Astarion’s charming grin shattered like fragile glass, leaving a mask of dismay and indignation. His eyes darted between Alex and Lae’zel, searching for some sign that this was an elaborate joke. “I beg your pardon?” he stammered, his voice trembling with indignation. “Surely, I misheard. You couldn’t possibly have suggested what I think you just did.”
“Oh, you heard me,” Alex replied, his grin widening with wolfish amusement as he leaned forward. “I’ll pay for your precious statue, Astarion—but only if you go on a date with Lae’zel. A real date. You know, the kind where you actually try.”
Everyone went dead silent for half a heartbeat before erupting into chaos. Shadowheart let out a sharp laugh, quickly smothered behind her hand. Karlach slapped her knee, her boisterous guffaw scattering a flock of nearby birds. Wyll chuckled, trying to maintain some decorum but failing as he hid his grin behind a gloved hand. Gale looked at Alex with a knowing smirk,
Lae’zel piercing gaze jumped from Astarion and then to Alex, her brows furrowing. “What foolishness is this?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the laughter like a blade through silk. Her eyes locked onto Alex with an expression that promised pain if this turned out to be a waste of her time.
Astarion, pale , turned toward her like a cornered rabbit. “Lae’zel,” he croaked, his usual charm evaporating, “please tell me you find this as absurd as I do.”
Her lips curled into a snarl. “Speak plainly, spawn. What absurdity?”
“A date with you!” Astarion nearly shrieked, gesturing wildly. “He thinks it would be funny to—ugh—force me into some deranged courtship with you!” He pointed an accusatory finger at Alex, who was looking as pleased as a cat with a fresh catch.
Lae’zel turned her steely gaze to Alex. “You jest.”
“Not at all,” Alex said, his grin refusing to falter. “I think it’s a brilliant idea. Astarion could stand to learn a thing or two from someone with your... discipline and confidence. And you?” He shrugged theatrically. “Who knows? You might enjoy watching him squirm.”
“Squirm?” Astarion exclaimed, his voice hitting an undignified pitch. “I do not squirm! And for the record, this is the most preposterous thing you’ve ever concocted, Alex. And that’s saying something.”
“She might surprise you,” Alex continued, his tone light and teasing. “Maybe you two have more in common than you think. You’re both fiercely passionate, after all... and exceptionally stab-happy.”
“Passionate?” Astarion balked, throwing his arms in the air as if appealing to the gods. “She’s about as passionate as a rust monster gnawing on a sword! And stab-happy? That’s hardly a shared interest—it’s just occupational hazard.”
“And you are as passionate as a leech,” Lae’zel said flatly, her voice dripping with disdain. “At least a leech can be squashed underfoot.”
The party burst into another round of laughter, Karlach doubling over with tears in her eyes. “Oh, I have to see this,” she howled, pounding her thigh. “Astarion, if you survive, you’ll have my respect forever.”
“Survive?” Astarion’s head snapped toward her, his expression a mix of disbelief and mounting horror. “Do you people honestly think this is some sort of game? She’ll cleave me in half before the appetizers!”
Lae’zel finally spoke again, her voice low and deliberate. “You insult my honor, leech. Do you think I would lower myself to such barbarism on a mere social engagement?”
“Yes,” Astarion deadpanned.
Lae’zel glared at him, and Astarion’s confidence evaporated further. “Lae’zel, for the love of whatever you respect,” he pleaded, his hands clasped together as if in prayer, “tell them this is ridiculous! You have better things to do than humor this madness.”
Lae’zel’s smirk was slow, deliberate, and terrifying. “And yet, the idea intrigues me.”
“What?” Astarion whispered, the color draining from his face.
“You seek to test my patience,” she said, her tone turning sharp. “Very well. If this is the challenge Alex desires, I shall entertain it. I will not back down from a battle of will.”
“Battle?” Astarion’s voice cracked. “This isn’t a duel—it’s a date!”
“Indeed,” Lae’zel replied, stepping closer until her shadow loomed over him. Her predatory smirk widened. “Perhaps if you survive, I will find you less of a parasite.”
The group erupted into fresh peals of laughter, even Gale struggling to hide his amusement. Wyll doubled over, his controlled facade completely shattered.
Astarion turned to Alex, his expression a mix of fury and resignation. “You are a madman,” he hissed, his voice trembling. “A dangerous, insufferable madman.”
