Several days later you're picking your way through the ruins of some sort of ancient crypt, driven more by curiosity than you'd care to admit.
Two weeks ago, your companions would never have agreed to a detour, the focus on finding a healer too great to distract you from things like history or treasure. But with the conspicuous absence of tentacles or bleeding orifices, the group has started to relax.
Gale is easy enough to tempt. An abandoned magical boathole, which almost certainly promises ancient artifacts and hidden secrets, has his eyes gleaming like a child on Christmas day.
"Oh, all right then," he says, his voice full of humour. "You've twisted my arm. I always did love a good mystery."
And, like dominoes, the rest fall into place.
Which is why you find yourself creeping in the near-dark of a secret passage from a cellar with a hidden shrine in it, leading to gods know where, lit only by the floating lights of Gale's magic.
You and Astarion scout ahead, leaving the wizard and Shadowheart murmuring quietly behind you, and it dawns on you that things have been decidedly easier since the night of the card game.
"Nothing lightens the mood like a dank crypt," Astarion drawls from beside you, as though reading your mind. For all you know that's just what he's done.
"I thought it would make a difference. You know, to all the sunshine."
You can't be sure, but it almost looks like he smiles.
"I'm sure Lae'zel is hoping we fall into a pit of spiders as we speak, for delaying her visit to her… what was it? Some sort of Githyanki nursery?" He then casts a furtive look back to the pair behind you in the dark. "I have to give it to you. Despite my best efforts, you do find a way of bringing people together. It's positively nauseating."
He is smiling - you can hear it in his words, the sound of it curving around the syllables like a lover's hand around your throat.
It makes you smile, too. "I do my best."
"Indeed. It's ... adequate."
You almost trip over a rock. Was that a compliment, from Astarion? Not a real compliment of course, but not an insult, and from the elf that's about the same as a warm commendation and an invitation to dinner.
Perhaps he's thinking about your almost-argument from a few days prior and trying to make amends. Or, with a little more cynicism, you wonder if he's trying to butter you up for another midnight snack. He caught you unawares the first time but you doubt he'd try the same again.
Then again, he made it sound like a one time event. Perhaps you tasted unpleasant? Gods, no - you shake your head. Spending your idle time wondering how you taste to a vampire is not a mental route you need to go down.
Your reverie is interrupted by the soft shushing from your roguish companion, and he holds out his arm, signalling for you to stop, his eyes fixed on the path ahead.
You turn to signal for Gale to turn out the lights, and within moments you are plunged into darkness.
"There's something up ahead," Astarion answers before you can ask. "I don't know, exactly… give me a moment."
His voice tails off into a whisper and you imagine him crouching, edging into the darkness with his bow drawn, his eyes and ears alert and his footsteps light over the rubble beneath you.
You can't say for sure how long you wait, but the silence of the place isn't lost on you. Normally places of abandon have some kind of monster sneaking about that you and your team dispatch. This place has been an exception.
Behind you, Gale and Shadowheart begin to approach, their tip-toeing decidedly less subtle than Astarion's grace.
"Well?" Gale whispers, barely daring to keep his voice hushed.
"Astarion sensed something," you explain. "He's gone ahead to check."
"Are you telling me we're waiting here in total darkness with our safety entrusted to a vampire?"
"Oh come, it's not that bad," Astarion's voice quips from the darkness beside you, making you jump. "I'm an excellent bodyguard, you know. And you can turn the lights back on now."
Lights dance in the air almost immediately, illuminating you all in the same blue-glow hue.
You look at Astarion expectantly.
"It was nothing," he says with a small sigh. "At least, nothing to kill. It's hard to explain, just - follow me. And be careful where you tread. I think there are traps."
Together the four of you make your way through the damp, stony corridor, Gale's lights moving as you do.
Astarion is slightly ahead, dismantling the few haphazard traps in the area, and eventually you reach the mouth of the corridor. It opens into a vast room, an expanse of darkness that teases the weak tendrils of light Gale has summoned.
You're not sure why, but you have a bad feeling about this place. Suddenly the appeal of treasure is replaced by a palpable presence of fear, although from what you cannot say.
"You sense it, too," Astarion murmurs, his voice low.
"What, that 'this place is definitely cursed in some way' feeling? Yes, yes, absolutely," Gale replies, although the comment wasn't meant for him.
