In the shadowy depths, an icy chill envelops her surroundings. The ground beneath her sends shivers through her, a stark reminder of the cold, unforgiving reality. Her hands are tightly bound, a harsh restraint against her will. Just as despair threatens to consume her, her gaze falls upon her companion—a pale elf, the one who had surreptitiously stolen her heart.
From the obscurity emerges a formidable figure, equally as pallid as the man at her side but with eyes of a crimson intensity that outshine even his fangs. A sinister grin stretches across his face as he confidently strides toward the rogue, his malevolence unveiled in the eerie glow of those piercing red eyes.
"Welcome home, Astarion. I've been wondering when you'd return," he declares with charismatic poise, a sly smirk playing upon his lips. Astarion's eyes widen in trepidation as the ominous greeting registers.
A silent vow echoes in Delphie's mind—I promised him. I promised to protect him from this monster. Desperation fuels her as she battles against the tight bonds, an urgent need to intervene and protect him propelling her into action. "Leave him alone!" she defiantly cries out, her voice ringing with both determination and unwitting fear, her eyes mirroring the intensity of the peril that surrounds them.
The vampire lord dismissively scoffs, using the toe of his boot to nudge Astarion onto his back, compelling him to gaze directly into the malevolent depths of his eyes. "My boy, have you fallen so low as to have cattle speak for you?"
"Vesper. Pax. Houpe," the wood elf urgently commands, but the snakes remain unresponsive. Frustration weighs on her as she groans, repeating the pleas with growing urgency, "Vesper! Pax! Houpe!"
Cazador's sinister laughter echoes through the air, and Delphie's realization strikes as she notices the snakes no longer coiled around her wrists. The vampire lord, with a wicked grin, casually turns his back to Astarion, gazing out into the encompassing darkness.
"Children, your brother has returned," he declares with a widening smile, arms reaching dramatically toward the sky.
As if following a malevolent script, the other six spawn emerge from the shadows, trudging menacingly toward Astarion, their faces twisted into nefarious smiles. Methodically, they begin to kick and punch him, each blow tearing at Delphie's heartstrings. His anguished cries resonate and tears well up in her eyes as she helplessly witnesses the brutal onslaught on her companion.
"Rygat bluthel!" Nothing happens. "Svantraakul pacore!" The screams continue.
Cazador's laughter reverberates mercilessly, intertwining with Astarion's agonized screams. Delphie's head spins as the overwhelming weight of the situation becomes too much to bear. "Damn it! Why isn't anything working?!" she exclaims in frustration.
In a disorienting revelation, she notices a mirror nearby. Horror strikes as she beholds her reflection—her scales are gone. No scars adorn her skin, and the absence of her once-potent powers leaves her defenseless. Lying on the cold ground like a rabbit with broken legs, she pleads for the torment to cease, but Cazador's laughter persists, an unrelenting backdrop to the nightmare unfolding around her.
"ASTARION!"
As Delphie gradually stirs from the realms of her sleep, she feels a gentle, rhythmic shaking that nudges her into awareness. Slowly, she opens her eyes to find herself in her tent. The dim light seeping through the fabric from the undisturbed nightlight stalks reveals Astarion kneeling beside her, his watchful eyes filled with concern. His touch is gentle, a reassurance that lingers in the air.
Delphie's voice, still laced with the remnants of sleep, breaks through the haze as she addresses Astarion. "Astarion?" she queries groggily, her gaze focusing on his concerned expression. "What are you doing?"
Astarion's teasing smile emerges as he responds, "Darling, you were screaming out my name. I thought you found yourself some trouble." The playfulness in his expression doesn't completely mask the concern in his eyes. He's all too familiar with nights like these, where nightmares grip the mind so tightly that screams become involuntary.
Their gazes lock for a moment, a silent understanding passing between them. In the exchange of looks, words seem unnecessary as the weight of shared experiences and unspoken comfort weaves a connection that transcends the boundaries of spoken language.
Delphie's cheeks flush with embarrassment as she apologizes, "I'm sorry I woke you."
