As Delphie slowly opens her eyes, the faint memories of the previous night flood back into her consciousness. The air is cool and damp, and the soft rustle of leaves can be heard nearby. Blinking against the dim light filtering through the tent's flaps, the wood elf realizes she's no longer in the secluded grove where Astarion bit her. Pax slithers up her arm to reveal a bloody handkerchief tied around her wounded wrist. She becomes fixated on it, trying to wrap her head around why in the Nine Hells she would agree to this.
Unbeknownst to her, the beast who bit her the night before, sneaks his way between the flaps. The snakes are alerted to his presence but aren't bothered by it. Delphie, however, is completely zoned out, using every ounce of her weakened energy to study the handkerchief on her wrist.
"Good morning, Delphie. How do you feel?" She doesn't jump, but her eyes snap to Astarion's. Despite having a smirk plastered on his face, his eyes show a hint of remorse.
"It's Delphnye." As she glares at him, Pax slithers back down her arm and coils around the handkerchief.
"I told you, Delphie suits you better-"
"I'm fine," She interrupts, wincing as she sits up. "I just feel woozy, I guess."
"I'll pass. Just be glad I'm not a 'true' vampire. A bite from them and you might wake up as a vampire spawn, like my good self. All of a vampire's hunger, but few of their powers." His expression fades from lighthearted to irritation. Not at her, obviously, but at the fact he was always hungry. Always weak.
Delphie cocks her head in genuine curiosity. "Is that how you can stand in the sun? Because you're not a 'true' vampire?"
"Oh, no. I should be cinders in this light. I hadn't seen the sun for two hundred years before we crashed here." There's a glint of sadness in the vampire spawn's ruby orbs. "Someone - or something - wants me alive. They've changed the rules." The somber look quickly disappears as he continues to talk. "Standing in the sun, wading in the river, wandering into homes without an invitation - they're all perfectly mundane activities now. As for my other quirks - well, we can figure those out in time."
"Well," Delphie begins to stand up, trying to regain her balance with a hand on her throbbing head. "I guess we are a team now, so let me know if I can help."
Astarion lets out a small chuckle. "Oh, you're such a sweetheart."
Then, the sound of rustling tents resonates around them. The rest of the camp woke up and they were definitely going to question the puncture wounds on Delphie's wrist.
To Astarion's relief, everyone allows him to stay without any stakes piercing through his heart. Thanks to the rest of the party being hopelessly in love with Delphie, she's able to convince everyone he is not a threat to them. After the confrontation, they hear a commotion up ahead. Yelling. Something about a druid being kidnapped and goblins approaching.
Delphie absolutely despises goblins. They're like gnats to her. Maggots that swarm around anything decaying and rotten. To her, they're pests - vile creatures that corrupt and pester for sport. The wood elf doesn't believe in killing innocents, but goblins are far from that in her book. So, you bet your ass she was not going to turn down the chance to rid this world of them.
Despite still recuperating from the lack of blood in her body, the leader of the group follows the sound of the voices with Astarion, Shadowheart, and Lae'zel trailing behind, while Gale stays behind to watch camp. Sure enough, they are met with an army of goblins as well as a bugbear and a worg. They fight alongside a group of tieflings and druids who do not see eye to eye but fight as one when necessary. The exploding colors of red and yellow fill the area in front of a gate leading to a sanctioned druid grove as arrows are notched, swords are drawn, and guiding bolts are thrown.
Finally, the battle ends and the party is granted access to the grove as a reward for aiding in its protection. Little do they know, their fellow vampire spawn trails behind unusually quiet as they make their way through the gate.
The rest of the day passes by uneventful. The party recruits, Wyll, a charismatic warlock who like Astarion and Gale, won Delphie over with his charm. Unlike the others in her group, Delphie warms up to Wyll extremely fast. Faster than Astarion. Probably because of his persistence and non-judgemental attitude when it comes to Delphie's lack of social skills. Like the rest of the party, he's immediately intrigued by her and he has no problem showing it. It makes Astarion furious beyond hells.
The vampire spawn watches the two talk and laugh in disgust as the sun sets above them. They talk for hours and eventually, Astarion decides to take his sulking to the stream, grimacing with every step he takes. He grits his teeth through the pain as he slowly pulls off his doublet, revealing a splash of crimson on the back of his white frill shirt.
