"What the fuck was that!" Karlach's exclamation had shattered the silence that followed the chilling howl. As the tension in the room subsided, the collective breath we had been holding finally escaped. I glanced at my companions, noting the pallor of their faces and the lingering traces of fear in their eyes. Lyra moved closer to me, seeking comfort. The unusual reversal struck me—I was now her source of solace in this moment of dread. But there was no time to dwell on this shift; we needed a plan.
As I moved toward the door behind us, I glanced at Lyra and subtly let my hand brush along her back as I passed. The brief contact was enough to feel her tension ease, even if just slightly. She kept her eyes on me as I continued forward. Reaching the doorway, I paused, scanning the hallway beyond. It was still and silent. After a few moments of careful observation, I turned back to the others.
“Does anyone have any idea what this creature might be?” Lyra asked, glancing at Gale with a mixture of hope and apprehension.
“There are countless possibilities—Shadow Mastiff, Dread Wraith, Death Titan...” Gale responded, shaking his head gravely. “We’ll need to delve deeper into the manor to even catch a hint of what this beast truly is.”
“Who comes up with these names? Shadow, dread, death…” I said, rolling my eyes in exasperation.
“Perhaps you’d prefer something like Fluffy Doom Kitten? Or Snuggles of the Abyss? Or—oh, I know—the Cuddle Muffin of Despair?” Gale suggested with a smirk.
“And don’t forget Whiskers the World-Ender!” Karlach chimed in, grinning.
“If the two of you are quite done, can we focus on coming up with a plan?” I asked, my irritation mounting with each passing moment.
“I have an idea, but... you’re not going to like it,” Lyra replied, her face pleading for understanding.
“Darling, I already despise it, but please, continue,” I retorted, fixing her with a steely gaze.
“You could sneak…” she started, but I cut her off sharply.
“You expect me to venture out there alone in the dark, just hoping this so-called doom or death creature doesn’t have the ability to see invisibility? Did you lose your senses when I wasn’t looking?” I scoffed dismissively.
"While I usually hesitate to side with Astarion," Gale started, delving into a detailed explanation, "creatures that dwell in the Underdark typically possess exceptionally sharp vision. It’s highly improbable that the Zhentarim scouts wouldn't have invisibility potions at their disposal for swift retreats. And as we witnessed, even they met their demise."
"Enough talk!" the Gith snapped, gritting her teeth. "The creature is already lurking in the shadows, and this is its domain. We need to confront it directly, and we must do it now."
"Such tempting choices: either sneak to my death or charge straight at it." I huffed, sarcasm dripping from my words. Lyra merely shrugged, waiting for me to decide.
"After you," I said with a mock flourish, gesturing toward the door and nodding at the Gith.
"Finally!" she exclaimed, her enthusiasm unbothered as she pushed the door open and strode confidently into the hallway. The others followed, though with a noticeable air of caution. Lyra gave me a reassuring glance as she passed, but I remained rooted to the spot, my eyes fixed on the doorway. Beyond that threshold, somewhere in the sprawling expanse of the manor, lurked the creature—and with it, the key I so desperately sought to unlock the meaning of my scars. Yet, despite the looming threat of the creature and the tantalizing prospect of being one step closer to defeating Cazador, I found myself paralyzed with hesitation.
Why couldn’t I move? Centuries of fear, etched into every fiber of my being, weren’t so easily cast aside by a mere few days of freedom. The creature prowling these halls was terrifying, an unknown menace. But Cazador… Cazador was a nightmare far deeper than any creature I had encountered, he was like the roots of a cursed tree winding, twisting and tearing through my soul, choking out every breath of courage I dared to muster. He was a terror that had shaped and shadowed my every breath, and he was waiting for me, biding his time. The thought of facing him again sent a shiver down my spine, anchoring me in place.
I had no choice—once again, a bitter pill I was all too familiar with. Disgust welled up inside me, but I couldn’t afford to let it show. I had to move. Summoning every ounce of courage I possessed, I forced myself forward, each step toward the door sending icy tendrils of dread through my veins. The fear clawed at me, but I shoved it down, determined to keep it hidden.
