’ve had to battle it out citing statutes etc. It’s been wild. Have no fear, I’m also part of a unionization effort. ✊)
Hopefully this chapter is worth the wait!
Thanks everyone who has given kudos and commented. It warms my stressed-out heart!
-Martlet
Chapter 27: Things move along
Notes:
Special chapter warning: Suicidal ideation.
See end notes for details.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When the sulphureous smoke cleared there was a well dressed man standing in the center of the room.
Wyll’s hand reached for the sword at his belt, Astarion moved to the shadows holding his shears like a dagger, and Gale readied a spell.
Karlach, for her part, made no move.
“Fuck off devil. I’m eating my first real dinner in ages, and your stink is not welcome.”
His voice was melodramatic, as though he was on a stage. “Now, now, is that any way to speak to a benefactor?” He looked over at the men in the room. “Surely one of you is reasonable.”
Karlach rolled her eyes and continued eating. Wyll and Gale made no move to relax or to speak.
“Alright. Out with it. Why are you here?” Astarion pushed away from the wall, tucking the scissors into a pocket with a flourish.
The devil smiled. “Ah, some civility. Glad to see someone here has some sense.” He turned to Astarion, ignoring the others for the moment. “I’ve been watching you four for some time. With today’s events complete, I think you may have potential.”
None moved to speak. Then, after waiting a moment, the devil sighed. “I am Raphael, and I believe our purposes align, though you are all so ignorant you don’t even know what your purpose is.”
He pointed to each person in the room. “You-“ finger pointed at Astarion “Desire to end your vampire master.” To Karlach “You, desire revenge on Enver Gortash.” He looked at both. “Neither have any idea how to do it.”
“Those two have a rather simple problem, but the others are not-so-easy and entirely clueless.” To Wyll he said “You desire to rescue the fair people of Baldur’s Gate, though you don’t yet realize they’re imperiled.” And to Gale “And you wish to complete the orders of your goddess without self-annihilation, though you don’t even know what she wants you to do.”
Wyll and Karlach to turned to Gale in confusion. Astarion tried and failed to cover a grimace upon hearing ‘your goddess.’
Gale couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes at that moment.
Seeing the reactions in the room Raphael smiled. “Aww… still keeping secrets from one another I see.”
Karlach finished chewing her food. “Alright devil, we get it, you’re terribly conniving. Get to the part where you offer us a deal, so we can refuse and you can fuck off.”
Rafael’s voice dripped in condescension “Now now, Ms. Cliffgate, just because you don’t want what I have to offer, doesn’t mean your companions share your lack of sense.” He turned to Astarion. “You, in particular, are in need of information. You don’t even know what you carry with you.”
Astarion’s eyes narrowed. Raphael walked over to him. When Raphael stood just a handful of inches from Astarion’s face, he ran his fingers along the scars on his back. Whispering into his ear “Your lord has inscribed quite the promise in that lovely back of yours.”
For an unguarded moment Astarion’s eyes reflected earnest fear. “…What?”
Turning back to the rest of the room Raphael’s voice rang out. “See what I mean? You didn’t even know to ask about it. How would any of you possibly succeed when you are this ignorant.”
He looked at Wyll. “I know this lad has some sense. He’s seen the wisdom in making deals with devils before.” He locked eyes with Wyll. “I can enlighten you as to the depths of conspiracy and danger the people of Baldur’s gate are facing.” He stepped closer. “If you fail your entire city is lost. You’ve made worse deals for less.”
He turned away, raising his eyebrows in smug assuredness. “But, that all requires you to make it worth my while. I am a deeply generous devil, but I do not hand out knowledge for free. Come find me in the Sharess’ Caress when you’ve seen sense and are ready to make a deal.”
He stared directly at Astarion with a predatory grin, before he snapped his fingers and vanishing.
“Ugh, what a fucking asshole.” Karlach grimaced. “Devils. Always speaking in riddles, always tempting with what you want and never delivering what you need. Ignore him.”
Gale looked over at Astarion whose eyes were unfocused. One of his hands was twitching like he was holding back from doing something.
The four stood in silence a moment, when Tara returned with a heaping plate of food floating atop a Mage Hand.
I’ve returned with more supper Mr. Dekarios!
They all turned to look at her. What? What happened? She sniffed the air. My goodness Mr. Dekarios. What kind of fiend was here?
The Mage Hand deposited the tray of food onto the table, and she flew up and hopped on his shoulder.
Gale spoke. “Let’s all sit shall we? Karlach and Wyll, help yourselves to more. Astarion, I’ll grab you something as well. And while I’m at it I’ll grab some wine.” He glanced at Karlach. “And beer. I feel like we have a lot to talk about.”
-
The five talked late into the night. Initially Tara had tried to stick to just making side comments to Gale, but couldn’t help but join the full conversation.
“So, Gortash and two others have been doing a deal with Szarr? Did you ever overhear any of the negotiations?” Wyll was looking thoughtful.
“No.” Astarion was trying very much not to remember anything from the nights Gortash visited the palace. The chill that came with that single word did not go unnoticed by the others. They let the issue drop.
“Alright. So Gortash plus two others have been visiting the Szarr manor, and for some reason this combination, and us five working together has caught the eye of a devil.” He looked over at Karlach. “Stands to reason that this is also related to why Mizora and Azariel want us involved as well.” He looked over at Gale to hear his thoughts.
“It’s a bit of a logical leap, but not an unmerited one. Too many devils have appeared for it to be a coincidence.”
Wyll didn’t take his eyes off of the wizard. “Doesn’t give us an answer for why you’re involved. Raphael certainly seems to think it’s related to whatever your business is.”
Gale shifted in his chair, uneasy.
Karlach put down a mug of beer heavily. “Out with it, soldier. You’ve been leaving out something important. If we’re to work together, we need to be honest with what we’re working with.”
Gale paused, clearing his throat. Astarion chimed in before he could speak. “His bitch of a goddess wants him to sacrifice himself for something.” Gale’s eyes snapped over to the elf. “He’s got a piece of the original goddess of magic lodged in his chest, and she’s a bit jealous. Wants to kill two birds with one stone. Destroy the fragment, and the man who had the audacity to make her feel inferior to something. All under the guise of doing what’s necessary.”
Gale’s mouth was partly open ready to rebut, but Astarion turned to him. “Where’s the lie wizard? An all powerful goddess needs a mortal to blow himself up to prevent something? In her great wisdom that’s the best she could come up with? No. She wants to be rid of you.”
Gale closed his mouth. Eyes searching Astarion’s before quickly acquitting himself of the room.
Tara’s eyes followed Gale, but she stayed behind. Once he was gone she leaped to the table, getting as close as she could to Astarion.
“With your permission, I’d like for you to tell me a lot more about this.”
-
After more discussion, Karlach and Wyll left. They’d had a very long day, and though Karlach wanted to continue to enjoy ale and food, the night had grown late and it was time to rest.
Astarion had shared more of what he knew, but had stopped short at showing his scars to the pair. He let them know that Cazador had inscribed ‘something’ on his back, and had called it poetry. Seeing how he felt about it, both Karlach and Wyll had had the sense not to ask him to disrobe and show them. They could wait.
The house now empty of guests, Astarion went up the stairs to find Gale. He wasn’t in their shared bedroom, nor the bath. He was in one of the other rooms they’d never fixed up, sitting in a dilapidated chair. He seemed to have been staring off at nothing before Astarion appeared in the doorway. Tinkling up the stairs behind him Tara followed, and passed his ankles to approach the wizard. Noticing them both he leaned back, making space in his lap for the tressym. She jumped up and settled in.
“Gale?” Astarion didn’t make a move to get any closer.
Gale shut his eyes, hugging the boney form of Tara, and turned away.
The trio were silent for a long moment.
Tara spoke first. “Were you considering doing what Mystra instructed? Is that why you’re upset?”
Gale shook his head.
“Good.” She bumped him with her head.
He pushed a palm into one of his eyes. “My entire life, my entire life, was crafted around Mystra. To hear it summed up so flippantly is hard.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I know she’s a mere replacement of another goddess. She’s an ascended human plucked to fill a gap. She’s flawed. But… if I accept all that about her, then what does that make me?”
Astarion sighed and leaned against the doorframe. “I’m not anyone’s idea of a counselor, but everything you said just now says great things about your loyalty, and damning things about her manipulation.”
Gale clutched Tara closer and slouched. “I gave up everything to be what she wanted me to be. I thought the greatest thing I could be is someone worthy of her affections. That the highest accomplishment of my life would be to make her proud.” He shook his head. “Now I see that I invested all my heart and soul into a false premise.” He looked down at an empty bit of floor. “It seems somehow worse to be rejected by a charlatan pretending to be an ancient goddess. I feel twice the fool.”
Astarion paused. “How young were you when she started all this with you?”
Gale didn’t respond.
Tara chimed in. “Nine. Mr. Dekarios was nine.”
Both men grimaced, possibly for different reasons. Astarion nodded and continued, “You were not a fool to be swept up in her machinations. You were a child. Mortals with nefarious ends succeed at manipulating chlldren all the time. A little boy pitted against a universally famed goddess? Even the most brilliant child wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
Gale nodded. He rubbed his forehead with a hand. After a few moments he said, “I think I’d like to be alone.”
Astarion pushed off of the doorframe. “Alright. I’ll head out for a while. Dawn is a few hours away yet.” He made eye contact with Tara, and gave a nod, passing off the emotional care of the wizard to her.
He paused as he departed to say one more thing. “You were targeted because of your outstanding qualities and a goddess had to stoop to manipulating you when you were most vulnerable. That is not the sign of someone who is weak.” He looked over the deminished form of Gale, before tapping the doorframe and departing.
-
Astarion headed out into the night. The hour was late, but dawn was still hours away. He began walking down the road, with no particular destination in mind.
He listened to the heartbeats around him. Most were the tiny heartbeats of vermin, which he dismissed. But as he passed houses, the muffled and slow heartbeats of sleeping humans just inside the walls lit up a predatory impulse in himself. He grimaced, stuffed his hands in his pockets and continued walking.
Distracted by the thirst, he was surprised when he found himself outside the Sharess’ Caress. What was even more surprising was who else he stumbled upon.
Wyll was in an argument with a tall and arrogant readheaded woman.
Astarion was still too far away for any human to detect him in the dark. So he leaned into the shadows and listened into their conversation.
“-And I’m telling you NOT to go in there. Don’t waste your time with that pitiful insult to cambions everywhere. He’s a pathetic boy who is desperate for daddy’s attention.” She tapped her chin. “I suppose that means you have something in common.” Wyll grimaced. “Still, he’s not worth your time.”
The door to the Sharess’ Caress opened.
“Speak of the devil.” The woman said flatly.
Raphael stepped out through the shadowy entry. “Mizora, dear. Now now is that any way to treat an old friend. Why, we’re practically neighbors in Avernus.”
He wrapped an arm around Wyll’s shoulder. “I have no intention of taking this fine lad away from you. I just thought to make a bargain with him. Don’t worry, his soul is still all yours.”
Wyll pushed out of Raphael’s embrace. Mizora grabbed him by the elbow.
“No, no. Neither of you get to decide how this works. Come along Wyll, I have news to impart to you anyway.” She dragged Wyll away, glaring at Raphael over her shoulder. The devil just smiled in return.
Astarion was a bit torn as to whether or not he should intervene as he watched Wyll be dragged off by the woman he now understood to be his warlock patron. Wyll’s placid if annoyed expression told him the young man had things well enough in hand, so he decided to remain where he was.
Once Mizora and Wyll were out of sight, Raphael turned his eyes to the deep shadows where Astarion was hiding. “Come out little mouse.” As Astarion slipped out into the light Raphael continued. “…Or should I say rat. You are what you eat, after all.”
Astarion wore a neutral expression. “I see you know much about me.” Raphael bowed his head slightly. “So, what can you tell me about what Cazador did to my back.”
Raphael shook his head. “You know how this works. You do something for me, and then I give you information.”
Putting a hand on his hip, Astarion rolled his eyes. “How could I possibly trust that you have anything useful to tell me. There are plenty of details that you could impart that would offer me nothing useful.”
“Alright, clever rat. How about this. You know devils keep our sides of the deal. It’s only the foolishness of mortals who don’t read the fine print that gets anyone in trouble. So I will tell you truthfully that my knowledge of what is on your back will keep you alive. Play your cards right and it will even grant you the ability to walk the sun again.”
Astarion stood silently taking in that last statement. “You have my attention.”
A predatory smile spread across Raphael’s face. “Very good. All I need from you is one little death. There’s a priest who needs to die. You kill the priest, and I’ll tell you what you need to hear.”
Astarion’s eyes went flat with disappointment. “No. I do what you want and you tell me everything you know.”
“You really are a clever creature. Alright, you kill the priest and I’ll tell you everything I know about those scars of yours.”
Astarion rolled his eyes. “You keep trying to weedle out of your side of the bargain I’ll just be going.”
“Fine, fine. Nothing slips by you. You kill the priest and I’ll tell you everything I know about those scars of yours, and everything related to them that could benefit you in any way.”
“There we are, now we’re getting closer. Let us continue-”
~*~
Tara spent some more time with Gale before he left for his bed. Now alone, she paced the house.
She had gone from the dulcet bliss of a demi plane of spirits, to quite the situation. She had always had disdain for bells on collars, and now her whole body chimed. Worse, she wouldn’t be hunting any pigeons for a long while. Still, she was glad to be back. She’d been worried about her wizard.
She shook her head. They just weren’t meant to live without a caretaker.
So, she would make the best of things. First thing’s first, she wanted to see how much she could manipulate the way her body organized itself. So, while her human rested she found herself a quiet place and began to experiment.
-
In a different part of the home Gale lay in his bed. He stared at the ceiling running back the years he’d spent with Mystra.
He remembered the first night she’d taken him to the Astral Plane. How she’d ignored his pleas to go home.
