The morning air was refreshingly cool and crisp. As I stepped out of my tent, I drew a deep breath, embracing the atmosphere enveloping me. A delicate mist had settled over our campsite, with the sunlight filtering through, casting a mesmerizing dance of light. Dawn, emerging swiftly after what felt like endless nights, was quickly becoming my most cherished time of day. The night's shadows receded, making way for the sun's embrace, which filled the clearing with its warm, soft radiance. I stretched, releasing a sigh of contentment.
Despite the morning's beauty, something was amiss. Gale, busy preparing breakfast, was engrossed in a lengthy discourse with Karlach, who nodded along, seemingly perplexed by the conversation. Nearby, the gith was sharpening her blade and casting glances my way. I rolled my eyes in silent exasperation. Meanwhile, Shadowheart was poring over a map, likely planning our day's route. That is when I noticed what was absent, Lyra.
“If you’re searching for Lyra, she’s gone to the river this morning,” Gale interjected suddenly, causing me to startle. “She felt somewhat ill, quite pale and drained, in fact.” He paused; his gaze fixed on me.
I feigned ignorance, “I’m not sure what you’re implying.”
“Hmm,” Gale responded curtly, uncharacteristically brief, marking a rare occasion where he opted for a single expression over an elaborate explanation.
“To ease your mind, I’ll check on our unpredictable companion,” I offered earnestly. Before Gale could respond, I continued, “No need for thanks, I’m happy to do it.”
Gale exhaled deeply, muttering “For the love of Mystra,” as I made my way towards the river.
I knew precisely where to find Lyra; I made my way to the secluded spot where we shared an intimate encounter the previous night. While there was concern that she might be too weakened to engage in battle if needed, a part of me couldn't help but smile at the deftness of my own schemes. Not only had Lyra defended me in our conflicts, but she had also consented to my feeding on her blood—a necessity for my survival yet a delicate act to balance.
As vital as Lyra was in what I was hoping would be our united stand against Cazador, the allure of feeding from her again was overwhelming. The sustenance drawn from animals paled in comparison; they were mere substitutes, unsatisfying and bland. Lyra, on the other hand, was like a rare, exquisite vintage—rich and invigorating. This delicate balance of maintaining her strength while satisfying my needs was critical, not just for our survival, but for the effectiveness of our alliance in the battles that lay ahead.
As I neared the pebble-strewn shore, I caught sight of Lyra. She was perched on a fallen tree, her body reclined as though absorbing the sun's energy. Her legs, dipped in the refreshing water up to her knees, moved languidly through the cool liquid. She had soaked a cloth in the chilly river and pressed it to her neck at the spot where I had bitten her. Bathed in sunlight, she looked radiant; her satin curls sparkled and fluttered softly in the gentle breeze. For a moment, I was so captivated by her beauty that I nearly forgot the purpose of my visit, standing there mesmerized by her allure.
"Good morning, Astarion," Lyra greeted with her eyes still closed, a playful tone in her voice. "Care to join me? I promise I don’t bite." Her lips curled into a grin. I chuckled softly and took a seat beside her on the tree.
"Don't you?" I quipped back. "Be careful with promises you might not keep, darling.” Lyra’s laughter echoed lightly, but she winced slightly, prompting a wave of concern from me. "How are you feeling?" I inquired gently.
"My neck's a bit sore, and I'm still feeling a touch woozy," she admitted. I took the cloth from her neck, dipped it in the cool water to refresh it, and then carefully wrung it out. Lyra watched silently; her gaze fixed on me. Tenderly, I replaced the cloth on her neck, letting my hand glide slowly up to her jawline, pausing for a moment before I brushed a stray curl back behind her ear.
"It will pass," I reassured her softly, our eyes meeting in a moment filled with concern and affection.
"About you feeding on me," Lyra said, breaking our gaze as she relaxed back, eyes closing once more.
"It will never happen again, scout's honor," I declared with a theatrical pause before adding, "Unless... you're offering another nibble?" My tone was light, teasing, as I playfully bit my bottom lip.
“Does it really enhance your abilities, or did you just really want to bite me?" Lyra opened her eyes and locked them onto mine with a curious intensity.
Seizing the moment to keep the playful banter alive, I flirted back, "It's true, your blood sharpens my mind and strengthens my body. But honestly, I was more enchanted by the prospect of getting lost in your neck, feeling those shakes of excitement." I grinned slyly. "I know you felt them too."
“Well, the night air was rather chilly,” she teased, turning her head to the side with a quizzical look as she gauged my reaction. “We do have a druid to rescue and these damned tadpoles to eliminate, and for that, I can’t have a weakened vampire running about causing chaos,” she chided playfully.
“No, darling, that would be just awful,” I returned her jest with a grin.
“Well,” she sighed, a hint of resolve in her voice, “then it’s settled.” I watched her, masking my slight panic. Had I overstepped? Was she about to tell me I was on my own? “You shall feed on me. I can’t have you running amok in camp, scaring the others,” she declared, raising her eyebrows humorously. “Gods, I would never hear the end of it from Gale,” she finished with a laugh.
Surprised, I managed, “You... You want me to feed on you?” She nodded.
“We need every advantage we can get in our upcoming battles. I need our companions to trust you, and I need you to be stronger, faster, and more cunning than our enemies.”
I pondered her words, then responded thoughtfully, “Later on, when we are at rest, I will come to you when you are snugly wrapped in your bedroll, and we can have a little… privacy.” The breeze played with the curl I had tucked behind her ear earlier and released it. I reached up to her face, gently brushing the curl back into place and running my hand along her jaw to her chin. Lifting her gaze to mine firmly, I assured her, “My sweet, there is nothing I’d like more.” This playful exchange and tender care were perfect; she continued falling right into my carefully laid plans, exactly as I had hoped.
Present Day…
Shaking my head as I recalled my encounter with the Vanator and how Lyra kept my secret, I couldn't help but berate myself for being such a cad. I had been completely oblivious to her true significance in my life, even then. As I was selfishly seducing her for my own desires, she was offering herself to me without reservation. In a fit of annoyance, I picked up my wine and recklessly downed it in large, hasty swigs.
Gazing into the empty tankard, I cursed under my breath, "Gods damn it," and let out a deep sigh. Pouring myself another full tankard, I made a firm decision to avoid drinking it like a clumsy oaf. Rising from my chair, I took my wine and walked over to a stout post on the balcony, where I leaned against it, gazing into the night. I decided to shift my focus to the enticing moment when Lyra first allowed me to bite her.
As I took another slow sip of the wine, I savored its complex flavors, much as I had savored Lyra's presence that night. The rich dance of tastes on my tongue—sweet, smoky, with a spicy bite—reminded me startlingly of her. Both Lyra and this vintage of purple dragon's blush, shared a compelling chaos and intensity. I had nearly devoured the entire first bottle with a fervor that mirrored the hunger I felt when I bit into her. That night, consuming her was about more than mere sustenance; it was an indulgence in every sensation she offered.
For the first time since that encounter, I considered how the evening might have unfolded differently had I restrained my eagerness to taste my first sentient being. Instead of sinking my teeth into her neck, I imagined tracing her skin with gentle kisses, moving slowly down her collarbone. Each soft kiss a lingering promise rather than a hurried claim. With a deep sigh, I muttered to myself, "You really do like torturing yourself." Although I had no plans to awaken her yet, if I didn’t divert my thoughts from her enticing neck, I feared my restraint would soon falter.
To distract myself from my growing desires for Lyra, I turned my thoughts to that accursed blighted village. What a disastrous campaign that was—swarms of goblins, a foul-mouthed familiar guarding a sinister tome, and those horrendous, murderously hungry spiders. I had believed the vile bog we had slogged through the previous day was dreadful. I'm still pulling cobwebs from my hair, I grimaced. Yet, there were some moments of amusement, like the ghastly bugbear and ogre couple and the dizzy runaway gnome, which brought a smirk to my face. That was fun.