As I reached the door, I took one final deep breath and steeled my expression. The others would not see the terror Cazador still held over me. Peering down the hallway, I saw that they hadn’t gotten far. The Gith was a shrewd strategist; she hadn’t recklessly charged into the house shouting, thank the gods. I quickly caught up to them, masking my fear as we continued our quiet journey deeper into the manor.
We entered a vast chamber bathed in a gentle purple light that filtered through a towering, arched window dominating the far wall. The window, a masterpiece of Gothic architecture, was adorned with intricate, pointed arches and delicate tracery, allowing the lavender light to pour in and stretch long, eerie shadows across the room. The interior bore the scars of time, its stone walls riddled with cracks that spread like jagged lightning across a stormy night sky. Above us, the high ceiling arched grandly, though its former magnificence was now a ghostly echo, barely clinging to the remnants of its once-glorious past. Dust hung thick in the air, caught in the pale beams of light that sliced through the pervasive gloom.
To our left, a broad staircase wound its way upward, vanishing into the darkened recesses above. The steps, made from the same cold, crumbling stone as the rest of the room, were blanketed in a fine layer of dust—a silent testament to the fact that no living being had tread this path in ages.
As I surveyed the room, my gaze was drawn to the right, where a sinister doorway yawned just a few steps from where we stood. The door’s frame was warped and twisted, exuding a tangible sense of menace. Unlike the rest of the room, the floor in front of the doorway was devoid of dust, instead marred with deep claw marks, some of them stained a dark crimson—evidence of a desperate, futile struggle. The inky darkness beyond the door stood in stark contrast to the soft glow of the window, hinting at the unknown dangers that might lurk within.
Without speaking any agreement, we moved forward through the door and into the room hidden behind it. The room stretched out before us, a vast and cavernous expanse, shrouded in a thick, almost palpable green fog that clung to the cold stone floor. The fog swirled and drifted lazily, disturbed only by the cautious footsteps of our party, as we moved deeper inside. Muted light filtered into the room from broken windows, diffused by the fog, creating a perpetual twilight that only heightened the sense of dread that permeated the air around us.
We passed by large stone pillars that supported the high, vaulted ceiling that were ancient and crumbling, their surfaces marred by deep gouges and claw marks, as if something massive and powerful had taken out its fury on them. The ceiling itself, once a masterpiece of craftsmanship, was now fractured and sagging, its ornate carvings barely visible through the thick layer of dust and grime that coated them.
As we stood in the center of the room, I stared down at the floor, it was littered with debris—broken stones, shattered remnants of once-precious artifacts, and the scattered remains of what might have been furniture. But more ominously, bones were strewn haphazardly across the room, some broken and splintered, others still eerily intact. They lay in small piles and scattered clusters, as if something had dragged them here, and discarded them after the life had been sucked out of them. I surveyed the bones, they were a grim reminder that this place had become a lair, a den for something dark and dangerous.
The air was thick with the stench of decay and the faint metallic tang of old blood. It clung to the back of my throat, a constant reminder of the carnage that had taken place here. The room’s oppressive silence was broken only by the occasional creak of the building settling, the distant, echoing drip of water, and the unsettling sound of something large shifting in the shadows, just beyond the range of sight.
Somewhere in the depths of the room, hidden in the darkness and fog, the creature lurked—its presence a heavy weight in the air. The signs of its occupancy were everywhere, from the clawed pillars to the bones underfoot, but it remained hidden, a malevolent force just out of our reach. The room itself seemed to breathe with the creature's energy, every corner brimming with the potential for violence, the walls practically pulsating with malice. This was its domain, and we had dared to enter it.
Lyra edged closer to me, her voice barely above a whisper as she asked, "What do you think the creature is?"
A chill ran down my spine as I whispered back, "I'm afraid the more pressing question is where… is it."
Karlach, who had stepped a bit ahead, recoiled in disgust, her voice low but tinged with horror. "Ugh, gross," she muttered, staring down at the mangled remains of what was clearly the creature's last meal. "That’s just not right." She shook her head, a mix of revulsion and disbelief clouding her expression.