At the time he’d thought she was right to push him out of his comfort zone. That he had to show her that he was a ‘man’ and that he was ‘brave.’ Now he just saw an older woman ignoring his wants and desires to enforce her own.
She’d kidnapped him to a different reality, and then demanded affection from him.
He felt sick.
He’d heard what Astarion had said to him before he left, but he couldn’t help but believe he was a pitiful fool. Manipulated by someone greater than himself to suit their desires until he was no longer useful.
He tensed a fist, and squeezed his eyes shut. Every single being he’d ever encountered, save his mother and Tara, saw him the same way. A tool, kept around until no longer useful, then cast aside for something better. Even the goddess who had singled him out, told him of his greatness, and bedded him, turned out to see him as disposable.
He let out a shaky breath. A mother and a familiar. Not much to show for a lifetime’s efforts.
He was nearly forty. How long should you let a losing streak continue before you quit playing?
He forced out a wet laugh. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he did what Mystra had suggested. Not to please her, but to end a life of constant failure.
He would never win, but maybe he could lose in such a way that he left the world a better place.
Notes:
In the last segment, after Tara goes off to try to understand her situation better Gale spirals and considers his life a failure. His train of thought ends with a decision that he may as well detonate the orb, since that would end his cycle of abandonment. Read with care.
-
Thanks everyone for your kind comments last chapter! I love hearing what stands out to you. It helps me learn how people see and interpret what I put down on the page. So cool that the creative process can be a dialogue. <3
Chapter 28: A Quiet Day
Summary:
Things are quiet around the tumbled down house.
Chapter Text
When Astarion returned to the house, all was quiet. He silently climbed the stairs and entered the bedroom where Gale already slept.
Climbing onto his own mattress, he turned to look at the sleeping figure next to him. Gale’s heart rate was slow, as a sleeper’s should be, but his forehead was furrowed. Troubles had followed him into his dreams.
He chewed on the inside of his lip, considering the wizard.
Astarion knew what it was like to have your entire existence shaped to fit someone else’s desires. But Mystra hadn’t just done that, she’d made him believe that he should be grateful to hand over his entire life.
The night was warm and sweat was starting to bead on Gale’s forehead. Astarion placed fingers gingerly on his temple. The light touch caused Gale’s forehead and jaw to relax, and his breathing settled into something deeper and slower.
He left his hand there for a little while.
-
Astarion awoke long before Gale, so he went down the stairs to ‘have breakfast.’
Seeing nothing else to do he took out his sewing supplies and began to work.
A few hours later, Gale came down the stairs, took a piece of bread and continued to the basement. He said nothing.
Time passed and late afternoon turned to evening. Astarion had been able to complete cutting out the fabric, and had begun basting layers together.
Gale still hadn’t come upstairs again.
Tara’s tinkling sound approached as she padded past him. She was using Mage Hand to carry a cup of wine from the kitchen back to the basement.
“Tara?”
“Yes, Mr. Ancunín?”
“Is Gale doing alright? He’s usually more social than this.”
“He is?”
“Well… yes. In my experience.”
She turned and jumped on the table, taking care not to step on anything important. She looked to him expectantly.
Astarion felt awkward under her glowing, unblinking, gaze. “Ehmm… Well, he’s a talker isn’t he? He likes to chat with, well, everyone.”
She cocked her head. “In my experience, Mr. Dekarios keeps to himself. He talks to his mother, Mystra, and me. Occasionally he has business with Elminster, the other chosen, or the faculty at Blackstaff, but that’s fairly rare.”
That made no sense. “Has he always been like that?”
She paused for a moment. Thinking. “I suppose not. He was quite chatty when he was young. But that’s how human children are, isn’t it? After a point he decided to keep to his own company.”
Astarion nodded, looking toward the basement stairs. Gale could have been accurately described as loquacious by everyone who knew him in Baldur’s Gate. Why was he so different?
“Is that- was that what he prefers?”
She pondered a moment. “Sometimes? He has always been prone to fits of melancholy.”
Astarion kept his eyes on the basement stairs for a while. “Tara, love, do you mind if I bring that wine downstairs?”
The mage hand swept in front of him, in silent offering. “Be my guest. I will be working on some strategies for going out while I’m glowing, noisy and undead.”
He scooped up the cup of wine, and went through the kitchen to get one for himself.
Both cups of wine in hand, he entered the basement.
~*~
An excerpt from Shradin Mulophor’s Diary he titled Before the Fall
Last month I had to travel from the enclave, and it was an exhausting experience. Not only did I lose access from the city’s Mythallar to aid in spell casting but, of course, it meant that none of my enchanted items linked to it worked. I would have to leave all of my apparatuses behind and do my observations with crude methodologies. Perhaps worse, I had to waste countless spells just to maintain my standard of living!
I was able to achieve my goal of gathering exotic corpses and skeletons to use in my necromantic studies, but it got me thinking. Our Netherese Mythallar are themselves engineered facimiles of the elven Mythals. Would it be possible to design a more compact format? Their current massive size and dangerous properties means that, even in the unlikely situation of a wizard procure one for personal use, it has no portability. I cannot identify a single case of a mythallar being used as anything other then the central locus of a city, because they aren’t portable enough for much else.
If one could engineer a portable mythallar then it would be possible for a wizard to take demi-magical items with them while away from an enclave, and cast and maintain much more powerful spells.
The way I see the issue there are two major obstacles to overcome. First is the size. It would need to be something that was small enough to fit in a wagon. It would be even better if it was able to be carried on a person. The second is its lethality. While feasible to isolate such an object while traveling. If one would encounter real danger while transiting the wilds of Faerûn, it wouldn’t do to be killed by one’s tool while having to maneuver it through difficult situations.
Both of these solutions would likely limit its power, and certainly any demi-magical objects attuned to it would likely have a much more limited range.
Below are some preliminary calculations of power. As you can see I am presuming the area of effect will obey the rule of inverse squares…
~*~
Astarion entered the basement cautiously. He saw Gale hunched over his work. Ancient tome on the left, and a notebook with translations on the right. From somewhere on his person he had produced reading glasses, though that didn’t prevent him from hunching over as he worked.
“Gale, darling, how goes your studies?”
He received no response. He approached more closely.
“Gale!”
The mage startled, looking up. “Oh, Hello Astarion, how can I help you?” He reached out for a proffered glass of wine.
“Just coming down to say hello. How goes your work?”
Gale looked down. “Oh! It’s been fascinating, Shradin Mulophor seems to have been working on creating a portable Mythallar. I dare say it is quite possible that whatever the fruits of his studies were is currently lodged in my chest.”
“Mythallar?”
“It’s like a power source. A font of weave that can be tapped into. It is impossible to create now. Not only did they require many high level mages to create, but also the spell required to make them is forbidden by both Mystras. Whether or not he achieved the production of a smaller incarnation of such a device is difficult to say. What I am sure of is that whatever he achieved is what I now carry with me.”
“Interesting.”
Gale nodded, and turned back to his research.
“Gale?”
“Oh, right. Sorry. Thank you for the wine.” He didn’t look up.
Astarion stood looking over Gale’s shoulder for a few moments. The wizard did not acknowledge him again. He moved back to the stairs, but instead of going back up, Astarion sat down and watched him work.
Gale was working hard, but he didn’t seem to be enjoying himself. Not in the same way Astarion had seen him before. As he worked, he rubbed his brow, pinched the bridge of his nose, and shook his head. After a while he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, and created a table of calculations.
As he worked he muttered to himself. Only a few words came out coherently. “Probable area… cube feet… range… order of magnitude… minimum safe…” He counted some things on his fingers. A few times looked up nodding. Finally he wrote down a number, circling it. “Ok. Yes.” He let out along sigh. “That’s done.”
“What’s done?”
Gale jumped. Finally turning to look at Astarion. “Oh! I- How long have you been there?”
“Since handing you the wine.” He took a sip of his own.
Eyes looking extremely guilty, Gale looked between Astarion and his notes. He sat silently, unsure of what to say.
“You didn’t answer my question. What’s ‘done?’”
“Nothing, I just. I needed to know- you know, just in case- It’s a backstop really…”
Astarion stood up and crossed the room. He put a hand on Gale’s shoulder as he looked over at the notes. “‘Blast wave radious?’”
Gale stuttered. “It’s just to- I mean, there’s no harm in understanding. There’s a number of reasons why-“ He finally slowed down and took a breath, thinking a moment. “There’s something coming, something that Mystra thought I ought to detonate myself for. That means there’s probably something dangerous that we’ll encounter. If I’m killed I need to understand what I might do.I just wanted to be sure of all my variables.”
Eyeing him, Astarion frowned. The reasoning made sense, but the attitude didn’t.
He didn’t like it. But, as Gale refused to look him in the eye, he decided not to press the issue.
For now.
Not sure what to say, Astarion tried to think of it something. All that occurred to him was what had happened last night. He decided to be out with it, “I bumped into a certain devil on my walk last night.”
That made Gale sit up. “And….?”
“And he made me an offer.” Astarion held up a hand to stop Gale from interjecting. “I cut a deal with him where nothing happens if I should fail to do what he asks, but I do, he’ll give me the information I seek.”
“What did he want done?”
This part he hadn’t been looking forward to explaining. “A single death.”
Gale looked serious. “Why doesn’t he do it himself?”
The question surprised him. “I haven’t the faintest idea. However, he was firm that it was the one thing he would accept in trade for what I want to know.”
“You’re alright with killing in cold blood for information?”
“Of course,” Astarion looked at him flatly. “My blood is cold.”
Gale’s eyes were scrutinizing him. “You know what I’ve done. I’m already damned.” He gestured flippantly. “One more death isn’t going to change that.” Looking at the worried eyes of the wizard, his tone grew resolute. “Something was done to me and without information it may kill me. I will not go back to Cazador, and I will not give up my life so easily. If killing someone is what’s needed to prevent it? I’d do so in a heartbeat….figuratively speaking.”
Gale thought about things a moment, frowning. Eventually he nodded. “Alright, I’ll help you.”
He raised is eyebrows. “Really now, just like that?”
“Since we met I’ve murdered six people. I killed them because made a choice to be in a city, knowing I am dangerous, and now they’re dead.” He shrugged. “I try to be internally consistent. If I can justify what I’ve done? Well… it wouldn’t make sense to judge you for this.” Thinking a moment he continued, “though I don’t like Raphael holding all the cards. I’d prefer it if we had some information of our own. What do you know about what was done to you?”
-
Their conversation moved to the bath. If Astarion was going to have to bare his skin, he would damn well get something out of it.
“It’s actually a bit of a surprise that you’ve never seen these. It’s exceedingly rare for me not to be bare in front of someone for this long.”
Gale shrugged. “You never invited me to see.”
Astarion scoffed. Not only had that had never stopped anyone before, but he’d certainly insinuated plenty of times.
Bless that man, and his need for explicit invitation.
Once everything was set, Gale turned away to give Astarion privacy getting into the tub. Once the splashing had settled he turned to face Astarion.
Astarion was facing away from him, hands resting on the lip of the bath.
What he saw was startling.
Astarion’s back was a labyrinth of raised scars, drawn in concentric circles. They were tight and red, as though irritated.
Gale froze.
“Don’t just stand there, tell me what you see.”
Shaking his head, Gale leaned in. “Well, it is writing. But I don’t think it’s a poem.”
“Then what does it say?”
“I’m not sure. It’s in some kind of infernal.”
“Infernal?!” He turned splashing the water.
Gale nodded. “Yes, I can recognize it, but I’m afraid I can’t really read it. Wait here, I’ll write down what I see so we don’t have to do this again.”
He trotted back to the bedroom, looking to where he had left some writing implements a few days ago. He picked up the implements and then grabbed a few sheets of paper. As he moved to return some of the writing left on a sheet caught his eye.
It was messy, with ink drips, and skips. The content of the writing was a half page of basic practice devolving into a stream of consciousness. Mostly frustration at having to relearn how to use a quill after two centuries of prohibition. It included some very creative expletives directed to Cazador.
Gale felt guilty for reading something so private and left one piece of blank paper on top, so it wasn’t obvious he’d seen, and headed back.
When he returned, Astarion was resting his head on his hands that still held the lip of the tub. He must have been lost in thought, because he wasn’t breathing, Usually he did so as a habit of blending in.
Gale knocked on the doorframe. “I’m back.”
Astarion looked at him over his shoulder, nodded, and then sat up.
Working as fast as he could, Gale drew what he saw, taking care to add any details. As he worked, neither spoke. The drawn out quiet was unusual, but neither felt like talking.
Finishing up, Gale blew on the ink to dry it, then passed it to Astarion.
His eyes searched the page. His fingers stroked the paper where certain lines cut deep into the flesh.
They were both silent a while. Finally one of them spoke.
It was Gale. His voice was quiet. “It is nearly impossible to scar a vampire. Do you remember anything about how it was done?”
Astarion shook his head. “Not really. He rubbed something into the open wounds. Salt maybe? Whatever it was, it burned.”
Gale nodded and put out a hand, offering to put the paper someplace dry.
Drawing in hand, he left the room to deposit the paper and the quill back onto the tea table where the writing implements had come from.
Once he’d done that, he didn’t know what else to do. He just- stood there.
He shifted the items to expose Astarion’s writing practice, rubbing his fingers over the paper.
His chest felt tight.
He covered the writing again, straightened up and went downstairs.
He should eat. Tara would be upset if he didn’t eat.
~*~
Astarion sat in the tub, enjoying the warmth.
He’d expected Gale to come back after he’d taken the paper, and was a bit surprised when he heard his footsteps heading down to the kitchen instead.
His mind was full of half remembered moments of when the scars were carved into his back.
He hadn’t been told anything, except for the lie about it being ‘poetry.’ He’d always thought its purpose was to be a painful reminder of who he ‘belonged’ to. But, it turned out Cazador aimed to take even more from him, and had begun plans to do so decades ago.