Weeks earlier…
We faced three potential entry points to the deserted village: two heavily guarded by goblins, and the third, near some dilapidated outbuildings and what seemed to be an old blacksmith's shop, was 'guarded' by a bugbear so inebriated he was passed out in the morning sun. The tactical debate between the gith and Shadowheart over which route to choose was becoming a predictable spectacle, and I couldn't help but grin at the comedic disagreement escalating between them. Lyra, ever the voice of reason, intervened decisively.
“Enough! You are both pretty, and you both have sound points,” she sighed, “so sound in fact, you might as well announce our arrival. We're taking the quiet approach by the blacksmith's shop.” The gith muttered about cowardice, clearly displeased. Lyra, unfazed, was already moving toward the rear entrance. I couldn't resist stirring the pot, feigning disappointment.
“A shame, really. A duel to the death would have been quite the show,” I smirked at her. Lyra shot me a knowing grin.
“You really must be a man of tremendous appetites, Astarion. I would've thought last night's exploits were enough blood for you.”
With my most charming smile, I replied, “Darling, there is always room for more.”
The village lay draped in a cloak of neglect, untouched by time's march, a silent witness to bygone days. Weathered stone cottages lined the crooked, overgrown paths, their roofs sagging and doors ajar, suggesting a hasty abandonment. At the heart of the village stood the remnants of a once-bustling market square, now nothing more than a faint outline among the weeds.
Dominating this forgotten scene was the blacksmith's shop, its significance still echoed in the substantial structure that resisted the encroaching decay slightly better than its neighbors. The stone walls of the shop were blackened from years of forge fires, and the heavy wooden door hung precariously on one remaining hinge. Inside, the forge itself remained, cold and rusted, surrounded by scattered tools that lay abandoned as if waiting for a smith's return. An anvil stood solid, its surface pitted with the marks of countless hammer strikes, testament to its enduring service.
Nearby, a cluster of outbuildings flanked the blacksmith's shop. These smaller structures, perhaps once storerooms or stables were in various stages of collapse, their wooden frames bowing under the weight of time. Ivy and moss crept up the sides of these buildings, weaving through the cracks and crevices, and small creatures had made homes in the shadows of what was left of the wooden walls and thatched roofs.
"What is that sound?" Lyra asked, her voice barely a whisper. From one of the nearby buildings, a bizarre cacophony of noises was emerging. Odd, rhythmic thumps paired with breathy, grunting sounds filled the air. Curious, I crept towards the source—a set of closed wooden doors—and pressed my ear against the rough grain to listen more closely. Within moments, I recognized the sounds and couldn't suppress a mischievous grin.
Shadowheart, catching my amused expression, quickly deduced the situation. "Leave them," she hissed, "They do not want to be disturbed, and I do not want to start a fight." Her warning, however, had the opposite effect on me. Rather than retreat, I was compelled by a devilish impulse. I kicked at the wooden door, which, weakened by rot, gave way easily, revealing the comical scene behind it.
There, in a state of disarray, stood a bewildered bugbear hastily trying to cover up, alongside an ogre, equally compromised. The sight was so absurdly unexpected that I struggled to hold back my laughter at the sheer awkwardness of the encounter. Gale, visibly flustered, was the first to shatter the silence. He stammered out, "P-pardon us, we were just, um, passing by and thought—well, we thought perhaps someone was in need of, ah, a rescue, you see, but I-I can clearly see that we should leave you in hind—kind!" he hastily corrected himself, his face turning a rather brilliant shade of red. The sight of Gale's flustered expression and his stumbling over words sent me into a fit of laughter.
"MMMRRRAAAAAGGGGG!!!" the ogre bellowed, her rage echoing through the ruined building. "SMASH YOU!!!" she roared, gearing up to wield her massive club. But before the scene could turn chaotic, the formidable ogre, easily ten feet tall and weighing around 600 pounds, morphed into a small, bewildered sheep. It bleated a couple of confused "baaaaahhhs" and began nibbling on the grass sprouting through the cracks in the floor.
The bugbear, caught off guard and still half-dressed, stood frozen in shock. Stepping forward, Lyra addressed the bugbear with a composed demeanor, "Please accept our sincere apologies. If you could collect your... companion, and exit the village, we might all swiftly put this awkward incident behind us."
I couldn't help myself and chuckled, "Speak for yourself, darling, this will be etched in my memory for centuries." Lyra's response was a swift, icy stare. The bugbear, not eager to confront total strangers in his current state, quickly scooped up his clothes and his ovine companion, and made a swift exit from the barn.
Lyra called after him, "It will wear off eventually!"
As everyone turned to glare at me, still snickering, I quipped, "Oh, stop being so sour."
Lyra, eyebrow arched, dryly inquired, "Shall we continue, or is there more chaos you’d like to cause, Astarion?"
Taking in the unamused expressions around me, I let out a resigned sigh, "Let’s go." As I walked closer to Lyra, I whispered, admiring her quick thinking, "Brilliant, darling, polymorphing that ogre into a sheep."
She whispered back with a mockery of the ogre's voice, "Someone had to save you from being SMASHED."
We cautiously advanced toward the town's center, keeping close to the buildings for cover, with our focus sharply on the goblins. Above us, a few goblin scouts positioned themselves on the rooftops, part of the lackluster guard detail for the other two town entrances. Observing their movements revealed their inefficiency in maintaining a vigilant watch.
Lyra was intently observing a goblin on the nearby roof. "See something?" I asked, noting her intense scrutiny.
She narrowed her eyes, trying to discern finer details on the goblin's face. "Don't you see it?" she replied. Intrigued, I leaned closer, almost over her shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of what she saw. Just as I was about to dismiss it as nothing, I noticed a faint red glow—a magical brand—over the goblin’s left eye. Studying the mark more closely, I experienced an unsettling sensation; my tadpole reacted, seemingly excited by the sight of the goblin, filling me with a surge of dominance over the creature.
"Did you feel that?" I whispered to Lyra. "It feels like power, or…"
"Authority," she whispered back. Our companions, too, sensed it, nodding in silent agreement, united by the newfound power we felt.
Lyra boldly stepped into the open, directly in the line of sight of the goblins, drawing a sharp "What are you doing!" from me, whispered fiercely under my breath.
Unperturbed, she marched forward as the rooftop goblin hollered, "Oey! Mozig, Bludonk over there, surround these fools!" Lyra paused, staring up at the goblin scout.
With a mix of exasperation and amusement, she called out, "This is quite ridiculous, I know you’re there," fixing the nervous goblin with a steady gaze.
The scout attempted a tough facade. "Do you now... goods on you...want a prize? A shiny trinket to enjoy before we run you through," she chuckled nervously.
Lyra’s glare intensified. "There will be absolutely none of that happening. You will however, let us pass."
The goblin retorted, her voice faltering, "WE got ya surrounded, take one step further and we'll fill ya full of arrows."
Watching this exchange, I felt a strange sensation sweep over us. The brand on the goblin scouts face began to glow, and a sense of growing power infused Lyra and the rest of us, our illithid powers silently asserting dominance over the goblin.
Lyra’s voice dropped an octave as she commanded, "You will get out of my way, or I will cut you down. This village is ours, leave!" The brand on the goblin's face glowed red-hot, her eyes widening in terror.
She quickly dropped to her knees, stammering, "P-Please mate...I mean, your true soulness...we, we were only joking we was." The mention of 'true soul' had a domino effect; the rest of the goblins hastily knelt, refusing to meet Lyra’s eyes. I stood there, dumbfounded by the rapid turn of events. Lyra turned to me, whispering "True Soul?" Confused, I could only shrug in response.
She faced the groveling goblins again and shouted, "I said LEAVE!" The goblins scrambled away in a comic retreat, tripping over one another. One unfortunate goblin even tumbled from the roof, landing in what appeared to be an enormous pile of ogre shit.
As they cleared out, our group approached Lyra, Karlach grinning broadly, "Wicked job mate."
"Hmm, wicked indeed," Gale mused thoughtfully, his voice tinged with intrigue. "True Soul, now that's not a term familiar to my ears, nor the notion of a brand that grants the bearer such control over the branded. Quite advantageous for our situation, indeed. It reminds me of my youth, when I was a particularly mischievous lad. The things I could have done with such a power..." His voice trailed off into a reminiscent murmur, clearly lost in the corridors of his past adventures.