Halsin, normally so composed, seemed disturbed as well. He studied the gruesome scene with a furrowed brow. "What kind of monstrosity could do that to another creature?" he wondered aloud, his voice carrying a note of unease that echoed the dread settling over all of us.
"I'd say it's a fearsome, nightmarish predator, standing about 6 to 7 feet high at the shoulder, with a muscular frame weighing in at, oh, around 520 pounds, give or take," Gale announced, as if reading from a textbook.
"You figured that out just by looking at its lunch?" I asked, incredulous. "What makes you so sure?"
Gale's confident demeanor faltered as he swallowed nervously. "Because" he replied, voice dropping to a meek whisper, "I'm looking right at it." As if time itself held its breath, we slowly tore our gaze away from the carnage on the floor and turned to face the creature. Standing at the edge of the fog was a Yeth Hound, a nightmarish abomination that twisted the familiar form of a canine into something grotesquely unnatural. Its body, cloaked in short, pitch-black fur, seemed to absorb the surrounding darkness, rendering it nearly invisible save for the ominous glow of its cherry-red eyes. Those eyes—burning like embers in the night—locked onto mine, their piercing gaze slicing through the shadows and freezing the blood in our veins. The sheer malevolence in its stare sent a cold shiver down my spine, as if the hound's very presence was an embodiment of our worst fears made flesh.
As it paced before us, a low, menacing growl rumbled from its throat, made all the more unsettling by its disturbingly human-like face. Instead of a typical canine snout, it had a protruding, almost humanoid nose that jutted out from its grotesque visage, adding to the unnerving appearance. The Yeth Hound’s neck was unnaturally flexible, allowing it to move its head in a disturbingly fluid, serpentine manner as it sized us up. Its short, pointed ears curved upward and away from its head, resembling twisted, demonic horns that further emphasized its grotesque nature.
The air around us thickened with the acrid, metallic scent of chilled smoke, a prelude to the terror that was about to unfold. The Yeth Hound stalked us with a cruel, calculated intelligence, circling silently, its every movement a deliberate preparation for the perfect moment to strike. This was no ordinary beast of brute force; it was a creature born of nightmares, a predator driven by malice and dark purpose.
As I studied the creature, my breath caught in my throat. Around its thick, muscular neck, glinting faintly in the dim light, was a collar. This Yeth Hound wasn’t just here to instill fear—it had something I needed. My eyes locked onto the collar, an exquisite yet foreboding creation, crafted with a dark elegance that could only belong to the necromancer's most prized pet. The band itself was fashioned from intricately woven black leather, combining delicate craftsmanship with a robustness that ensured it fit snugly and securely around the Yeth Hound’s powerful neck.
At the center of the collar was a chilling focal point: a serpentine figure, or rather, two serpents sharing a single twisted, elongated body. Their tails coiled together in a menacing spiral, while each serpent bore draconic wings—bat-like membranes stretched taut over bony, skeletal frames that seemed poised to take flight. Just below where the two serpents' necks intertwined, a pentagram was inscribed in the center of the pendant. Perfectly symmetrical and sharply defined, the pentagram radiated an aura of dark power and forbidden knowledge.
Each serpent held a flawless, perfectly cut green gem in its mouth. These gems were not mere decoration; they pulsed with a faint, sinister energy, a tangible fragment of the necromancer’s own power embedded within them. These gems were the key—literally and figuratively—to unlocking the cursed book. They contained the souls of the necromancer’s fallen enemies, their spirits eternally trapped within the crystalline depths, feeding the Yeth Hound with their suffering and sustaining its relentless vigilance over the dark secrets it guarded. Though sinister in appearance, it was undoubtedly a piece of powerful magic, and it was now the only thing standing between me and the next step of my journey. But to claim it, we would have to face the wrath of a creature that hunted not for survival, but for the sheer, twisted pleasure of the kill.
“What is it waiting for?” Shadowheart’s voice quivered with uncertainty.
“An invitation,” I shot back, laced with biting sarcasm, my gaze never leaving the Yeth hound. The creature's eyes were locked onto mine, as if it were probing the very core of my being. It paced back and forth in a slow, deliberate rhythm, a predator sizing up its prey. My fingers clenched tighter around the hilt of Starstrike, every muscle in my body coiled for what might come next. Sensing my tension, the hound paused, then took a step forward.