When the water began to cool, he drained the tub, dressed and went downstairs. He found Gale’s usual dishes already drying next to the wash basin. The main floor was empty. Standing near the stairs to the basement, he listened and heard the sound of a slow heartbeat and the scratching of a quill.
Notes:
Thanks for reading!
Chapter 29: An evening walk.
Notes:
Trigger warning: Violence and intended assault
See end note for details.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The night continued on. Astarion thought about taking up his project again, but was still too distracted by the drawing he’d seen earlier.
For decades he had been carrying around those words on his back.
How many marks and patriars had noticed them? Few. And even fewer had bothered to say anything about it.
One could always count on people to be willfully obtuse when it served them.
The longer he considered everything, the more angry he became.
He wanted to kill something.
He dressed for the night, and as an afterthought took one of the sending stones with him, leaving the other on the main table.
He was going to hunt.
-
The night air still held onto its warmth, a very pleasant happenstance when unable to make your own body heat.
He planning on going to the forest again, and took a detour past the local alehouses.
He’d rarely travelled this far to hunt during his days under Cazador’s thrall, but he knew the area well enough. He knew where the shadows were the deepest, which alleys were isolated from view, and which taverns held the most lowlives.
He found a basement tavern, itself hidden in an alley. It didn’t have a name, it’s just a place locals go to get drunk on something cheap and plentiful. His clothes were too nice for him to fit in were he to go inside, so instead he leaned against a wall and waited for something interesting to happen at the entrance.
It took him a few moments to realize what he was doing. He was genuinely unsure if he’d come here out of centuries of habit, or out of a genuine desire to hunt someone himself.
He sucked in air through he teeth, disappointed at either possibility. He had no desire to die by the hands of monster hunters, not over the rancid blood of a bleary-eyed peasant.
He was about to shove away from the wall and continue to the forest, when the door to the tavern opened and a familiar face stepped into the moonlight.
He ducked further back into the shadows, before Violet could turn his direction. She was with a disgusting farmhand who was pulling her along by the elbow.
“Come here lass, I’ve seen that pretty pale stranger you’ve been asking about. He’s just this way…”
She clapped her hands in delight. Or tried to, the rough grip on her arm making it difficult.
He should go. Nothing good would come from being here.
It was still early enough she could be trying to bring the man back to Cazador. If so, whatever was about to happen would spare her a far worse torment if she didn’t bring anyone back with her. But, if she wasn’t bringing him back with her, then those filthy hands were about to have their way for nothing.
From his hidden vantage point, he examined her more closely. She was in a sorry state. Hair was limp, her eyes glassier than normal, and her body was a web of healing bruises and cuts. He wondered if Cazador had discovered her part of his escape. It hadn’t been that long since he’d left.
His jaw tightened.
As they passed his hidden corner, he swept behind them. Silently passing from shadow to shadow. His red eyes gleamed in the faint light of the evening.
He had no idea what he was planning, just that he was angry. Angry that Cazador had sent her out here. Angry at this man. Angry that there were so many just like him.
This man switched from holding onto her elbow to holding her by the back of the neck, steering her with it as they passed into an even more rotten part of town.
He pulled her into what looked like a disused stable. Cobwebs hung from the rafters, and layer of filth covered everything else.
“You wait here. I’ll bring you that fellow you keep asking about.”
She nodded eagerly in response, and the man left quickly.
Astarion circled outside, and found a crack between the slats that made up the wall of the stables where he could comfortably see her, but remain out of site.
He considered things. He wanted information, but didn’t want to out his location to Cazador. Although… the spawn were already hunting the area, weren’t they? They must have had some way of at least getting his approximate location.
“Violet?”
“Is that you Starry?” She perked up.
“No no, only a little bird.”
She nodded. “I’m supposed to find a star, but I’m much happier to find a little bird.”
His throat was inexplicably tight.
“This little bird is happy to see you too… thank you for letting me out of my cage.”
“It was nice to see you fly away. My king seemed to think so too. He gave us all lots of roses for it.” She caressed the webs of healing cuts and bruises on her arms.
”How did you know to look for stars out here?”
”Stars are brighter outside the city.”
He shook his head. “Does your king know that?”
She nodded.
He grimaced. “How did your king learn that?”
She shrugged. “He has lots of people who can help him look for stars in the night. Some can look for stars from far away, and then he sends people like me to try and catch one.”
Astarion heard an assortment of voices coming up the road. It was that rancid peasant. He was already returning with ‘friends.’
He hissed in frustration. His voice came out quiet. “Princess, are you here tonight to bring subjects to your king?”
“No. Tonight I’m only looking for a star.” Her voice was sweet.
“Then I recommend you return to your palace post-haste. I’m afraid you won’t find any stars tonight.”
She nodded. “Ok!” And without a moment’s hesitation she slipped into shadows of her own, disappearing out of the stables and into the warm summer night.
Watching her leave he felt a tangle of emotions he didn’t understand. Someone else might have identified it as a combination of guilt and fear. Cazador was still seeking him out, and he’d known escape would mean a harsher punishment for the others.
He didn’t give a shit about most of them, but Vi?
Hearing the crunching stones under the men’s feet he was overwhelmed by a feeling he understood quite well.
Rage.
He leaped into the stables through an open window, found an inky black corner, and waited.
“Lass? I’ve brought some men I’d like you to meet.” A saccharine voice called in the dark.
Red eyes devoid of mercy looked back from the shadows.
~*~
Gale noticed his fingers starting to shake as he wrote. Curious.
When was the last time he’d eaten?
He looked back at his work. He wanted to stay there, enveloped in his research, but he also despised sloppy notes.
Rubbing his eyes, he leaned back and considered getting up. The night was still at its darkest. It must be before 4am then.
He’d adjusted easily to Astarion’s nocturnal schedule. A night owl himself, it wasn’t that far from his own tendencies.
He stood, stretched, and then began walking up to the kitchen.
He found a bit of bread and cheese, and began to eat it quickly. As he did so he also poured himself a cup of wine to wash it down.
He chewed big mouthfuls. He wanted to get this meal over and done with so he could go back to work.
As he leaned on a countertop, he heard a faint voice coming from the dining area where Astarion had been working.
He walked into the room but the elf wasn’t there. He heard the voice again, it came from the palm sized stone resting on the table.
“Gale, are you there? Please be there. Hello?”
He swallowed a mouthful of bread and swept the stone into his hand. “Astarion?”
“Gale! I’m in need of a bit of assistance. I’ve made a mess. I’ve-”
“Slow down. Where are you?”
-
Gale entered the stables where he saw a gristly scene. Holding aloft a light he found four bodies were crumpled on the floor. Each had been viciously attacked. Some of their faces had been pulped, others lay there with their guts spilling onto the moldy hay. All but one had its throat ripped out.
He blanched. “Astarion?”
“Hello.” Astarion was crouched in the corner, covered in blood, he looked up, his mouth was smeared with blood, he had blood in the creases of his palms and underneath his nails. A belt knife was at his side, fully slick with blood. “I seem to have gotten carried away.”
Gale looked around. Each body had several lethal wounds inflicted upon it. They all could have died thrice over from what had been done to them. Flies were already buzzing. He felt sick.
“What happened?”
“My sister, the one who helped me escape,” he swallowed “she was here, and well, they were going to-” He grimaced, fury briefly winning over fear, and he spat at one of the bodies. A blood streaked glob landed on a dead cheek.
Gale reconsidered the scene. He looked back at Astarion.
He recounted things without much inflection. “I wasn’t thinking. Vi was sent to find me. Her mind isn’t right, and these men were going to-” He shook his head, and sighed. “She wasn’t even going to be able to bring them back to get the benefit of keeping the master at bay.”
His head thudded back onto the wall. “I was already furious and, well, once I smelled their blood…” He licked his lips, then spat again to get their taste out of his mouth.
Gale nodded. Eyes roving the scene.
Astarion sighed, and banged his head on the wall. “The Gur are going to kill me. Again.”
Gale took a deep breath. “No. They won’t.”
Summoning the weave to his fingers he crouched to the ground, placing his hands on the stones that made up the floor.
The stones underneath the bodies began to soften, and the bodies sank as though they were in quicksand. Once fully submerged, the floor wrapped over them and it returned to the shape it had before.
Except for the missing straw that had been underneath the bodies, there was no hint anything had happened at all. He stood, and with a sweep of his hand the dust disappeared his clothes, he did the same again to remove any spattered blood from the ground and walls. As an added precaution, he scuffed more straw over the bare patches where the bodies had been swallowed by his Stone Shape spell.
It was over in less than a minute.
Gale walked over to the still seated Astarion, holding out a hand. Gale’s clean hand met with Astarion’s own blood caked hand palm and he stood. Now off of the dirty floor, Gale cast one more spell to clean him up. The blood that covered his face, and spattered his hair vanished.
Gale stepped closer to Astarion, looking him over.
When Gale met his eyes it was overwhelming. Astarion’s eyes were full of an unnamed emotion. He looked down, gaze landing on the lips that moments ago had been covered in blood, and were now parted as though out of breath.
He shut his eyes and pulled Astarion in for a tight embrace.
It took Astarion a moment to fully understand what was happening. He lifted his arms and hugged the wizard back, eventually resting his face in the crook of Gale’s neck. He was so warm. The human’s steady heart beat thrummed making it feel as though his own dead heart was the one beating.
They stood like that for a while, before Astarion lifted his head and leaned against Gale’s cheek. He felt the heart race faster. He pulled back to look back at Gale. Their noses nearly touching.
Suddenly Astarion’s vision narrowed, and his ears rang.
This position, and what would happen next, opened a path to oblivion.
He knew what people wanted from him, and what they expected once they knew they could get it.
He had flashes of a future where he obediently opened his mouth and legs as he had thousands of times. Tolerating the use of his body to keep someone happy while his mind was forced to flee.
Worse, he cared for Gale and he might do it willingly.
A worthy price.
He might do it forever if it meant he stayed.
He felt dizzy. He pushed away, arm reaching for a wall to steady himself.
Eventually, he was able to look up, and saw Gale’s concerned expression. He returned a weak smile.
“Don’t worry darling. Just a bit overwhelmed by everything.”
Gale’s worried eyes lingered as he nodded his head. “Alright. Let’s get home.”
Notes:
Trigger Warning: Violet is targeted by drunks because she is vulnerable, but it ends with threats. Astarion murders them. The violence occurs off screen, but the bodies are graphically described.
I hope you are all taking good care of yourselves and enjoying your summer! I haven’t replied to many comments lately because I’ve been swamped, but I read them all and love them. Thanks everyone!
(I can’t believe over 100 of you want this fic sent to your emails.) ^_^;
Also, if you haven’t ever been, you can visit my Tumblr. I make more drawings than get posted here, and I’m currently completely BloodWeave pilled so it’s likely up your alley. https://www.tumblr.com/martletsable )
Chapter 30: A Starry Night
Notes:
No particular content warnings for this chapter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As they walked back, Astarion felt sick.
He had a belly full of the blood. Real human blood. But it wasn’t right. It was rich and filled him the way no animal blood ever had, but it tasted like sour mash, and sadistic lust. It tasted like everyone he’d encountered over the last two-hundred years.
He wanted to throw up.
Gale strode in front of him, a light illuminated the way to help his human eyes see in the dark. Occasionally he would glance back to check on Astarion who did his best to look relaxed. Judging by the amount of times he turned, Astarion was pretty sure his attempt was failing.
Astarion fiddled with the belt dagger he’d taken off of one of the dead men. Evicerating those men had been effortless. That part he’d enjoyed. The ability to finally, finally, kill the people who would lay their hands on- well, not him, but someone like him- felt glorious.
With the bodies disposed of, the dread he felt at being killed for doing it was easing.
He looked at Gale’s back.
Once again, Gale had helped. He hadn’t questioned helping him. Hadn’t scolded him for pulling him across town, or demanded repayment. Did he know how insane that was?
Astarion’s impulse was to believe that Gale must have an ulterior motive. But it had been too long, and there had been too many instances where he could have cashed in any debt. It made less and less sense for that strange human man to be anything other than that.
As they walked along, he kept thinking. Gale was once again quiet in the same way he’d been since they’d woken today.
They rounded the corner near the house when a streak of blue shot toward them.
Gale stopped, putting his palms out to slow the approaching entity. “If you’re going to speak to me while Astarion is here, please do so verbally. It’s rude to leave him out.”
The blue reassembled itself into the shape of a floating tressym. Tara no longer pantomimed flapping her wings, she’d spent the better part of the last day trying to understand her new form, and had apparently made some discoveries including moving herself as a loose assortment of bones when she was in a hurry.
She huffed. “Fine!” Her skull reassembled itself atop a spine and shoulders. “Mr. Dekarios, are you alright? You left so suddenly. And Mr. Ancunín, are you ok? Goodness. I need to keep a better eye on you both! I swear I handle my own issues for a day and you both bolt off into the night.” She darted between them. “Do that again and I’ll put bells on you both!”
While she continued fretting over them both she swirled through the air rubbing her ethereal body and shining metal bones against both of them.
“Than you for your concern Tara, your sentiments are much appreciated.” Astarion patted her for the first time. She slinked against the gesture like a living cat, but it felt like a heavy jeweled chain passing through his fingers.
She perched herself on Astarion’s shoulder. “Mr. Dekarios must like you quite a lot. I’ve seen him go days without leaving research for more than 10 minutes and that was certainly less exciting studies than reviving ancient magics using the powers of a long dead goddess.” Her silvery head bonked into him affectionately. “Anyone who can pull him from his work must be very special.”
Gale had continued walking toward to the house, but Astarion could see a blush rising on his neck and ears. It made him smile a little. He rubbed Tara’s chin. “Thank you.”
-
The sky began to lighten, and the time for sleep was nearing. Tara nearly pushed Gale into the kitchen to eat a proper meal before resting. Once he’d committed to making something Tara joined Astarion as he tidied up his project.
She made a soft tinkling sound as she settled down on top of some fabric he was just about to put away, tucking her paws under herself. Astarion sighed, and appreciated that at least it wouldn’t get covered in fur.
