The next couple of days were focused on surveilling the goblins' encampment. Rescuing the captured druid from their clutches was proving to be a formidable challenge. By sheer luck, this band of goblins had taken over an ancient temple, strategically situated within the embrace of a swiftly flowing river, its waters shimmering with clarity. Around the temple, numerous waterfalls cascaded, enveloping the stone edifice in a veil of mist and creating an ethereal ambiance. The roar of the falling water resonated through the valley, enhancing the mystical allure of the site.
The temple itself was a marvel of ancient architecture, a vestige of a civilization long erased from memory. Constructed from weathered stone that melded perfectly with the surrounding rocky terrain, it stood with a silent dignity. Grand columns rose towards the sky, flanked by intricate carvings of mythical beasts and deities, while sprawling staircases wound their way up to entrances that were mostly sealed off, hinting at secrets long buried within.
Despite the intrusion of the goblins, the temple's vicinity flourished with life. Overgrown vegetation clung to the stonework, with vines snaking up the walls and bursts of colorful flowers punctuating the lush greenery. The air remained surprisingly fresh and moist, carrying the scent of wet earth and wild blossoms—a stark contrast to the usual filth associated with goblin habitats. The edges of the riverbank were alive with birds and insects, their melodies blending with the sound of the water, creating a vibrant chorus.
Gale, standing at a vantage point, took in the sight of the vast temple, his face etched with both awe and caution. The area was undoubtedly riddled with traps and hidden perils, a testament to its ancient and strategic design. Moreover, it was now home to a horde of goblins, clever enough to exploit its defenses and make it their stronghold. Lyra and I joined Gale on the eastern side of the temple, trying to find a strategic point of entry. Meanwhile, Shadowheart, the gith, and Karlach were probing the western perimeter. The goblin defenses were robust, with sentries stationed at every temple entrance and sharpshooters positioned strategically atop boulders and balconies.
As we surveyed the temple’s base from across the river, Lyra spotted a cave that appeared unoccupied, with a narrow path leading up to a vine-covered ledge. These vines snaked up the stone wall to a barely visible ledge near the temple's rear—a potential weak point in the goblin's defenses. Remarkably, this area seemed completely unguarded.
"How odd," Gale mused aloud, squinting towards the ledge.
"Very," Lyra agreed, her gaze still fixed on the cave and its environs. "But there's got to be a reason they've left it unguarded."
"If you think I'm climbing up there on those ancient vines..." I started skeptically.
Gale, with a light chuckle, suggested, "You could always just bloop up there, Astarion."
Before I could offer my thoughts, Lyra, still chuckling, cut in, "It’s the only path with minimal guards." She paused, her laughter fading into a sigh as she glanced at the sinking sun. "Let’s head back to camp and check if the others found anything better. We might not have to climb if that cave turns out to be useful." In agreement, and choosing silence over debate, I nodded. Together, we turned our backs on the ancient temple, its stoic presence fading into the encroaching dusk. Quietly, we made our way through the dense forest, the underbrush whispering beneath our feet, heading towards the familiarity and hopeful news of our camp.
As we neared camp, Gale rushed ahead to start dinner, Lyra and I savored a tranquil stroll through the enchanting evening air of the forest. It was during this quiet moment that I truly appreciated the magical setting of our camp. Nestled in a small clearing, our campsite was encircled by majestic ancient trees. Their expansive leaves formed a dense canopy overhead, softly illuminated by the ethereal glow of bioluminescent fungi, casting a dreamlike light over our little haven. The air around us was alive with the twinkling movements of fireflies, their gentle luminescence adding a whimsical sparkle to the surroundings.
As we neared the camp and enticing smells enveloped us, Lyra inhaled deeply, a smile spreading across her face, captivated by the comforting scents of dinner simmering over the open fire.
“Hungry, Darling.” I grinned at her.
“Famished!” she giggled back at me. The meal Gale was vigorously preparing was a hearty stew, bubbling in a large pot over the fire. A delightful mix of forest vegetables—carrots, wild onions, and a handful of bright, peppery berries picked from the bushes nearby, simmered together. Pieces of game meat, likely rabbit or deer, had been seasoned with rosemary and thyme, Gale had found along the trail. The stew's rich aroma filled the air, blending enticingly with the earthy scent of the forest. Alongside the stew, Gale had prepared thick slices of crusty bread, baked in a stone oven he had crafted the night before. He had sliced a small, hard cheese that was aged and tangy, and placed it beside the bread, its sharpness a perfect complement to the hearty meal. Though this was not my idea of dinner, I had to admit it smelled amazing.
Though our situation with the tadpoles was dire, tonight there was a jovial mood that prevailed around the fire. Gale, always the storyteller, regaled the group with exaggerated tales of past exploits, eliciting laughter and skeptical raised eyebrows. Lyra, more practical, discussed the day's path and the terrain ahead, but her eyes sparkle with mirth as she joins in the banter, playfully disputing Gale's more outrageous claims.
Karlach, with a mischievous grin, shares a tale from her own past, involving a narrow escape from a bewitched castle before her time in the Hells, adding just enough detail to leave everyone wondering which parts might be true. The conversation flows easily, with occasional bursts of laughter rising above the crackle of the fire. I watched Lyra devour her food, the stew looked to be deliciously comforting, with the tender meat and vegetables soaked in a savory, herb-infused broth. She tore the bread apart dipping it deeply into the stew, soaking up the flavorful liquid.
While the others were deeply engrossed in their lively conversation, I quietly excused myself from the warmth of the fireside and made my way back to my tent. Over the past few nights, sleep had eluded me; the dark tome I had hidden away was increasingly asserting its presence. Its call, once a whisper, had grown into a compelling summons that was becoming more difficult to ignore each night. As I slipped away into the solitude of my tent, the sense of urgency from the book beckoned stronger than ever, urging me to delve into its mysterious pages.
I reached into my pack and carefully extracted the ancient tome, along with a large, oval amethyst. Settling down on the cool ground of my tent, I held the book before me. Its cover was deeply unsettling—crafted to mimic a human face, forever captured in a silent scream. The unsettling design twisted my stomach into knots, yet an inexplicable force, a whispering allure, coaxed me to proceed.