“Oh, I know,” Alex replied with a wink. “Better start making plans for your big date.”
Lae’zel had a triumphant look, clearly pleased with herself, while Astarion groaned loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is a nightmare,” he muttered, glaring daggers at Alex. “No, worse—a tragedy.”
“Cheer up, fangs,” Karlach said, clapping him on the shoulder so hard he nearly stumbled. “At least you’ll have a story for the ages. If you live, of course.”
“If,” Astarion muttered, his voice dripping with doom as he stalked off to brood. Alex, meanwhile, reached into his coat and handed the 5,000 gold pieces to Boney with a satisfied smile, the weight of the transaction clearly secondary to the chaos he’d unleashed.
Nearby, they discovered another unusual merchant—this time, a kobold whose presence was as bizarre as it was oddly captivating.
The merchant's stall was a riot of color and clutter, mirroring the eccentric energy of the Circus of the Last Days. A battered wooden cart leaned precariously on uneven ground, piled high with peculiar odds and ends: tarnished trinkets that glinted in the sunlight, jars filled with murky, mysterious liquids, and strange relics that looked plucked from a crypt rather than a market. A wicker basket sat nearby, brimming with fire-charred apples whose skins seemed to glow like embers. The whole setup was barely shielded by a canopy of patchy canvas tied haphazardly to crooked poles, casting jagged shadows across the wares.
At the heart of this chaotic scene was the kobold merchant himself, an enthusiastic, scrappy figure whose flair was impossible to ignore. His crimson scales shimmered with hues of dark ochre in the sunlight, and his snout curled into a permanent, toothy grin. A crimson top hat perched atop his head, with diamond-patterned stitching and small cute ribbon. His vest, made of stitched-together bones and scraps of leather, lent him an air of primal charm that contrasted sharply with the garish whimsy of his outfit.
"Get yer shinies and treatos!" he bellowed to anyone within earshot, his gravelly voice somehow both alarming and endearing. His sharp, golden eyes gleamed with cunning as they darted from customer to customer, evaluating each one like a predator sizing up prey.
Alex’s party approached, their curiosity piqued. The kobold’s face lit up as he spotted them. “Oh, oh! Hungry little hobgoblins, eh? Want a treato?” he chirped, his enthusiasm spilling over like a child eager to share a secret. “I got lots of treatos! And magic! And junks I finds! Don’t worry, I only takes junks from dead people. I is nice!” His sharp teeth flashed in an unsettling grin as he gestured to his stall.
From the side, Astarion raised a pale eyebrow and muttered dryly, “I like this fellow.” Then, with a glint of amusement in his eyes, he asked, “How often do you, ah, ‘loot’ corpses?”
“Lots of times!” the kobold admitted cheerfully. “The beasts ate a kiddo the other day, and I got some good stuff. Uh—uh—I mean!” He paused, his expression shifting as he realized he might’ve said too much. “Circus is safe, don’t worry! Yes. Very safe!”
A small chuckle escaped Astarion’s lips but quickly faded as his mind wandered to his impending 'date' with Lae’zel.
Alex stepped forward, determined to focus on the task at hand. “What do you have for sale?”
“Oh, lots of stuffs!” the kobold exclaimed, his scaly hands gesturing dramatically toward a nearby table. “Just for you!”
The party moved closer, their gazes falling upon the chaotic collection of goods sprawled across the surface. Gems of varying sizes and colors sparkled in the sunlight, mismatched and raw. Dried plant parts lay bundled in twine, alongside potions that swirled with strange liquids. A few arrows rested there, their fletchings ragged, and a pair of gloves emanated a faint, pulsing magical aura that Alex could sense.
But what truly seized their attention was the grotesque centerpiece of the display: a severed left hand. Blood still dripping from it. It lay limp on the table, its fingers curled slightly inward, and on one of those fingers rested a ring. The ring itself was crude but unmistakably eerie—a twisted band of smelted gold etched with the grinning face of what looked like a jester or demon.
“Huh,” Shadowheart muttered, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “What’s with that?”
The kobold’s grin widened. “Oh, that? I founds it by the clown man’s tent. Fought a rat for it and everything! Hueh!” His raspy laugh scratched at their ears.
Alex leaned forward, studying the hand and the sinister ring more closely.
“How much for it?” Alex asked suddenly, his voice calm but firm.