“Mr. Dekarios will forget to take care of himself when he’s very excited about something. Or nervous.” She shifted a bit.
“Nervous?”
She yawned, glowing maw of teeth on display. “Usually around other people, and Mystra.”
Astarion waited, inviting Tara to fill the silence.
She glanced to the kitchen, listening a moment to the sounds of cooking. “She’s very particular about how he looks and acts.” Her ethereal ears flattened. “Sure, when she’d appear, he’d be excited. But she would always be disapppointed in something. When she’d leave he’d be melancholy, feeling as though it was his fault. When she was gone for a long while he spent his time trying to perfect himself to impress her.” She shook her head. “When he was young she was his escape from the judgements of the world. Then she be came worse than the rest of them.”
Astarion’s eyes followed hers to look toward the kitchen. “Yet more evidence she’s a bitch of the highest order.”
Tara’s body made a happy tinkling sound. “I’m starting to like you Mr. Ancunín.” She rested her head on her paws. “Poor Mr. Dekarios, he’s going to be so heartbroken when you move on.”
That made Astarion frown. “What do you mean by that?”
The light dimmed in her eyes almost as though she was closing them to rest. “I mean no offense. Everyone does... It’s just how things are for him.” Her glow faded to a low halo of blue.
Only a feline could find a way to fall asleep in the middle of a conversation while fully skeletal.
Astarion was still ruminating on that thought when Gale came in with a plate for himself, and a cup of blood for Astarion.
“You don’t have to drink it if you’re full. I just felt like it might be the sociable thing to do.” Gale settle down and began his meal.
Tara perked up a moment when he sat down, saw that he had a decent plate of food in front of himself and relaxed again into ‘sleep.’
Astarion wrapped his hands around the cup. “Thank you.”
Gale nodded and began to eat his dinner.
Looking down at the blood in his cup Astarion spoke. “You know, those men were my first?”
Gale looked up. A questioning look on his face.
“First human blood, I mean. And they were… a disappointment.” Astarion watched the ruby ripples in his cup. “It’s been interesting, this last tenday or so having good blood to drink. Blood is the essence of life, and I can taste the life that comes with it.”
He sipped the blood Gale had brought him, then held it up. “This cow’s blood tastes like a sunny day out on a pasture surrounded by other cows. It tastes happy in a simple way.” Setting it back down, he looked back into the crimson liquid. “Those men tasted like selfishness, malice and a violent lechery.” He grimaced taking another drink, trying to forget the memory of that taste. He sighed. “But it also filled me with so much energy and power. Like it’s what I’m supposed to be drinking.”
Gale looked at him. “Explains the stories of vampires drinking from innocent virgins.” That made Astarion huff out a soft laugh. Gale grinned in return.
Letting go of the cup Astarion briefly flexed an arm. “Combined with the belt I’ve been wearing I felt so powerful. Unstoppable.”
Gale rubbed his beard. “Well then, sounds like we ought seek out a higher class of libation.” That surprised Astarion. “A willing source of course.” He thought a moment. “…Or deserving.” A thought slipped out of his mouth before prudence could catch up. “I wonder what I taste like.”
Astarion raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Some academic curiosity? You know what they say about curiosity.”
They both looked down at Tara. “Apologies. Poor choice of words.”
Gale rubbed the mark of the orb in his chest and retreated into himself. He resumed eating his meal.
A few moments later Astarion blurted “I could tell you, you know. If you really wanted.” He had been looking down at his cup, and glanced up at Gale. Eyeing the human expectantly.
Internally, Astarion regretted saying that. He’d been struggling to keep his hunger in check around Gale. But, he’d been imagining what he tasted like for so long, and Gale just offered.
Gale rubbed his chin. “Hmm… its an interesting proposition. The Orb is a life consuming force. You’re immune to it by touch, but it’s possible it still harm you if you drank from me. If it is a Mythallar it would normally be lethal to undead as well as mortals, though I suppose it was designed by a necromancer to be carried by the undead. In either case, I believe more research is warranted.”
How absolutely baffling. “That’s what you’re concerned about? Not being devoured by a bloodthirsty vampire?”
“First of all, if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that one should be careful when conducting experiments. But, no. I’m not worried about you. I trust you.”
Astarion was taken a bit aback. “You do?”
Gale nodded. “I do. And that says something about both of us, I think.” He smiled.
Gale finished eating and the pair retired for the night. Tara was still sleeping on some crucial part of Astarion’s sewing project, so they left her to the main floor.
They were still sharing a room, and the bedframe still sat there neglected while they chose to sleep on the floor.
Gale fell asleep first, his human need for a full eight hours winning out. Astarion lay contemplating the odd mage for a while. Once again he was in his debt, and it was though he’d literally thought nothing of it.
How could someone be such an open book and so enigmatic? It was almost as though, outside of libraries and laboratories, he had no preconceptions of what ‘should’ happen, or what a normal reaction would be. Thinking of how sheltered he’d been before coming to The Gate, Astarion supposed that could actually be the case.
Gale’s decisions came entirely from what he determined was right, and not what common knowledge dictated, and that meant that somehow, miraculously, he saw a wretched vampire spawn as worthy of help and a good companion.
He looked over at the sleeping human. Astarion fell somewhere between believing that he’d somehow tricked Gale into trusting him, or that he was being seen for who he was for the first time in two-hundred years.
That last thought stuck with Astarion for a while, along with Tara’s words that everyone left Gale behind.
To be that open was to invite exploitation, that was obvious, but why would it drive people away? Perhaps it was frustrating for those who expected their companions to be aware of social expectations, coming of as clueless. Astarion tried to imagine Gale navigating relationships with the average Baldurian. He’d be lost, since he refused to take anything for granted.
If Gale invariably drove people away, or they left when they’d gotten what they wanted, what must it feel like when he did companionship? Was it a knowledge of impending doom that colored every interaction? That certainly explained the panic attacks when he thought he’d made missteps.
Astarion’s mind continued to wind around this topic, explicitly avoiding any thoughts on what he might do if he ever felt safe, until he drifted off.
Notes:
Now that he’s not in 100% survival mode, Astarion’s turning that mind that became a magistrate in his elven childhood, and spent 200 years studying people, on Gale.
Thanks for reading!
Chapter 31: Running Errands
Summary:
The lads get things done.
Notes:
Thanks for your patience with the unexpected hiatus of a week or so.
Plot wrinkles have been smoothed, we are now set to go!
TW: cannon typical violence
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Gale awoke in the afternoon to the smell of coffee and bacon and, for just a moment he imagined he was in his own bed, and a feathery and furry Tara was making breakfast. That misconception dissolved with the last wisps of sleep.
He noticed that he had somehow moved in his sleep, and his arm was reaching over onto Astarion’s mattress.
He hoped this had all happened after the elf had woken from his own rest, since his elven heritage meant he needed so little.
Standing his joints popped and cracked as they moved for the first time. Sleeping without a bedframe was great except for having to get all the way up from the floor every time. He put his palms on the small of his back and a resounding chorus of pops greeted him as he stretched.
Within a few minutes he’d washed and dressed, and descended down to the dining area where Astarion’s project was shaping itself into something quite quickly.
“Good morning Mr. Dekarios!” Tara pranced into the room, a plate of food and a mug of coffee held up by a mage hand. She also passed a cup of blood to Astarion.
“Thank you Tara, it is lovely.” She stretched and accepted a caress from Gale along her back. Looking at the plate of bacon and eggs he said, “I wish you could have some.”
“Don’t be concerned! I discovered that the scent of catnip is still somehow efficacious! And while I can’t eat anything, I’m working on a project to move my spirit out of these bones temporarily and possess local cats and experience their hunting.”
“That’s… do they mind?” Gale was taken aback.
“It’s more of a ‘ride along’ situation. But just as I can see what they see, I can taste what they taste. It’s not quite the same as doing it myself, but it scratches the itch.”
“I have so many questions about this Tara, how have you-“
She hopped up and put a cool paw onto Gale’s lips. “Later. Eat now.”
He nodded.
Satisfied she lifted her paw off his face, and shook it out before fiercely licking it clean. “I don’t like that beard. It looks bad, and feels worse. You should shave.”
“Well I think it looks rather handsome on him.” Astarion chimed in.
Gale shrunk down under the duel scrutiny and gulped a bit of coffee.
Tara jumped off the table. “And here I was thinking you had taste Mr. Ancunín. I guess I can’t be right all the time.”
As she departed with her tail held high, the two men followed her with their eyes.
“It would be too on the nose to call her ‘catty’ wouldn’t it?” Astarion put down his sewing and decided to pause his efforts for now.
“I’d imagine so.” Continuing with his food, Gale made conversation. “This is an awful lot of fabric. What exactly are you making?”
“You’ll see. It’s going remarkably well.”
Looking down at the project, Gale couldn’t make heads or tales of what he was seeing. There was quite a bit of a deep, midnight violet fabric and Astarion had been adding all sorts of tailoring additions that Gale was vaguely aware of, but didn’t really understand. Padding in some places, stiff support fabrics in others. It was masterfully done, but that was just about all he could glean by looking.
As Astarion tidied up his work space Gale did notice that he was accomplishing everything with just a needle, thread, shears and a table. He’d been into many different boutiques over the years and knew it usually required quite a bit more. Patterns, mannequins, irons, measuring tapes, strange rulers shaped in curlicues, etc.
“How are you doing all this? Don’t you need those strange curled rulers? Should we go out and get them?”
“You mean an irregular curve?” Astarion shrugged. “Those are mostly useful for armscyes. I’ve gotten by without them when adding sleeves for long enough. They’re unnecessary.”
Gale inadvertently smiled.
Astarion looked at him. “What?”
“Nothing, I just like hearing people talk about their expertise. I don’t understand half of what you just said, and it’s delightful.”
Astarion rolled his eyes, and continued to clean up. Though he was more than a bit pleased with himself. He hadn’t thought of his sewing as anything but a survival tool for so long he forgot if he’d ever enjoyed it. It seems, after these last few days, the answer was ‘yes.’
-
When dusk arrived, they departed the house once again. They both decided to go into Baldur’s Gate for different purposes. Astarion was going to stake out his target for Raphael, and Gale was going to do a bit of investigation and shopping of his own. Tara joined them.
They needed a plan to thoroughly disguise Astarion for the gala. It wasn’t enough cover Astarion with a Disguise Self spell. Vampires had intensely keen noses and ears. To be wholly imperceptible they would have to cover his scent and give him a heartbeat, both which required spells. Spells that it was better didn’t require Gale to be near to recast if necessary. Gale was going to purchase a few things that should eliminate any of those risks.
Tonight Astarion was disguised as a human with tawny skin. Tara too cast Disguise Self and now looked like a living tressym. Her disguise wouldn’t work on other felines for the same reason Astarion’s spell wouldn’t work on vampires, but just about any other two-legged beings around would be fooled. For tonight, that was all they both needed.
Gale and Astarion agreed they would split up. Gale would be a liability if any sneaking needed to be done, so Astarion would do his tracking alone. Gale made him promise that if, for any reason, Astarion thought proceeding would be risky he would contact him.
Feeling both frustrated, and pleasantly fussed over, Astarion agreed.
Walking alone in the street, Astarion reviewed his plan. All he knew of his target was that he was a human Selûnite priest by the name of Ranulf Paunchvolt and he could find him in the temple district, caring for a small temple to his goddess.
He didn’t know why Raphael wanted him dead, and he frankly didn’t care. Devils kept their contracts, and Astarion had written a damn good one.
He had spent two-hundred years thinking his way around Cazador’s commands. If anyone knew how to spot a loophole, it was him.
It wasn’t a short walk all the way to the upper city, but it went swiftly and he was delighted to feel how different the night was when he felt healthy, rested and full. There was no moon tonight, so while he could see well, he had less to worry about being spotted by any humans.
His hackles were still raised as he paid attention for any sign of Cazador’s spawn or thralls. But he was used to the fear, and it was quieter now than it had ever been while he’d lived here.
Slipping from shadow to shadow, he eventually made his way to the tiny temple sandwiched between other buildings. It bore the marks of Selûne, but was otherwise an unremarkable building containing a residence on the left, and a closed up shrine on the right.
Creeping through the adjoining alleys, he spotted a lit window. Inside was the heartbeat of a single human. He found a deep shadow and listened.
All he really needed was to be sure this was the correct target before killing him and moving on.
Inside a portly man whistled to himself as he cooked a simple meal. The living space was small, and all of life’s requisite parts fit into one room.
Astarion became bored as he watched the man sit and eat his supper, all while humming that same tune to himself. Eventually the night became late and he’d observed the entire cooking and cleaning process.
Astarion began to loathe the song that was apparently rattling around in this man’s head and he started to think he was wasting his time.
Blessedly before he could do anything rash, there was a knock at the door.
Astarion perked up. From where he was sitting, he couldn’t see who was on the other side, but the man opened the door he was able to spy a tired looking half-elven woman with bright white hair and a scar across her nose and cheek.
“Ah, Miss Hallowleaf! You’re back to the Gate already?”
She nodded. “Could you open up the shrine please? I’d like to perform some formal prayers before retiring for the night.”
“Anything for you my dear. How are the parents? Are they well?” The little man was a full head shorter than whoever this woman was.
“They are as they have been. I appreciate you asking after them.”
The little man bowed.
As they left the residence, Astarion had to relocate to a different vantage point to be able to continue to observe.
Moving around the corner he saw the temple doors open, and the cool light of the moon seemed to shine inside.
“Any news from the road?”
“The roads are still full of refugees from Elturel, and Waterdeep has apparently been having some issues with the Mad Mage. But that is the way of things on the Sword Coast. Plenty of opportunities to offer Selûne’s blessing through my healing.”
“Still selling those books?”
She nodded, falling to her knees on a small rug inside.
He didn’t take his cue to leave, and instead kept asking questions. “I never understood. Why books of all things? seems… banal.”