This dark book seemed to possess its own will, as if it had been waiting for someone like me to claim it. The whisper grew clearer, its voice gently persuasive, insisting I was the destined master of its secrets. With a hesitant breath, I fitted the amethyst into the gaping mouth on the book’s cover. Instantly, the tome vibrated with a raw, ancient power, the hollow eyes on the cover flickering to eerie life, fixing me with a penetrating stare. I steadied my trembling hand and turned the first page. The book, now animated with a life of its own, seemed eager to unfold its arcane knowledge, as if it had finally found the one it meant to confide in.
As I delved deeper into the tome, the once enticing whispers abruptly escalated into harrowing screams. Glyphs rose from the pages like specters, their forms twisting into words that glowed a sinister purple. These words seared themselves into my consciousness, unleashing torrents of arcane knowledge too overwhelming to comprehend fully. Even the tadpole within me recoiled, evidently terrified by the relentless onslaught of forbidden secrets spilling forth.
Clutching the book tightly, I struggled to maintain control as it thrashed in my hands, eager to unleash its full might. Without warning, the fabric of my tent seemed to dissolve into nothingness, leaving me suspended in an abyssal void. Darkness enveloped me from all sides, a stark, consuming blackness. From this void, ethereal lights began to emerge, swirling and coalescing at my feet, creating a vortex of spectral energy.
Amidst these swirling lights, a figure slowly materialized. It shifted and formed with eerie deliberation, its shape becoming more defined by the second. The presence of this emerging entity filled the space with a palpable sense of dread, heralding an encounter with something ancient and overwhelmingly powerful.
As the last of the spirits joined in finishing the form an imposing lich stood before me, the embodiment of terror and malevolence. His gaunt, skeletal figure was draped in a ghoulish suit of armor that seemed to blend the arcane with the macabre. Crafted from the darkest obsidian and etched with ancient runes of power, each piece of the armor seems to pulse with a sinister life of its own. His breastplate is adorned with motifs of writhing souls, their expressions locked in eternal agony, symbolizing the liches dominion over death.
His helm, a grotesque masterpiece, was fashioned to resemble a human skull, with horns twisted like the branches of dead trees arching backwards. Glowing faintly within the eye sockets are two deep, crimson gems that cast an unsettling light, illuminating his path with the glow of infernal fires. The helm’s mouthpiece is forged into a perpetual sneer, a silent mockery of the living.
His gauntlets are clawed, resembling the bony fingers of death itself, perfectly designed for channeling necrotic energies that can wither the heartiest of warriors with a mere touch. Encircling his waist, a belt made of intertwined bones and rotting sinew from his vanquished enemies holds an array of vials containing cursed potions and elixirs. His cloak, once a royal mantle, now a tattered banner of despair, trails behind him, seemingly absorbing the scant light around it. He moves with an unnatural grace, as if alive, whispering across the stone floor with the sounds of the damned. Underneath his feet, the ground is perpetually frosted, a chilling aura emanating from his very presence, leaving a trail of hoarfrost in his wake.
The lich fixed its gaze on me, clutching a staff crafted from the spine of a dragon, its top crowned with a skull, eye sockets ablaze with eerie blue flames. With a slow, deliberate movement, it raised an arm, extending a skeletal finger in my direction.
“Who dares to wake Xykrath, master of undeath, sovereign of shadows and despair from my slumber?” he hissed, the voice echoing in a chilling rasp that filled the atmosphere. The sound seemed to emanate from the very air around us, as Xykraths jaw remained eerily still, the words slithering into the space between us like a cold draft whispering through the darkness.
"Ah... Hello," was all I could muster, the sudden shock momentarily erasing any sense of my own identity. Xykrath unleashed a deafening shriek, his displeasure evident. “Astarion, my name is Astarion,” I managed to say as clarity slowly returned to me.
“Astarion…” Xykrath repeated with a venomous hiss. “You dare attempt to usurp my forbidden knowledge, to pilfer from the eater of death!” he wailed furiously.
“Well...not steal, per se,” I mumbled, the book's summons still echoing in my mind. “The book called to me,” I explained, cautiously observing the lich before me. Xykrath seemed to consider my words, his gaze piercing, his red eyes boring into the depths of my soul.
“FOOL! Only those deemed worthy may freely partake of my knowledge. The book may beckon you, but it is a treacherous and cruel deceiver, luring the unworthy into my grasp to be consumed,” Xykrath declared, his voice saturated with scorn.
Sensing Xykrath had little patience for fools, I steadied myself and declared confidently, “You are mistaken. I am worthy, and you will reveal the knowledge hidden within.” At this, Xykrath's laughter erupted, a sound far more terrifying than his spectral appearance. The eerie laughter seemed to reverberate around us, chilling to the core, particularly because his mouth did not move.
"Cocky, insignificant spawn," Xykrath hissed, his disdain palpable. "We shall see how worthy you truly are." With a deliberate stride, he closed the distance between us and placed his icy, skeletal hand on my forehead. Instantly, a searing pain shot through me, so intense that my mouth flew open and a scream—foreign and terrifying—burst forth. I gritted my teeth, summoning every ounce of mental fortitude to resist his assault on my mind.
As Xykrath intensified his invasion, probing deeper into my consciousness, I pushed back with all my mental strength. Our minds clashed, a tumultuous battlefield of wills. With a furious effort, I managed to stave off his deepest probes, forcing him to retreat. Xykrath released his grip and stepped back, his scream of rage echoing in the darkness.
"Your mind is sharper and your will stronger spawn," Xykrath spat contemptuously, his voice dripping with scorn. " "To bind my precious book to you, you must prove your knowledge," Xykrath declared, his voice booming with authority. "Answer my question wisely, Astarion. Make no mistake—if you fail, I will consume your soul." His words resonated with a powerful threat.
Unfazed by his intimidation, I retorted with equal force, "This book will be mine." My words hung defiantly in the air. Xykrath's response was a cold, mocking laugh, the temperature around us dropping with each echo of his derision, a stark reminder of his disdain for my confidence.
“In a realm where paths diverge in shadows and light, one question governs your plight: If given one, it opens doors to lands of bounty or barren shores. Held within your hand, it weighs naught but holds the sway of fates untold. Decide wisely, Astarion, for what you determine could multiply or nullify what lies ahead. What is it that I speak of, that wields such silent power, offering many or none at your singular hour?”
Shit. The self-reproach hit me as a wave of frustration washed over, momentarily undercutting my confidence. I replayed the riddle in my mind, dissecting each phrase for deeper meaning. The element of being held in the hand yet weighing nothing pointed unmistakably towards something non-physical, something intangible. The diverging paths in shadows and light hinted at a division between positive and negative outcomes, success and catastrophe.
