T/W: Minor attempted S/A, panic attack
In the dim light of the morning, Astarion lies still, the absence of sleep evident in his unrest. The vampire spawn's internal turmoil manifested in a night of tossing and turning, his mind preoccupied with worries and concerns. Pax attempted to provide solace, slithering over Astarion's form in a soothing manner, yet the haunted thoughts persisted. Delphie was in danger and this reality weighed heavily on Astarion's undead existence.
Despite the exhaustion etched across Astarion's features, there's a newfound determination burning within him. The urgency to rescue Delphie, the only person he truly cares for, fuels his resolve. An air of restlessness surrounds him as Gale diligently works on scribing a scroll of Seeming. The finished scroll finds its way into the hands of Wyll.
Gale's attempt at offering comfort materializes as a comforting hand placed on Astarion's shoulder. However, the rogue, consumed by his thoughts and worries, shrugs off the gesture. The impending danger to Delphie overshadows any immediate solace.
In preparation for their mission, the group adorns themselves in old Absolutist garments, seeking to blend into the surroundings unnoticed. The swirling sigil near the bridge of the inn becomes apparent as they transport themselves to the vicinity outside the Towers. Wyll utters the incantation for the scroll and a transformative magic envelops them, morphing their appearances into those of unknown individuals. As they stand on the threshold of the Towers, the altered visages mark the beginning of a daring venture to save a cherished life.
The moment they descend the stairs and close the door behind them, the group swiftly discards their disguises, revealing their true forms and unleashing a coordinated assault on the guards. Lae'zel, wielding her formidable longsword, exhibits a ruthless efficiency as the blade cuts through a guard, leaving behind a gruesome tableau of blood and a severed head. Halsin, embracing his druidic powers, undergoes a rapid transformation into a massive bear, engaging another guard with powerful claw strikes as two more descend the smaller staircase beside them.
Wyll combines agile rapier strikes with a burst of red crackling energy, a gift bestowed upon him by his patron. Astarion, positioned further ahead, demonstrates a deadly finesse, dispatching the potential of more guards with precision as his daggers find their mark in two scrying eyes, sending the robotic creatures to the ground.
In the midst of the chaos, a guard attempts to ambush Astarion from behind. However, the vampire spawn's evasive maneuvers and swift footwork allow him to dance around the assailant, executing a clean slice across the Absolutist's throat, spraying crimson all over him and the floor. Astarion's eyes glimmer with an animalistic rage, a manifestation of the intense determination to save Delphie. His focus is unwavering, fueled by an undeniable need to rescue the person who melted the ice around his cold, unbeating heart.
The warden, accompanied by a scrying eye, emerges from the watchtower in an attempt to intervene. However, she finds herself repelled by a bolt of red magic, followed swiftly by a crossbow bolt piercing her chest. Halsin, in his bear form, proudly charges at the remaining scrying eye, reveling in its defeat.
As the group faces one last guard, Lae'zel, exasperated by the persistence, effortlessly fires a crossbow bolt at him without even glancing.
"Astarion!" A voice echoes through the tense air as the group pauses to catch their breath. The pale elf turns swiftly to find a red-skinned tiefling desperately trying to gain his attention. Taken aback by the woman addressing him directly, Astarion hastens toward the cell, realizing that it is Rolan's sister.
Desperation etched on his face, Astarion urgently inquires, "Where'd they take her?" His concern for Delphie evident in his voice. Halsin, Wyll, and Lae'zel close in, forming a united front.
Lia, fear and desperation mirrored in her eyes, responds, "There's a room near the stairs where they take prisoners to interrogate and torture. I saw them dragging her that way."
Determination etched on their faces, the group resolves to rescue Delphie from the clutches of Allatou and Galure. Wyll, ready to coordinate the effort, begins, "We'll get the tieflings and gnomes out. You go get—" Before he can finish his sentence, Astarion has already vanished, leaving a mere blur in his wake.
