The dryad’s voice took on a wistful, almost melancholic tone as she addressed Wyll and Karlach. Her glowing gaze flickered like sunlight filtering through forest leaves.
“The sweetest loves,” she said, her words rich with a poetic rhythm, “dance lightly on the tongue. But they sag and suffer with age. The future brings many trials. A decade from now, what will the mighty Karlach do? Where will she be?”
Wyll warm, steady voice broke the brief silence. “Settled down in a quiet village,” he said, his smile broad and genuine, “with a nice partner and a few kids.”
Karlach’s lips parted slightly, her tough, warrior’s demeanor faltering. For a moment, she looked genuinely vulnerable. Her voice dropped to a soft whisper, the words almost stumbling out of her mouth. “Kids, huh?” She hesitated, the idea clearly foreign to her. “I don’t know…”
The fiery tiefling paused, her gaze drifting downward as if she were trying to picture the life Wyll had described. “How about… a really mean goat instead?” she added with a weak laugh, trying to brush off the weight of his words. But her voice betrayed her; there was a tremor of uncertainty, as if the thought of a peaceful future had touched a part of her she rarely allowed herself to think about. Her eyes flickered back to Wyll. “But… I don’t know. Things can change, I guess. I’ve heard.”
The pause that followed was not awkward but meaningful, a moment heavy with unspoken truths. Her tough exterior softened as she looked at Wyll, her lips curving into a faint, genuine smile. “You really know me,” she admitted, her voice steady now, tinged with warmth. “You’re deeper in my head than that damn tadpole.”
Wyll smiled back, his eyes glowing with the kind of affection that could melt even the fiercest heart. “Only because you let me in,” he said quietly, his words carrying a weight that only she could fully understand.
From the sidelines, Astarion couldn’t help but murmur, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm, “Smooth.”
The dryad’s soft laugh seemed to echo through the air, the sound like the rustling of leaves in a summer breeze. Her glow intensified slightly, casting a golden-green hue across the pair. “How close you are,” she said, her voice filled with quiet awe. “Two hearts beating a perfect rhythm. But I know the truth.” Her ethereal gaze lingered on them both, her tone shifting to something almost reverent. “Only one face haunts your dreams each night. Close your eyes, sweetness, and she will come to you…”
Karlach and Wyll obeyed, their eyes fluttering shut as if compelled by her words. The air around them seemed to shift, the circus yard melting away into an enveloping stillness. Time itself seemed to pause. The dryad raised her hands, her voice a barely audible whisper now, “See what lies in your hearts…”
When Karlach and Wyll opened their eyes again, they were no longer looking at the dryad. Their gazes locked instantly, as if drawn together by an unseen force. The world around them—the yard, the dryad, even their friends—blurred into insignificance. Wyll’s dark, soulful eyes held Karlach’s fiery ones with an intensity that left no room for doubt or hesitation.
Without a word, Wyll stepped forward, closing the space between them. Karlach’s lips parted, a faint hitch in her breath as she leaned in. And then, their lips met. The kiss was not hurried or tentative but filled with raw, unrestrained passion. It spoke of battles fought together, of unspoken promises, and of a future neither dared to dream of until this moment.
Wyll’s hands cupped Karlach’s face gently, his touch grounding her fiery nature with a tenderness she hadn’t known she needed. Karlach’s strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer as if afraid to let go.
The rest of the party looked on in silence, the usual teasing absent. Even Astarion’s smirk had softened, his sharp tongue quiet for once. Shadowheart glanced away, a faint smile tugging at her lips, while Gale folded his arms, nodding slightly as though acknowledging a story well-told. Lae’zel, though stoic as always, inclined her head ever so slightly, her sharp eyes betraying a hint of approval.
The dryad, her glow dimming now, watched the scene with a serene smile, her work complete. The golden-green light that surrounded her flickered briefly, then dissipated into the air like the last note of a song. “Go in peace,” she whispered, her voice a soft breeze. “And may the fires that burn within you never be extinguished.”
As Karlach and Wyll finally broke apart, their foreheads pressed together, they both let out soft, breathless laughs, as if the moment had left them lightheaded. “Kids, huh?” Karlach teased, her voice still trembling slightly. “Maybe… but let’s start with that goat first.”
“Whatever you want,” Wyll replied, his grin wide and unshakable. “Just as long as you’re with me.”
----------------------------------------
Just as they were about to leave to explore more of the circus attractions, the group paused, turning back as the dryad's soft, melodic voice carried through the air.
“I can feel love from two of your companions,” she said, her glowing eyes sweeping over them. “Like a flame covered by an iron lid. Burning, but hidden.”
The party exchanged glances, confusion blooming among them. Alex frowned, taking stock of their dwindling numbers—Lara and Glut had slipped away earlier, leaving only Gale, Astarion, Lae'zel, and the others behind.