As I delved deeper, turning over the phrase "holds sway of fates untold," it was clear this was about something immensely powerful. Something intangible yet capable of steering destinies towards prosperity or ruin. "It only takes one to impact your opportunities," I muttered under my breath, trying to piece together the puzzle.
In that profound moment of reflection, the answer crystallized in my mind, stark and unyielding. It was something ruthlessly taken from me when Cazador began his vicious game, manipulating my fate as if it were mere child's play. It was something I had lost, and something I vowed fiercely never to relinquish again. The realization of the answer brought with it a surge of both enlightenment and bitter resentment: Choice.
“Choice,” I hissed at Xykrath triumphantly. “A choice is something you figuratively hold in your hand when deciding; it weighs nothing physically but carries immense potential to affect your life's direction. It indeed opens opportunities or bounty and can lead to nothing, barren shores, based on its nature and timing.” Xykrath let out another piercing howl, furry and rage emanating from him.
"Clever spawn," Xykrath screeched, his voice a mix of disdain and resignation. "Very well, the book is now bound to you, tethered until death." He raised his staff high above him, and with a voice that boomed through the darkness, he intoned, "Mortuis Loqui!" The spirits that comprised Xykrath's form began to unravel, spiraling out as his figure dissipated into the ground beneath. The eerie sounds I had heard as screams now morphed into coherent chants of 'Master' as the spirits swirled and twisted through the shadows.
The surrounding darkness began to recede, and the tent, previously swallowed by the void, slowly came back into view. The book on my lap stirred to life; glyphs and words danced across the pages, rearranging themselves from indecipherable symbols into coherent sentences. My eyes darted across the page, eagerly absorbing the secrets now revealed. Xykrath had granted me a profound ability—speak with the dead. This tome was a direct conduit to the guarded knowledge of the departed, a reservoir of arcane wisdom that could prove immensely useful.
The book snapped shut, jolting me back to reality. As I looked up, Lyra stood in the entrance of the tent, her expression etched with concern. The depths of the knowledge I had just absorbed left me feeling inexplicably ravenous, a primal hunger gnawing at me. My gaze inadvertently drifted to Lyra’s neck, my mind racing with starvation for more than just knowledge, a hunger I hadn’t felt in centuries.
Seeing the intensity in my eyes, Lyra instinctively stepped back, her worry swiftly morphing into fear. “Control yourself!” I internally chastised, struggling to suppress the monstrous urges surging within me. I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and managed to put on a reassuring smile to mask the turmoil inside.
“I’m sorry, my sweet, I must have lost myself for a moment there,” I said with a softness meant to calm both her and myself.
Lyra, still cautious, replied, “I think I should leave you to your book.” Her voice trembled slightly, betraying her lingering apprehension.
Hastily, I stowed the book securely in my pack and approached her gently, taking her hand with measured caution. “Truly, darling, I was merely lost for the smallest of moments. The book is imbued with necrotic, powerful magic, and it momentarily drew me into a dark place,” I explained, pausing to choose my next words carefully. “Fortunately for me, a bright… temptress… pulled me from its very grip.” I grinned, hoping to lighten the mood.
“Temptress,” she rolled her eyes, a faint smile breaking through her concern. She relaxed slightly but continued to watch me warily. “I was coming to see if you wanted to feed, but I’m not sure it’s such a good idea tonight,” she added, her voice still laced with unease.
I carefully considered my options. My bond with Lyra was strong, and the risk of betraying her trust weighed heavily on me—if I convinced her to let me indulge and something went wrong, it could fracture our alliance. My stomach ached in protest; the days since our time in the water and the effects of the book had sapped my strength, it had left me feeling depleted. How do I turn the situation to my advantage? Driven by the need to satisfy my hunger, I softened my face further.
"Darling," I paused with a mischievous glint in my eye, "I...ahh…think you are correct. You are quite delectable, and I feel as though I haven’t fed in days. This book has drained my last reserves of energy and left my stomach growling. But…" I trailed off, playfully scrutinizing her expression, trying to read her thoughts. She watched me intently, but her features slowly relaxed into a gentle smile.
Before I could continue, Lyra playfully completed my thought, "But you're not strong enough to hunt. And we are heading into the goblin camp tomorrow."
"Yes, well, there is that too," I chuckled.
“Astarion, I need you,” she began with a playful smirk, pausing for effect, “to be strong tomorrow. I'm ready to trust you to take only what you need, but…” Her smile faded, her voice wavered as a shadow of fear crept in. “I’ve never seen you like that before, and it frightened me.”
“Lyra…”
“Please, let me finish,” she interrupted, raising her hand to silence me. “Here I am, letting a vampire indulge on me, and enjoying it if I am being honest. A vampire, feeding... on... me.” She shook her head, her tone turning self-critical, reflecting on her own bizarre choices. Panic surged through me; had my actions already begun to erode the trust we had built? I fought back the fear, waiting for her to finish.
“You could have left me for dead, or caused my death, the first day we met at the crash site, you saved me when my magic backfired against the paladins, you could have abandoned me in the spider cave, and at the river, you had two chances to drain my life away…but you didn’t…and I…I trust you.” She looked directly at me, her beautiful eyes filled with a mix of confusion and certainty.
This moment was a delicate opportunity to strengthen our bond, and I was determined not to waste it. I knelt before her. Holding Lyra’s hand softly, I tenderly brought her fingers to my lips, planting light kisses from the tips down to the back of her hand and then to her wrist. Gently, I turned her hand over to expose the tender skin of her inner wrist. I placed a soft kiss in her palm, then let my lips hover just above her wrist, perfectly still, like a predator poised but cautious, careful not to make a move.
In that tender moment, Lyra, sensing I was waiting for her consent, reached out with her other hand to softly run her fingers through my hair. Feeling her relax under my hold, I paused to look up into her eyes. She gave me a small nod, and I gently sank my teeth into her wrist, the sweet essence of her blood filling my mouth. I carefully nipped and suckled, cherishing the euphoric flavor. Lyra’s fingers continued their gentle dance through my hair, getting lost in the sensation. After a moment, I chose to gently release her wrist, planting one last soft kiss there before standing up. Lyra’s expression held a mix of confusion and curiosity as she searched my face, trying to read my thoughts. I reached up, tenderly tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear and cupping her face in my hand.