“That’s the point. People who buy and sell books tend to have more information than the average person. And it’s the kind of merchandise most thieves don’t care about.”
“Speaking of information, any news about the- shadow curse?”
She shook her head. “Some folk managed to pass through those lands. It seems that whoever was lording over the place has vacated, but the curse remains.”
The man fidgeted.
She didn’t notice. She had decided to ignore him and was already deep in prayer.
How odd. The man had been speaking fully casually until that last question. Without more information Astarion couldn’t say why it had been important.
He was getting fed up with this stakeout, and was resolving himself to just kill this man on the off chance he was the correct target and then head back, when the woman finished her prayers and stood.
“Thank you Ranulf, I appreciate you making time for me at this hour.”
“Anything for you Jenevelle. Do give my love to your parents.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Finally.
The woman departed for the night and Astarion made his move.
~*~
Gale enjoyed the feeling of Tara riding on his shoulder accompanied by the view of her fur and feathers out of the corner of his eye. She didn’t feel right, of course, but it brought a bit of satisfaction.
Once again he was going to have to go to Sorcerous Sundries. They kept later hours than the priests of Oghma.
The magical chime went off as Gale entered.
An exhausted Rolan greeted him. Speaking in a flat voice, that lacked its usual derision he said, “Good evening Gale. And who is your companion?”
“Hello again Rolan, This is Tara, my friend and familiar.”
“A pleasure Miss Tara. So, what do you want.” Rolan was almost swaying on his feet, upon closer inspection his usually elegantly coiffed hair was looking disheveled.
“Rolan, are you alright?”
The tiefling sighed, and leaned heavily on a shelf. “I asked what you want.”
“And what I want is to know if you’re alright. So, are you?”
Rolan didn’t speak.
“I know there’s no love lost between the two of us, but I do care about your siblings, and they care about you. So, tell me or I’ll tell your siblings to check up on you.”
The younger mage signed and rubbed his face. “No need to get Lia and Cal involved…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lorroakan fired the other staff. It’s just me, and since he’s too important to work the front, I’m here from open to close every day.”
“That’s awful. I’m assuming he’s not providing any potions or spells of restoration either.”
“…No.”
“If you’ll help me find what I need I’ll get you one in gratitude. How does that sound?”
Rolan paused to think. Need won out over pride, and he said “Alright. What can I get for you?”
They picked through the shelves for a myriad of supplies that Gale had added to a list. Scrolls, components and potions, including many for healing, defense and offense. The decision to accept Gale’s offer seemed to encourage further trust, and he became more relaxed.
Looking at the pile of supplies, Rolan whistled. “What are you planning to do? Go to war?”
“Come now, I can’t tell you that! What are we wizards without a bit of mystery?” Gale raised an eyebrow playfully.
Something about use of the word ‘we’ that Gale had included seemed to elevate him in the eyes of the tiefling apprentice.
Rolan took a risk. “You know Gale, it this place is a hub for magic users of all kinds. It can function as a kind of belwether and... It feels like there’s something big coming. You’re not the only one to make a big purchase like this. And now Lorroakan has dismissed the other staff…” He toyed with a scroll of Expeditious Retreat that had made its way into Gale’s pile. “What’s going on?”
“I’m still learning that myself, but understand what you’re saying. I’m no adventurer, and I’d never stocked up on things like this before, but it’s better safe than sorry.”
Rolan nodded.
“What do you think is going on with Lorroakan?”
The tiefling grimaced. “Let’s talk about something else.” He then made pointed eye contact with Gale and whispered a Message spell, creating a private conversation. “He’s been making deals with one of the Gate’s bigwigs, selling huge amounts of components. They’ve also been meeting in his tower for long hours. I’m not sure about what, but when he demands I bring refreshments -like some servant- they have maps of the city laid out.”
Gale whispered back. “What do you know of these components?”
“It’s been absolutely massive quantities of mercury and phosphorus as well as powdered precious stones.”
“What stones?”
“Diamond and ruby.”
Scratching his chin, Gale spent some time thinking. That wasn’t components to any one spell he knew of. All of those had uses in other spells, but together, he couldn’t say.
Rolan continued. “There’s more. Something was delivered to the tower the other day. It was almost like a steel sarcophagus. I don’t know what’s inside, but I heard them talking about some ‘old man’ being furious to give it up. I don’t know what, or who, was inside but it must have been powerful to need such containment.”
“Who brought it?”
“Enver Gortash.”
That name again. “Anything else you can tell me?”
“Just one. He called it ‘The Nightsong.’”
~*~
Astarion waited for the half-elven woman to depart. He’d need to find some way of tricking this man out onto the street, or better yet let him into his home.
Remembering his current disguise, he planned his strategy.
Stones crunched under his feet as he hurried to the closed doors of the shrine. He shook the handles, causing them to rattle on their hinges but they didn’t budge.
The lock had been replaced when the woman had left. He took out an angled bit of wire, and started to pick the lock. It wasn’t a good lockpick and the tumblers jammed in an over-set position. Exclaiming in frustration he jiggled and tugged the lock to try and loosen the pins again, but it was no use. The iron lock rattled loudly against the door as he cursed.
Listening closely he heard footsteps rapidly approaching the adjacent door to the residence. Perfect. He stomped his feet down the alley as he ran away.
When the little man opened the door looking for the culprit, he found the lock bent into an awkward position, and footprints in the dust separated with long strides running away.
His ploy was complete, Astarion was silent as the grave once again.
Quietly vaulting up onto a nearby roof he leaped from building to building, dropping down so that he could approach from the opposite side.
He stumbled into view of the portly man as he inspected the damaged lock and tried in vain to open it with his key.
“Did someone come by here?” A human looking Astarion asked through gasping breaths.
The priest looked over to him, noticing him for the first time. “Y-yes. I believe so. Someone made an attempt at this lock.”
Frantically he asked, “Do you know where he went?” Astarion collapsed further, bracing his hands on his knees.
“I believe he went-“ and he pointed in the direction that Astarion’s heavy footfalls had left. “But, young man. Are you alright?”
Astarion waved him off. “I’m fine, but he’s got my purse and I had just gotten paid. That was all I had.” He coughed and clutched his side, as though he had a pain.
“I’m sure he’s already a ways off now. Come now lad, you should sit.”
“I-“ Astarion coughed. “I need to-“ He dropped to a knee, palm hitting the dirt as he tried to hold himself up. Wheezing, perhaps from asthma or consumption.
“Come on in lad. Let me get you some water. You can tell me about the culprit and we’ll let the Fist know about him in the morning.”
Pitifully, Astarion looked up the road after his purse before looking up to the priest and nodding. “Alright. If you insist.”
~*~
Once Gale and Rolan finished their silent heart-to-heart, the resumed talking out loud.
“Have things been quiet at the Pelican since I left. I’ve missed my days there.”
Rolan nodded. “As far as I know. They’ve got a new cook, and he’s atrocious. Bastard hardly ever does his job, comes in drunk most nights. But that’s the worst of it. Any nefarious types have moved on.” That news was surprisingly disappointing to Gale, he had enjoyed what he created at the Pelican, and was sad to see how quickly it could come apart without him.
Gale took a look around. And spotted that pile of scrolls called ‘dead spells’ that he’d spotted those tendays ago. Without saying anything he started to peruse the pile. He had the spell books of the Shradin, but he was a Netherese necromancer, and his spells were largely ‘on brand’ for an ancient specialist in undeath.
“Doing some historical research?”
Gale nodded. “Exactly.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. “How much are these?”
“No one buys them so they don’t really have a price. Maybe 5 silver each? They’re more curiosities than anything else.”
Looking down at the treasure trove of spells ranging from beginner to highly advanced, Gale tried not to salivate. “I’d love to take the lot.”
“Really? Alright. This is a lot of stuff. You have enough gold to buy a bag of holding? Otherwise you’ll be quite the target walking out of here with this.”
“You’re right.” He thought about Astarion. “You know what? I’ll buy two.”
~*~
Astarion staggered into tiny flat where the little priest lived. He was still ‘breathing’ heavily and holding his side.
When the door closed behind him and the little man turned his back, he wasted no time.
He lunged.
He wasn’t here to fight, he was here to hunt.
There was no ceremony to it, and so no chance to react.
Knife first, he stabbed deep in to his lower back, piercing a kidney. The man’s back spasmed and he gasped. Astarion clutched his jaw lifting his chin, he withdrew the knife from the back and sliced the throat in a clean arc.
A bloody smile bloomed and the little man bled out. His mouth gawped a few times as if trying to speak, and he collapsed in a heap on the floor.
The smell of his blood filled the air.
It was intoxicating. Astarion couldn’t help himself, he licked a line of blood from his dagger.
It tasted heavenly. It tasted foul. Still rich in the way only the blood of a person could be, but it was laced with the flavor of avarice, and cunning. It tasted of a lifetime of lies, and… sulphur. His essence was tainted by the hells itself.
Astarion spat. As the man lay dying he looked with wide eyes at Astarion. The vampire looked down on the shaking body as it went into shock. “You hid so much hatefulness in that little frame of yours. What in the hells did you do to cause a devil to send an assassin?”
It didn’t seem possible, but the mention of a devil made the man look even more afraid. As he choked on blood and, his the rest pumped out onto the rough wooden floor, he seemed to be pleading with something Astarion couldn’t see.
When he finally stilled, and the life left his eyes, he was ensconced in a firey smoke. Astarion watched as his soul was dragged down into torment by the power of the hells itself.
The room was silent.
Wasting little time, Astarion set to work.
To set the scene of a break in, and not to waste an opportunity, Astarion tore the house apart for valuables.
For the most part he was disappointed. The man wore a silver talisman of Selûne, but it would burn to the touch and it could link him to the murder.
Not worth it.
He searched the man’s pockets and cupboards and found a few paltry silver and copper pieces. He tore open everything he could find, including evicerating the mattress, and found nothing.
Frustrated he sank into a chair, and stared at the corpse.
What was he hiding?
As he watched the blood leak out of the man, he noticed it was draining in a crack between some floorboards. Leaning down to get a closer look, he noticed a tiny amount of wear on the edge of the board, as if it had been pried out.
He took his still bloody dagger, and wedged it in the gap. The board lifted easily, and underneath was something he could not have expected.
~*~
Gale began walking back to their rendezvous spot, enjoying the cool night air. Tara had been largely silent during their time in the magic shop and now watched the night’s sky.
“I’m glad to be back. I missed this.”
“Missed what? Stargazing?”
“Mmm… Walking with you. I’ve been taking care of you for so long. I hate being away. You’re not meant to be without someone to care for you.”
“You make me sound like a pet!”
“Mmm.. A bit.” She bonked him with her cool metal skull. It was hidden under the illusion, but it was still there. “I’ve raised you since you were but a little one. It’s hard not to be possessive.” Her body vibrated making a soft tinkling sound. Her current version of a purr.
Her chiming sounds abruptly stopped as something occurred to her. “I do feel sorry that I didn’t realized what Mystra’s intentions were. I was as new on the material plane as you were, but… I was an adult, I should have known better.”
Gale nodded, and sighed. “She didn’t just invest energies to pull me closer, she also convinced you and mother to let her. She groomed us all for her purposes.”
Tara looked over at him. “Mr. Dekarios, have you gained wisdom since I last saw you?”
Gale offered a knuckle to her to stroke her chin. “Now wouldn’t that be a sight to see.”
~*~
In the hidden compartment under the floorboards, Astarion found ritual supplies for a different goddess altogether. A black disk with a purple border adorned each. Astarion had never been a religious scholar but he recognized the implements of The Dark Lady, Shar.
Curious, he dug deeper, pulling items out to keep them from getting coated with the blood that still ran from the corpse. The space was larger than he thought and held quite a few things.
He also found a journal and, blessedly, a purse.
He flipped through the journal absently, and found a page with infernal written on it. Next to the infernal was a translation. It was Ranulf’s contract.
It was absurdly long and largely inscrutable, even for Astarion who had recently written his own infernal contract. It appeared Paunchvolt had bargained poorly in comparison, letting Raphael do most of the writing. From what Astarion could understand Ranulf agreed to serve the Raphael in exchange for his fealty to Shar being masked from Selûne’s divine eyes. He had many services promised to the devil that would be completed until he was no longer required the obfuscation of who he served.
Somehow, it seemed, Paunchvolt had dropped the ball.
One of the tasks had been reconnaissance. Astarion flipped through the other pages, and saw nothing of particular interest to himself. Looking deeper into the pit he did notice something else hiding among the trinkets. It was a long dagger sheathed in dark leather. It looked promising, well crafted and well balanced. When he drew the blade to examine its edge, it began to drip a black ichor.
He hooked the blade and its sheath to his belt, leaving behind dagger he’d taken off the dead man in the barn next to this corpse.
He didn’t need to be caught with evidence for one of his crimes, and if he could mask his involvement in one crime with another, all the better. This new blade had been well hidden, so despite being far more valuable, he assessed it was less of a risk.
He stood to leave, looking once more over the room. He nodded to himself as he saw nothing more to do, then closed the door and disappeared into the night.
~*~
The two men rendezvoused on a well lit street that lead out to Wyrm’s Crossing. They hired an early morning carriage back to their dilapidated house.
Astarion and Gale both had been successful in their missions, and had unearthed even more curiosities. As they rode the carriage they shared what they had discovered with each other, wondering if any of it had anything to do with them. It seemed possible, but they hoped it wouldn’t. If these new wrinkles of this Nightsong and Shar were part of what was coming, then things were far more complex than they had expected. Still, they both enjoyed the relief that came from a successful night’s work, and left their worries for the next day.
~*~
On a distant abyssal plain, in the fires of Avernus, a portly little priest knelt begging at the feet of a monstrous devil.