"A moment," Shadowheart interrupts, stepping forward into the room. The lights dancing around her cast a long shadow across the floor that moves in unnatural ways. "Let me see if I can…" She reaches for the mysterious box you've seen her carrying around, and mumbles a few words into it. Several minutes later, she turns to you, her eyes emanating a soft, golden glow, and she whispers, "There's magic here. Evil. I can feel it. We'd better be careful."
You move around the room slowly as a group, keeping to the walls to ensure that nothing surprises you.
The first thing you find of any consequence is a sturdy stone pillar hewn from the rockface of the wall, no higher than your chest. Investigating, you run your hands over it, and to your surprise an orb sitting atop it suddenly flares to life.
You and your allies recoil a little, surprised by the strength of the light in an otherwise dark room, but nothing further happens. The warm orange glow, like a candle but stronger, illuminates more of the room. There are more of these pillars spread around the circumference and, slowly, you each spread out to light them.
There are raised portions of the room obscured by shelving, desks, some of them covered with papers, some potions and bottles, and all manner of texts and labels you can neither read nor understand. To your surprise, Gale is equally as perturbed.
Shelves line the walls too, stuffed with jars holding the remnants of once living matter from any number of creatures - too many for you to guess, and too bizarre for you to really discern beyond 'macabre'. The air feels damp, clinging to your skin, and there's a stale, fetid element to it that presses on your throat the longer you remain.
You don't know how old this place is, or how long it's been since anyone has been here, but it certainly seems empty for now.
Gale, who's leafing through some of the parchments on the desk, draws your attention with a quiet "Ha!". When you turn he's enthusiastically holding up a scroll before bundling it into his knapsack, you assume so that he can copy it into his spellbook later on. Ever the connoisseur of powerful magic, you smile at him, and he dips his head in the smallest of acknowledgements before returning his attention to the desk.
Meanwhile, Astarion calls your name and beckons you over to a corner of the room with less light in it than the rest.
"Look at this," he says as you approach.
He points towards a small crevice in the wall. At first you think it's a hole in the brickwork, damage from the sheer age of the stone, but as you step closer to inspect it you can see that it has instead been carved into its surface.
You trace the edges of the carving with your finger, pausing as Astarion moves up behind you.
"Unusual, isn't it?"
He's so close his breath ghosts across your ear as he speaks, sending a flutter down your spine. You swallow, silently, and nod, trying to ignore the smell of spice and leather now enveloping you.
There's a divot in the centre of the carving and your finger moves to it without really thinking. Within moments there's a large rumble from the wall next to you as it starts to move, and you jump back in surprise. Into Astarion.
Your back collides with his chest, his hands moving to your shoulders to steady you, and he lets out a small grunt.
"Steady on," he chides, not without warmth, and you notice not for the first time the gentle pressure of his fingers as they hold you. There's strength there that he's holding back. It reminds you of the night when he came to you hungry, although you try to push that memory out of your mind.
Instead you step away, shooting him an apologetic look.
Gale and Shadowheart approach. A large section of the wall has slidden away, revealing a new passage. The sound of running water greets you. Light from your current room floods out, illuminating an uneven set of stone steps that descend into what looks like a shallow stream below.
The cave, as that is what it seems to be, isn't dark like you expected. Rather, the walls and ceiling reflect a soft cerulean hue which, you realise after a moment, is coming from the water. It glows.
Fascination lights your step, beating back the fear that settled on your first approach. As you go to cross the threshold, however, Shadowheart stops you.
"I'm not sure this is a good idea."
"We can't come all this way and not explore," Astarion says before you can respond. "Where's your sense of adventure?"
"It would be a touch wasteful not to find out the meaning of this place," Gale chimes in. "It's obviously for a purpose, and I for one wouldn't mind getting to the bottom of it."
You give a small shrug, although you suspect Gale has his own reasons for being interested in the secrets these catacombs hold. "Sorry, Shadowheart. We'll be careful."
"Well don't say I didn't warn you if we all end up slaves to some necromancer," she scoffs, and readies herself with her mace. "Lead the way then, if you're sure. And don't expect me to rescue you if this all goes south."
With her warning still hanging in the air, it takes a few minutes to navigate your way down the steps, as they're wet and slippery underfoot. As well as the rush from the stream, water runs down the walls, drips from stalactites from the ceiling, and collects in little puddles amongst the stone floor.
It's only the water in the stream that glows, however, and as you reach the bank, you suddenly see why.