I maintained eye contact, holding her gaze as I spoke, "Just enough, my sweet, to make me stronger and leave you...wanting more." My words were delivered with a grin. Lyra's eyes sparkled in response, and she playfully bit her lower lip.
"Good night, Astarion," she replied with a grin, turning to leave my tent.
"Sweet dreams," I called out after her, my smile concealing my feelings. Well played, I thought, acknowledging the careful maneuvering that had mended the trust I had nearly fractured. I watched Lyra enter her tent, casting one last look my way before she vanished behind the canvas. Once she was out of sight, my smile faded, and I hurried into the forest, feeling more than a little irritated that I was left to scrounge up a meal.
I found myself bewildered and angry by my own actions as I targeted an unsuspecting boar searching for its supper. Instead of manipulating Lyra for a lavish meal, which she would have willingly provided until I was thoroughly satisfied, I had chosen to build foundational trust. As I considered my actions, I realized they still served my needs, though the approach felt unfamiliar. Was I beginning to care for her? I quickly dismissed the thought. No, she was merely a pawn in my schemes, a strategic ally in my plans. One that I would use for her abilities and her delectable blood. My thoughts inevitably wandered back to Lyra and our intimate moment in the tent. Her scent, a mesmerizing blend of wild orchids and rare blossoms, lingered with me, enchanting my senses with its exquisite beauty as it wove through them like a spell. Her blood bursts with a symphony of flavors every time—hints of ambrosial peach, lush passionfruit, spicy clove and a touch of wild honey that dances on my tongue vigorously. I shook my head harshly, determined to clear away the distracting thoughts of scent and taste. It was crucial to concentrate on the hunt at hand.
My fate for this evening now had me storming through this accursed forest, seething with rage as I was reduced to consuming boar's blood. The taste is an unbearable assault of bitter rot, pungent forest mold, and a lingering, acrid aftertaste that clings to the palate. This loathsome liquid is the epitome of revulsion, perhaps only a close second to the vile rats and bugs Cazador forced me to dine on. Being forced to drink putrid rats, I had to summon every ounce of willpower within me to swallow the liquid abomination. The memory of my previous sustenance, if you could even call it that, came flooding back to me. The stench was overpowering, a foul blend of decay and sulfur that assaulted my nostrils and brough tears to my eyes. The texture was equally abhorrent, thick and slimy, with unidentifiable particles suspended within. I dared not show ingratitude for whatever Cazador provided. The consequences of refusal were far grimmer than enduring the grotesque semblance of sustenance he called blood. There was no drink in all the nine hells that was worse.
~Present~
I glanced at Lyra’s tankard of Balor Ale left over from last night’s festivities. I realized, with a grimace, that indeed a beverage could plummet below the standards of even the nine hells. The memory of her introducing this monstrosity was unforgettable. She had presented it with a mischievous glint, proclaiming it a life-changer. I had regarded her skeptically—Lyra always had a knack for disguising her mischief with humor. Reluctantly, I took a sip. The ale hit my tongue like a burst sewer pipe, unleashing its vile contents. It scorched my throat like acid and landed in my stomach like a solid block—a remarkable feat for any liquid. Lyra’s laughter erupted so forcefully I half-expected her to topple off her stool.
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“It’s not that bad,” she managed between fits of laughter.
“Darling, you said it would change my life, not end it,” I shot back with a playful glare, while Lyra was still catching her breath from laughing, a barmaid approached, bringing a bottle of Purple Dragon's Blush and a wine glass.
“I guessed,” she said with a smile and a shrug.
“Well, if you think bringing my favorite wine will make me forgive you for that liquid felony... you’re absolutely right, darling,” I winked at her, keeping the banter light and spirited.
Reflecting on our playful banter brought a brief respite from the grim memories of Cazador's tortures. However, it also served as a stark reminder of my earlier misdeeds. Back then, under Xykrath's influence, I had been nothing short of despicable. That night in the tent, I had frightened Lyra, and used seduction purely as a means of manipulation without any genuine care to win back her trust. To me, she was merely an object, a tool to be exploited for my ends. Once Cazador was dead and the issue with the tadpole resolved, I would have discarded her without a second thought. If I could, I'd give myself a good punch for the man I was back then.
As I sipped my wine and set the tankard back on the table, my eyes fell on the plate of food I had the barkeep prepare for when Lyra woke. The sight took me back to the morning after my angry boar hunt, to a cave beneath the temple where we encountered a trio of ogres, equally as angry and hungry as I had been. One, surprisingly eloquent, spoke with the finesse of a poet, while his two companions, bumbling and barely articulate, struggled to string a full sentence together between them. Their stark contrast in demeanor and speech was as memorable as their voracious appetite.
~Past~
Dawn crept slowly into our camp, the early rays of sunlight filtering through the towering trees standing guard over us. These guardians of the forest are ancient, gnarled and majestic. Their trunks are covered in moss glowing ever so lightly from the variety of fungi twisting and turning through their bark. A gentle breeze stirs, rustling the leaves on the ground like playful sprites. Our small fire, now mostly embers, smolders gently, its smoke curling up into the cool morning air, mingling with the mist that hovers just above the ground. Gale was just returning, arms full of kindling to bring our fire back to life, undoubtably to begin making breakfast.
The night had been unforgiving. The boar I had hunted for supper had fiercely resisted, leaving me with bruises and soreness. The hard ground offered no respite, exacerbating my discomfort and leaving me stiff and pained by morning. In no state for conversation, especially with Gale, I brushed past him with barely a nod and made my way to the river. Perhaps the cold embrace of the water could soothe my aching muscles and lighten my sour mood.
To my surprise, Lyra was there again, perched on the fallen tree, basking in the early morning sun rising over the river. Her feet dangled in the calm waters, a cloth resting over her wrist where I had briefly indulged on her the night before. I stopped short, tempted to veer off and continue further down the river. Given the foul mood I was in, I doubted I could keep from being unpleasant, and she seemed to be savoring her peaceful morning. Before I could make up my mind on what to do, Lyra's laughter cut through the air.
"Good morning, Astarion," she paused, a playful edge to her voice. "You're quite loud for a rogue." Her grin lessened my irritation.