“Please, Lord Raphael! Please, I’m sorry I should have seen it! I should have known. You’re right to be angry but please, let me finish my work for Lady Shar, please…”
“Now now, wayward little spy. It’s no longer up to me. You failed in the simple tasks I set forth for you, and you also failed your The Lady of Loss. It is you who delivered this fate to yourself. And now you must accept the consequences”
In an open space in the room a shadow began to bloom. Several heads taller than the massive devil appeared a grey skinned woman clad in black with eyes covered by an ornate headdress.
Raphael, continued. “You see, your contract put Mistress Shar and myself in a bit of a bind. Your soul rightly belongs to us both.”
The priest looked up and wept openly at his goddess. Her clothes and hair seemed to absorb light, and her skin was a flat grey.
Though he could not see her eyes, he felt her gaze as she looked at him the way one might look at a broken tool. Disappointed, but uncaring.
Raphael spoke again, voice playful. “Do you know the parable of the baby claimed by two mothers?”
The man’s eyes flicked back to the devil and he sat frozen before remembering to react. He shook his head.
“The women petitioned a king to decide who was the rightful mother. The king suggested the baby be cut in half to be fair. One of the women fell crying saying she would let the child go in order for it to live. The king declared that woman the true mother.”
The small man, now tiny by comparion to these immortals, did not understand but he felt a glimmer of hope.
Shar, smiled. Rows of sharp teeth gleamed in the light. In a voice that echoed with the vast emptiness of the dark and the ecstasy of pain, she spoke.
“I am not that kind of mother.”
Notes:
If anyone should be able to write an airtight contract it’s someone who has spent 200 years looking for loopholes in magically binding commands.
Thanks for reading!
Chapter 32: Payment received for services rendered.
Chapter Text
The next evening Gale and Astarion went looking for their other aquantances at Wyrm’s Crossing. Supplies gathered, and targets killed, they wanted to try formulating a plan around the gala. Tara’s bones were in a satchel with Gale, she was apparently doing a ‘ride along’ with a local cat, hunting for mice in the dark. Gale had found it disconcerting to hold her disanimated bones once again, but she assured him it was fine.
As they walked, Astarion was irritated. He’d killed that bloody priest, where in the hells was Raphael?
It didn’t take long for them to find Karlach and Wyll. The former had a loud belly laugh that could be heard far and wide. Even by Gale’s less acute human ears.
They were once again in the Tiefling encampment, but this time they were together were drinking and telling bawdy tales with Halsin and Zevlor around the campfire.
“… so then you see, when the chimera had me pinned it turned out it had other intentions than fighting- Oh! Hello again.” The burly elf stopped his story to greet the approaching pair.
This time Halsin’s smile stayed just as bright when his attention passed to Astarion. Apparently, since their first meeting he’d decided that he was as welcome as anyone. That made Astarion deeply uncomfortable. He wasn’t accustomed to be known by someone and still, well… liked.
Joining the four by the fire, they sat down. Halsin resumed his tale of an amorous chimera and Zevlor leaned back against a tree, enjoying a story he’d clearly heard before.
Eyeing the other pair, Astarion noticed that they sat close to one another, thighs touching. Karlach slapped Wyll’s back when she laughed, causing him to splash beer up his nose. He sputtered and coughed, making her to laugh harder. In return he shoved her off the log they were sitting on.
Something had blossomed now that Karlach wouldn’t immolate Wyll on contact.
Tale complete, everyone turned to the new arrivals to hear their news.
Gale had just opened his mouth to speak when the fire flared up, nearly blinding all of them.
The heat was intense, and the only thing Astarion could hear besides the flames was an audible groan from Karlach.
“Fuuuck. That cambion asshole is back.”
When the brightness of the fire died down, Raphael was standing in front of Astarion, looking down on him.
“He beheld six birds of a feather, who faced certian doom together. Two of them had done their best to serve at his behest-“
“And so get on with it, he’d better.” Wyll finished the stupid rhyme.
Turning to face him, Raphael smiled sharply. He was disguised as a human as he’d been before, but the smell of sulphur and brimstone was unmistakable.
“What did you mean by ‘two’?” Gale interjected.
“Just that. Two of your number did an excellent job helping me with a few sticky problems here on the material plane.” His eyes never left Wyll’s. The former human eventually broke eye contact and looked guiltily at Karlach. She looked back. Appalled.
“With double the services, you receive double the information. So sit back children, you’re about to hear another tale.”
~*~
20 years ago. Baldur’s Gate.
Cazador Szarr ruminated alone. Today was his anniversary of being a vampire lord. Two centuries and he still had not grown beyond his palace, which he’d inherited, and the five he’d sired.
He was comfortable. He was able use the wretches to get all the victims he could drink, even when one or two were down due to his or Godey’s ‘corrections.’
His spawn and servants were more than enough to satisfy his needs in domestic labor, blood supply, lust, and sadistic control. So why then was he feeling hollow on this anniversary? He’d hosted a ball with the well-to-do of Baldur’s Gate, and had enjoyed a delicious footman from one of the rented carriages as a treat afterwards.
He tapped his fingers on a wine goblet. Maybe it was because he’d stagnated. He’d had the girl and boy for the first century before turning the next three. He had access to resources that might lead him to more, but hadn’t taken the initiative to do anything about it.
Anger rose in his chest. His worthless spawn and this pitiful city had made him complacent. YES, this was THEIR FAULT.
He needed to do something to elevate his position. No. Not just something. Something truly grand.
He stood silently, not sure how to begin. He was loathe to look for help, but had no clue how to begin.
He threw a glass decanter of wine against a wall in his frustration, shattering it. A stooped little human entered the room in response to the sound.
“Saer? May I be of service?”
Making a hasty decision, he thought of the most learned (and bribable) magic user he knew of.
“Bring me that wizard, Lorroakan, from Sorcerous Sundries. I would have a word with him.”
“Yes, Saer.” The little man bowed and started to leave.
“Wait.”
“Saer?”
“Bring me the boy as well. I need to clear my head before speaking to the mage.”
The human bowed and left.
-
Two hours later, a surly elven wizard was sitting in a well appointed, if dreary, sitting room. Cazador walked in, wiping the last blood from under his nails. He was feeling much better now that he’d been able to do some vigorous work on the boy.
“Mr. Szarr, why have you called for me at this early an hour? I am NOT pleased to be awake before the birds have begun to sing.”
Cazador tossed the stained rag he’d been using on the low table between them, before sitting down. “I appreciate you accommodating my request this morning. I have need of your services-”
Lorroakan looked down at the bloodied cloth, before looking back at Cazador. “My shop hours are publicly posted, you may avail yourself of them.” He moved to stand.
“Sit. Down.” Cazador put the force of will in those words that demanded obedience.
Lorroakan slapped him. “Don’t you EVER attempt to manipulate my mind.” His gaze flicked up and down. “Vampire.”
Hissing, Cazador took a defensive posture.
“Oh, calm down. I didn’t say I wouldn’t work with you. However, your impudence will cost you. After your behavior and this ungodly hour of rendezvous, you will have to do a lot more to make it worth my while.”
Castigated, Cazador relaxed.
Lorroakan sat back down. “Now, what can I do for you, Lord Szarr?”
-
It had been three months since Cazador had his first discussion with Lorroakan, and he’d been provided with literature related to all kinds of beings which could help him gain power. Most were dead ends, they required lasting fealty which he was unwilling to provide.
He would not put himself under someone else in his quest to be at the top.
He stood outside a summoning circle that a moment ago had erupted in a flash of cold and now contained an aspect of Mephistopheles, Arch-Devil of the 8th level of Hell. Outside the circle also stood Lorroakan. Both men were standing with wide eyes at the monstrous fragment of an even greater devil.
Red skin, leathery wings, horns, and a tail. Mephistopheles was the perfect image of a devil.
“Hello little vampire. What causes you to call me to your little castle?” His voice did not match his look in the slightest. It was buttery smooth, and oozed charm.
“I am Cazador Szarr, vampire lord of Baldur’s Gate, and I seek to make a deal with you in exchange for power.” Cazador bowed theatrically, as though he were in one of the great plays, instead of his catacombs.
The archfiend laughed heartily. “Ah, the little fish wants to be the biggest fish in the pond. Alright, what can you offer?”
Cazador’s pride was about to get the better of him before Lorroakan interrupted. “He can provide souls for you, Lord. To aid you against Asmodeus.”
Mephistopheles turned his head to face Lorroakan. He smiled, and his teeth were all sharp and gleaming. “Interesting. I have many who serve me already, but I am willing to hear what you would offer.”
Lorroakan bowed. “He could give you all the souls of those he kills in service to his sanguine hunger.”
This raised the Lord of the Cania’s eyebrows in consideration. “Vampire, what is it that you wish from me?”
Cazador took a step forward toward the circle, fist raised. “I wish to be the most powerful vampire in all of Faerûnian history. I would gather you an army of souls to be granted that.”
The Baron of Cania laughed. “Such a small task, for a small man.” Cazador’s pride was once again unsettled.
The archfiend rubbed his chin, the genteel gesture was incongruous with his hellish physique. “I can offer a ritual to make you Vampire Ascendant. One who would have the powers of his curse, but none of its drawbacks.”
I took the vampire lord a few moments to process what the offer meant. It meant having a reflection, eating food, entering homes and churches, swimming in rivers.
Standing in the sun.
He couldn’t speak.
Mephistopheles smiled. “It sounds like this deal is appealing for you. For this small task I will need a similarly small number of souls. Seven-thousand should be sufficient.”
Seven-thousand?
Mephistopheles paid no attention to Cazador’s vacant expression. He was working out his side of the bargain. Nodding to himself he said, “You offered an army. I don’t think I will need as much. Just a proper legion. That is the correct price. Of course a legion needs more than its centuries of foot soldiers. It needs auxiliaries, cavalry, etcetera. Seven thousand is the bare minimum.” Finally nodding to himself he took notice of the look on the vampire’s face. “Oh, is the price too steep? Has the little fish found himself out of his depth?”
That strike against his pride snapped Cazador back to focus. “Hardly. I shall have no problem collecting so man- so few souls.”
‘Good. For the ritual to work, I will also require seven spawn specially chosen by you to lead their spirits to the Hells. Those you would use to create this army will serve as those additional seven.”
“I will do so Lord Mephistopheles, though it will take me many years.”
“Then you’d best get started if you wish to meet your goal.” An infernal contract materialized in the air in front of this great lord of the hells. “Now, are you ready to sign?”
-
Cazador had forced the spawn to lie still upon a wooden slab in Godey’s torture room. There were no chains. There were none needed when the lord did the torturing himself.
In one hand the vampire lord held a dagger, and in the other he held a copy of a circular text written in infernal. The dagger was forged from infernal iron and dipped in an icy substance from Cania, linking the victim’s soul to that frozen wasteland. The contract was one fragment of seven that would be carved into the backs of seven spawn, each leading an escort of one thousand souls to eternal servitude.
Cazador had never studied infernal and he frequently needed to use a normal dagger to excise the flesh in places where he made mistakes.
He wanted to make the best of a tedious situation, so carved his favorite spawn first.
Astarion could not move. He was however, allowed to scream.
He had long ago quit begging to be spared. He knew better. So tonight his wordless agony echoed off the walls and down the corrodors.
Before being carved, he’d been bled out so he wouldn’t mar Cazador’s ‘canvas.’
Now he lay with the with his entire back blooming with agony. Thin streams of liquid, more plasma than blood, soaked into the wood of the table around him.
His conciousness kept threatening to slip away, but it never fully left. Any time that Cazador was upon him he could never escape.
Slivers of flesh built up in front of his face, each a remnant of a mistake that had to be carved out. His unfocused eyes watching the thin filets slide on top each other.
After many hours he was left alone in the dark. Thin blood and tears mixing on the table.
Still forbidden to move, he watched as rats carried off what Cazador had carved away.
~*~
Tiefling Encampment - Today
Astarion’s expression was unreadable. His right hand was tightly clenched around his new dagger.
“He’s going to sacrifice all seven of his spawn to usher an army of souls to the Hells?” Wyll asked.
“Indeed.” Raphael nodded.
Finally, after many minutes of sitting still as a statue, Astarion blinked and took a breath. “This contract. How is it worded?”
Raphael smiled. “Whoever delivers seven-thousand souls and seven of their killers shall be made Vampire Ascendant.”
He nodded. “Then he cannot complete this without me.”
Raphael only smiled. Pleased with the effect his story had.
Astarion shut his eyes.
Gale reached over to squeeze Astarion’s hand that remained on the log.“We’ll kill him before he gets the chance to carry out his plans.” Astarion didn’t move to reciprocate the gesture, but he gave the subtlest nod in acknowledgement.
Enjoying the emotional sway he had over the group, Raphael was elated.
“Now, young warlock, it is time you receive your payment as well.”
Notes:
TW: Skip the italicized flashback starting “Cazador had forced the spawn” if it isn’t for you.
Thanks everyone for reading!
Chapter 33: An Additional Wrinkle
Summary:
A new layer of complexity appears
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Wait just a second. What the fuck Wyll?” Karlach stuck out a hand to silence Raphael.
Wyll buried his face in his hands, before dragging them down his face. “My city is threatened, Karlach. I tried to get something out of Mizora, but she was useless. There’s something going on, and it’s something she won’t tell me about. The last time a city was threatened by something she wouldn’t speak about Elturel was pulled into the hells by Zariel. I couldn’t risk not knowing.”
Karlach looked around at all the tiefling refugees from that same city, Zevlor held her gaze. He’d lost everything trying to save these people from doom both in the hell’s and after when their infernal heritage had made them pariahs in the returned city.
“Alright soldier. I’m not happy about it. Especially since you didn’t tell me.”
Wyll nodded. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. But, I should have. Were a team now.”
Gale’s eyebrows raised at that,he looked over to Astarion who had already noticed. The elf nodded. The two were more than together by fate.
Raphael rolled his eyes and frowned. “Are you quite done?”
Karlach gestured at the devil to continue while muttering under her breath. “Fucking asshole.”
~*~
20 years ago. Shortly before Cazador’s deal with Mephistopheles
Lorroakan was interested using the arrogant vampire lord to his own ends. He’d been dragging his feet on his ‘research’ while he came up with a plan.