In a dimly lit room, the air heavy with the scent of metal and fear, Delphie lies vulnerable on a stone table, her naked form illuminated by the eerie glow of flickering torches. Chains bind her wrists and ankles, anchoring her to the cold, unforgiving surface. The room's shelves display a sinister array of torture equipment, casting ominous shadows that danced along the walls.
As the distant sounds of chaos echo from beyond the chamber, Galure revels in the disturbance. Shirtless and seemingly indifferent to the unfolding turmoil, he strolls leisurely towards Delphie. The malicious amusement in his eyes intensifies at the havoc unfolding on the other side of the door.
Stopping beside the restrained ranger, Galure's gaze fixates on Delphie's golden scales. A sinister chuckle escapes his lips, sending shivers down her spine. "Well, well, well. You got a neat tattoo there, dear."
His fingers trace the intricate patterns on her scales, and Delphie, already tense with fear, can't suppress the involuntary shudders that course through her. The room seems to close in on her as Galure continues his torment. Soft sobs escape her, muffled by the grim atmosphere that envelops the chamber.
Mockingly, Galure wipes away a tear from Delphie's cheek, reveling in her vulnerability. "Are those tears for me?" he taunts. The twisted pleasure he derives from her distress is evident as he speaks, his sadistic satisfaction growing with each moment of her suffering. "I missed you too," he adds, his words laden with a malevolence that bespoke a history of torment and a darkness that threatens to consume all hope.
Delphie's screams reverberate through the chamber as her tormentor looms uncomfortably close, a sadistic grin playing on his face. The shadows seem to dance in sync with her anguish, casting eerie patterns on the walls. In the midst of her despair, a sudden crash shatters the oppressive silence.
Astarion, fueled by a potent mixture of rage and desperation, bursts through the wooden door with a swift kick, his bowstring drawn taut. An arrow soars through the air, finding its mark in Galure's shoulder. The high elf winces in pain, his focus momentarily diverted as blood seeps down his bare chest. Seizing the opportunity, the pale elf, with nimble fingers, skillfully picks the lock on Delphie's upper chains, freeing her hands from their cruel restraint.
However, before he can complete the task, Galure, fueled by an equal surge of rage, charges at Astarion. The high elf retaliates with a bolt of golden energy aimed at his assailant, but Astarion's agility allows him to evade the attack. Swift as a shadow, the rogue swipes at the dark cleric with one of his daggers, the blade slicing through the air toward his chest. Yet, the sadistic tormentor manages to dodge the lethal strike.
In the midst of the intense struggle, Astarion, with a commanding shout, directs Pax into action. The snake lunges at Galure, jaws snapping shut around the high elf's leg, inflicting a satisfying bite.
As Delphie lies on the stone table, her shock gradually gives way to a mix of hope and worry. Her eyes, filled with determination, follow the unfolding chaos. She witnesses Astarion risking his life to save her, a gesture that brings both gratitude and a sense of anxiety. Despite the perilous situation, a glimmer of hope flickers within her as she locks eyes with Astarion, recognizing the unwavering determination in his gaze. Yet, the fear of losing him lingers.
With a surge of furious determination, Astarion grapples the dark cleric, forcing him to the cold stone floor. Unrelenting punches rain down on Galure's face, each blow a manifestation of Astarion's protectiveness and anger. His voice, laced with a menacing growl, resonates through the chamber, a warning echoing in the tense air, "Don't you ever lay a fucking hand on her again!"
However, the high elf, resilient and fueled by his own twisted desires, manages to push Astarion off him. As the rogue staggers backward, his dagger falls next to the stone platform where Delphie lies, a glint of hope amid the turmoil. Her gaze fixates intensely on the weapon, a silent acknowledgment of the potential salvation it represents.
Seizing the opportunity, Galure, now with a malicious chuckle, wraps his hands around Astarion's throat, squeezing with all of his strength. Spewing venomous words, he basks in his perceived control over Delphie. "She's been mine from the day Allatou introduced me to her. I can do anything I want to her. With you out of the way, I can—"
The high elf's sinister monologue abruptly ceases as Astarion's dagger plunges straight through the back of the dark cleric's head. The gruesome sight of the eye pushed out is a macabre testament to the end of Galure's sadistic reign. The lifeless form of the cleric crumples on top of Astarion, who promptly pushes the limp body aside to see Delphie on the ground, her arm lowering from throwing the blade.