Delphnye giggles and gawks like a child as Wyll recalls some of his most daring adventures. She doesn't know how long they've been talking, but the moon's been shedding light across the campsite for quite some time. Wyll had started a fire earlier and even that began to die. The warlock notices the slight shiver running through the wood elf's body and gets up to fetch her a spare blanket.
She watches as he leaves, thinking back to their encounter with the goblins. Wyll is a great fighter, attractive and charming, but her mind continuously wanders back to Astarion...Astarion. For a brief moment, she recalls Astarion being uncharacteristically quiet as they entered the grove earlier that day. Was he jealous? Surely, he couldn't be. Then again, out of everyone in the camp, he drank her blood...but maybe she was his only option, right? The rest of the party threatened to kill him if he attempted to drink their blood, but he didn't know that at the time, did he?
The wood elf's curiosity gets the best of her as she finds herself subconsciously making her way over to his tent, where he is nowhere to be found. She sneaks around the campsite, hoping not to bump into Wyll in the process. Then, she sees him - armor off, in a blood-soaked undershirt, next to the stream.
The shins of her bare legs hit the sand as she kneels next to him. "Astarion, you're bleeding! What happened? Here, let me get Shadowheart-" As she attempts to stand back up, she feels a hand grab her arm.
"It's just a small cut, darling. I'll be fine." The pale elf glares at her, the pain visible in his eyes. "Just go back to your Blade of Frontiers."
He is jealous. Without saying a word, the ranger stands up and runs off. To Astarion's surprise, after exchanging a few words with Wyll, she returns moments later with the handkerchief he had lent her the night prior and a medical kit.
"You're mad if you think I'd give you my blood only for it to be wasted because you decided to bleed to death." The pale elf doesn't say a word as she carefully helps him out of his undershirt. Delphnye stands up and walks over to the stream, soaking the handkerchief in her hand. Once she returns to him, she begins to clean the area around his wound. A pink tint floods her face as she sees his muscles tense. He always had them hidden under armor.
"Usually, you're the one talking," She says softly as she continues to clean the wound. "Why didn't you want me to go to Shadowheart? She could do a far better job healing you than I can."
An exasperated sigh escapes the man's lips. "Even if you did, I highly doubt she'd bat an eye."
"Whether she likes it or not, we need you. She would've healed you. Did this happen during the battle with the goblins?"
"Unfortunately. One of those filthy bastards snuck up on me. I've dealt with wounds far more lethal than this and survived."
It's at this moment she takes notice of the large scars on his back. Scars carved into his body of a foreign language. One that she remembers from her past. Infernal. The elf's slender hand brushes across the ridges, feeling his skin rise with her touch. A startled gasp escapes from his lips. "Who did this to you?"
"Cazador, my old master." Delphnye removes both hands from his back and grabs a needle and thread from the kit. Astarion winces as she begins to stitch up the wound. "It's a poem. A gift from him. He considered himself quite the artist and would use his slaves as a canvas."
The wood elf lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "You were his slave then?"
"I was less than a slave. A vampire's spawn is a puppet. We have no choice but to obey our master's commands. They speak and our bodies react - it's all part of the deal." Delphnye ties off the last stitch and stares at his scars. "Sometimes, he'd order us to submit torture. Sometimes, he'd order us to torture ourselves. Whatever his weathervane mood settled on." Before she knows what she's doing, Delphnye's hand finds Astarion's. The vampire spawn gingerly turns around to face her, trying to prevent his stitches from ripping.
"I'm so sorry, Astarion. That's awful." She couldn't meet his eyes, but he could see a single tear fall down her cheek.
The pale elf couldn't understand why she was so upset. This didn't concern her at all...well, maybe in the future it could. Even so, why was she crying about things of the past that never involved her? With his good arm, he thumbs the tear away. "Now, now, dear. No need for tears." He watches as she takes a deep breath and nods. "And thank you, but this isn't about sympathy. It's about knowing what we might be up against."
Delphnye finally picks up her head and makes eye contact. The emeralds of her irises appear glassy from the tears yet to shed. A small sniffle escapes from her nose. "If that's the case there's something I must tell you." Astarion raises a brow in curiosity. "My mother was a cultist of Bhaal and if she knows of this parasite, they'll be after me, too."