"You keep using that word, 'Good,' I don’t think you know what it means darling." I remarked as I sat down beside her, grimacing slightly from the pain. Lyra noticed my discomfort and her expression shifted with concern.
"Are you all right, Astarion?" she asked, her voice laced with worry. "I mean, you are being your typical morning self, but you seem to be in pain."
"Let's just say that at some point on this journey, there had better be a soft bed and an endless bottle of wine," I grumbled.
Lyra's gaze lingered on me; her brow furrowed in worry. The morning sun illuminated her face, casting it in a soft, peachy glow that contrasted with her growing concern. Her eyes, though filled with anxiety, still shimmered with life, their vibrancy almost soothing my irritation with a single glance. Lyra's expression shifted, hinting at some inner contemplation. I watched her quietly, curious about her next move. After a brief pause, her features settled into a look of determination. Standing up, she gently removed the cloth from her wrist and waded through the calf-deep water towards me. She stopped right between my legs, hesitating just a moment before reaching out to touch my face when I made no move to pull away.
Her hand was tender against my cheek, holding it gently before she ran her fingers through my hair, tracing around my ear. Then, turning her wrist towards me, she gave a subtle nod. I responded by pulling her closer, lifting her into my lap. Tenderly I filled her cheek and jawline with soft kisses, then pulled back to meet her eyes. Lyra swallowed, her smile warm and reassuring as she nodded again.
I kissed her gently on the chin, then trailed my nose down her neck before gently biting into her. Lyra wrapped her arms around my neck, her fingers weaving through my hair as I held her close. My left arm encircled her back, my right hand gliding up her spine to tangle in her hair. As I savored the taste of her, a rush of vitality washed through me, the discomfort of the previous night dissolving into nothingness under the warmth of our intimate exchange. Reluctantly, I stopped feeding, mindful that the day ahead required Lyra's full strength. As I lifted my head to her ear, I whispered softly, "This is a gift, and I won't ever forget it." Lyra relaxed in my embrace, leaning back to meet my gaze.
"And it isn't even your birthday," she replied with a playful grin, her hand capturing my chin to hold our eyes in lock. "Always for you, Astarion," she smiled warmly before letting go.
"Be careful, darling, you don't want to make promises you can't keep," I teased back, lightening the mood. "Now, as much as I've enjoyed this dessert, we should head back to camp. You'll need a proper breakfast if we're going to storm the temple. I can't always be the one saving everyone from certain peril." Lyra rolled her eyes playfully as she stepped back into the morning waters, making her way to shore. I followed her with a contented smirk, reflecting on how my restraint from the night before had indeed paid off, beyond my expectations.
As we neared the campsite, the air filled with the tantalizing aroma of breakfast cooked over a crackling campfire. Lyra smiled and quickened her step to see what treat Gale had prepared. At the heart of his rustic feast was fluffy, golden-brown pancakes, their edges slightly crisped from the heat of the open flame. Each pancake was ready to soak up rich, amber syrup, drizzled generously over the top, accompanied by a dollop of creamy butter that was melting into a delicious looking pool.
Gale was tending to a sizzling skillet filled with crispy bacon strips and succulent sausages, their spicy and smoky scents mingling with the sweet pancake syrup. He scrambled fresh eggs to a creamy perfection and sprinkled them with herbs picked from the surrounding forest. Gods, he had even managed to find an array of colorful fruits—slices of spicy sweet flamefruits, plump dragon berries ready to burst with sweet nectar, and crisp slightly tangy starfruit slices—all gathered in a wooden bowl, adding vibrant colors and refreshing tastes to the meal presented before us.
Gale lavished a stack of pancakes with an abundance of syrup and topped it off with a generous portion of fruit for Lyra, all while shooting me a pointed glare. His irritation was palpable, so I deliberately acted oblivious and flashed a cheerful smile at Lyra. I was well aware that the sugars from the fruit and syrup would help replenish her after the blood I had drawn.
"Looks delicious, darling. Eat up; you'll need your… strength," I said with a grin. Lyra beamed and took a hearty bite of the fluffy pancakes, savoring each morsel.
"For the love of Mystra," Gale grumbled as he turned back to his skillet of bacon. The enticing aroma of breakfast soon drew everyone to the campfire. As we savored the delicious spread, the group delved into a lively discussion of plans and strategies. Amid bites of fluffy pancakes and crispy bacon, various ideas were proposed and quickly dismissed as we struggled to agree on the most effective course of action for the day. Time pressed heavily upon us; finding the healer, Halsin, was imperative and urgent.
The group eventually settled on a plan to revisit the cave and exploit a vulnerable section at the back of the goblin-occupied temple. Lyra and Shadowheart were engrossed in the map, meticulously plotting the fastest route back to the temple. Meanwhile, the gith had retreated to her tent, busily arming herself with every weapon she could pack. Gale had been giving me pointed looks all through breakfast, which I studiously ignored.
"Astarion, why don't you make yourself useful and help me wash the dishes?" Gale suggested, his eyes darting from the path leading to the river and back to me.
"And ruin these perfect nails? Surely, you jest," I responded with mock horror.
"Don't worry, mate, I'll help ya," Karlach chimed in, her grin broadening as she gathered several plates. "Besides, I can heat the water up perfect for dishes."
"Well, then," I said, my smile widening. "That's settled." With that, I returned to my tent to gather my gear for the day. Perhaps Lyra was right—it had indeed been a 'good' morning after all.
We spent the next couple of hours walking through the forest surrounding us, digesting our breakfast as we made our way toward the cave. Beyond the deserted village lay a meandering path that gracefully descended a hill cloaked in trees. Lush greenery sprawled across the earth, intertwining with vibrant, exotic flowers that blossomed brilliantly under the morning sun. The air retained a crispness from the night's shift into dawn, enveloping us in tranquility. Birds, sprites, and other small creatures were becoming increasingly active, searching for their morning meal. Their gentle serenades filled the space around us, creating a calm, peaceful atmosphere.
We finished our descent, emerging where the path spilled onto a broad beach strewn with pebbles and massive boulders. The river was a vibrant vein of nature, carving its way through the ancient trees and lush undergrowth near the temple, extending for miles in both directions. Along its banks, moss-covered boulders sit slick and treacherous. The waters in front of us boasted a stunning mix of swirling, crystal-clear pools that were deceptively inviting, shimmering and dappled with sunlight filtering through the canopy above, and a relentless explosion of rapids that surged with incredible power. These white-water torrents roared and foamed, threatening to sweep away the unwary. The river's ferocity was far greater up close than it had seemed from our distant vantage point the day before.