Turning his attention to the ranger, Astarion rushes to her side after a brief moment of coughing. His hands hover hesitantly, respecting her boundaries. Delphie, her blank expression giving way to intense emotion, collapses into his arms, tears streaming down her face. Astarion, guided by a delicate touch, swiftly picks the lock of the restraints around her ankles.
The other three members of the party rush into the room, bearing witness to the aftermath. Astarion, instinctively shielding Delphie's naked form with his own, stands as a defiant guardian amidst the remnants of the harrowing ordeal. The air, once heavy with despair, now holds a glimmer of hope and the warmth of reunion as the group unites to ensure Delphie's safety.
"She needs clothes, a towel, something," Astarion urgently exclaims, his concern evident in the strained tone of his voice. The trio of adventurers, without a moment's hesitation, scattered in search of anything that could provide modesty and comfort for the traumatized woman leaning against the pale elf's chest.
In the midst of the search, Astarion, his emotions taut, offers words of solace. "It's okay, darling, I'm here," he consoles, a delicate balance of strength and vulnerability in his voice. He fights back tears, questioning the need for such emotion. She's going to be okay, he reassures himself.
Wrapping his arms around her trembling form, Astarion's hands brush against the deep lacerations on her back. Delphie flinches, a heart-wrenching sob escaping her lips. Astarion, unable to contain the empathy that swells within him, feels tears welling up in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, darling. I'm so sorry," he whispers, planting a tender kiss on the top of her head, conveying a depth of sorrow and remorse.
In the midst of this moment, Wyll rushes back with Delphie's green and gold cloak. Astarion gently takes the garment and drapes it around her, the cloak serving as a comforting shield. With a delicate touch, he lifts her into his arms, embracing her in a protective hold. The cloak, now a makeshift blanket, envelops her vulnerable form, providing a semblance of security. Delphie, burying her head into Astarion's chest, seeks solace in his embrace, finding comfort amidst the ruins of her recent torment.
The atmosphere at Last Light Inn is laden with a mix of relief and residual tension as the group returns, their recent experiences etched into their weary expressions. Astarion, bearing the literal weight of the recent events, takes it upon himself to draw a bath for Delphie. With a sense of delicate care, he prepares the soothing water, allowing the steam to fill the room in the hopes of providing her with a moment of respite.
As Astarion hesitantly leaves Delphie to enjoy the comforting solace of the bath, she sits in the tub, staring off into space. The echoes of the recent turmoil reverberate within her, the water serving as a sanctuary that temporarily shields her from the haunting memories.
In the adjacent room, Halsin takes on the solemn duty of explaining the distressing events to the rest of the group. Shadowheart, Karlach, Jaheira, and Gale listen attentively, their expressions transitioning from concern to empathy as the gravity of the situation unfolds before them. Astarion, seated in a chair across the room, stares absentmindedly at the closed door to the bathroom. His mind, a tempest of conflicting emotions, grapples with the aftermath of the rescue mission.
Isobel, sensing Astarion's internal struggle, approaches him cautiously. "Hey," she greets softly. Astarion, lost in his thoughts, remains silent. The Selunite regards him with a concerned expression, a hopeful glimmer flickering at the corners of her lips. "Delphnye's been in there for a while now. Maybe you should check up on her?"
Astarion nods in response, a silent acknowledgment of the concern shared among the group. Without uttering a word, he stands up and makes his way towards the closed door.
Upon reaching it, he hesitates for a moment, then knocks gently. "Darling?" he calls out, his voice laced with a mixture of care and trepidation. When no immediate response comes, Astarion's unbeating heart sinks to the depths of his gut. Bracing himself, he pushes open the door, a wave of relief washing over him as he discovers Delphie is merely lost in her own thoughts.
The wooden tub holds her, immersed in the soothing water, yet her gaze is fixed on a distant point. Astarion approaches slowly. "Delphie?" he inquires, the tenderness in his voice an unspoken reassurance of his presence.