All eyes turned toward him in surprise—Shadowheart’s tinged with revulsion, and Astarion’s with intrigued skepticism. The kobold blinked, momentarily stunned by Alex’s apparent interest, before his golden eyes lit up with greed.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Ah, it’s one-of-a-kind, that is! Artisanal bite marks on the hand, even! Very valuable!” He puffed out his chest, his gravelly voice taking on a singsong quality. “Worth lots! I say... ten thousand gold pieces!”
“Ten thousand?” Karlach blurted, her jaw dropping. “For that?!”
The kobold nodded vigorously, clutching his hat like a merchant proudly displaying his finest wares. “Yesss, ten thousand!"
Alex’s gaze remained fixed on the hand, his thoughts unreadable as the kobold’s grin stretched wider, sensing the potential for profit. The tension hung in the air, heavy with both amusement and unease, as the party waited to see if Alex would truly entertain such a bizarre deal.
Alex tapped his chin thoughtfully, his lips curling into a small, sly smile. “Hmm. An interesting offer,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “But what do you say about a trade?”
The kobold tilted his head, his golden eyes narrowing with curiosity. “Trade?” he repeated, his gravelly voice skeptical yet intrigued.
With slow, deliberate movements, Alex reached into his pocket and withdrew a small glass marble. It gleamed faintly in the sunlight, its surface smooth and polished like a droplet of water caught in time. Cradling it delicately between his fingers, Alex held it up for the kobold to see.
The kobold leaned in closer, his snout twitching as his sharp eyes locked onto the marble. Painted with painstaking detail inside the glass was a tiny portrait of the kobold himself—complete with his top hat and toothy grin. Every brushstroke captured his likeness perfectly, from the glint of his golden eyes to the pattern of his hat.
For a moment, the kobold was completely still. Then his eyes widened to the size of saucers, and his jaw fell open in pure, unfiltered astonishment. He pointed a trembling claw at the marble. “Deal,” he blurted, his voice almost a squeak. “Deal! Yes! Trade!” He nodded so vigorously his hat nearly fell off.
Without another word, the kobold snatched the marble from Alex’s hand, clutching it with a reverence usually reserved for holy relics. He turned it over in his claws, examining every tiny detail with a mixture of awe and disbelief. His usually chatty demeanor evaporated, leaving him uncharacteristically silent as he marveled at the artistry.
Satisfied, Alex picked up the severed hand, careful not to touch it directly, and placed it securely in his psionic vault.
Karlach broke the silence with a hearty laugh. “Hey, Alex, can I get one of those too? A marble, not a hand, obviously.” She grinned, her warm eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Alex turned to her with an amused shrug. “Sure, why not?”
Reaching back into his pocket, he pulled out more marbles, each one containing an intricately painted image of his companions. He handed one to Karlach, who gasped as she saw herself immortalized in glass, her likeness captured in radiant detail.
“Whoa,” Karlach breathed, her voice softer than usual. She held the marble up to the light, marveling at how it seemed to glow. “This is... amazing. I look like a proper badass.”
Shadowheart leaned over, her brow arching as she studied the marble in Karlach’s hand. “You’ve been holding out on us, Alex,” she said, her tone teasing but her eyes filled with genuine admiration. “How long have you been making these?”
Gale took his own marble when Alex handed it to him, turning it over with academic fascination. His painted visage, complete with his wizardly robes and thoughtful expression, seemed almost alive within the glass. “This level of detail is extraordinary,” Gale murmured, his fingers brushing over the smooth surface. “How do you manage such precision? The colors, the strokes—it’s as if you’ve shrunk a masterwork painting into something so tiny.”
Alex smirked. “Trade secret,” he replied, his voice tinged with mystery.
Karlach laughed again, shaking her head. “Oh, come on! There’s got to be a story here. You don’t just wake up one day and say, ‘Hey, I’m going to paint tiny masterpieces inside marbles.’”
Alex chuckled softly, but he gave nothing away, his smirk deepening. “Let’s just say I’ve had... a lot of practice.”
The kobold, meanwhile, was still cradling his marble like it was the greatest treasure he had ever owned. He muttered something incoherent under his breath, his gaze never leaving the painted portrait.
“Looks like you’ve made his week,” Shadowheart noted dryly, watching the kobold with a mix of amusement and curiosity.
Alex gave a nonchalant shrug, though his grin betrayed a hint of satisfaction.