“Gods Damnit.” I muttered under my breath. Crossing this beast would be no easy task.
“There” Lyra pointed. To our left hanging suspended over the river was an ancient rope bridge, a relic of time slowly yielding to decay. The bridge, once a sturdy lifeline connecting the opposing banks, was now showing signs of neglect, with weathered wooden planks that would surely creak and groan under the slightest weight. The ropes, frayed and brittle from years of exposure to the elements, strain against the relentless pull of gravity and the fierce gusts that sweep through the gorge. Below the frail ropes, the river churns violently, its waters a frothy white as they crash against sharp rocks, sending mist into the air.
"Darling, I suspect I might have overdone it with breakfast this morning," I said with a hint of worry.
"It's old, sure, but look, it's still a bridge and it's still standing," Lyra retorted, ever the optimist.
"While I usually don't see eye-to-eye with Astarion," Gale chimed in, "I have to admit he's onto something here. That's not so much a bridge as it is a nicely arranged series of potential calamities. Perhaps we should scout for a less lethal way to begin today's adventure."
"Couldn't we just teleport?" Karlach suggested.
"We could, yes..." Lyra started, but the gith cut her off.
"Her wild magic might drown us just as surely as that bridge might collapse—or worse."
Lyra's response was uncharacteristically subdued as she glanced down. "There is that." It was a rare moment to see even a flicker of doubt in her usually unwavering confidence. Her magic, though often chaotic, had always been her steadfast ally. Yet, before I could voice my reassurances, a spark of her usual certainty ignited in her eyes. With a swift, confident grin, Lyra exclaimed, "Transitus Locus!" and cast her teleportation spell. In an instant, our party was whisked from one side of the river to the other, the landscape changing before us in a mere blink.
Teleportation is one of my least favorite ways to travel. The entire process, though lasting only seconds, leaves a lasting impression, as it hurtled me beyond the normal limits of space and time. The moment the spell was cast, a tingling sensation enveloped my entire body, filling it with mild electrical current. The tingling sensation of the electricity intensifies rapidly, turning into a vibration that feels as if it is resonating from the very core of my being. My vision blurred, with the colors and shapes around me swirling into a vortex of light and shadow. My world dissolved into streaks of light and flashes of color. Just as quickly as the kaleidoscope of colors appeared, they vanished and left me in a moment of complete sensory deprivation, surrounded in only darkness and silence, a momentary pause in my existence. The feeling was almost timeless, as seconds stretched into infinity.
As suddenly as we were sucked into the teleportation vortex, we landed on the other side of the river. The shock of re-entry left a buzzing sensation in my limbs, like the echo of a thunderclap. Vertigo swirled through my mind as it grappled with the reality of crossing such a vast distance in mere moments. This disorienting journey wasn't without its physical toll, as evidenced by Gale, who leaned heavily against a fallen tree, his face pale, as he suddenly deposited his breakfast behind it.
"You could have killed us!" The gith erupted, her fury palpable as her senses returned.
"But I didn't," Lyra replied with an irrepressible grin. "Our little tadpoles are a death sentence, as you so frequently remind us. Die in the river or at their hands if you wish, but I prefer to keep searching for a cure."
"Do not mistake foolishness for bravery," the gith snapped back, her anger barely contained.
"Noted," Lyra chirped, her smile undimmed by the rebuke. Her light-hearted defiance in the face of such dire stakes somehow lightened the mood, even if just for a moment.
Beneath the temple, masked by the swirling mists of tumbling waterfalls, lay the cave Lyra had pinpointed from our lookout the previous day. The entrance, subtly veiled by the thick cascade of the waterfalls, shimmered as the water droplets caught the sunlight, creating an almost ethereal curtain. Vines and moss clung to the rugged stone, creating a vivid green tapestry that draped over the gray, weathered walls. As we drew nearer, we moved with heightened caution, vigilant for any signs of goblins or other creatures that might be hidden within or around this concealed gateway.
Lyra inhaled deeply, steeling herself as she led the way into the cave's shadowy entrance. I trailed closely behind, my eyes swiftly adapting to the dim interior. The ground beneath our feet was slick and moist, while the echo of dripping water reverberated off the stone walls, blending with the distant roar of the river outside to orchestrate a haunting symphony of natural sounds.
As we cautiously ventured deeper, an amber glow began to pierce the surrounding darkness, hinting at some distant light source. With each tentative step, the glow intensified, revealing flickering torchlight along the rough cave walls—a clear indication that we were not alone. Despite the potential danger, Lyra pressed on, her resolve unwavering, as we delved further into the cave's mysterious depths.
"Do you smell that?" Karlach took a deep breath, a look of surprise mingling with pleasure as she exhaled slowly. The air was unexpectedly filled with the tantalizing aroma of barbecue—a scent completely out of place yet strangely comforting within the vast, echoing chambers around us. It hung in the cavernous space, an incongruous yet inviting whisper of warmth and festivity in an environment where one would least expect it.
"I don't think I like the idea of whatever's decided to make its kitchen underneath a horde of goblins," Gale remarked, his face still pale from our abrupt teleportation. Lyra paused, considering this, then gave a nonchalant shrug.
"We keep going," she declared with unwavering confidence, leading us deeper into the cave. The rest of us followed with evident hesitation. Our trek was enveloped in silence, save for the growing intensity of the smoky barbecue scent that filled the air.
Soon, faint voices began to filter through the stillness—muffled and indistinct at first. As we progressed, the voices grew clearer, and up ahead, the cave opened into a vast chamber. Lyra approached the entrance quietly, with me trailing just behind, clinging to the shadows as we moved closer to uncover the source of the voices.
"GOBBLE! You're going to burn the vegetables!" a booming voice echoed through the cave, breaking the silence. "NIBBLE! You're literally on fire, you simpleton!"
"Fire HOT!" Another voice chimed in, somewhat redundantly.
"Yes, fire is indeed... hot. Your situation will improve greatly if you'd just move two feet to your left and stop standing in the fire. Left, Nibble... your other left... LEFT, you sorry sod!" the first voice shouted, oscillating between exasperation and anger.