“No way…” Karlach murmured, her voice tinged with dawning realization as the pieces fell into place.
“What is it, love?” Wyll asked, tilting his head toward her.
Karlach leaned in, her voice dropping to a near whisper, though the excitement in her tone was unmistakable. “The dryad’s talking about Astarion and Lae’zel.”
Her declaration landed like a thunderclap.
Astarion barked out a laugh, a sharp, disbelieving sound that echoed in the clearing. “Oh, darling, you’re hilarious! No way in all the Nine Hells could I possibly have feelings for her.” He gestured vaguely in Lae’zel’s direction, his expression twisting in mock disgust.
Lae’zel’s lip curled as she crossed her arms. “The feeling is mutual, leech. I’d sooner eat dragon dung than entertain the thought of you.”
"Maybe Gale is hiding his true feelings from the toad?" Astarion continued, a mischievous glint in his eye.
All eyes turned to him.
A nervous smile appeared on Gale's face. "I'm sorry, but this is not the case," Gale said, his voice steady, yet tinged with a hint of awkwardness.
The dryad’s serene expression didn’t waver. “Two hearts that refuse to accept one another,” she said, her voice even yet brimming with an otherworldly wisdom.
Astarion’s mouth opened, a retort forming on his tongue, but Shadowheart beat him to it, her smirk as sharp as any blade. “If there’s truly nothing between you,” she said slyly, “then surely you wouldn’t mind enduring the ritual. Just as we did.”
Before either could protest, Karlach’s laughter boomed as she grabbed them both, one arm slung around each of their waists, effortlessly hauling them toward the dryad. “Let’s settle this once and for all!”
“Put me down this instant!” Astarion sputtered, flailing half-heartedly against her iron grip.
Lae’zel merely hissed, her glare sharp enough to cut stone. “You will regret this indignity, Karlach.”
But resistance was futile. Karlach deposited them both before the dryad, who stood waiting with an unshakable calm.
Astarion sighed dramatically, straightening his coat as if to salvage some semblance of dignity. “Fine. Let’s get this over with. But know this—I will never forgive you for this, Karlach.”
Lae’zel huffed, her arms crossed as she stood rigidly beside him. “Let us proceed. Quickly.”
The dryad nodded, gesturing for them to close their eyes. Her presence seemed to grow more luminous, her voice softer yet more commanding.
“Astarion,” the dryad began. “A tumultuous past hides behind a mirthful grin. The heart is fraught, so let us begin with the joyous. When is he happiest?”
Lae’zel scoffed, answering without hesitation. “When he is elbow-deep in gore.”
Astarion’s lips curled into an amused grin. “Guilty as charged. Sometimes literally.” His grin faltered as he glanced toward the dryad, his brows furrowing. “Wait… why am I smiling? What are you doing to me?”
The dryad’s serene expression remained unchanged. “Simply bringing forth your most hidden emotions,” she replied.
Her glowing eyes lingered on Lae’zel. “Many things delight the heart, but only one makes it sing. Tell me, what does he desire more than anything?”
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Revenge,” Lae’zel answered flatly.
Astarion’s grin sharpened, his fangs glinting in the light. “Oh, yes. Yes, please.”
But then, the dryad’s voice grew softer, more resonant. “Fear sits in the soul of all—to tame it, we must name it. Astarion—what is his deepest fear?”
Lae’zel smirked, relishing the moment. “Breaking a nail.”
“Ha!” Astarion threw his head back in exaggerated laughter. “Well, when you look this good…” His grin lingered, but his gaze flicked toward Lae’zel, his amusement tinged with something quieter. “But… you were right every time. I hate to admit it, but you do know me. Toad.”
Lae’zel’s brow twitched, but she nodded curtly. “Now, it is your turn to prove yourself, parasite.”
The dryad turned to Astarion, her voice weaving its way through the still air. “Lae’zel—passions of the heart and the blade wage war within her soul. Listen. Think. What does she most desire?”
Astarion smirked, his voice lilting with teasing. “Attention.”
Lae’zel’s glare could have melted steel. “Bah. Trivialities. Have you been so inattentive?”
“Alright, alright,” Astarion said, raising his hands in mock surrender. His tone shifted, sincerity threading through his words. “She seeks her own truth.”
Lae’zel paused, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. Slowly, she nodded. “You hear my words. You see my path. It is… good to be known.”
The dryad’s gaze deepened, her glow softening around them. “Many things delight the heart, but only one makes it sing. Tell me, Astarion—what is the githyanki’s fondest memory?”
A hush fell over the group. Even Karlach’s usual mirth dimmed as she leaned closer to Wyll, whispering, “She can see through our disguises…”
Alex stood silent, his gaze fixed on the dryad.
"Spilling her own cousins’ blood,” Astarion said smoothly, his voice tinged with a mixture of teasing and truth.