At the end of the chasm is the source of the running water. A well, or something that looks like a well, rises up out of a stream of mist. Its arches reach towards the ceiling like marble fingers, delicate and intricately carved, weaving into each other at the tip of the canopy. From within, water pulses, spilling over the edges and pouring in a deluge along the cavern floor. It's a beautiful sight and for a moment you are struck with awe.
Astarion nudges your shoulder, drawing your attention to Gale and Shadowheart, who have both started making their way towards the well. "Come along. Wouldn't want you to be left behind."
The bank on approach is narrow, slippery, and progress is slow.
It takes several minutes, but eventually the four of you reach the well. It's even more impressive up close. While the rest of the cave is dank and slimy with moss, this lights up like a beacon, the stone polished and smooth as though made by a sculptor's hands. The cerulean water pulses in waves, flowing over the lip of the well almost like mist, before plunging down into the stream at your feet. It's enchanting, mesmerising, and without really realising it your hand starts to extend towards the water.
Astarion grabs your wrist before you can touch it. "I wouldn't."
Once more his subtle grip surprises you with its strength. Broken from your trance, you shake yourself and drop your hand by your side once he releases it, grateful for his help.
"This is incredible," Gale breathes with wonder, circling the well. The misting water reflects in his eyes, giving him a touch of the ethereal. "I've not seen such magic in a long time."
"I do admit, it is beautiful," Shadowheart agrees as she sheathes her weapon, clearly no longer sensing a threat. "But what is it doing here? What's it for?"
Your eyes follow the line of the stream as it disappears into a small hollow in the cave further down.
"Whatever it's for, there's clearly more to it than simple water," you reason as you watch the babbling brook. "Someone made this for a reason."
"Made and enchanted," Gale points out. "This is the work of a powerful wizard, no doubt. If I could take a sample I could study it - learn from it. Perhaps - "
You don't hear the end of Gale's sentence.
Instead, an ear-splitting screech tears through your mind, deep in your skull, like it's trying to rip your brain in half. You clutch at your head in agony, crying out. Then there's laughter, disembodied, high pitched and terrible as it reverberates within you.
You can't see. You can't breathe. You just need the pain to stop.
You throw yourself to the ground not caring if your head smashes open on the rocks. You are vaguely aware of hands around you, but you throw them off and writhe away from them.
Through the din in your mind collects a command.
The water it says, the words a soothing balm to the splintering cries within you. Cleanse yourself in the water.
You obey.
There's a splash as your body hits the current. For a moment things are at peace, the cool stream surrounding you and drowning everything else out. But then it burns.
You feel like you're dissolving from the outside in, like pain is eating away at you through the fabric of your clothes and armour, ripping at your flesh, tearing at your mind. You try to scream but water floods your mouth, choking you.
There are voices, shouts, but they sound distant and unfamiliar, and they grow farther away each passing second.
Get her out of there! … Gods damn it, hold this! … On the count of three!
Your limbs feel heavy and light all at once. You have the sensation of drifting, of crushing pressure closing in on your chest.
You think you feel arms around you, and a rush of stagnant air. Then that, too, also fades, as your world is lost to the darkness of screams.
-x-
"Let me help you…"
The voice is calm, soothing, entirely different to the shrieking from moments ago.
You open your eyes.
You're lying in that familiar meadow, a gentle breeze caressing the grass and your exposed skin with it.
Before you is your night-visitor, their face drawn into a frown of concern.
You close your eyes again, taking a deep breath of the fresh, sweet-smelling air. You don't have the energy to fight them.
Reading you like they always do, they reach out and run a finger down your shoulder. Warmth emanates from the touch, spreading slowly throughout your body, reinvigorating you. Your muscles loosen as the warmth travels, sending you into a serene place of peace.
You sigh, content.
"There we are," the voice hums, close to your ear. "Good as new."
"I don't know what happened," you admit.
A finger brushes your temples and tucks some hair behind your ear. The touch is intimate, loving, and you resist the temptation to open your eyes. If you try hard enough you can imagine a wine-warm gaze bearing down on you, lidded and flushed with longing, and a smile full of dangerous promise.
"A trifle. A fly in the ointment. You are protected now."
"Can I wake up?"
"I will let you wake when you are ready. For now, lie against me and rest. I'll take care of you."
You're pulled back into a comforting embrace. You couldn't fight even if you wanted to. Everywhere your bodies touch feels like you're being made anew, and soon the sensation overwhelms you, leaving you in little more than a trance. You doze off in exquisite harmony, the sound of birds and the grass in the breeze lulling you further to sleep.