Peering over Lyra's shoulder, I glimpsed the source of the uproarious banter. Three very large ogres bustled about a vast chamber, turning the cave into an impromptu kitchen. The one donning a human-sized chef’s hat, perched comically atop his head, was the maestro of the group. He meticulously tended to an array of smoked meats with his large, thick fingers. Racks of ribs and briskets sizzled under his care, enveloped in a rich, smoky aroma that filled the chamber. The meats boasted a deep mahogany crust, a testament to hours of careful smoking over select woods.
The second ogre, deftly wielding oversized tongs, expertly flipped skewers loaded with an array of vegetables. Bell peppers, vibrant skyroot carrots, crisp onions, thick slices of zucchini, and succulent twilight tomatoes sizzled and steamed upon contact with the hot grill, their surfaces quickly transforming into beautifully blackened stripes that added a smoky depth of flavor.
Nearby, the third ogre, who had amusingly found himself standing in the fire, was engaged in a flavorful endeavor. Once safely away from the flames, he busied himself with seasoning the meats and vegetables. His apron was a colorful mess of spicy and sweet splatters from his culinary efforts. He began by generously drizzling a thick, homemade barbecue sauce over the meats. The sauce, rich and sticky, sizzled audibly as it met the heated grill, enveloping the chamber with an intoxicating aroma.
Turning his attention to the vegetables, he quickly applied a garlicky marinade. This concoction was made from a luxurious blend of silky oil and shadowcrest garlic—it’s rare, almost black cloves renowned for their uniquely sweet yet sharp flavor. He also added mistroot ginger, lending a subtle, delicate spice, and fiery scorpion peppers, so named for their resemblance to scorpion tails and the memorable sting of their heat.
"Now we're cookin', boys!" the first ogre bellowed with a grin. In the immense cavern before us, a bizarre yet bustling kitchen unfolds, manned by the three ogres. Several large, roughly hewn wooden tables are cluttered with a hodgepodge of enormous cooking implements: spoons, forks, cleavers, and pots, all mismatched in size and shape.
The kitchen is illuminated by a grand fire that casts a warm, flickering glow, making shadows dance across the rocky walls. Encircled by stones, the fire pit crackles beneath a massive cauldron and custom-made meat racks. A large flat rock, supported by smaller stones, serves as a makeshift griddle, sizzling with heat from the flames licking up from below.
On a small table near their primitive culinary setup, I noticed three conspicuously placed cookbooks. The titles were as intriguing as they were out of place in the hands of ogres: "Flavors of the Forgotten Realms: A Fantasy Feast," "Wizard's Whisk: Magical Meals for Every Occasion," and "Potions and Platters: A Spellcaster's Guide to Gastronomy." It was amusing to imagine these massive creatures delicately flipping through the pages, a surreal contrast between their brutish appearance and the refined culinary wisdom they sought to master.
"Fascinating," Gale murmured, stepping cautiously further into the room.
"Gale!" Lyra hissed, trying to keep her voice low. The ogre by the fire paused in his task of seasoning vegetables. He inhaled deeply, sniffing the air, before slowly turning toward us.
"SHEP! Meat bags!" he bellowed to another ogre.
"It's pronounced, 'Chef'," corrected the first ogre with a slow, deliberate tone. He then turned to peer at us. "Well, well, what tasty morsels have stumbled into my humble kitchen?"
Lyra gave Gale a subtle nudge, urging him forward. Gale's eyes widened as he realized Lyra expected him to take the lead in talking.
"You can't seriously expect me to chat up this ogre," Gale muttered out of the side of his mouth to Lyra, his eyes never leaving the ogres in front of them.
"You’re the camp 'shep,'" Lyra replied with a grin, using the ogre’s earlier mispronunciation. "Buy us some time while I figure out our escape plan." Seeing no way out of it, Gale reluctantly inched forward to address the ogre chef, resigning himself to play the part.
“Ah, a fellow chef, I see! Pardon our intrusion, but it was simply irresistible—the tantalizing aromas wafting from this cavernous kitchen beckoned us. The air outside was thick with the scents of sizzling spiced meats, herbs simmering in rich broths, and a hint of something uniquely sweet, perhaps a caramelized root vegetable or a fruit compote, melding into an intoxicating bouquet. I was compelled to meet the culinary gastronome behind such diverse and delightful fragrances.”
"Boss not gnome, boss ogre," Nibble stated, clearly baffled. The first ogre gave him an exasperated look, his frustration with the misunderstanding evident.
"Not Boss... CHEF..." he enunciated slowly to Nibble, his tone dripping with annoyance at the simple mix-up. "You'll have to forgive my brothers; they aren't as... enlightened, shall we say, as I am. I am Chef Render Gutbelly," he introduced himself, a hint of pride creeping into his voice as he acknowledged Gale's implied compliments.
“"Pleasure, Chef," Gale nodded with a respectful air. "Pardon my curiosity, but it's rare to encounter an ogre with such refined... tastes. This looks to be a sublime skyroot carrot soufflé, and is that Eldritch Edam I see? What a remarkable choice of cheese, indeed quite fascinating. You know, Eldritch Edam is aged in the shadowy depths of ancient caverns, where the walls are etched with forgotten runes. It’s famed for its profound, resonant flavors and mysterious, supernatural undertones. The taste is a complex tapestry of rich, earthy notes with bursts of unexpected sharpness, evoking ancient spells and hidden secrets. It’s especially popular among wizards and scholars, believed to boost understanding and insight. How did you come to master such culinary finesse and pairing knowledge?" Gale inquired, his voice brimming with enthusiasm.
"Gods," I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes at Gale’s verbose soliloquy. Lyra glanced at me raising an eyebrow. "Honestly, I’d rather be eaten, darling." I retorted.
"You hear that, boys! This meat bag gets my vision, my genius. I am a gourmand!" Render exclaimed with a dramatic flourish and bow, his voice echoing through the cavern.
"But name Render?" Gobble, scratching his head in confusion, couldn't quite grasp the concept.
With a roar of frustration, Render smacked Gobble atop his head with a hefty ogre fist. Gobble massaged the tender spot, his face contorting as if he was about to say more but then thought better of it, choosing silence over further rebuke.
"I am cursed, truly cursed, surrounded by morons," Render sighed heavily. "I ask for so little—simple wants, really. I am a gourmand; my belly yearns for hearty and intriguing fare. And yet, I am burdened with brothers who think a meal of common sheep, boars, and deer is sufficient!" His lament was almost theatrical in its despair.