"What happened?" Astarion blurts out before he fully comprehends his own words. Delphie's gaze meets his, not in fear of him, but in fear for him. It's a fear that lingers, a fear that she won't be able to uphold her promise to protect him from Cazador. "In your dream," he adds gently, realizing her hesitation to respond. The air thickens with the unspoken acknowledgment that the nightmares hold a power beyond mere sleep disturbances.
Delphie's lower lip quivers for a moment as she rubs her eye, preventing a tear from falling. "Nothing. Just a stupid dream," she asserts with an unconvincing chuckle. An awkward silence descends upon them, casting a shadow over the moment. Astarion, ready to retreat, is halted by Delphie's plea.
"Astarion, wait," she requests, and he pauses, turning to face her. "I know it sounds dumb. Can you just stay here until I fall back asleep?" Delphie's words hang in the air, leaving Astarion momentarily dumbfounded. Eventually, he finds himself sitting down beside her bedroll, meeting her gaze.
Delphie responds with a soft smile, "Thank you." In that quiet exchange, a subtle understanding blossoms between them, a silent agreement that transcends the need for elaborate explanations or assurances.
As the light from a fresh fire in the pit gently filters into the tent, Delphie awakens to a scene that warms her heart. Astarion is still there, seated beside her, engrossed in a book, lit up by the radiant blade beside him. The soft rustle of pages turning creates a soothing backdrop, a stark contrast to the tumultuous dreams that plagued her sleep before.
The tent is imbued with a calm atmosphere, and the residue of a restful night hangs in the air. Delphie realizes that it's the best sleep she's had since the insidious infection of the tadpole. A sense of gratitude washes over her as she takes in the sight of Astarion, a silent guardian who, in his own way, has contributed to the serenity that now envelops the small sanctuary of her tent.
As the rest of the party stirs from their rest, the weight of the promise made to the myconid sovereign hangs in the air, propelling them towards the looming duergar camp near the dark abyss of a mysterious lake. The journey unfolds beneath the canopy of tall mushrooms and coral-looking stalks, the shadows deepening as they approach their destination. A palpable unease settles upon the group, amplified by the unsettling quiet that envelops the surroundings.
Sensing the need for caution, Delphie and Astarion, the stealthy duo of the party, take it upon themselves to scout ahead. Moving with practiced silence, they inch closer to the duergar camp, only to discover an eerie stillness that sends shivers down their spines. It's too quiet for comfort, an ominous hush that hangs in the air like a prelude to impending danger.
Delphie, in tune with the serpentine companion coiled around her arm, makes a strategic decision. She gently releases Vesper onto the wooden platform basking in an otherworldly purple light. As the snake slithers gracefully into the radiant glow, Delphie utters a soft command, her voice carrying an arcane resonance, "Vesper, lend me your senses. Yth xkhat ir."
As Vesper gracefully slithers through the duergar camp, Delphie's eyes illuminate with an otherworldly white glow, signaling her connection to the snake's senses. Astarion, now aware that she is immersed in this mystical process and has temporarily lost her senses to the material world, observes her with a vigilant gaze. Unbeknownst to him, a subtle muscle twitches in his jaw, a silent manifestation of the tension that simmers beneath the surface.
The camp unfolds before Delphie's eyes through the lens of Vesper's perception. Every subtle movement, every obscured detail, becomes a part of her awareness. In this moment of heightened connection, the wood elf and her companion weave through the shadows of the duergar's domain.
In a hushed whisper, Delphie breaks the silence that envelops her senses, "It's an ambush." With a quiet command, "Vesper, confn," the snake gracefully returns to her arm, the connection severed as her eyes revert to their usual shade of green.
Returning to the party, Delphie and Astarion convey the ominous revelation, their voices subdued as they share the disconcerting news of the impending ambush. A collective tension hangs in the air, prompting the group to swiftly come together, minds aligning in the urgency of the situation.