Shortly after their initial meeting he’d settled on who he would work with. The devil of the 8th layer of hell, Mephistopheles, was the great researcher of all magics, using his frozen realm as a great testing lab for magical techniques. He was a great patron to any wizard who would make a deal to develop themselves.
And develop himself he must. Lorroakan was a mediocre wizard at best. For an elf he was abysmal. He had acquired Sorcerous Sundries, and with it had been able to bolster himself with magic items.
So he’d spent these last weeks planning his offer.
He’d finally made his decisions and now stood in his tower, summoning a portal to The Citadel in Cania.
Stepping through, he was greeted by armed pit fiends, and a blast of warm seamy air.
Holding up his hands he spoke quickly. “I am the wizard Lorroakan of Baldur’s gate. I wish to make a deal with Lord Mephistopheles.”
They nodded, and ushered him forward. Clearly confident that he posed no threat.
Looking around himself the castle seemed like a contradiction. There were roaring fires and braziers, but the walls were crystalline blue ice seemingly maintained by the harsh environment on the other side.
When the group arrived at the throne room, the nine foot tall devil leaned on an armrest, while his tale flicked with frustration. He was facing two of his staff, who were busy cleaning and maintaining the fires and other decorations of the room. Noticing Lorroakan being escorted into the room, he waved a hand, and the two cleaners exploded in a mist of blood. He pointed to the guards for them to clean the mess and ushered the wizard forward.
“It’s a rare day that someone like you arrives in my citadel.”
Lorroakan smiled and bowed.
“Do not be proud. I mean to say that you are far weaker than nearly every being who had arrived here of their own free will.”
The wizard flinched and deepened his bow. “I am the wizard Lorroakan of Baldur’s Gate, my lord. I wish to make a deal with you.”
“Mmhm… speak swiftly. So far you are only interesting in your mediocrity.”
“I know of an opportunity to gain an army of souls from a local vampire.”
“You come as an errand boy for a vampire?”
“No my lord. I have an offer of my own.” He swallowed and took a breath of the steamy air. “I would offer all my assets to amplify such a ritual. With your knowledge and my resources, we could expand the ritual to effect the entire city.”
The devil sat silently. Lorroakan did not know what to say. Thinking quickly he continued. “I have humble magical skills, but vast resources on the material plain of both magical equipment and components.” His eyes darted back and forth wondering what was safe to say. Deciding to take the risk he spoke. “After taking Baldur’s Gate, you could treat it as a nucleus to conquer Toril.”
Lorroakan was sweating. He was referencing Mephistopheles’ defeat over 100 years ago, when he had made a similar attempt in the Underdark below Waterdeep. It was unwise to remind a powerful being of his failures, but he was desperate to make the deal.
The wizard watched his own sweat drip from his nose as he remained bowed.
“What would you wish of me, wizard, for the sale of your city and your world?”
“All the power you can offer. You are known to all as the greatest scientist in the realms, forgoing nothing in your quest to develop stronger magics. Grant me access to your research, and I will do all I can to serve you Baldur’s gate on a silver platter.”
“And you accept that Toril will become another plain of the hells? Do you not fear the destruction of all that you know?”
“There are more worlds than just Toril, and with the knowledge I could learn from you, I would walk these realms and be the most powerful wizard they had ever seen.”
Mephistopheles gave a genuine smile. Ruthless ambition recognizing its own. “I will admit, you make an enticing offer. Come. Let us talk.”
~*~
Tiefling Encampment- Today
Gale was fuming. Lorroakan was an elf and so had a lifetime of centuries to develop his skill, and yet chose an infernal pact as a shortcut to greatness. Also, of course, the sacrifice of a city was horrendous.
He knew the event that occurred the last time Mephistopheles had tried to conquer his world. Waterdeep memorialized the event, and all students learned of it at the academy. It had been a near thing. The city had been greatly damaged, and those lost were still mourned on the anniversary of his defeat.
Suddenly these plans felt more personal.
Wyll spoke. “You speak as though doom is imminent, but the deal was made 20 years ago. Why-?“
“I can answer that. I think.” Gale interjected. “Lorroakan has been making huge orders of spell components. And plotting with others over a map of the city... It’s possible they’re using runic magics to effect the entire territory of Baldur’s Gate at once.” Eyes had all turned to him. “I have a source in Sorcerous Sundries, who relayed as such.”
“So, the plan is happening soon. Astarion? How many people does Cazador kill a year?”
Astarion was still ruminating, and roused when he heard his name. “Hmm? How should I know. I was sent out most frequently, others less, but their hunting strategies were more fruitful.” He looked up at the stars for a moment.”And there were long stretches when any of of us were simply to broken to move, let alone hunt…”
Gale winced at that last statement, before he did some hasty math. “If you each averaged one victim a week, that would put us at just over 7000 now.” Astarion glanced at him and nodded.
This caused Halsin to look over. Dismayed. “Can so many die or go missing unnoticed?”
Wyll frowned nodding. “So many desperate come to the city by land and sea. If it weren’t for untimely deaths the population would have exploded. Especially during the Spell Plague years. The mass quantities of missing are never talked about.” The usually friendly young man now scowled. “The elites don’t mind because the usual victims are the powerless, and it ‘solves’ the problem of housing everyone.”
Karlach thought back to a childhood where it wasn’t uncommon to see a dead vagrant on the street, and grimaced. This reminded her of another issue. “We still have no explanation for Gortash’s involvement.”
Raphael nodded. “And thanks to Astarion, the failed spy whose incompetence leaves us in the dark has been duly punished.” He looked to the vampire, before regarding the rest of the group. “But you now know all that I can offer as pertains to our agreements. Our contracts are satisfied.”
He looked over at Karlach who glared at him through her eyebrows. “But have no fear, I’ve quite enjoyed our interactions, I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
He snapped his fingers and puffed out of the existence in a puff of sulphurous smoke.
“Fucking prick.”
They sat silently around the fire for a short while.
Halsin finally broke the silence. “You need allies.”
All heads turned toward him. “We’re still missing too many pieces of the puzzle. I know of a druid who lives in the Gate who may have the people you need. With permission, I’ll speak with her.”
Wyll nodded, and looked around. There were no objections. He turned to Astarion. “You may need to speak with your Gur contacts as well.”
Normally the name of those who murdered him would have made him shudder, but the elf had been lost in thought since learning the full details of what had been carved into him. His back itched with phantom pain. Blurry images of rats carrying off his flesh playing in his mind’s eye. He didn’t respond.
“Astarion?” Wyll looked worried.
Karlach assessed the situation, and got up to kneel just next to dazed elf. Her normally big personality now was calm and focused. She very slowly and carefully put one of her too hot hands between his shoulder blades, taking enough time to allow him to comment or move away.
The heat began to seep into his skin, and after a time he took a breath to clear the tension out of his lungs. Realizing she was touching him he flinched, before he noticed how much it helped.
“A bit of warmth can help with tight scars.” She’s smiled and gestured to the webs of her own scars that covered parts of her face and shoulder. “Though I’ve got that part covered in spades, I’ve spent my life around survivors and know the usual tricks. You’re alright soldier. We’ll kill both those nasty fuckers who ruined our lives.”
Astarion continued to take calming breaths. Both the heat and the breathing helped ground him back in the present. He still felt shaken, but he was sitting by the fire, and not frozen on a slab.
Why was breathing so helpful when he didn’t need to?
“That feels good enough I’ll forgive you for touching me.” He sighed letting out some lingering tension. “Just this once.”
She chuffed out a small laugh before standing back up.
For the first time in a while, Zevlor spoke. “Sun is coming up soon. It may be time for our guests to depart.”
Notes:
Thanks for reading! I think we’re about to have some thicc chapters as we handle the over complicated plot I wrote myself. ^_^;
Chapter 34: A walk home
Summary:
Gale and Astarion walk home, both have internal struggles.
Chapter Text
As Astarion and Gale walked back to the house, things were unusually quiet. Astarion walked a little ahead and apart.
Watching him, Gale worried.
Astarion hadn’t been this affected since his first night of freedom. Gale watched as his hands curled into a tight fists, or nervously ran fingers through his hair. His mind clearly racing.
He didn’t know how to help.
Raphael had informed the entire group of a truly awful event, publicly and with a sadistic enjoyment in the horror of it all. Astarion had survived the unspeakable, and now knew it had been to sacrifice him to an even more miserable eternity under Mephistopheles’ thrall.
Fate, it seemed, had found a way to make a terrible existence even more horrific.
How could anyone reconcile that?
-
Around the time they’d returned to the house, Tara reanimated her bones, and crawled out of the pouch where Gale had been carrying her.
Had Astarion been more mentally present, he would have laughed at how startled and jumpy the process had made the wizard, as the bundle tied to his waste had started to stir, and then a boney clawed arm opened the drawstring holding it closed.
“Gods Tara! Please notify me before you animate. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”
She floated in front of his face, sorting her bones back into shape. “Apologies Mr. Dekarios.” She then went over to Astarion. “Mr. Ancunín, you seem troubled.”
He looked past her, as he continued walking home.
“Right. I’ll fly ahead and prepare some things for you both.”
“Thank you Tara, that would be lovely.” Gale called after her.
Using the interruption as an excuse he trotted up to walk the rest of the way side-by-side.
Despite being a talker, Gale was at a loss of anything to say.
He looked down at Astarion’s hand, the same one that had been twitching and clenching as they walked home.
He debated holding it. Offering comfort through his touch, since words were lost. But, before he reached out he remembered the times when Astarion had flinched or pushed him away.
Maybe not.
He stuffed his hand into a pocket, and kept his eyes facing forward toward their destination.
Entering the house, Tara had lit the candles and prepared a light meal for them both. Astarion didn’t stop, but went immediately upstairs to their room.
The Tressym and her human exchanged looks before Gale stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Feeling lost, he sat at the table.
He put his head in his hands, this he should do something.
“Mr. Dekarios, what’s wrong?”
“Astarion got some truly awful news tonight. He’s in some kind of shock, I believe.”
“What will you do?”
“What? Well, we’re already working to help him against the perpetrator of harm. But, besides that, he needs something to heal the heart and mind. I’m no cleric, and if such spells exist, I can’t cast them.”
“Mr. Dekarios, there’s more to life than spells.”
“If that’s the case, then we should find some who is capable in that arena.”
“I’ll admit, I have not been here for most of the time you’ve known each other, but it appears you’re the only one who is in a position to help.”
Gale sighed. “Then things are truly dire.”
~*~
Waterdeep 22 years ago
Gale was outside with his herbalism class. They were climbing over rock formations looking for reagents.
He was walking a little ways behind a couple of classmates, picking through lichens looking for a specific variety.
From what he overheard they were in the middle of a breakup. The escalated into shouting before one stomped off to a larger group of students, leaving the other behind.
She sat down, crying on the ground, alone.
He kept trying to look for the assigned material, but her sniffles were too much for him to ignore.
Giving up on working, he sat down next to the dejected girl.
“Hi, are you ok?”
She shrugged. Her posture was closed off and turned away.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
“Why? So you can gloat?”
He was confused, “what? No! I just wanted to see if I could help.”
“When you saw us before I heard you mutter under your breath that” and she switched to a mocking voice. “Most teen relationships end within two months.”
“Well, I mean that’s a true statistic, but I didn’t mean to-”
“Fuck off Gale.”
~*~
Astral Plane - 12 years ago
Among the stars Mystra and Gale relaxed. They had enjoyed each other through connection in the weave. Mystra didn’t like the messiness of physical bodies, and the process lit up the mind and senses like nothing else.
These were the brief moments when Gale was truly happy. He’d been able to please his goddess, and demonstrate himself as worthy of being chosen.
He looked over at the ethereal beauty of his love, and basked in her radiance.
She chose him. She loved him.
“It’s time for you to go back Gale.”
She’d said this with no preamble, it was a fact of the universe, not an opinion.
“So soon? But I haven’t seen you in months!”
“There are great movements in the realms. I have much to do.”
“Oh. I see. Are you alright?”
She furrowed her brows. “I am as I always am.”
“But if you’re so busy, there must be something wrong. How can I help?”
“You are my chosen. You will complete your assignments.”
“Well, yes. That is one thing. But, how can I help you?”
She thought for a moment. “These dalliances are enjoyable.”
Oh.
“But beyond that, are you ok? I’d like to offer you some kind of support.”
“I will give you new tasks on the material plane to fortify and protect the weave. You are my chosen. This is your role.”
“I- of course. But… Can I lend you an ear? Offer advice?… Offer comfort?”
She looked at him with a flat expression. “You are incapable of such things. You could not understand that which I face, so speaking of it to you is useless. Without understanding you also cannot offer advice. Your visit here where we pleasured one another is the comfort you can offer. Let that be enough.”
He took a breath to steady himself and nodded. “Thank you my lady.”
~*~
Wyrm’s crossing - Tonight
Upstairs Astarion started to take off his shirt to ready for bed. He recalled how he’d carefully removed it before the the scars had been carved into him.
How many times had undressing been the preamble to torment?
He shuddered and instead toed off his boots and lay in bed fully dressed.
He couldn’t lay still.
Sleeping on his back made him aware of all the knots of scar, as they pressed into the mattress. Laying on his side felt exposed. Either toward the door or window. Laying on his stomach was the position he’d been in when they were carved him, so it was worst of all.
When Gale finally came up the stairs, he saw Astarion laying with his back to the door, still fully clothed. He didn’t react to the door opening but was clearly still awake, he was tense, and curled tightly.
Gale squeezed his eyes shut, and let out a slow breath.
He should go sleep somewhere else. Leave before he made things worse. But… Opening his eyes he saw the curled form in front of him. He didn’t want to leave Astarion to deal with this alone.
No. He couldn’t see distress in his friend and do nothing. But what did he have to offer?
“Astarion?” He received only a slight flinch in acknowledgement. “I’d like to help.” No response.