Just as Gale seemed poised to dive deeper into his memories, weaving what promised to be a long and elaborate narrative, I hastily interjected. "As much as I would love to stand around all day and delve into your fascinating tales, perhaps we should focus on scouring the area for anything immediately useful."
Gale shot me an annoyed glance, his eyes rolling expressively. "As you wish, Astarion," he said with a touch of irritation in his tone, indicating he had more to share but would acquiesce. "It seems that is an apothecary's hut over there. We should find plenty of useful items inside," he added, pointedly changing the subject to direct our attention toward the hut.
As the group ventured into the building, I noticed Lyra lingered behind, her complexion a shade paler than it had been that morning. Drawing near, I expressed my concern. "Are you all right, my dear?" Her attempt to face me faltered, and as she stumbled, I swiftly caught her, easing her head against my chest.
She rested there momentarily, her eyes meeting mine as she murmured, "I... I'm sorry, Astarion. I don’t know what happened," a veil of confusion crossing her features. Supporting her until her strength gradually returned, I felt her stabilize and finally let go. As she steadied herself, our eyes locked again, and suddenly, our tadpoles made a fleeting yet intense connection. It was jarring, the connection sending sharp pains through our heads, causing us both to wince. Through this bond, I experienced the goblin encounter from Lyra’s perspective, seeing the glow around the goblin’s eye and understanding the obedience compelled by the mark. As Lyra issued her command, the tadpole burrowed deeper, a sensation of irrevocable loss accompanying its intrusion. The mark on the goblin's face had noticeably faded, a clear indication that the tadpole's commanding power was waning alongside it.
As the connection abruptly severed, leaving us both clutching our heads and gasping for breath, Lyra doubled over, hands on her knees, struggling for air.
I stepped closer, gently placing a hand on her back. She straightened slowly, reassuring me, "I’m okay, just a little winded. I think the tadpole is trying to tell us this power will weaken us after use. It’s not something we can wield without consequences."
Observing her closely, I replied, "Well, darling, most great powers come at a cost. Let’s see how quickly you recover before we dismiss such a gift."
Lyra considered this, a hint of her usual spirit returning as she joked, "Twice in less than a day I have been drained by something for power, I must be as delectable as you say."
"Well now, someone is feeling better already, my sweet," I grinned at her. "Now, let's go before the others wander off into certain peril," I paused and added softly “one could only hope.” I lingered a few steps behind Lyra as she moved toward the group. "Excellent," I mused quietly. Her readiness to stretch boundaries to amass power against our foes was evident. Even amid uncertainties about the outcomes, she responded to minimal prompting or a gentle, flirtatious nudge. The more I demonstrated care, the more she seemed prepared to undertake on my behalf.
The apothecary’s shoppe was a small, weather-beaten wooden hut, its darkened timber walls partially covered in creeping ivy and moss, evoking a sense of age and neglect. The hut is nestled among crumbling stone buildings, whose dilapidated forms hint at a once bustling urban life now long forgotten. A small sign hung above the door: "Ilyn Toth’s Cure-iosity Shoppe." Wonderful, a healer with a sense of humor. I rolled my eyes, clearly unamused by this, Ilyn’s, attempt at a joke.
Inside the shoppe, shelves made of rough-hewn wood line the walls, bending under the weight of myriad bottles, jars, and containers. These vessels, made of glass, clay, and metal, contain a variety of dried herbs, roots, and mysterious powders, each labeled with fading script. The air is thick with the pungent aroma of medicinal plants mixed with the musty smell of old books and parchment that lie scattered around. A large, sturdy table occupies the center of the room, cluttered with mortars and pestles, a balance scale, and several ancient texts on herbal lore.
In one corner of the room stands a small, dusty window, allowing faint sunlight to filter through, illuminating the particles of dust floating in the air. Spider webs stretch across the upper corners of the room, and amid this forgotten chaos, a journal lies open, its pages filled with handwritten notes and sketches of plants, hinting at the hut's last occupant—an herbalist who meticulously documented their knowledge and experiments.
It was Shadowheart who broke the silence, almost tripping over a rotting rug that concealed a cellar door in the floor. "Why would the owner hide an entrance to the cellar?" she asked.
I grinned; my curiosity piqued. "As long as there's something worth finding down there—something to line our pockets—I'm all for uncovering its secrets," I said, my eagerness to discover the hidden treasures below unmistakable. We descended the ladder down into the cellar. The room was much larger than the hut above and was sparsely filled, containing only a few lackluster items that hint at neglect rather than hidden treasure. Along one wall, a dilapidated shelf leans precariously, holding a small collection of dusty, empty jars that once might have stored potent herbs or remedies, now long since used or decayed.
There are several wooden crates, their slats swollen from moisture, containing nothing more than a few brittle, discolored labels and some empty glass vials with cracked stoppers. As I shuffled the crates aside in my search for anything of value, my attention was drawn to a peculiar sight behind them. A large wooden lever stood obscured, now fully visible after I cleared the path. Lyra, curiosity piqued, sidled up beside me, peering over my shoulder.
"What do you suppose that's hiding?" she asked with a mischievous grin.
"Let's find out, shall we, darling?" I replied, my voice tinged with excitement. Gripping the lever, I gave it a hearty pull. A loud click echoed through the cellar, like a lock surrendering its secrets, followed by the ground beneath us starting to tremble. To our right, a large stone wall began to move, its motion slow and deliberate, gradually revealing a hidden tunnel that led to what appeared to be the mouth of a cave. “That isn’t ominous at all," Lyra chuckled, her tone light, betraying a thrill at our unexpected discovery.
We navigated through the tunnel and emerged into the cave, only to find this room as underwhelming as the first. Overgrown planting beds housed several rows of herbs and medicinal plants, all suffering from apparent years of neglect. Scattered around the room were several caskets.
"Odd choice of planting décor," Shadowheart murmured under her breath.
"Not as unusual as one might think, Shadowheart, I assure you," Gale began in his typically verbose manner. "Many a mushroom necessary for, well, various elixirs, potions, poisons, and such are cultivated from—"
"I get the point, thank you, Gale," Shadowheart cut him off sharply before he could launch into a detailed explanation of fungal horticulture. The idea of Shadowheart's growing irritation was too tempting to resist. With a mischievous grin, I quickly opened the nearest casket. A cloud of dust billowed out, and as it settled, my initial disappointment dissipated somewhat. True, the contents were meager—a scroll and a time-worn, rusted shovel—but Shadowheart's glaring expression was amusingly worth the reveal.
Gale picked up the scroll and examined it closely. "Hmm, a spell to summon a quasit, nasty little creatures," he mused thoughtfully. "Likely this is how Ilyn summoned his familiar. Considering the caskets strewn about, it seems we've stumbled upon a necromancer's lair, cleverly disguised as a healer's abode," Gale concluded.
"Mmm, I'm starting to rather like this Ilyn. Let's summon it," I said with a burst of enthusiasm. Gale paused, scanning the expressions of our group. I rolled my eyes at his hesitation and turned to Lyra.
Laughing, her amusement clear "If it leads us to treasure, fantastic. If not, it's Astarion's problem to deal with."
"Very well," Gale acquiesced, beginning to read from the scroll. "Infernale Vocate Quasit!"
The quasit erupted in a frenzy as it materialized, exclaiming in outrage, "Aargh, what do you want now flesh bag! Beck and call beck and call! But does you ever take care of Borbo! No!" It scanned our group with beady eyes before fixating on Lyra. Sniffing the air, it cocked its head, puzzled. "You…not the bastard, not master. Eh? What is you? Why you smell like that?" it inquired curiously.
"Ugh, disgusting little creature," Gale muttered under his breath.
The quasit shot a glance at Gale and shot back, "Your mother." I struggled to stifle my laughter, and Lyra, more composed, asked the creature what exactly she smelled like.