----------------------------------------
The scent of blood was faint at first, like a whisper carried on the breeze, but it grew stronger as Alex made his way through the vibrant chaos of the Circus of the Last Days. It led him toward a throng of people gathered before a small stage, their cheers and laughter rising like a wave. His sharp eyes took in the spectacle—a clown stood at the center of the stage, his painted smile wide and cheerful. dressed in outlandish, fool's motley befitting his role in the circus. His face was painted white, with whimsical makeup, and his hair was dyed a vibrant shade of pink. Beside him was an undead hound, its frame held together by patches of rotting flesh and dark magic.
The clown was putting on a show, making the hound perform tricks for the crowd. The creature leapt gracefully through a ring of fire, its glowing eyes fixed on its master, then stood on its hind legs to balance a flaming stick on its nose. The crowd roared with delight. The clown, reveling in their attention, peppered his performance with jokes that sent waves of laughter rippling through the audience.
“Huh, that clown is pretty funny,” Karlach remarked, her lips twitching into a grin despite herself.
"That's not just any clown," Wyll added, a hint of admiration in his voice. "He is Dribbles, one of the funniest clowns Baldur's Gate has ever seen."
“Such a waste of time.” Lae’zel scoffed, crossing her arms and glaring at the spectacle as though it were beneath her notice." Can we not find a more pleasant amusement ? Gouging out our own eyeballs, perhaps ? "
But Alex barely registered their words. His focus was elsewhere, his gaze shifting past the vibrant colors and animated gestures to the dark curtain behind the stage. That was where the scent of blood was strongest. Thick. Metallic. Fresh. It tugged at him like an unspoken challenge.
His attention wavered for a moment, drawn to the left, where two caged creatures sat in grim silence. One of them was a displacer beast—a sleek, feline predator with a jet-black coat that shimmered faintly, like shadows come to life. Its long, whip-like tentacles draped over its cage. The other a reptile that looked like a raptor.
The displacer beast's gaze was trained on him.
Alex’s eyes narrowed, and he extended an invisible psionic tendril, reaching out to the creature’s mind. The connection sparked to life, and he felt the raw, primal energy of the beast’s thoughts.
'Speak,' Alex commanded, his mental voice sharp and deliberate.
The displacer beast’s mind churned, her thoughts laced with desperation. Finally, she responded, her mental voice low and trembling with barely contained rage. 'Release me.'
'And why would I do that?' Alex asked, his tone laced with curiosity rather than compassion.
The beast’s mind burned with fury, her thoughts crackling like a fire about to consume everything in her path. 'Help me get my revenge,' she pleaded, “and you will have my eternal loyalty.”
Alex was intrigued but unmoved. 'I don’t need your loyalty,' he replied coolly. 'I already have my friends.'
For a moment, the displacer beast fell silent, her golden eyes lowering to the filthy ground of her cage. Alex could feel her mind shifting, searching for something—anything—that might persuade him. Then her thoughts sharpened, edged with a chilling resolve.
'I know what you are,' the beast hissed, her mental voice now sharper, more focused. 'The moment I saw you, my fur stood on end. You are not human.'
Alex was caught off guard by the creature’s words.
The displacer beast pressed on, sensing his momentary hesitation. 'I will give you my flesh,' she said, her voice trembling with both hatred and hope. 'Just let me sink my fangs into their throats—those who took my mate, my cubs.'
The raw emotion in her plea—the anguish, the rage—hit Alex harder than he expected. For a moment, he could feel the beast’s pain, her yearning for vengeance like a storm raging in her soul.
He let out a slow breath, steadying himself. 'I will help you escape,' he said at last, his voice quieter now, but resolute. 'But not now.'
The displacer beast’s eyes flickered with something—gratitude, perhaps, or the faintest glimmer of hope. She didn’t speak again, retreating into her own thoughts, but her tentacles relaxed, curling loosely around the bars of her cage.
He tore his gaze away from the beast and the blood-stained curtain, his mind already calculating his next move.
Dribbles clapped his gloved hands together, the sound sharp and theatrical, drawing the attention of the crowd. His painted smile stretched wider as he turned to the audience, his voice booming. “Ladies and gentlemen! Peasants and nobles! I present to you a spectacle of unparalleled wonder—a feat so daring, so absurd, so outright mad that bards will sing of it for centuries!”