She continues to stare off into space, a sense of inner turmoil evident in her distant expression. "I-I can't face Ketheric tomorrow," she confesses, her words tinged with vulnerability. Delphie glances briefly toward Astarion before lowering her gaze to her pruned hands. The room is filled with a heavy silence, punctuated only by the subtle sounds of the water in the tub.
The vulnerability in her voice, strained with the weight of a heavy revelation, draws him in. Her words, whispered and fragile, hung in the air like a delicate thread. Respecting her need for space, Astarion remains silent, offering a patient and supportive presence as he kneels beside her, waiting for her to share more of her thoughts and emotions.
"I know what Raphael's big secret was... about me," she begins, a lone tear tracing a path down her cheek. Astarion, leaning in slightly, strains to catch every word, sensing the gravity of what she is about to reveal. "I'm a Bhaalspawn."
His initial reaction is a quiet disbelief, and he barely hears her. "What?" he murmurs, unable to fully grasp the weight of her confession.
The wood elf, her voice barely audible above the murmur of the water, continues with the revelation that lingers like a shadow over her existence. "My mother... s-she said I was a descendant of Bhaal himself."
The room seems to still as the weight of her words settles in. Astarion's gaze holds hers, a mix of shock and realization dawning in his eyes. His confusion lingers in the air as he responds to Delphie's revelation, his voice carrying a mix of disbelief and concern. "Darling, that doesn't make any sense."
Delphie, seated in the wooden tub, shrugs with a bemused chuckle escaping her lips, a defense mechanism against the gravity of the unexpected news. "Apparently, I'm a 'late bloomer,'" she explains, her tone a blend of irony and incredulity. "And for some reason, the urge doesn't have complete control over me yet."
Astarion's furrowed brow conveys his continued struggle to comprehend the intricacies of her situation. The notion of being a Bhaalspawn, yet somehow resisting the urge that typically accompanied such heritage, defies conventional understanding. As Delphie shares this news, a complex tapestry of emotions unfolds in the confined space of the bathroom.
"We don't know that for sure," Astarion offers, his response a mix of caution and uncertainty. The weight of the revelation lingers, casting a shadow over the room. The notion that Delphie, against the odds, resisted the potent influence of the urge raises questions about her unique connection to the divine lineage.
"Astarion, my mother is sadistic and evil...but she's not a liar."
"Delphie," Astarion interjects, a determined urgency in his voice. He reaches for her hand, ensuring that she can see his actions, a silent reassurance to anchor her in the moment. "You are the strongest person I know."
The sincerity in his words carries a weight of conviction, a genuine belief in her strength despite the challenges she faced. Astarion's touch is meant to convey support and understanding, an unspoken promise that he is there for her.
However, Delphie, caught in the grip of her own doubts, shakes her head in disagreement. "I'm not strong, Astarion. I couldn't fight back when... and then, Vesper..." Frustration laces her words, a raw expression of the turmoil within. "I was born to be evil."
Astarion's unwavering gaze holds Delphie's, a reflection of empathy and defiance intertwined in his eyes. His voice carries a sense of urgency and reassurance as he insists, "Delphie," his grip on her hand tightening with a reassuring squeeze, "you are not defined by your blood."
The room, suspended in a moment of profound significance, seems to hold its breath. The weight of the conversation hangs in the air, the vulnerability and resilience of their connection apparent.
When Delphie remains silent, Astarion speaks again, a subtle shift in tone as he attempts to lighten the mood. "Listen, as much as it can pester me at times," he starts playfully, a small smile playing on his lips, "you are a good person, darling."
Her response is hesitant, still grappling with the complexities of her identity. "I'm not supposed to be."
Astarion's determination remains unwavering as he continues to challenge the narrative that burdens Delphie. "But you are," he affirms, his voice carrying a depth of conviction that seeks to cut through the doubts that cloud her perception. "You're probably the best of us."
Delphie, however, shakes her head again, her internal struggles evident in the subtle movements. Astarion, unwilling to let her retreat into self-doubt, persists in offering support and reassurance.