"You... you smell of chaos... not like master. Master smells of death. I prefers the deaths, no chaos, no hurt Borbo. Is good servant. Very good!" it pleaded earnestly.
"Somehow I highly doubt that" Gale retorted, skepticism coloring his tone. This time, the creature turned to Gale with a snicker.
"Heh. And you... you smell of goblin pee and weakness. Seen sneezes more powerful than you." Gale shot Borbo a glare but held his tongue. Lyra bit her lip to keep from laughing and cleared her throat.
"Borbo, is it? What an interesting name. Who was this master you speak of?" she probed.
"Hmm...call Borbo whatever you want, makes no difference to me. Master was Illy tall, skinny prick with ears... ahh necromancer your kind calls him," Borbo responded.
"What was he hiding down here?" I pressed the creature.
Borbo's gaze lingered on Lyra as it replied, "The mirror hides. Hides special things. You tell it things, personal things. Tell it! It decides if you enter, if you are worthy of the…” he dropped his excited shrill voice to a whisper “book.” Lyra shrugged at us and turned her attention to a large, ornate mirror draped in cobwebs and the patina of age on the back wall. She approached and peered into her reflection, which held her gaze.
“Only appears for ones that smell like you” Borbo snickered as he pointed directly to me. “Move, move dip shit, Borbo hasn’t got all day.”
“What exactly do you have to get back to” I rolled my eyes at the creature and joined Lyra by the mirror. Irritation simmered as I stared into the glass, expecting my reflection but finding only a blank void staring back. “I’ve had just about enough—" My words faltered as the mirror began to shift, its surface rippling like water. Time itself seemed to bend and slow. Swirling tendrils of magic twisted within the glass, coalescing into the shape of an ethereal head.
“Speak your name,” it bellowed, its voice resonating with power.
“Ahh... Astarion,” I stammered, the ghostly face now fully formed, its hollow eyes locking onto mine. The air thickened, and its gaze pierced through me, as if it were peeling back every layer of my soul, judging, weighing. The room around me stilled completely, time suspended. Lyra and the others were frozen in place, motionless like statues. Only I—and the mirror’s eerie presence—remained, caught in a silent moment of judgement.
“The book demands only the most powerful master, tell me Astarion,” Its voice vibrated with power as the mirror rippled “What would you sacrifice to obtain its power?”
I answered without hesitation “"I would sacrifice anything—my honor, my Elvan birth right, even the lives of those who stand beside me. Morality is a fleeting constraint, a chain for the weak. Power is the only constant, and I would see every principle and every bond burned to ash if it meant I could hold that power in my hands. No price is too great, no sacrifice too personal. I exist not to serve the whims of morality, but to bend the world to my will."
The mirror’s surface rippled, its voice low and echoing with an eerie resonance. "Be warned," it whispered, its tone like the rustle of ancient pages, "the power you seek is not what it appears. It promises dominion but binds tighter than any chain. Once the book claims you, you may find yourself no more than a vessel for its will. Sacrifice is easy; reclaiming what you lose... is impossible."
The ethereal image slowly receded, melting back into the swirling depths of the glass. With a groaning creak, the mirror swung aside, revealing the secret chamber concealed behind it. As the hidden door shifted open, time resumed its flow; the others stirred, approaching the now-revealed passageway, oblivious to the silent exchange I had just shared with the ghostly figure.
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Beyond the mirror lay a treasure room, vast and dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of ancient magic. Shelves and pedestals lined the chamber, each displaying a wealth of arcane artifacts—enchanted weapons glowing faintly with untapped power, shimmering potions, and elixirs of unknown potency. Herbs, dried and meticulously preserved, were piled high alongside gleaming gemstones and strange crystalline structures, their purposes lost to time. The room was a trove of knowledge and temptation, a hoard of forgotten secrets just waiting to be claimed.
The others moved swiftly but with purpose, carefully selecting only what was necessary for the long journey ahead. Potions were tucked into their packs—healing draughts, elixirs for stamina, and vials of rare concoctions. They passed over most of the treasure, focusing on what could aid them in survival. A few enchanted weapons were taken, each chosen for its practicality rather than its splendor. The room held countless wonders, but they knew this was no time for greed. They gathered only what they needed, preparing for the trials that awaited them beyond the treasure chamber.
As I surveyed the room, the quasit eagerly began to tug me towards a rusted key, excitedly explaining its purpose for the iron gate at the back of the room. With the key in hand I approached the gate, noticing several traps surrounding it. I let out a sigh and began the meticulous process of disarming them. Once the path was cleared, I used the key to unlock the gate, revealing a small room where a book rested on a large pedestal, flanked by several gargoyle heads frozen in a silent scream. My pulse quickened as I approached the pedestal. Instinctively, I halted—a still-active trap lay hidden beneath the book, poised to unleash a fiery blast from the gargoyles' mouths at any disturbance. I made haste and worked the final trap, with it now safely disarmed, I claimed the book.
While I examined the book's exterior, searching for a way to open it. I couldn't help but feel drawn to it as it lay in my hands. A deep, inexplicable urge to open it surged through me; the book seemed to be calling to me, its allure nearly overwhelming. Lyra, watching my fixation, glanced down at Borbo. "How do you open it?" she inquired.
"With a key, of course," Borbo responded nonchalantly.
"Fascinating," Gale replied dryly, his sarcasm thick.
"Ass-wipe," Borbo shot back at Gale with a glare.
"Do you know where the key is, Borbo?" Lyra asked, redirecting its focus back to her.
"Master Ily... cowardly prick... begged Borbo to hide it when the village was being sacked. Borbo clever... but also Borbo lazy... Hated cowardly master. So, Borbo dropped it in the well in the middle of town," Borbo recounted with a chuckle, clearly proud of its small rebellion against its former master.
I glanced at Lyra, who sighed and said, "It seems we definitely need this key, Borbo. Show me the well." Energized by our interest, Borbo led the way with a skip in its step, chuckling and snickering as we climbed back up from the cellar and out into the town's center. There, an old well stood, draped in cobwebs, its water long evaporated, leaving an eerie, high-pitched echo in the air.
We approached the well, it was seemingly untouched by time yet curiously alive with the marks of age. Constructed from rough, uneven stones that have weathered many seasons, it gave it a robust and sturdy appearance. Beautiful green leaves of ivy, thick and lush, were creeping over its circular structure, weaving through the stones, and draping over the edges, adding a vibrant splash of color against the grayish brown of the rocks.
The top of the well was framed by an old wooden roof, slightly tilted, and missing a few shingles, hinting at its age and the many storms it had withstood. Cobwebs stretched from the roof to the stones, glistening slightly in the dim light, adding an eerie touch to the serene well. The well's rope, frayed and brittle from disuse, hangs loosely from a rusted pulley. The bucket, once used to draw water, sits empty beside it. Gale pondered the well for a moment before asking Borbo “Are you sure this is where you put the key?”
The quasit snorted at him “Piss face! Borbo says lazy…not forgetful.”
“Charming” Gale said as he rolled his eyes.
Gale continued to scrutinize the well thoughtfully before approaching it and placing his hands on the rough stones. With a contemplative hum, he began, “There are several methods to consider if we're to navigate to the bottom of this well. We might utilize abilities like blinking or teleporting, though such methods carry inherent risks without clear visibility of our destination. It’s perilous to teleport blindly.” He paused, inspecting the rope. “Alternatively, this rope here could serve as a descent mechanism, although its integrity is questionable—it's visibly old and frayed, likely to snap under too much weight. It's imperative to approach such decisions with caution and thorough consideration, especially in unfamiliar environments.”
Just as he was elaborating on the need for careful planning, the quasit interrupted with a piercing shriek, “Agh!! Piss face talks, talks, talks… Borbo’s ear are bleeding!” Without warning, Borbo sprang forward and pushed Gale, sending him tumbling unceremoniously into the well.
"Borbo! What did you do!" Lyra cried out in shock.
"Well darling, it seems the quasit has discovered the most efficient way to the bottom," I said, my voice quivering as I struggled to suppress my laughter at the unexpected turn of events. From the depths of the well, Gale's voice echoed up, tinged with a mix of annoyance and relief.