As they strategize, a plan takes shape, woven from the threads of their individual strengths. The duergar's surprise attack may be imminent, but with their collective resolve and a calculated strategy, the party prepares to turn the tables on the ambushing threat that lurks in the shadows.
The duergar, caught off guard by the sudden turn of events, find themselves in a state of shock as the ambushers become the ambushed. The party executes their plan with precision. Chaos erupts within the once quiet camp as spells crackle through the air, arrows find their marks, and the clash of swords reverberates through the shadows.
In the heart of the skirmish, Delphie can't help but steal a glance at Astarion. His agile movements are complemented by the deadly precision of Pax as they weave through the chaos with a seamless dance of strikes.
With a newfound determination, inspired by the seamless partnership between the rogue and snake, Delphie decides to harness the dual forces of decay and rejuvenation within the dark expanse of the Underdark. "Ilonna kagh camlib," she intones, her voice carrying the weight of the incantation. As she begins the spell, a fusion of shadows and radiant energy envelops her outstretched hands.
Tendrils of shadow extend towards the two remaining duergar, weaving through the darkness with an eerie grace. In the wake of her gestures, colors within the already dreary Underdark subtly desaturate further. The duergar, caught in the embrace of the withering shadows, find their vitality draining away.
Simultaneously, radiant tendrils erupt from Delphie's fingertips, bursting forth with vibrant energy. Flowers unfurl amidst the otherwise desolate surroundings, their petals a stark contrast against the gloom of the Underdark. The air becomes infused with the invigorating scent of blossoming life, a testament to the power of renewal.
As Delphie completes the incantation, her hands come together in a gesture of balance. The area is left in a state of transient equilibrium, embodying the delicate dance between decay and renewal. The once-lifeless beach now bears witness to the dichotomy of the spell, and the remaining duergar lie still, their lives extinguished by the harmonious forces that Delphie has wielded.
As the party returns to camp, a collective sense of astonishment lingers in the air, a testament to the profound display of Delphie's power in the Underdark. The impact of her spell resonates with each member, and whispers of awe ripple through the group. Delphie, however, stands alone in front of her tent, a furrowed brow betraying her frustration as she attempts to recreate the spell.
The incantation escapes her lips in whispers, her hands outstretched in front of her. Yet, the fusion of shadows and vibrant energy remains elusive, slipping through her grasp like ethereal threads. Delphie's frustration mounts, a reflection of her inner turmoil as she grapples with the ephemeral nature of the spell.
Astarion, engrossed in his own reflection within a mirror, becomes an unwitting observer of Delphie's struggle. He adjusts his appearance, an ironic activity for a creature who can't see his own reflection. Delphie, drawn by both curiosity and the need for distraction, glances over at Astarion.
"Looking at something?" Astarion inquires with a playful smirk, his gaze fixated on the reflection of Delphie as she approaches him.
"Just looking...what are you doing?" she responds, arching an eyebrow in amusement as she observes his actions.
Astarion's initial smile fades, morphing into a tinge of disappointment. "I'm looking too, but not seeing very much," he confesses, his words carrying a subtle weight, hinting at the complexities of his existence as a vampire. The mirror becomes a poignant symbol, reflecting not just physical appearances, but the deeper struggles and limitations inherent in Astarion's supernatural condition. The exchange is laden with a mix of humor and melancholy.
"Do you miss it?" Delphie inquires cautiously, stepping closer toward Astarion. "Seeing your own face?"
"Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity? Of course I miss it," Astarion responds with a wistful tone. Finally turning around to face her, he continues, "I've never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red."
Delphie, intrigued, cocks her head in curiosity. "What color were they before?" she asks with a teasing smile. "Wait, don't tell me. They were brown...or grey?"
"I-I don't know. I can't remember," Delphie's initial playfulness fades when she senses the weight of Astarion's response. "My face is just some dark shape in my past."
Astarion, caught in the grip of his own reflections, abruptly throws the mirror on the ground, shattering it into pieces. The fragments of glass mirror the fractured aspects of his existence, each shard a metaphor for the fragments of his lost humanity. "Another thing I've lost," he declares, the bitterness in his voice underscoring the pain of his condition.