Lae’zel tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “A small delight, indeed. I did not want their friendship—I wanted their fear.” Her words rang with the cold steel of conviction, unrepentant and sharp as a blade.
The dryad’s gaze lingered on Lae’zel, her expression unreadable, as she posed the next question. “Life is brief—finite. When the warrior dies, what legacy will she leave behind?”
Astarion didn’t hesitate, the answer rolling off his tongue like honey laced with venom. “A vicious monster of legend, feared across the planes.”
Lae’zel’s sharp intake of breath was almost imperceptible, but her eyes gleamed with renewed fire. “I will be feared,” she admitted, the edge of her voice unwavering. But then, she paused, her gaze softening ever so slightly as her tone shifted to one of pride, a touch less cutting. “This much is true. As a monster? No. As a champion? Most certainly.”
For a moment, silence hung in the air, heavy and uncertain. Then, Lae’zel regarded Astarion with a sliver of something never seen before , at least for Astarion—acknowledgment, perhaps even respect. “I underestimated you,” she said, her voice quieter now. “You see me with clear eyes and an open mind. A rarity, indeed.”
Astarion raised an eyebrow, his smirk tempered by a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “What can I say? I have a gift for discerning the finer nuances of people… even when they come wrapped in a toad’s exterior.”
Lae’zel’s scowl deepened, but her lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk betraying her.
When their eyes finally opened, the tension between them felt different—tangible yet undefinable. They locked gazes, neither looking away nor breaking the moment with words.
The rest of the party exchanged glances, unsure whether to interrupt.
Karlach leaned closer to Wyll, whispering, “So… do they hate each other more now, or is this something else entirely?”
Wyll shrugged, a bemused smile playing on his lips. “Your guess is as good as mine, love. But whatever just happened… it changed something.”
Shadowheart smirked from the sidelines, her sharp gaze flicking between Astarion and Lae’zel. “Perhaps the ritual has forced them to see each other as they truly are,” she said, her tone sly.
Lae’zel straightened, breaking the spell as she cast a sidelong glance at the dryad. “Are we finished? Or must I endure more frivolity?”
The dryad smiled faintly, her ethereal glow softening around them. “You are finished—for now. But know this: the embers between you may one day ignite a fire that neither of you expects.”
Astarion clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. “Lovely. As if my plate isn’t full enough without prophecies of unexpected passion.”
But as they turned to rejoin the group, there was a flicker in his expression—a shadow of a thought, quickly buried beneath his usual wit.
Lae’zel walked a step ahead, her chin held high, but her fingers brushed briefly against her blade in thought, the faintest hesitation betraying the questions now lodged in her mind.
The party moved on, but the tension between Astarion and Lae’zel lingered in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and unpredictable. Whatever had been stirred between them, it was far from resolved—and it was bound to surface again.
----------------------------------------
"What is that?" Astarion asked, his voice laced with unease as he gestured sharply toward the hulking figure in the distance.
The party turned their heads to follow his gaze. There, to their far left, stood a creature unlike any they had encountered before.
The mud elemental loomed, a grotesque creature seemingly born from the earth itself. Its big, misshapen form was an amalgamation of wet clay, decaying vegetation, and gnarled roots twisted into a vaguely humanoid figure. The crown of its head rose into jagged, earthen spikes, resembling a warped, natural crown that seemed to mock any notion of beauty or regality. Beneath it was a cavernous maw filled with uneven, jagged teeth—no eyes graced its face.
Its massive arms hung low, ending in brutal, club-like hands crusted with hardened stone. The elemental’s thick legs moved with a sloshing, unnatural rhythm, each ponderous step leaving deep furrows of wet mud in the earth. As it moved, branches jutted from its back and shoulders, writhing with subtle, lifelike twitches, as though alive. Slime and muck oozed down its grotesque form, giving it a perpetual aura of decay and chaos, like a being forever caught between formation and disintegration.
“That’s a mud elemental,” Gale said, his voice tinged with both curiosity and caution.
The massive elemental stopped suddenly, its bulk shifting toward a much smaller figure nearby—a mud mephit.
The mephit looked like a mischievous imp made of the same earthen materials, its spindly body and impish features coated in layers of glistening mud. Its bat-like wings, also made of mud, flapped with surprising efficiency, defying logic as it hovered just above the ground. Its long, crooked nose and sly expression gave it a comical appearance, though there was something oddly sophisticated about its demeanor.
This mephit, unlike others Alex had fought before, was not hostile. Instead, it appeared calm, speaking with the mud elemental in a surprisingly eloquent tone.
“Darling,” the mephit said sweetly to the massive elemental, its voice unusually tender. “Don’t forget the dragonborn’s order.”
Alex’s brow furrowed as curiosity took hold. “Let’s check them out,” he said, motioning for the party to follow.