Lyra's eyes sparkled with mischief; clearly, she was onto something brilliant. "Gale, why don't you share with him your recipe for Goblin?" she suggested, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
"Recipe for Goblin, who would want to—" Gale started, genuinely puzzled.
"Not share the most exotic recipe in their repertoire?" Lyra interjected, giving Gale a knowing look, steering him towards unexpected culinary diplomacy.
“OH…oh yes. Truly my apologies, it is a recipe I reserve for only the very talented of chefs.” Gale said, catching on to what Lyra was implying. Render raised an eye at Gale.
“Tell me of this meal!” Render bellowed moving closer to Gale and squatting down beside him.
“Ah yes well, it’s a deeply flavorful and complex meal, called…ahh…Goblin Goulash, and it’s served with Roasted Herb and Vegetable Succotash, accompanied by a side of crusty bread smeared with Bugbear Jam. It is a dish that dances on the daring side of fantasy cuisine, I might add. The goulash, a robust and hearty stew, is simmered to perfection with tender chunks of goblin meat, known for its surprisingly delicate flavor that absorbs the rich blend of spices and herbs it's cooked with. The stew is a vibrant tapestry of colors, featuring a medley of locally sourced, enchanted vegetables—like whispering beans, skyroot carrots, and twilight tomatoes—all roasted with a fine selection of herbs from the mystic meadows of Elderwood, though there are plenty of herbs here than can be substituted. The side of crusty bread, baked fresh with a golden, crunchy exterior and a soft, warm interior, serves as the perfect vessel for the Bugbear Jam. This jam is a unique concoction, made from sweet and slightly tart glowcherries. The berries are known for their potent zest and are mixed with a hint of honey and minced bugbear, creating a jam that is both exotic and invigorating. This meal is not only a feast for the taste buds but also an adventure.” Gale smiled triumphantly.
“But…No Goblins, only has fuzzy cloud animals,” Nibble said, puzzled.
“Sheep!” Render corrected, his patience wearing thin.
“You know,” Lyra chimed in, a mischievous glint in her eye, “As we strolled along the shore toward your cave, I couldn’t help but notice a rather large goblin city right above you. An entire hoard, in fact. Gale, that’s about the number of goblins needed for this meal, wouldn’t you say?”
“Hmm, oh, oh yes! Indeed, a whole hoard would just about cover it,” Gale affirmed, catching on to Lyra’s hint.
“An entire hoard of goblins living above our heads, and you fools bring me common livestock!” Render exclaimed, his voice booming through the cave. The other two ogres edged away cautiously. “MMGH, my belly aches for goblin! I’ll deal with you imbeciles later. To the temple, my brothers! Tonight, we feast until our bellies burst!” His declaration echoed like a war cry, rallying his brothers for a culinary raid.
The ogres meticulously handled their freshly cooked meals, gently placing them on tables and into cooling racks at the rear of the room. They carefully shed their aprons and traded their culinary tools for weapons. Gobble and Nibble, in a rush of excitement, strapped on wicker baskets like backpacks, eager to gather the goblin prizes awaiting them, while Render grabbed a patched-up sack. Render let out a fierce war cry before the three departed swiftly from the cave.
“Fucking brilliant mate” Karlach exchanged a smile with Lyra, then turned to Gale with a playful remark. "You even had me looking forward to that goblin stew." Gale, clearly amused, responded with a modest bow.
"It'll only be brilliant if those clowns can actually pull it off," I said, rolling my eyes at the thought.
"Don't worry, Astarion," Gale retorted with a grin, "there'll be plenty of chances for you to steal the spotlight with some heroic antics or a dramatic rescue," he concluded with a nonchalant shrug.
"Let's just hope you're still here to see it," I muttered under my breath. Lyra caught my comment and flashed a quick smile before moving towards the cave's entrance.
"Shall we check on how our 'chef' is doing?" she quipped with a grin. I sighed and trailed behind her; the rest of our group close on my heels. We reached a large rock wall veiled with ivy, an ideal path for climbing to the temple ledge we had noted during our reconnaissance. As Lyra paused to look up and listen, the distant clamor of combat reached our ears. The ogres had commenced their raid on the village, eagerly selecting the choicest goblins they could find.
As we reached the top of the vines, utter bedlam unfolded in front of us. The camp, usually bustling with the small, green creatures, turned into a playground of panic and pandemonium. Render, significantly larger and smarter than his companions, orchestrated the chaos with a devious grin. Armed with his giant, patched-up sack, he expertly herded the goblins towards him. As they ran screaming, he scooped them up by the handful, chuckling as he dumped them into his sack. His strategic moves had a touch of cruelty, trapping the goblins between rocks or flushing them out from underbrush with a cunning that belied his brutish appearance.
His two bumbling sidekicks, meanwhile, contributed more to the mayhem than the actual capture. Gobble, a hulking brute with eyes too close together, clumsily swung his large arms, attempting to grab the nimble goblins. Each swipe ended either in a comical miss or with him tumbling forward onto the ground, causing earthquakes of laughter among the watching goblins who dared to pause in their flight.
Nibble, wide-eyed and drooling, chased the goblins in circles, his large mouth agape in a goofy smile. He opened his pack ready to scoop his goblin victims inside, but every time he bent down to scoop a goblin into it, another would jump out of the pack and onto his back, yanking his hair, and leaping away just as his hands reached their mark. This ogre's attempts were so pitiful that even the terrified goblins couldn't help but throw mock attacks, tossing small stones and sticks at him, which he often mistook for the goblins themselves.
As we observed the goblins weaving through their camp, dodging under the legs of their colossal pursuers and overturning cooking pots in their haste, the scene was nothing short of chaotic yet comically orchestrated. The air buzzed with the high-pitched panic of the goblins and the ogres' bumbling frustrations, forming a lively spectacle of survival tinged with humor. Watching the pandemonium unfold, I couldn't contain my amusement at the brilliant havoc Lyra and Gale had unleashed.
Leaning close to Lyra, I whispered teasingly in her ear, "Remind me, darling, to always stay on your good side." My grin broadened, appreciating her knack for mischief. “Chaos does seem to be a particular talent of yours."
She replied with a sly smile “It seems our path is fortuitously clear now, shall we proceed?"
“After you, my sweet.” I grinned. Lyra confidently led the way towards the temple doors, now clearly devoid of goblins thanks to our successful strategy.