Before I could react, a rush of cold sliced through the air. Lyra’s Freezing Sphere spell shot past me, crackling with icy energy. She had seen the hound’s intent as clearly as I had, and without hesitation, launched her attack, sending the freezing orb crashing toward the advancing beast.
The Yeth hound didn’t flinch as the icy orb sailed harmlessly through it, shattering against the ground behind. It turned its head slowly, almost lazily, to glance at the spot where Lyra's attack had failed, then shifted its gaze back to her. With a deliberate shake of its head, it seemed to scold her, its disdain palpable mocking her for the feeble attempt, as if saying, is that really the best you can do?
“Ahh… I’m afraid magic will not work against a Yeth hound,” Gale said with a grimace toward Lyra. “And be on your guard if it howls—cover your ears immediately, or you’ll find yourself paralyzed with terror.”
The Yeth hound’s face twisted into a grotesque grin, its body rising slowly off the ground, hovering with eerie calm. In a blur of speed, it lunged at Lyra, its movement too swift to track. She barely had time to react, flickering out of its path just in time with a blink spell, but the force of her escape sent her crashing to the floor. As she stood, I saw the crimson streaks trailing down her arm—despite her quick reflexes, the hound had managed to rake its claws into her before she vanished.
The hound furious at his missed attack leaned its head down gathering a large breath of air. Its head slowly rose upward, the hound preparing to unleash its fury. The howl began as a low, guttural rumble, barely more than a whisper on the wind, but quickly built into a sound that clawed at the very air we tried to inhale. It wasn’t just a noise; it was a feeling—an unnatural, bone-chilling vibration that seeped into our bones. As the pitch rose, it twisted into something worse, a blend of agonized wailing and feral snarling, as if the cries of the damned were being ripped from the abyss. The sound bypassed thought and instinct, it bypassed any hope of reason and went straight to the primal core of fear. It was suffocating, inescapable, pressing into the mind like a vice, demanding one thing: run.
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As the hound opened its jaws, I moved swiftly, clamping my hands over my ears just in time. Lyra, Gale, Shadowheart, and Karlach reacted just as quickly, their hands snapping up to block out the impending horror. But the gith and Halsin hesitated for a split second too long, their reflexes not fast enough to shield them from the sound that would soon consume them. I could visibly see their hearts pound uncontrollably, muscles tensing as terror ignited inside them. The expression on their faces was reduced to a single, overwhelming need to escape, no matter the cost. Every hazard, every obstacle would become irrelevant—anything was better than staying within earshot of that soul-shattering howl.
They bolted for the doorway in a blind panic, their terror-driven flight reckless and uncoordinated. In their desperation, they crashed into one another, careening off course before slamming headfirst into the stone archway. The impact was brutal, and in an instant, both crumpled to the ground, unconscious, their bodies motionless as the battle raged on around them.
The hound retreated into the shadows, vanishing into the murky darkness of the room. From the blackness, it began to toy with us—low, guttural growls and the scrape of claws echoed from every direction, impossible to pin down. It was stalking us, its presence felt but unseen, keeping us on edge, our nerves fraying with every moment. It was a predator biding its time, savoring our fear, waiting for the perfect moment to strike again while the tension mounted to a breaking point.
“Something useful, Gale! What do we do!” I growled at him.
“Ordinary weapons won’t suffice against this creature. It’s not fully bound to our world—your strikes will pass through it like mist. Only enchanted or…SILVERED weapons can truly harm it! Starstrike Astarion, use it now, or we’ll be fighting shadows until it picks us apart!” Gale shouted.
I rushed to Lyra’s side, gripping the wrist of her injured arm without hesitation. There was no time for pleasantries or permission—I needed her blood to face the beast. If we survived this, I would seek her forgiveness later. Without a word, I bit down where the hound had clawed her, drinking just enough to fuel my strength. As the surge of power coursed through me, I released her and swiftly moved her behind me. Gale joined her, ready to protect, while Shadowheart and Karlach circled around them, weapons drawn, as I stood at the forefront, renewed and ready to confront the hound.