"I am fine, by the way, thank you for asking," he called out. "Fortunately, something exceedingly crunchy and swathed in what must be a dozen layers of cobwebs cushioned my fall." As our group ventured down into the well, we left Shadowheart and the gith topside to keep watch.
"Are we really sure it was wise to leave those two alone together?" I pondered aloud with a raised eyebrow.
Lyra grinned mischievously. "A bit of 'bonding' time might just work miracles for them," she suggested with a playful wink. Gale was waiting at the bottom of the well struggled to brush cobwebs off his robes as we joined him. We were met by a large tunnel blocked by thick webs, opaque and daunting. Venturing forward, I cringed at a loud crunch under my boots in the pitch dark.
"What in the hells am I stepping on?" I muttered, exasperated. Lyra fished out a torch from her pack and ignited it with a flick of a fireball cantrip, illuminating our grim discovery—bones everywhere.
"Bones," Lyra confirmed our fears.
"Aww mate! That means spiders," Karlach groaned, dismayed.
"Clearly not tiny ones, given these bones and all these webs," Gale observed.
"Gods below, I despise spiders," I shuddered, "with their ten eyes and eight legs, not to mention those horrifying fangs." Lyra let out a playful giggle at my discomfort.
"Heaven’s above, not the fangs!" she mocked in a light tone.
"Well, excuse me, but my fangs are not only useful, but they also enhance my devilishly handsome allure," I retorted with a mix of humor and mock indignation.
Impatient to move forward, Borbo, shoved past the group to peer into the cavern. “Key is here… Borbo feels it.” Following closely, Lyra and the rest of us ventured deeper along a dim path leading to a dank expanse. The space echoed with the drip of water from the craggy limestone ceiling, each drop merging with eerie whispers of the cave. The air was heavy, filled with the scent of ancient earth and decomposed foliage, while every surface was draped in thick spider webs that glistened with moisture and seemed almost alive.
As we approached a large opening flanked by three pillars connected by more webs, Borbo clamored toward a faint purple glow near one pillar’s base. “There. Just as Borbo said… threw the key into the well… Does ass-wipe believe me now?” Gale, ever the skeptic, mused quietly about the key's location.
“How did it get all the way down there, do you suppose?”
"AGH! Overthinking piss face!" Borbo’s voice echoed off the cave walls. "Always questioning Borbo." Amidst the quasit’s stream of colorful insults, a sinister clicking noise grew louder. Lyra tried to quiet Borbo.
“Shh, Borbo, I hear something.”
“Sound of prick questioning Borbo,” the quasit retorted, undeterred. It turned to Gale, "Borbo wants to …” But before Borbo could finish, a gigantic spider appeared over the ledge and devoured him whole.
"Someone remind me to update my 'things I never want to see again' list," I said, edging backward.
“Noted,” Lyra replied dryly. Unsatisfied with its appetizer, the spider clambered onto the ledge. Far larger than I imagined, it was a brilliant blue with large, red swirling lines stretching from its carapace to its legs. It stared at us with beady eyes, its fangs dripping with venom and quasit remnants. Then, raising itself high on its legs, the spider let out a terrifying, high-pitched squeal.
"Fuck," Karlach blurted out as the immense spider lunged toward our group with chilling agility. Without hesitation, Lyra conjured a wall of stone, creating a barrier that momentarily halted the creature's advance, buying us precious seconds. I darted behind a large rock for cover while Karlach readied herself, two-handed axe in hand, prepared to strike the moment the spider climbed over the wall.
Unexpectedly, the spider vanished from before the wall and materialized behind us, its hissing intensified by its swift, menacing approach.
"Shit, it's a phase spider!" Lyra shouted in realization. Gale, quick on his feet, unleashed a burst of color spray, blinding the creature. The spider thrashed wildly, its screeches filling the cavern with a haunting cacophony of rage and confusion. Seizing the moment, Karlach channeled her fury into each swing, aiming for the spider's joints to cripple its movement. Meanwhile, Lyra, noticing my concealed position, cast immolation on the spider, drawing its attention away from me as flames engulfed its body. The spider writhed in agony, the heat searing its carapace, emitting an acrid smell of burning chitin.
As the blinding effect of the color spray began to wear off, the spider, eyes clearing, lunged viciously at Karlach, its massive fangs glistening with venom. Sensing the immediate danger, I burst from my hiding spot, leaping onto the spider’s back. With all my strength, I drove my daggers deep into the creature’s head, an act that only enraged it further. In a quick response, Gale cast a jump spell on me, propelling me safely away from the now frenzied spider. Lyra, recognizing the opportunity, wielded her telekinesis to lift the spider into the air. With a powerful psychic shove, she slammed it against the ground near the base of the pillars.
Dazed and struggling, the spider attempted to rise, but Karlach was ready. She hurled her two-handed axe with precision at a stalactite hanging above the spider. The impact sent the stone plummeting down, crashing onto the spider with a resounding smash. The cavern shook as the stalactite shattered upon the spider, silencing it forever under a heap of broken rock and dust. Unfortunately, the impact of the rock shattered the stalactite with such force that it pulverized the spider beneath. This violent collision sent a nauseating spray of spider guts and gooey ichor skyward, drenching us in a grisly rain of spider remnants. Bits of chitin and sticky cobwebs clung to our hair and armor, enveloping us in the grotesque evidence of our hard-won battle.
"Gods damn it, are we always destined to be this filthy?" I grumbled, looking down at myself in disgust. We loomed over the spider's carcass, observing it for several long minutes to ensure it wouldn't twitch back to life.
"So, who’s volunteering as tribute to retrieve the key?" Gale queried, his eyes scanning each of us expectantly. As if choreographed, every gaze shifted back to him. "Oh for the love of Mystra," he sighed, "Why must it always be me?"
"Why not take a little Misty Step adventure? Hop down, grab the key, and bloop right back?" I suggested, the corners of my mouth twitching in amusement.
"'Bloop right up,'" Gale echoed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, of course. Let me just bloop down there by the giant, possibly still-twitchy phase spider. I’ll fetch your precious key while I’m at it, Astarion. My pleasure, really."
"You're a veritable martyr, Gale," I said, barely maintaining a straight face.
"If it eases your mind," Lyra chimed in, brushing a bit of spider goop from her sleeve, "considering the amount of spider we're wearing, I'd wager it's quite sincerely dead."
Gale opened his mouth, possibly to argue or protest, but something in our faces must have told him it was futile. With a resigned grunt, he prepped himself to descend and reclaim the key.
Reaching the bottom, Gale tiptoed past the eerie remains of the spider, his movements almost comically cautious. He soon reached the base of the largest pillar where a glowing purple stone, ensnared in cobwebs, awaited. Gale triumphantly held up the stone and called out, "Ah look, Astarion, your key. Shall I just skip merrily back, or is there a grocery list you'd like me to fetch while I'm at it?" Before anyone could answer, the cave began to tremble, and the air filled with a chilling symphony of clicks and screeches.
"Oh, fucking hells!" Karlach blurted out.
"There must be hundreds of them!" I cried, as hundreds of tiny red eyes flickered in the darkness, revealing an army of spiders emerging from the shadows.
"Run, Gale!" Lyra screamed at the top of her lungs. Instantly, Gale vanished with a pop, only to reappear behind us, already dashing toward the exit like a streak of lightning. I've never seen a wizard bolt so quickly. We all watched, mouths agape.
"Did he just... abandon us?" Lyra asked, her voice a mixture of astonishment and amusement.
"Shit!" I shouted, grabbing Lyra by the arm and dragging her after Gale, with Karlach close on our heels. We must have hit every spider web in the cave in our mad dash. Clambering up the well's rope, we made our escape.
At the top, Gale was already gasping for air behind a boulder, panting, "Big... B... Big spiders... chasing me!" The rest of us practically flew out of the well, propelled by sheer terror.
Lyra immediately began sketching a teleportation circle around the well, chanting, "Ciculus Teleportation Toll House!" As the circle sparked to life, spiders began to disappear into it just as quickly as they appeared.