“Ah, I’m going to try to do a bit of what Karlach did, since that seemed to help. I’m not as warm as she is, but I am endothermic.” He received a mild snort in response to that last word. Hoping this meant some kind of approval, he finished entering the room.
Mirroring the recumbent elf, he took off his shoes, but also remained dressed. He cautiously lay down between the Astarion and the door.
Incredibly careful, he propped his head up with his palm so he could watch Astarion’s reactions, and back off if needed.
He gently placed his palm where he’d seen Karlach place hers. Astarion took a sharp breath, but then exhaled slowly.
“Is this ok?”
Astarion nodded.
Gale grounded his hand a little more and felt some tension release.
He left his hand there for a while. But, even though his hands weren’t small, a single palm felt insuffient. Gale tried to rub the hand in a small circle, but the feel of fabric sliding across his scars made Astarion flinch away.
Gale stopped, lifting his hand.
“Sorry.”
He wished he could summon back Karlach and her fiery warmth. Or, really anyone. Damn near anyone he knew would be better than him at this.
His value was in his knowledge of the weave, not in this. He was the wrong person.
As he lost himself in thought he saw a faint shiver ripple through his friend in front of him.
“Astarion?”
No response other than a nervous flinch at the sound.
Something clicked in that moment.
Tara was right. He might not be the right person to comfort Astarion, but he was the only option. This was one of those situations where action must be taken, and it was better to do something poorly, than nothing at all.
Yes, it would be better to try and fail, than not try.
Taking a breath, he shifted himself forward, moving his free hand up and over Astarion’s shoulder, and pressed himself fully against the cool skin of his back.
He willed the warmth from his chest into the scars. The feeling of the embrace to be calming and not claustrophobic.
He silently begged the gods for this to be a kindness and not another misstep.
A few nervous breaths later, a cool hand reached up to clasp his arm. Fingers wrapping around, holding it tight. A weight settled into his chest as Astarion leaned backward into him.
A wave of relief hit him. He exhaled and squeezed Astarion a little tighter, holding him into the night.
~*~
Astarion held the warm arm tightly, as it wrapped around his chest.
Gale had settled in behind him, blessedly also choosing to stay dressed.
The layers of fabric felt like protective armor, and a promise that this was safe. His experience of Gale told him he needn’t worry, but his experience of the world was much older and said the opposite.
Despite the layers, the warmth of Gale’s body, the rise and fall of his chest, and the gentle beat of his heart were loud and clear. They helped ground him into the moment. Especially after Gale had settled in and his anxious heart had calmed.
Astarion ran his thumb over Gale’s knuckles. Humans were so fuzzy in comparison to elves, and the hair that grew on the back of his hands was a curiosity. Gale was wearing a long sleeved shirt, but Astarion knew he was fuzzy all the way up to his shoulders and down his chest.
He found himself thinking of the surprisingly muscular arm, and strong chest that were pressed against him.
He took a deep breath, and smelled the perfumes Gale preferred mixed with Gale’s natural musk and the campfire they’d sat by just a short while ago.
He kept breathing in time with the human behind him, the movement was calming and kept him surrounded by the comforting smell.
He fell blissfully asleep.
Notes:
Thanks for continuing to read everyone!
I’ve had a very busy summer, so I haven’t had much time for interesting end notes. But hopefully now everything is going to relax a bit, and I can talk to y’all directly.
These last few chapters have been challenges! The previous two, because of plot intricacies, but this one was a surprise, it was hard to communicate Gale’s fear of being insufficient. There’s a particular pain of wanting to help someone and not just failing to do so, but being told there’s something intrinsic to you that makes you incapable. I think the empathy that it takes to be emotionally present for someone else, means there’s no armor up when that same person summarily rejects you.
This story will be told in 3 arcs. We’re edging closer to the climax of arc 1. But after that, I have plans for two more stories in this AU.
For some meta regarding some things from the previous chapters: Gale can now cast spells from all editions of DnD, but if it’s not also accessible to him under current Mystra/5e rules he has to use ~something~ (not telling!) gathered in the orb as a point of origin. So he can adapt known spells without cost, but must use stored energy for ‘dead spells’
Which brings me to some enthusiastic nerdery: If you are a giant dork like me, go to the Internet Archive and read some of the 2e resource books for Forgotten Realms. They’re amazing. They were written with tons of love. It makes me want to play a 2e campaign. Yes, Thac0 was an insane mechanic, but all the writing comes from when a handful of creative minds telling the story they wanted, and not accommodating the bug-nutty changes that Hasbro demanded (looking at you 4th edition dnd.)
Ed Greenwood is the GOAT.
Chapter 35: A Quiet Morning
Summary:
After a rough night, a better morning.
Chapter Text
Astarion awoke sometime around noon.
His eyes still closed he felt a weight against his back and across his chest.
The prickle of discomfort where he was being touched by someone spread across his body.
That broken glass feeling.
He tensed. He began calculating what he would need to do to escape, when he realized where he was. Light leaking into the room brightened his eyelids.
He opened his eyes. Hevwas upstairs in the dilapidated house. In front of him were the chairs, the tea table and the empty bedframe.
That meant the weight pressing against him was Gale.
Surprising himself, his immediate reaction wasn’t relief at an easy escape.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He picked up Gale’s now familiar scent, mixed with the smell of the human’s morning breath. Listening carefully, he heard the soft snores behind him and there was the faintest feeling of beard scruff on the top of his head.
Gale’s hand was intertwined with his, and he could feel the soft fuzz of Gale’s knuckles under his thumb, and the callouses of a frequent writer.
It was all oddly… charming?
The discomfort of being touched evaporated as he attached the sensation of a body pressed against him to Gale’s eccentricities. His muscles relaxed, and he caught himself smiling.
He closed his eyes, deciding to linger a little while longer.
He focused on the warmth that had spread through him, and the gentle rhythm of relaxed breathing, mixed with an equally peaceful heart.
~*~
For the first time since he’d been a small child, Gale awoke next to someone.
Not since he’d been a little boy comforted by his mother had he felt the sensation of someone in his arms when rousing from sleep.
Mystra had never lingered long after their dalliances, and while Tara was lovely, she was a tressym and his familiar. Waking up next to her was like awakening next to a sibling… If that sibling was also a drastically different species, had mouse breath, and was bossy.
This was different.
He felt the line of Astarion’s body nestled into his own. From their feet all the way to the soft hair nestled under his nose, they were curled together. Gale was pressed along Astarion’s back, arm draped over and interlaced with the other man’s fingers against his chest.
A smile crept onto his face and he breathed in the smell of Astarion’s hair. Bergamot and citrus, and a soft musky sweetness unique to the man himself.
He shifted a bit and pulled the hug tighter. Without speaking this hug was returned with a squeeze to his hand.
He could stay here forever.
Gale felt an ache tighten in his chest. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been starving to be with someone like this. This longing wasn’t just from his last year of seclusion. It was a lifetime of wanting comfort and to comfort that had never been satisfied. To hold and to be held.
This was wonderful, it was sweet… and too much.
Too powerful a need to put on someone else.
He wanted this too badly. Affection and acceptance felt like an oasis in the desert. And Astarion was working to finally, and perminantly, escape from the clutches of true horrors. The idea that Gale could capitalize on that situation to fill his own needs felt opportunistic at best.
He sighed. It wasn’t fair for him to put this heavy need onto Astarion.
Last night he’d been lucky. The desire to hold Astarion had been too overpowering and he’d let himself forget why Astarion needed comfort in the first place. Two hundred years of people invading and abusing his body. Sure, Astarion sometimes liked contact, but it needed to be on his terms. Gale had caused distress the last time they’d slept close, and there’d been no evidence that things would result in anything different.
He needed to do better.
But… later. He took in another breath, inhaling the smell of the man in his arms and basked in the fleeting moment.
When Gale awoke the second time, Astarion had departed, and the bed was empty. He searched with his hand for lingering warm then chuckled to himself and got out of bed.
Downstairs Astarion was already laying out his sewing for the day. His mood had been gradually sinking since leaving the warmth of the bed. Yesterday’s revelations could only be ignored for so long. So hearing the human’s footsteps come down the stairs heralded a welcome distraction.
Gale leaned against a wall, trying to puzzle out what he was seeing. “I thought you were making yourself a wardrobe? This looks very different.”
“Hmm?” The elf looked up from his handiwork. “I’ve been working on something a bit more celebratory than that. You’ll see soon. It’s nearly done.”
Gale nodded, then turned toward the kitchen. “Hang on a moment, I want you to try something.”
“I’m not going anywhere, darling.”
Returning from the kitchen a few minutes later, Gale had several small cups of blood with him.
“What’s all this?”
“Remember when I said I wanted to try to cook something for you? Well, this isn’t really cooking, but I’ve tried a few things with spices, and was hoping you’d give them a go.”
Astarion raised an eyebrow. “Alright.” He eyed each cup dubiously.
Gale set them out in front of Astarion. “I didn’t want to interfere with the flavor too much, so these are leaning heavily on aroma. Each cup has the fragrant oils of an herb smeared along the rim. Just enough for a hint of flavor, and an accompanying fragrance.”
Astarion picked up the first one.
“sheep’s blood and rosemary”
He nodded and took a sip. The flavor of a summer pasture were all still there, but the rosemary did a fine job of interfering with the musky aroma of the animal itself. He smiled. “Delightful.”
The wizard beamed, “Here’s another, this one is pig’s blood and mint.”
Similarly this one left the bright sensations of the animal it came from while covering the more unpleasant aspects of a beast’s blood.
There were a few more spice and animal combinations. Gale also made a few attempts to mix in ingredients into the blood itself, but it dimmed the positive experience of the life essence of the creature, so they decided to abandon that strategy.
In the end, Astarion had enjoyed the first variety the most, And Gale left to make more.
Astarion caught himself smiling for the second time that day. He’d never thought that he would ever be able to enjoy cuisine again.
That silly wizard was something else.
~*~
Later in the day things settled in, and the seriousness of life returned. But ,the comfort of the night before, mixed with the gentle fun of the morning had tempered the weight of things.
Astarion sipped more sheep’s blood absently as he tried to recall everything he’d learned. It wasn’t easy. His mind had gone fuzzy when Raphael had recounted what Cazador had done, and what his plans were.
His scars were made to bind him to hell as a sacrifice along with the six other spawn and seven-thousand souls.
Where were those souls now? Were they in limbo? The language of the contract didn’t say. Somehow his death would drag them all with him.
He felt helpless. Though, wait… When Astarion had made his contract Raphael, he had told him there was a way for him to walk in the sunlight again.
What was the language of the contract? It was seven of their ‘killers’ were to be sent to hell.
That was it.
Astarion didn’t have to be the one sacrificed. If Cazador died instead, it could be Astarion who would reap the benefits.
He could be vampire ascendant. He could eat food, swim in a river… walk in the daylight…
His grip on the bottle tightened.
He could truly walk away from 200 years of torment. He would be whole again. Not some slinking creature hiding in the shadows of the world. And he would be STRONG. Strong enough to keep all who would try to harm him him crushed beneath his boot.
He would be free. He would be happy. He would be safe.
He noticed his grip and relaxed. He sighed and rotated the bottle of blood in his hands. There must be some kind of catch. Something that would give a devil like Raphael reason enough to offer such knowledge. But he couldn’t see it.
Astarion made up his mind. Cazador had to die, that was certain, but if there were a chance he could take the ritual for himself, he would take it.
The orange light leaking through the shutters caught his attention. Evening would soon be approaching.
He looked at the door.
Gale should be returning soon.
After their fun making different combinations of blood and herbs this afternoon, the man had disappeared into the city to do shopping and try to find a few odds and ends for the house. Astarion had given him a list of some findings needed for his sewing project, and a request for some decent wine.
Now alone in the house he looked down at the state of his creations. There were two outfits here. One doublet had a shorter cut and significantly more flourishes, including bright embroidery and some lace accents on the cuffs and collar.
The second set of clothes were cut for a broader physique, and for someone with more minimalistic taste. The doublet was longer, almost as long as a robe, and its lines were straighter. The embroidery he’d done here was more abstract, shaped in a way that reminded Astarion of the visions of magic he’d seen when Gale helped him see the weave in the basement all those days ago.
The two outfits complimented each other beautifully.
He smiled to himself. He was damn good at this, and he could bet Gale was one of the few who might know how to appreciate it.
~*~
Gale strolled through the city of Wyrm’s Crossing, groceries and sewing notions in tow. He found himself near the Gur camp once again. He looked across the makeshift fence at a community bereft of children.
He could imagine what the camp would have been like before. Small feet running between tents, laughter and scolding voices in their wake.
Looking inside he saw men already drunk in early evening, and women silently washing or sewing in groups that previously would have been rich in gossip and music.
Eyeing the men he thought of something else.
A 200 year-old murder. A boy magistrate. A ruling that ended in death.
The Sword Coast was a brutal place, there was no doubt. People of all ages died far too easily.
He shook his head. This many human generations later there was little to no chance that any Gur would know anything.
The fact that such a life altering event would remain unknown troubled him. Astarion had been tormented for centuries and the catalyzing event was just… lost.
There were just a few days now until the gala at Cazador’s manor. Maybe once everything was over, there would be some record there.
Nodding to himself, he began walking to the dilapidated house, The golden sun shone in his eyes. He’d been so nocturnal that, even though the glare made looking around difficult, he was basking in the warmth.
From out of the shadows a figure approached, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Gale, m’boy. I think it’s time we had another chat.”
Notes:
Hello all. Sorry for the unplanned hiatus. I got hit by a brick of creative insecurity and have been trying to recover all summer.
I wrote a little about the catalyst on my Tumblr earlier this summer when I thought the problem would stay confined to visual arts, but it spread to this project too.
Anyway. After picking at this chapter for a month I like it well enough that I’m posting. I’m not sure when I’ll be back up to 2 chapters a week, but it’s my goal.
Thanks for your patience.
-Martlet
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