Closing the distance, Delphie steps forward, her hands tenderly finding their place on Astarion's face. She gazes into his eyes, a warm smile returning to her lips. Astarion is caught off guard and looks at her with wide eyes in confusion.
In the simple touch and the connection of their eyes, Delphie seeks to bridge the emotional gap, offering a silent reassurance that transcends the limitations of mirrors and reflections. The Underdark, with its shadows and losses, momentarily fades into the background.
"What?" Astarion finally says, his confusion evident.
"I see you," Delphie responds, her emerald orbs shimmering with sincerity. In those simple words, she encapsulates a deeper acknowledgment — an affirmation that transcends the physical act of seeing. It's a declaration that she sees beyond the fangs and the red eyes, beyond the shattered reflections and lost memories.
"And what do you see, exactly?" Astarion maintains his expression.
Delphie searches for something in his eyes for a moment. "Your eyes. They may not be brown or grey, but they're piercing. Sharper than your daggers."
"Oh," Astarion responds, a subtle smile finally appearing on his face. "Go on..."
Delphie, with a bold yet gentle touch, thumbs over his lips. In that intimate gesture, a quiet intensity lingers, and Astarion can almost taste her blood through her calloused skin.
"Your smile. It's infectious. Dangerous."
As Delphie's touch lingers on his lips, Astarion's thoughts swirl in a tumultuous mix of surprise and yearning. Accustomed to a world of shadows, deceit, and self-imposed detachment, he finds himself unprepared for the sincerity and flirtation emanating from the wood elf. Her bold actions awaken a longing within him, a desire for a connection that goes beyond the fleeting moments of their perilous journey through the Underdark.
In that brief touch, he tastes the allure of something more profound than blood — an intimacy that beckons him to the precipice of vulnerability. The unexpected warmth in Delphie's gaze and the subtle dance of flirtation leave Astarion grappling with emotions he's long kept at bay. The yearning intensifies, a silent acknowledgment that, amidst the shadows and uncertainties, he finds himself drawn to the genuine connection forged in the crucible of their shared experiences.
"Very good. Now just tell me I'm beautiful and we'll call it a day," Astarion playfully continues his flirtatious facade, masking the deeper turmoil within him. He maintains the charade, a defense mechanism to deflect the vulnerability that threatens to surface.
Delphie's eyes flutter shut in response, a moment filled with the anticipation of something more. The air between them becomes charged, and for a fleeting second, it seems as if she might close the gap and bridge the unspoken distance. Yet, she hesitates, backing away slightly, her hands still tenderly resting on his face.
"Is that all you want? Shallow praise?" Delphie pierces through the flirtatious facade, her gaze penetrating through to Astarion's soul, seeking to uncover the truth beneath the layers.
"Hardly. There's also gold, sex, revenge - quite the list, really," Astarion responds with a nonchalant demeanor, using his fingers to count off the items on his seemingly straightforward list.
Delphie, however, sees beyond the surface, recognizing the layers of complexity that lie beneath Astarion's cavalier words. She finally removes her hands from his face and backs away further, aware that he's once again hiding something, concealing the deeper truths that remain shrouded in the shadows of his enigmatic existence.
"But failing any of those, I will always settle for shallow praise," Astarion responds, attempting to maintain his playful demeanor. However, in a fleeting moment, Delphie catches a glint of sadness in his eyes, a vulnerability that betrays his true feelings.
"Goodnight, Astarion," she says softly. Astarion looks at her in shock, puzzled by her sudden change in behavior. Delphie gives him a fake smile, masking the depth of her own emotions, before turning toward her tent and walking away.
The distance between them, both physical and emotional, becomes palpable as Delphie retreats into the shadows of the night. Astarion, left with a sense of confusion and a lingering sadness, stands alone, grappling with the complexities of the connection that continues to elude him in the Underdark's veiled tapestry of emotions.