The hound’s red eyes pierced through the fog once more, locking onto mine. Its face was hidden, but the sinister gleam of its eyes told me all I needed to know—they narrowed, almost as if it were grinning before it rose from its crouched stance. With a swift, eerie grace, it charged, gliding above the ground, its speed increasing. Lyra and Gale moved aside just in time, and I spun, narrowly evading the beast’s charge, slicing Starstrike across its side as it passed.
Karlach swung her axe with a roar, but just before impact, the hound dipped low, sliding beneath her blow and vanishing into the fog once more.
"Fuck!" Karlach snarled, her rage intensifying. Before she could recover, the hound lunged out of the mist, catching her by surprise. It slammed into her, sending them both crashing to the ground. Its claws tore into her flesh, immune to the flames that burned within her. Shadowheart's mace swung down in a desperate strike, but it passed through the creature as though it were smoke.
I rushed forward, ready to drive Starstrike into the hound, but then it inhaled sharply, its chest expanding. I knew what was coming—a deafening, bone-chilling howl. I covered my ears, as did the others, but Karlach had no such chance—she was trapped beneath the hound. Terror gripped her, swelling with each passing second, consuming her entirely. Her eyes, wide with panic, darted wildly as she clawed desperately at the ground, trying to free herself from the crushing weight of the beast. Her breath came in ragged, frantic gasps, and soon her terrified screams tore through the air, drowning out the hound's bone-chilling howl, as if her very soul was crying out for escape.
Lyra stepped forward; her movements frantic yet determined. She threw her hands into the air, shouting, “Scapulas argenteas!” The words tumbled from her lips with raw urgency as she whipped her fingers toward the Yeth hound. In an instant, silvery barbs erupted from her fingertips, showering the beast in a cascade of illusory spikes. The hound let out a guttural snarl and released Karlach, its attention snapping to Lyra. A twisted grin spread wider across its face, as if relishing the challenge.
But Lyra was undeterred. In a heartbeat, a familiar green light burst from her, flooding the room with an eerie glow. Her voice, now amplified with arcane force, boomed through the air: “Incantare telum!” At once, our weapons shimmered, vibrating with newly imbued magic, as if Lyra's chaotic energy had temporarily infused them with the power to turn the tide. Seizing the moment, I lunged at the hound, driving the tip of Starstrike deep into its chest. The creature roared, its furious howl filling the air. Shadowheart wasted no time, delivering a crushing blow to its back with her mace, but the hound was far from finished. It spun around with terrifying speed, swiping at Shadowheart and sending her sprawling to the ground.
Before I could react, the hound lunged at me with brutal force, slamming into me and driving me hard into the ground. The air was knocked from my lungs as its massive weight pinned me beneath it. Its glowing red eyes locked onto mine, and I saw the deadly intent as it lurched forward, jaws open, ready to sink its teeth into my throat.
Instinctively, I brought Starstrike up just in time, positioning the blade between my neck and the beast’s vicious fangs. The hound bit down with ferocious strength, its teeth gnashing against the enchanted metal. I gritted my teeth, using every ounce of strength to push the blade against the creature, but it didn’t stop. It pressed harder, the sheer force of its attack relentless. Through the haze of the battle, I saw a wicked grin creep across its snarling face, its fangs biting deeper into Starstrike as if mocking my resistance, savoring the moment before it would strike again. The pressure mounted, and I knew I was moments away from being overwhelmed.
“Gale!” I shouted as the battle raged with the hound.
Gale’s voice rang out, straining above the chaos. “Yeth hounds, yes…. Ahh... Cursed creatures of the night, only enchanted or silvered weapons can truly harm them!" His words came fast, his mind racing as he recalled the lore. "Ahh...They stalk the Material Plane under the cover of darkness, but magic won’t dispel them! Only daylight holds true power over them—wait!"
Suddenly, his eyes widened as the realization struck. "The sun! They fear the sun! If we can force it into sunlight, it’ll be banished to the Ethereal Plane, trapped until sunset!”
“We’re in the fucking Underdark!” I snarled at Gale, frustration boiling over even as the Yeth hound, in a twisted moment, seemed to roll its eyes at Gale while we wrestled on the floor. Each second felt like an eternity, and I could feel my strength waning under the relentless assault. The hound's claws and fangs tore into me, and the weight of its assault made it clear—this could be my end.