"Delphie, we need you," he asserts, his gaze unwavering as he seeks to convey the genuine importance she holds within the group.
But the wood elf, overwhelmed by the weight of her own perception, opens up about the inner battles she faces. "I'm the reason why we've been in this—this godsforsaken land for so long," she confesses, her voice tinged with a raw vulnerability. The admission carries the weight of a profound burden that she has carried silently. "Every single godsdamn time I see something that reminds me of back then, I just freeze. I-I completely shut down."
Astarion, still holding her hand, absorbs the weight of her words. Recognizing the depth of her pain, he releases it and takes a deep breath. He knows all too well the scars that the past can etch into one's soul. Though he rarely speaks of his own experiences, he feels a kinship with Delphie—a shared understanding of the haunting echoes of the past.
"I-I know how you're feeling right now," Astarion admits, his voice tinged with a vulnerability he rarely exposes. He struggles to maintain eye contact but continues to speak knowing that addressing his own pain might offer Delphie a connection she needs. "The nightmares. The crippling anxiety that tears at your skin. I've been through it all...I still go through it."
As Delphie meets Astarion's gaze, the shared pain and understanding forges a connection that transcends words. The unspoken bond between them carries the weight of their respective traumas, creating a space where vulnerability finds solace.
"Dretri-" Delphie begins.
"Almost two months I've been free of him, and I can still feel him breathing down my neck," Astarion confesses, his voice carrying the weight of the lingering trauma that haunts him. The admission hangs in the air, a testament to the lasting impact of the dark forces that had once held him captive.
In a gesture of solidarity, Delphie places a wet hand on his arm. The touch, laden with understanding, conveys a silent promise that he is not alone in his struggles. Astarion, though usually guarded, finds a moment of vulnerability in Delphie's presence, feeling a sense of safety that allows him to open up.
"I worry that-" Astarion hesitates, his eyes finally meeting Delphie's. He despises this vulnerability, the exposure of weakness. But in her company, he feels a unique comfort that makes the admission less repulsive. "I worry that he'll hurt you to hurt me," he finally admits, his guard momentarily lowered.
Understanding the depth of his concern, Delphie nods in acknowledgment. The unspoken connection between them deepens as their eyes meet, creating a bridge between shared fears and vulnerabilities.
"But that's not the point, darling," Astarion asserts, a surge of determination in his voice. Catching her face in his hands, an impulsive gesture of sincerity, he quickly recoils, as if realizing the gravity of his actions. Delphie looks up at him, her gaze holding a gentle reassurance, and she grabs his hands, placing them back on her cheeks. With a deep breath, she leans into his touch.
"We are in this together," Astarion continues, his voice carrying a soothing reassurance. "I don't care if you're a Bhaalspawn. I don't care if you're dealing with anxiety, darling. You made a promise to me, and I, you." Warm tears drip onto his hands as he presses their foreheads together, sealing their shared commitment. "You have shown me there is light in the dark. You have shown me there is something more to life than my petty desires."
Astarion wipes away her tears with a tenderness that defies his usual demeanor. Despite a similar gesture performed by Galure only hours earlier, the rogue's cold touch holds a unique warmth for Delphie—a connection forged in shared experiences.
"You have quite literally made me soft," he sighs sarcastically, attempting to inject humor into the moment. "Honestly, I'm kind of upset about that. I had a reputation, you know?"
A wet chuckle bubbles from Delphie's mouth, a genuine response to Astarion's attempt at humor. She wraps her arms around him, and he slowly reciprocates. "I will be with you every step of the way," he says gently, the sincerity in his words carrying a weight of commitment. "Come the hells or high water, I will be at your side."
Delphie nods, wiping her eyes before pulling back from the hug. "Now, let's get you cleaned up before I regurgitate the sap rankling in my throat." Another wet chuckle escapes from her, the levity serving as a counterbalance to the emotional intensity of their exchange. Astarion begins to wipe her face with a rag. Another tear trails down her cheek, but this time, it carries a different weight—a tear of relief, of safety.
She is finally safe. She is finally home.