Turning to Lyra with a mix of awe and amusement, I asked, "Darling…brilliant move, but... the toll house, really?"
She shrugged, eyes wide as spiders continued to vanish, "It was the first unoccupied place I could think of."
As Shadowheart and the Gith looked on, both bewildered, Gale finally stood up, brushing off the vestiges of panic and cobwebs.
"Right, well, thank you for that rather harrowing journey through a spider-infested cavern. Here's your damn key, it had better be worth it, Astarion," Gale grumbled, his hand shaking slightly as he handed over the key, a blend of irritation and relief in his voice. Even if Gale had understood the critical significance of the book's ominous secrets to me, he might still have balked at braving such perilous depths to retrieve the key. Nevertheless, I now possessed both the book and the key to unlock the dark knowledge it contained.
Present Day…
A gentle breeze swept through the night, meandering playfully across our balcony, nudging strands of my hair in a quiet dance. I took another sip of my wine and shook my head, haunted by thoughts of that accursed tome. The Necromancy of Thay is far from a benign book; it exudes an aura of malevolence and mystique. Its cover, a diabolical puzzle crafted from the skin of a barghest, features a sinister, sculpted face that accepts a dark amethyst to reveal its secrets. Resilient beyond measure, the book withstands all attempts at destruction—immune to enchanted weapons and resistant to most spells, yielding only to the purest radiant energy.
Even now, as I reflect on the moment, I first opened that cursed tome, its haunting presence lingers in my mind. I recalled how the book beckoned me, blurring the line between master and victim. Its previous custodian, the dreaded Red Wizard Ilyn Toth, had wielded it to sow terror in the unsuspecting village of Moonhaven. I learned of Ilyn's malevolent deeds the moment I first opened the tome and read from its infernal pages. Possessing the book endowed me with an overwhelming surge of arcane power. The glyphs within it pulsed with a sinister life of their own, whispering dark secrets and insidious strategies, ensnaring my focus completely. As I ventured further, spectral claws tugged at my consciousness, drawing me into a realm where reality bent and twisted, where time and fate were but playthings.
I shivered, recalling the chilling enlightenment the book had imparted. It left me hollow, a stark reminder of the cold, merciless grip of Cazador. Each memory of the book's revelations sent a tremor of fear through me, as palpable as the night breeze. In a desperate attempt to quell the chilling echoes of the book's memories, I took another hasty sip of wine, hoping to restore some warmth. Yet, the sinister whispers seemed to flood back, nearly overwhelming me. Panic set in as I searched the dark for something, anything, to anchor me to reality. I recoiled, feeling an icy presence weaving through my soul, pulling me toward despair.
As I stumbled backward, my knees buckled, and I collapsed in front of the stained-glass window. It was there, in my moment of vulnerability, that I saw her—Lyra. Her peaceful slumber was a beacon in the shadowy tempest. Just the sight of her resting form sent a comforting warmth cascading through me, melting away the icy fear. My breathing steadied, and the chill that had seized me dissolved into a newfound serenity.
Regaining my composure, I returned to the table to pour myself another tankard of wine, my gaze drifting over the remaining bottles. I downed the wine swiftly, dispelling the last remnants of dread. As I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, I reached for another bottle. I uncorked it and let it breathe, deciding to take a moment to do the same. Settling back, I closed my eyes, allowing images of Lyra’s laughter and smiles to fill my mind, soothing me further.
Even in her sleep, Lyra was my anchor, a calming force amidst chaos. With a soft chuckle, I relaxed deeper into my chair, amused by the thought of how she affected others. Indeed, there was one person who might dispute her calming nature—her professor, whose disappearance had haunted her for years. I had to stifle a laugh at the thought, the irony bringing a lightness to my heart. Even now, she was my sanctuary.
Weeks earlier…
Tucking both the book and the key into my pack, I said over my shoulder "Shall we continue..." My words trailed off, interrupted by an odd sound. It was a faint, distressed cry, muffled almost as soon as it began. I resumed speaking, but the noise rose again, loud, and plaintive, before fading into the distance. "Am I losing my mind?" I asked aloud, turning to my companions for some hint of confirmation.
No one answered, they were all staring past me, fixated on something in the distance. I turned to follow their gaze and saw an old windmill atop a large hill, its large, weathered blades turning slowly against the sky. My heart sank as I spotted the source of the distress—a gnome, tied to one of the blades, was being whirled around mercilessly in the late afternoon breeze.
"H-help me... L-let me down, you heathens!" The gnome cried out each time he came around, his voice growing fainter as he spun away.
Without a word, Lyra and the others started toward the windmill, clearly intent on rescuing the poor gnome from his dizzying plight.
"Nine Hells..." I sighed deeply and followed them, ready to untangle yet another unexpected predicament.
As we neared the windmill the sun was beginning to set casting a beautiful orange glow over the village. A group of jeering goblins greeted us at the base of the windmill, taking evident pleasure in the gnome's misfortune. They were clearly the ones who had ensnared him in this cruel joke. "Fly, little birdie!" one of the goblins shouted up to the gnome, doubling over with laughter at his own taunt. I watched the helpless gnome struggle futilely against the windmill's relentless spin. Part of me wanted to chuckle along with the goblins—it was a ridiculous sight—but knowing Lyra's disapproval of such cruelty, I bit my tongue, suppressing any sign of amusement.
"What in the nine hells do you think you are doing?" Lyra demanded; her glare fixed on the lead goblin.
"Ahh, what's it to ya?" the goblin retorted with a snarl, utterly unfazed by her intensity. When Lyra continued her stern glare in response, the goblin spat at the ground. "Looks like we're just having a bit of fun," he sneered, his boldness palpable. A faint, nearly invisible red mark marred the area above his eye.
"You will release him immediately," Lyra commanded, trying to use her illithid powers as before.
The goblin paused, tilting his head as he appraised Lyra, his face breaking into a defiant grin. Unlike others who might have obeyed, this goblin showed no sign of fear. "You want this cave-dwelling whatsit? Come and get him," he challenged.
The goblins' laughter tapered off as they faced us, their jests interrupted by the seriousness of our stance. The only other sound was the pitiful whir of the gnome, still caught in his ceaseless circling around the windmill. I watched as Lyra scanned the group of goblins, her eyes flicking back and forth—she was formulating a plan. Before I could decipher her strategy, she stepped forward and unleashed her magic.
"Erumpens terra!" she shouted. The ground beneath the goblins' feet shuddered violently as if waking from a deep slumber. Suddenly, boulders and rocks erupted from the earth, hurling towards the goblins with relentless force, pelting and smashing into them. Caught off guard by the erupting earth spell, the goblins scrambled to evade the barrage, but before they could regroup a torrent of green light surged from Lyra, sweeping over us. When the light dissipated, our weapons shimmered with an added force enchantment, amplifying their lethality.
Lyra flashed me a playful grin "See, my magic has its charms, too.”
As the dazed goblins stumbled from the disrupted earth, they found us ready and waiting. Karlach, with practiced ease, dispatched two of the scouts. I drew my bow and targeted a goblin trying to flee in the opposite direction, taking it down with a single, well-aimed shot. The rest of our party efficiently handled the remaining goblins, ending the skirmish swiftly and decisively.
"Look at you, Darling," I grinned at Lyra, who just orchestrated a magical save with a flair only she could muster. The others closed in, echoing praises for her deft handling and that serendipitous burst of magic. Our jovial mood, however, was soon disrupted.
"GET ME DOWN!" the gnome bellowed, clearly done with his unintended windmill adventure. As he whirled around, he managed to shout in dizzy bursts, “THE LEVER!” and with another spin, “INSIDE THE MILL!”
"Right-o mate, I'll have you down in a jiffy!" Karlach shouted, sprinting into the base of the windmill to find the control switch.
"Found it! Oh… wait, there are two. Can’t read the labels—they're worn off," she called out, her voice echoing.
“PULL THE RIGHT ONE!” the gnome yelled over the roar of his spins.