Just as the thought crossed my mind, heavy, uneven footsteps echoed from the shadows. My gaze flickered up, and there he was—Halsin, emerging from the darkness, his hand pressed tightly against his side, blood staining his fingers. His eyes, wild and filled with a primal fury, locked onto the hound. The air seemed to thrum with his raw, animalistic rage, as if the very earth trembled beneath his approach.
Halsin glared down at the hound, raising his arms to his side and then upwards as his voice resonated with the power of nature “Sol sphaera!” As the Solar Sphere spell took form, a blinding light erupted in the midst of the battle, its radiance surging outward with ferocious intensity. A 10-foot-radius sphere of pure, brilliant light, blazing like the heart of the sun itself, appeared above the Yeth hound. The creature let out a piercing, guttural howl as the sunlight bathed it, illuminating every shadow it once used for cover.
The sphere’s light expanded, casting a bright, golden glow for 60 feet in every direction, flooding the battlefield with scorching daylight. Beyond the core, the light softened to a dim radiance for another 60 feet, but inside the sphere, the intensity was blinding, turning the area into a searing, impenetrable blaze.
The Yeth hound screeched in agony, its form distorting and wavering as the sunlight tore through it, forcing it to recoil in desperation. The creature’s ethereal nature began to unravel, as if the light was ripping it from the Material Plane. Its grip on the world faltered as the sunlight pressed down, threatening to banish it to the Deep Ethereal. With the hound's jaws loosening from Starstrike, I seized the moment, plunging the blade deep into its chest, driving it through the black heart of the beast. The hound let out a final, guttural snarl as the searing heat from the Solar Sphere intensified. The air itself was burning like a fiery lash against my skin. I could barely stand the overwhelming brightness; my eyes began to close against the glare.
Before I was consumed by the heat, I felt Lyra’s presence, her body sliding between me and the writhing hound. Her voice rang out, casting a globe of invulnerability around us, the familiar arcane words echoing in my ears. A protective barrier shimmered around us, shielding me from the blistering sunlight above. The heat and light that once scorched my skin were now held at bay.
The hound, thrashing in its final moments, locked its gaze on Lyra. Its once terrifying red eyes now filled with pure terror, slowly dimming as the realization set in—it was truly dying. Trapped by the sunlight, its death on the Ethereal Plane meant it could never return. The creature's form convulsed, then crumbled into nothingness, vanishing with a faint, hollow hiss as its existence came to a final, inescapable end.
Lyra rested her head on my chest, focused on maintaining the protective orb around us. Her steady breathing signaled relief as we lay in the calm. Without thinking, I let my chin rest on the top of her head, momentarily savoring her presence and the safety she offered. But as the orb of sunlight began to fade and the spell weakened, a hollow ache formed at the thought of moving away from her. I recoiled, lifting my chin abruptly, chastising myself for the tenderness I didn’t deserve to feel. This is a means to an end, I reminded myself. Nothing more.
It was in that moment of recoil that a stark realization hit me like a ton of bricks. The collar! My arms dropped to the ground with an exasperated sigh. "Son of a bitch!" I growled.
Lyra, still draped across me, glanced up with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And here I thought you'd be happy to still be among the living." She met my glare with a playful smile. I shook my head, and she, barely able to contain her laughter, mimicked me. "Darling, whatever is the matter?"
"I’m glad you find this amusing," I snapped, irritation building. "That collar was the key to figuring out my scars, darling."
"Oh... you mean this collar?" Her grin widened as she raised her hand, revealing the collar.
Before she could react, I nearly knocked her to the floor in my rush, pulling her into my lap and grabbing her hand that held the collar. "You’re full of surprises, my sweet!" I grinned, eyes locking onto the prize. "How—"
Before I could finish, a spectral hand waved mockingly at me, then vanished into the fog.
"I find that mage hand is rather… handy in the right circumstances, don’t you?" Lyra’s grin stretched wide like a Cheshire cat as she handed me the collar. "If I couldn’t harm the hound, I sure as hells wasn’t going to let it run off with the collar."