The crowd leaned in, their excitement bubbling. Wyll was already chuckling under his breath, while Karlach grinned broadly, her fiery energy matching the clown's over-the-top antics. Lae’zel, of course, crossed her arms and muttered, “What pointless drivel,” though even her sharp eyes remained fixed on the stage.
"But first," Dribbles said, halting his pacing with a dramatic pause, "we need a volunteer! Someone bold! Someone brave! Someone utterly irreplaceable!" His wild gaze swept over the crowd, landing on Alex.
Dribbles pointed dramatically. “You there! The tall, brooding one with the air of danger and mystery—step forward! The spotlight beckons you!”
Alex sighed internally but stepped onto the stage. The crowd cheered as Dribbles spun around him like a whirlwind, his tattered cloak billowing. "Ah ! Tell me, dear friend," Dribbles asked, holding up an exaggeratedly large wooden staff adorned with ribbons, "what makes you special?"
“I treat everyone around me with kindness,” Alex said flatly.
Dribbles froze, blinking at Alex as if he had just insulted his ancestors. “Kindness? Kindness?! Boring! Anyone can do that!” He slumped dramatically, leaning on his oversized staff for support. The crowd laughed, and Dribbles perked up again. “No, my friend, you are special because you are about to witness... my newest, most incredible magic trick!”
The audience roared with excitement. Dribbles reached into a leather pouch tied to his belt and pulled out a gleaming golden goblet, holding it high. "Behold! A goblet fit for kings! But this is no ordinary cup—it’s enchanted with the most unpredictable of magics! Watch closely, everyone!"
Dribbles handed the goblet to Alex. “Hold this steady ! Don’t spill a drop—this is vital to the trick!”
Alex, eyeing the clown warily, took the goblet and held it steady. Dribbles darted behind him, rummaging through an old wooden chest. “Now, for the pièce de résistance!” From the chest, he pulled out a chicken.
The crowd gasped and then erupted into laughter as the clown waved the chicken around like it was a magical artifact. “This, my friends, is no ordinary chicken! This is Sir Feathersworth, the bravest poultry in all the land!”
Dribbles placed the chicken on Alex’s shoulder. Alex stood still, his face a mask of stoic resignation as Sir Feathersworth clucked softly, clearly unimpressed.
“Now,” Dribbles continued, “I shall command Sir Feathersworth to retrieve a hidden treasure! Watch closely, for this is where the magic happens!”
He clapped his hands and shouted, “Sir Feathersworth, the Goblet of Destiny awaits!”
The chicken flapped its wings, startled, and immediately pecked at the goblet in Alex’s hand, spilling its contents—a thick, sticky syrup—all over Alex’s arm and armor.
The crowd howled with laughter as Alex’s stoic expression cracked into a momentary grimace.
Dribbles, feigning shock, gasped loudly. “Oh no! The goblet wasn’t ready for the great Sir Feathersworth’s power! But fear not, dear audience, the magic is still at work!”
Dribbles snapped his fingers, and the syrup began to shimmer and glow faintly. In an instant, it transformed into hundreds of tiny, colorful flower petals that fluttered into the air, sticking to Alex’s armor and hair like a bizarre bouquet.
The crowd roared, doubling over with laughter as Dribbles took an exaggerated bow. “Behold! The hero of flowers! A new champion of nature!”
Alex glanced down at his petal-covered armor, exhaling slowly through his nose. He shot Dribbles a withering look, but the clown only grinned wider.
“Fear not, my stalwart assistant,” Dribbles said, waving dramatically. “This was but the warm-up! For the true magic trick begins now!”
He pulled a silk scarf from his pocket, holding it up for the audience to see. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he tossed the scarf into the air. It floated up, caught on an invisible breeze—only to burst into a puff of smoke. When the smoke cleared, a pie hovered in its place.
The pie rocketed down from above, smacking Alex square in the face. The crowd exploded into cheers and applause as Dribbles danced around the stage, shouting, “The finale! The reward!”
Wyll was laughing so hard he had to lean against Karlach for support. Even Shadowheart allowed herself a small smile.
Astarion was on his back , rolling and laughing.
Alex, now dripping with cream and covered in flower petals, wiped his face clean with one hand and cast a long, unimpressed glare at Dribbles.
“Don’t worry!” Dribbles said cheerfully, thrusting a cloth into Alex’s hand. “A token of your bravery, dear assistant! A memento of your glorious transformation!”
Without a word, Alex turned and walked off the stage, ignoring the roaring laughter before him.