“Guess pulling the wrong one would be a bit of a mess, eh?” Karlach laughed back.
“RIGHT!” the gnome shouted, his patience wearing thin.
“Right, I hear ya, but which one is the right one?” Karlach hollered, her tone dripping with amusement.
“MAGGA CAMMARA!” the gnome cursed as he spun.
Lyra started to head towards the mill to help, but I stopped her with a chuckle. “No need, darling, she’s almost has it.”
“I’m just gonna go for the lever on the right!” Karlach announced, pulling it decisively. We watched the windmill blades slow, completing one final majestic rotation before coming to a stop—with the gnome, thankfully, right-side up at the bottom.
"Ugh, cut me loose!" he demanded, practically teetering on his last thread of patience. I stepped in front of Lyra and deftly sliced through the ropes with my dagger, setting him free. He landed with a solid thud and immediately began staggering around in dizzy circles, finally leaning against the windmill for support. "Maga Comara," he muttered, still reeling, before plopping down on the ground.
"Those bastards," he grumbled, his words starting to wobble. "There I was, minding my own business, when those—those thugs jumped me... Hic!" He clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes bulging as if that alone could prevent the inevitable. After a tense second, he cautiously lowered his hand, seemingly in the clear.
Without any warning, the gnome bent over and promptly unloaded his lunch all over Gale's shoes. Gale looked down at the mess, then up at his own cobweb-covered attire, and shrugged. "Well, considering the spider filth and cobwebs I'm adorned with, this might actually be an improvement," he grumbled. The gnome stood back up and for the first time took us all in.
“Well, you know what happened to me, what exactly happened to you?” he asked, eyeing us curiously. It must have been quite the sight for him—total strangers emerging before him, drenched in spider ichor, tangled in webs, and splattered with whatever other grime we had collected from that well.
"Just another typical day with Gale," I remarked with a hint of mock exasperation. Before Gale could chime in, I quickly redirected the conversation. "So, what exactly is a deep gnome doing up here?"
The gnome gave me an incredulous look. "Oh, that's right, I forgot about the ignorance of surface dwellers," he retorted sharply. "I'll have you know that deep gnomes aren't confined to the Underdark. We're perfectly free to live elsewhere. Some of us even hold jobs up here. I wasn't always an artificer, you know!" he added with a sneer. After another moment, he looked at me with a glare. "Well, get on with it then" he snapped.
"Excuse me, get on with what exactly? This is why I never bother with any of this hero stuff. Ungrateful little—" Lyra cut me off, stepping around me to face the gnome directly.
"I'm so sorry..." she started, then stopped short. "Professor, is that really you?" she asked, puzzled.
"Just Barcus, please. I haven't been a professor since my time at Baldur's Gate, and I'd rather forget those years, not to mention the infernal fire swamp that followed," he replied. I exchanged a bewildered look with Gale—could it really be him? Gale, who was still miffed with me, nevertheless nodded in silent agreement. Lyra stepped forward, pausing as if carefully choosing her next words. Before she could speak, Barcus continued, rummaging through his pack, "Right then, what's this rescue going to cost me? Gold? Wine? I've got some scrolls here—Burning Hands, Misty Step, Translocation..." He trailed off, his face draining of color as if haunted by a memory he wished to forget. Looking up slowly, he asked in a whisper, "What...what did you call me?"
Lyra spoke gently, "Professor Barcus? It's...me...Lyra, from the Academy of Elemental Weaving."
He squinted at her, then his expression shifted from intense scrutiny to wide-eyed recognition—or was it dread? "Y-YOU!" he gasped, visibly shaken. "No, no, not you again—not the green light, not the fire, oh, the fire!" In a panic, he leapt to his feet and bolted past us, his cries fading as he sprinted out of the village gates.
"What an odd little man," Karlach mused, eyeing Lyra who seemed suddenly very interested in looking anywhere but at Karlach. As the gnome disappeared into the distance, Karlach’s expression shifted to one of realization. "Wait a tick," she began.
"Well," Lyra interjected quickly, stretching and feigning a yawn, "Hmm, it’s been a long day. I think we should regroup at camp." She turned sharply and started back towards our campsite. Shadowheart and the gith simply shrugged and followed her lead.
Karlach whirled around to face Gale, then spun back to me, eyes alight with excitement. “Oh, when I was a kid, my mum told me the best stories ever! Whenever I botched something up, which was pretty often, thank you very much, she'd tell me this one about a girl who was too perfect. And guess what? The best bit—every time I was feeling down—was about how her professor just vanished one day, right? Poof! Gone! And in his place, a fire mephit popped up! Can you imagine finding out your magic’s going all pear shaped because of that? She’s literally a legend standing right here!” Karlach bubbled over with enthusiasm.
Gale and I just stared at her.
“Aww c’mon, mates... we can’t tell her?" she pleaded, her excitement barely contained. Gale cleared his throat, looking like he might speak up, then thought better of it and turned to follow the others. Karlach’s gaze darted back to me, her eyes wide and expectant, waiting for my nod of approval.
"Uh, gods below, no, we cannot tell her, Karlach," I confirmed as I began walking back to camp.
"Someone’s got to tell her, right?" Karlach muttered, following in my steps.
It had been a grueling trek back to camp, with Karlach's incessant mumbling trailing behind me the entire way. Spotting my tent was like seeing an oasis. I hurried inside, secured the book and key, and decided to tackle their mysteries later. For now, my main desire was to scrub off the revolting spider ichor that clung to me. As I burst out of my tent, eager to cleanse myself, I nearly collided with Lyra.
Her laughter rang out as I stumbled, stopping just short of knocking her over. "You seem to be in quite a rush," she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
"And you're just as swift, my dear. Given the state we're in, who can blame us? We're a mess!" I returned her smile, and her laughter softened into a sultrier tone.
"I wondered if you might be feeling a bit... peckish?" Lyra's gaze darkened playfully. "Perhaps a little midnight nibble could satisfy you?"
My smile broadened irresistibly. "Darling, I thought you'd never ask." With a flirtatious spin, Lyra headed toward the river, her steps inviting. I grabbed a change of camp clothes and hurried after her, eager for the promise of the night.
As I made my way to the pebble-strewn beach we'd come to know well, I caught sight of Lyra already nearing the water's edge. She had left her change of clothes a bit further up the shore, moving decisively toward the river. Reaching the bank, she elegantly shrugged off her robe, which cascaded in a silky wave down her body and settled softly on the ground. With a few more graceful steps, she dived into the inviting coolness of the river.
She vanished beneath the surface for a few moments before emerging in a deeper pool, illuminated by the glow of the moon. There, under the silvery light, Lyra floated, her movements slow and deliberate. The water, shimmering under the moonlight, embraced her, allowing the day's minor troubles to dissolve and drift away into the depths, leaving a tranquility that mirrored the serene night sky above.
I carefully set my clean clothes beside hers on the shore and sauntered towards the water's edge. Even from a distance, I could feel Lyra's gaze on me. Deliberately, I started peeling off my grimy armor. I knew she wanted me to hurry, but I relished the opportunity to tease her with my deliberate, snail's pace undressing.
Finally free of the last piece of armor, I followed her earlier example and stepped confidently into the river. I waded a few feet in before diving smoothly beneath the surface, emerging close to where she floated. Leaning back into the cool embrace of the water, I matched her relaxed posture.
Together, we floated in the serene waters under the gentle light of the moon, enjoying a few moments of peaceful, flirtatious silence.
Lyra leaned forward, gracefully treading water. I maintained my relaxed posture yet kept a watchful eye on her from the corner of my eye. After enjoying a comfortable silence, she broke it with a soft voice.
"Thank you, Astarion," she murmured.
"You're quite welcome, my sweet," I replied with a smirk, "though you'll have to be a bit more specific. After all, there's so much about me to be thankful for."
"I’m serious," she chuckled, her voice carrying a light-hearted note.