She stood and offered me her hand, her usual playfulness shining through. I took it, letting her help me up. Just as I was almost on my feet, I saw her wince. My smile faded as I shoved the collar into my pocket and stepped closer to examine her arm. The hound had scratched her, but it was my doing that had worsened the wound—I had drained power from her.
A sickening wave of disgust crashed over me. I hadn’t given her a choice; I had taken from her, just as Cazador had so often done to me.
Lyra placed her hand gently on my chest, drawing my gaze from her wound to her face. Instead of the anger or resentment I expected, her expression held only understanding. Her eyes softened, and she offered me a reassuring smile, a quiet acceptance that seemed to say more than words could. Without a word, she turned toward the others, who were now gathering around us.
The encounter with the hound left deep marks on our group. The gith and Karlach were visibly shaken, still haunted by the hound’s menacing howl, while Halsin bore a severe gash on his head. Shadowheart clutched her side tightly; the grimace on her face suggested the hound might have fractured a couple of her ribs. My own hands were lacerated, bearing multiple cuts from fending off the beast with Starstrike. The extent of our injuries was such that it seemed as though we had engaged in combat with an entire army, not just a single creature. Only Gale remained unscathed, his demeanor thoughtful as he stroked his chin and nodded, lost in contemplation.
"Right," Gale announced loudly, as if we were all in on his thoughts. "You know what we need?"
"More cursed items?" Shadowheart shot back with a sneer. "I do miss the thrill of unintended consequences." She rolled her eyes dramatically.
"Lunch!" Gale declared, completely sidestepping her sarcasm.
"I'll drink to that!" Karlach agreed enthusiastically, a bit of cheer creeping back into her voice.
"I saw a kitchen just past the library," Gale continued, barely pausing even as he caught sight of the gash on Halsin's head. "You all get patched up—oh, and maybe down a healing potion or two. I'll whip us up something...casual to get our strength back." Without waiting for any objections, Gale turned and headed for the kitchen, already muttering to himself about the perfect sauces and sides. Karlach, ever eager when food was mentioned, quickly followed him. The rest of us just shrugged and trailed behind.
Lyra touched my arm, a signal she wanted to wait a moment. I turned to face her. "Yes, my sweet?" I asked softly.
She paused, her smile fading as she chose her words. “Astarion, your brief accounts of your ordeal with Cazador have revealed to me merely the horrifying surface of your suffering—stripped of choice, deprived of freedom to consent or decline. Your experiences were marred by unapologetic theft of your will, designed to inflict maximum torment. Witnessing the anguish etched on your face as you were compelled to take from me, I understood the conflict you endured. Please know, had you been able to ask, my answer would have willingly been yes.”
"That's just it, darling, it's not really about the answer itself—it's about having the choice to give one." I paused, observing her expression closely. "But thank you. Your efforts to protect me and obtain the collar, those are true gifts. I will never forget it." I observed the subtle changes in Lyra's face—her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her normally soft, rosy cheeks taut with emotion. It wasn't pity that shadowed her features, but a profound sadness, a shared sorrow for the losses I had endured. "Come now, darling, let's lift those spirits," I quipped, maintaining a playfully stern expression. "I don't keep you around for your conversational abilities."
"Just for my looks, then?" Lyra retorted with a mischievous grin. "Before we join the others... since Gale is busy with lunch, might I tempt you with my own menu?" Smiling, I stepped closer, drawing her to me. As our distance lessened, I gently tilted her chin up and brushed my lips against hers. The kiss deepened with her leaning into me, her response melting away the remnants of battle's tension.
With my free hand, I swept her hair aside, exposing her neck to the cool air, eliciting a soft moan from her lips. I broke from our kiss and intensified the moment with a tender bite to her soft skin that she welcomed by pressing her neck into me. I allowed myself only a few sips of her blood, essential after the fray but sparingly taken. I capped off the moment with a light kiss on her neck, then stepped back to see her look—a mix of mild confusion and playful annoyance.
"Just what I need to regain my strength," I teased, my smile broadening. "And just enough to leave you wanting more." With that, I released her, her pout turning into a playful scowl. Laughing together, we left the room to rejoin our companions, my mind already wandering to the secrets of the book awaiting my attention.