They approached cautiously, their boots squelching in the mud. The two creatures stood in front of a tent adorned with sculptures in various states of completion. Some were pristine, expertly carved, while others were crude and unfinished. To the left of the tent were two wooden tables covered in tools and chunks of pale stone, remnants of ongoing work.
The mud mephit noticed their approach and immediately flew over, its enthusiasm unmistakable. “Darling! We have customers!” it called out joyfully to the mud elemental.
The colossal creature, which had been carefully shaping a pile of mud into a vaguely humanoid form, paused its work. It lumbered over to join the mephit, its towering presence making even the tallest members of the party feel small.
The mephit, clearing its throat dramatically, began its pitch. “Ahem! Is your camp drab? Dreary? Then you have come to the right place!” It gestured grandly toward the sculptures behind them. “Browse our bespoke Stoney and Boney creations, or—our most sought-after service—commission a custom statue in your likeness!”
Astarion stirred behind Alex, his crimson gaze darting between the mephit and Alex before settling on the array of statues. His mind whirled with schemes. 'How can I convince him to pay for a statue of me?'
Shadowheart arched an eyebrow, folding her arms. “Stoney and Boney?” she asked dryly. “Which are you?”
The mephit puffed out its chest proudly. “Boney,” it said, pointing to itself. “At your service. And this magnificent creature is my darling wife, Stoney.” It gestured toward the towering mud elemental, who gave a slow, proud nod. “Is she not glorious?”
Shadowheart tilted her head, giving the elemental a quick once-over. “She’s...a lot bigger than you.”
“I know!” Boney exclaimed with delight, his voice brimming with affection. “It’s wondrous!”
The mephit’s enthusiasm was contagious, though Astarion wasted no time. “I’d like a statue of myself,” he said smoothly, stepping forward with a confident smile.
Boney grinned, his muddy features somehow managing to look genuinely delighted. “My wife shall be thrilled! Custom orders are her favorite—especially when the subject’s facial structure is as... unique as yours.” The mephit’s voice carried a teasing lilt, though the compliment seemed sincere. “It will be 5,000 gold pieces.”
Astarion’s smile faltered briefly at the mention of the cost, but he quickly regained his composure. He glanced toward Alex, his eyes glinting with calculated charm, already formulating how he might convince him to foot the bill.
“5,000?” Karlach muttered under her breath. “He better be planning to sparkle in the sun for that kind of gold.”
As soon as the words "five thousand gold pieces" left Boney’s mouth, Alex’s sharp eyes flicked toward Astarion, who was already wearing that charming-yet-scheming grin that always preceded an outrageous request. The vampire spawn stepped closer to him, his movements smooth and confident, clearly ready to launch into a calculated plea.
“Now, Alex, my dear,” Astarion began, his voice like honeyed wine. “Let’s be honest for a moment. Who else in this party deserves to be immortalized in stone? Shadowheart? Please."
Shadowheart glared daggers at him but he didn't seem to care .
"Gale? He’d want a moving statue powered by the Weave itself. But me, me, darling—I am a piece of art already. It would be a crime not to share this face with the world!”
Alex, unimpressed, crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Right. And what exactly makes you think I’m going to pay for this little vanity project of yours?”
“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong,” Astarion said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. With a flourish, he reached into his satchel and pulled out a cluster of shimmering trinkets—rings, necklaces, and a few ornate bangles that gleamed with a faint magical glow. “Behold! The spoils of war—or, rather, the spoils of your recent battle with that rather unfortunate djinni. "
Alex’s expression hardened.
"Look at these! Magical, rare, and probably worth far more than five thousand gold. Consider this my contribution.”
“Contribution?” Alex’s voice rose slightly. “You looted my kill, Astarion.”
The vampire spawn pressed a hand to his chest, feigning innocence. “Looting? Such a crude term. I prefer to call it ‘salvaging.’ And really, Alex, you’re so strong and noble—did you really need all these shiny baubles? Besides, they were just lying there, unclaimed. Like forgotten children. I was merely… adopting them.”
Alex pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath about patience and murder. “So let me get this straight. You want me to pay five thousand gold pieces for your statue, using my own gold, in exchange for trinkets you stole from me.”
“Borrowed,” Astarion corrected with a sly grin. “And you make it sound so transactional, Alex. Think of it as an investment! Just imagine—a towering statue of me, gracing the halls of some future city. Generations to come will look upon it and think, ‘Ah, there stood a hero.’ And by association, they’ll think, ‘And there stood Alex, the wise benefactor who made it possible.’”
Alex stared at him for a long moment, then finally cracked a grin, albeit a dangerous one. “Alright, Astarion. Let’s make a deal. I’ll pay for your statue—but on one condition.”
Astarion perked up immediately. “I’m listening.”