"So am I, darling," I retorted, now mimicking her position by leaning forward and treading water. Lyra's allure was undeniable, heightened under the moon's tender glow. Her usually curly hair, now straight and slick from the water, clung to her features in an elegant embrace. Droplets of water adorned her face like jewels, tracing paths back into the river. Those eyes, always captivating, seemed to dance more vividly in the moonlight. Her silver eye, almost ethereal, shone with a brilliance that rivaled the stars, casting a soft light that made her tempestuous green eye sparkle with a quiet intensity.
“For not telling the others about my professor. I'm quite ashamed of what happened to him. I'm not entirely sure why I felt so comfortable telling you that first night, to be honest. I... I usually keep that to myself,” Lyra confessed, her gaze dropping to the water.
"Darling, a wise temptress once told me, 'It wasn’t my secret to tell,' and I've found that following a temptress's advice usually leads to good things," I responded, adopting a tone of mock seriousness to lighten her mood.
“Temptress,” she smiled faintly, but her eyes remained fixed on the rippling water.
Seeing her distress, I reached out, gently grasping her wrist to draw her closer, guiding her hands to rest on my shoulders. With my right hand, I tenderly lifted her chin, encouraging her to meet my gaze.
“My eyes are up here, darling,” I grinned, hoping to coax a fuller smile from her.
“That they are,” she chuckled back, a hint of her usual spark returning.
“Don’t ever be ashamed of who you are, no one should be denied their true nature,” I said earnestly, holding her gaze with a reassuring intensity, hoping to bolster her spirits with my words. She offered me a mischievous smile, her eyes twinkling with a playful secret. After a lingering gaze into my eyes, she gracefully tilted her head back, revealing the delicate line of her neck—a silent invitation for me to feed. I supported her head gently with my right hand, ensuring her comfort as my left arm paddled softly to keep us afloat. Carefully, I hovered my lips just above her skin, the warmth radiating from her inviting yet untouched. I paused, savoring the moment right above the spot that had quickly become my favored place to feed, allowing the anticipation to build in the gentlest of ways.
Lyra almost startled me in the moment when she whispered “Please.” It was all the invitation I needed. The first sip of Lyra was always like the most decadent of nectars. A rare indulgence, she was a most exquisite blossom blooming under the soft glow of a full moon. Her taste is an intoxicating symphony of flavors—intense yet subtle, sweet yet nuanced, enveloping my senses like a warm embrace. Each drop caresses my palate like velvet, rich with the sun-kissed sweetness of summer fruits and the deep, resonant undertones of wild, untouched forest honey.
Her blood flows smoothly, with a viscosity that speaks of its purity, leaving a lingering finish that continues to unfold in layers of complexity. Its aroma is as heady as its taste, a bouquet that combines floral hints with a touch of spice, inviting me to lose myself in the moment. Drinking from her is not merely a taste experience but a journey through a garden of delights, a dance of essences that captures the very essence of her at her most luxurious.
As Lyra began to relax a bit too deeply for the depth of water we were in, my concern overtook the desire to continue. While the allure of the moment was intoxicating, her safety was paramount—I needed her well and whole, for the battles still to come. Gently releasing my bite, I risked a soft kiss on her neck as a tender farewell to the embrace.
As I pulled back, I noticed Lyra's eyes flutter shut and her body start to sink slightly beneath the water's surface. "Oh no you don’t, darling," I murmured, quickly reaching to support her, pulling her back to the surface. Carefully, I positioned her to float on her back, then swam behind her, guiding her towards the shore with smooth, protective strokes.
When the water reached waist depth, I lifted her effortlessly, carrying her the rest of the way to the beach. I sat her down gently on the pebbles and quickly wrapped her in her camp clothes for warmth. After slipping into my own clothes, I noticed Lyra lying still but breathing deeply, the ordeal draining but not dire.
I fetched her robe and my armor, giving them a brisk rinse in the river before setting them on a nearby log to dry. Ensuring everything was in order for a calm recovery, I kept a close watch over her, ready to assist as she came back to herself under the night's quiet watch.
"Mmm… Astarion? Ohh my head," Lyra moaned, her face contorting slightly.
"Yes, well darling, as much as I cherish the gift of your blood, it was... let's just say, not the wisest choice to do that far out in the water," I chuckled.
"Mmm hmm," she grumbled in agreement, then added, "And on an empty stomach, no less. I should have brought food."
"Indeed, instead of volunteering to be the main course," I teased.
"Uhh, don’t make me laugh; it’s making me dizzier," she complained, rolling onto her side as if to quell the spinning.
"As delightful as our little... picnic was," I said with a smile, "we should probably consider a more appropriate venue next time, assuming you're still up for helping me?" I raised my eyebrows inquisitively, maintaining the light-hearted banter.
“Of course I would still help you,” she winced, “but you would be correct, that was objectively stupid.” Lyra slipped into her camp clothes; still dizzy from the generous amount of blood I had drawn. Leaning back on her elbows, she soon succumbed to gravity, sprawling on the ground, gazing at the swirling stars above.
“Tonight, I’ll make sure you safely get back to camp and indulge in some much needed…” I flashed a grin, “snacks. To restore your… vitality.” My chuckle was soft and teasing. “Next time, let’s plan our treats for after dinner, when everyone else is snug in their beds.”
“Mmm Hmm,” Lyra murmured, barely audible. She closed her eyes, drifting into a light slumber. Carrying her back to camp would surely provoke questions—I could already hear the accusations: "What have you done?" "How could you?"—especially without Lyra there to explain that she had consented to my bite. Had she, though? My mind wandered back to our time in the water; the memory of hovering my lips just above her skin, breathing warmth against her, surfaced vividly. She had indeed whispered "please" in that delicate moment. She hadn't just wanted me to bite her to stay strong for the battles ahead; she wanted the closeness, to lose herself in my touch under the stars.
This was more than I could have hoped for. Not only was she shielding me, but she also longed to be near, to be... mine. A smirk crossed my face. Cazador wouldn’t stand a chance, not with such a formidable ally willingly by my side. This alliance, built on both her need and desire, was shaping up to be my ultimate advantage. As much as I reveled in the idea of ending Cazador’s tyranny, my immediate concern was Lyra's well-being. She needed sustenance, hydration, and rest—immediately.
I collected our nearly dry robes and armor from a nearby log and placed them next to her. Gently, I scooped an arm behind her back, lifting her to a seated position. With a tender touch to her cheek, I urged, “Wake up, darling, we need to get moving. I can’t very well carry you into camp without sparking a whole inquisition.”
Lyra’s eyes fluttered open, a smile playing on her lips as she felt my touch. “Imagine that Astarion caught in an interrogation—oh, the scandal!” she teased with a sparkle in her eyes.
“Exactly,” I chuckled. “Let's make our exit before I lose my restraint and finish my… dinner.” Her laughter mingled with mine as she steadied herself to stand, still a bit shaky.
As we approached the camp, I stayed close to Lyra, making sure she maintained her balance. The campsite was serene, with most of our companions already tucked away in their tents. Just outside Lyra's tent, a thoughtfully prepared meal awaited her.
On the plate, there were slices of richly smoked venison, tender and imbued with the deep, smoky flavors of white oak and cedar wood. Beside the meat, a mound of wild rice was expertly cooked, each grain fluffy and mixed with finely chopped herbs that added bursts of flavor—hints of parsley and thyme would linger with each bite. Completing the plate, a generous portion of Moon peaches glowed softly under the moonlight. These pale, almost translucent fruits were known not only for their beauty but also for their calming effects and the ability to induce lucid, peaceful dreams if eaten before sleep. The sweet, slightly tart peaches provided a perfect counterbalance to the savory meat and rice, helping Lyra’s body recover from the evening’s activities.
I rolled my eyes at Gale’s obvious overture. “How thoughtful of him,” Lyra noted, catching my barely concealed annoyance.
“Don’t worry, darling,” she quipped with a wink, settling down to her meal, “you’re still my favorite.”
“Me, worried? Perish the thought,” I scoffed playfully, turning towards my own tent. Before I left, I flashed a broad grin over my shoulder. “Sweet dreams, Lyra.”
“Good night, Astarion,” she purred, already indulging in her dinner.