As we stepped into the kitchen, it was immediately clear that Gale had no concept of a "casual" spread. The table was laden with an array of meticulously prepared food, and Lyra’s eyes lit up with delight as she quickly claimed a seat that Halsin had set out for her. At the center of the table, a large platter displayed four varieties of finger sandwiches, each more enticing than the last.
The first were delicate, tiny triangles filled with a whipped goat cheese spread, blended with wild chives and enchanted cucumbers that shimmered faintly under the light. The filling rested on soft, fresh bread that had been dusted with edible flower petals from the fairy meadows, adding a subtle floral crunch to each bite.
Next were round sandwiches made from a smooth blend of mashed avocado, wild herbs, and foraged mushrooms sautéed to perfection with a drizzle of forest truffle oil. The rich filling was nestled between slices of nutty seed bread, finished with thinly sliced radishes that added a fresh, crisp bite to the earthy flavors.
Beside them was a more whimsical treat, resting on toasted oat bread. Generous layers of tart brambleberry jam oozed over sweetened cream cheese, creating a delightful contrast of sweet and sour. The vibrant color of the jam was as striking as its taste, giving the sandwiches an almost sinful allure.
The final offering was a series of small, square sandwiches that exuded warmth and heartiness. Thin slices of roasted boar, succulent and flavorful, were drizzled with a smoky, enchanted bell pepper sauce. Pickled onions provided a tangy bite, while the spiced pumpkin bread offered a soft, fragrant base, its subtle sweetness enhancing the savory filling.
Next to the sandwiches sat a small plate of spiced shortbread cookies, their golden surfaces flecked with cinnamon, clove, and cardamom. They gave off a warm, inviting aroma that made them hard to resist. Gale had also prepared a pot of sweetwood tea, its pale golden hue suggesting a naturally sweet flavor. Hints of mint mingled with the soft sweetness of enchanted fae honey, creating the perfect complement to the spiced cookies. Each sip of the tea, paired with a bite of shortbread, was like a comforting lull after the elaborate display of flavors.
"Gods, I hate to see what you think an extravagant meal looks like," I muttered, rolling my eyes as I pulled up a chair beside Lyra.
“Just you wait, Astarion,” Gale replied, flashing a proud grin. “When this little adventure of ours is nothing more than a distant memory, I’ll show you the true meaning of a grand feast—Waterdeep wizard style.”
“Bold of you to assume I’ll ever want to see any of your faces again once this nightmare is behind us,” I shot back dryly. Lyra glanced over at me as Halsin finished bandaging her arm and handed her a healing potion, her expression torn between amusement and exasperation.
I gave her a sly wink, but quickly wiped it away, returning to my usual stoic demeanor before anyone else could catch on. Not that it mattered; they were too absorbed in the meal, savoring every bite as the healing potions mended their wounds. Between bites and lighthearted conversation, Lyra suggested we rest for a short while. The Amethyst Enclave was vast, and though we had vanquished one formidable foe, who knew what other horrors lurked in the shadows, waiting for their moment. Her words drifted around me, but my mind was elsewhere.
I glanced at the outline of the book in my pack, knowing now wasn’t the time to open it, but my thoughts fixated on what lay inside—information that could unlock the secrets of my scars. I needed to compare them to the text, but that would have to wait. The thought of my scars pulled a familiar sensation from deep within, a burning that spread across my back as if they were alive, as if they could sense my mind lingering on them. I winced slightly, the pain sharp and fresh, a constant reminder of the cruelty I’d endured.
The marks throbbed, pulsating in time with my heartbeat, each pulse carrying the memory of Cazador’s twisted torment. Every lash, every cut, a calculated act of brutality. He hadn’t just saved me from death’s door; he had molded me into his instrument, a pawn in his game of eternal suffering. His plan had always been an eternity of torment, a leash he’d keep tight forever.
But in the silence of my mind, my hatred festered. Damn you, Cazador. You thought you’d make me your servant forever, your weapon, your toy. But now, as I stood free from his grasp, my silent threat echoed in my thoughts. Who’s going to save you from me?