There was no way of knowing the time in the Shadowlands, for even the sun feared encroaching on darkness's territory. Midnight swallowed the sky and stars whole. The howling of wolves and curse-kissed creatures brought the night to life by casting an unsettling orchestra across the world. Sporadic gusts of wind amplified the ambiance and obliterated twig after twig in its path. Those who braved the lands without protection from the shadow curse would turn undead the moment their cries rose and faded into nothingness. People claimed the abundance of undead made them feel like they were forever being followed, driving up paranoia.
Those people deserved their fates.
Calista's amethyst eyes scanned her camp for signs of ambush or nosy comrades. Aside from the headache-inducing howls, her surroundings were quiet. Elven vision allowed her to see everyone in their tents and bedrolls, sleeping peacefully with limbs intact, and without a care in the world. They had no idea the thoughts that tormented her. With each heartbeat came new ideas for carnage.
Gods, they were all so complacent, trusting.
Vulnerable.
Calista's curse could destroy everything she loved, not that she was capable of the word. Ever since the Nautiloid crash, she yearned to make people bleed and break. Intrusive thoughts came and went like unwanted house guests. Sometimes they outlived their stay, and countless sacrifices failed to quell the beast.
Not acting on impulse triggered a suffocating sensation, like being strangled by a kobol with sharpened claws, and refused to piss off until the target of her demon's ire breathed their last sorry breath.
Only twice did she give in.
The first time she cut the hand off of a foolish wizard who failed to conjure up a basic portal spell. Druids were creatures of habit, at least she was, and seeing a hand wriggle and squirm in the air drew the hunter to prey. She wished to end its bizarre movements, and she did. It fell to the dirt in a pool of blood, the portal forever closed leaving the stupid caster to die a slow death. Shadowheart complained about a weak stomach, but Lae'zel and Astarion respected her actions.
The second time, an annoying bard tiefling named Alfira made the mistake of setting her off, the wench unable to comprehend the word 'no'. Calista tried to warn her, telling her she'd be safer far from camp, but her warning fell on deaf ears. When night dominated the skies, Calista surrendered to temptation. What happened was hazy, but she loved the morning scene.
Shadowheart was the easiest to manipulate, believing that Caslita didn't slay the tiefling despite the fact her hands dripped red with the bard's sweet blood. Using her awful powers of deception, she swore she wanted to clean up the mess before preparing a proper burial. For whatever asinine reason, the cleric bought the lie.
Those murders were moons ago.
A few days ago, that moronic butler of hers, Sceleritas, ordered her to end Astarion's life. For refusing to maul to death a cleric whose voodoo let them live in the Shadowlands, the monster craved to still the beating heart of the only person who made her smile, who made her feel wanted, loved. The only person who knew the horror she unleashed on the world, and merely shrugged.
She warned Asatarion in time with a minute to spare. His skillful hands tied her up and while it was nice, it wasn't the bondage she had in mind.
And that weirdo stayed by her side every night as she threatened him, spat at him in a fury, and tried biting him. She supposedly turned into a cat to leave the ropes, but he refused to share the gory details.
He didn't even resent her and acted like nothing happened. It wasn't like a stabbing or a breakup, but a murder attempt. Astarion stated he couldn't take her seriously when blabbering about like a castrated dragon, as his blatant nonchalantness downplayed her illness. Did he come across many castrated dragons under Cazador's reign?
Useless questions took up valuable space in her mind rather than mulling over how to leave camp unnoticed to play chase with victims. To hear the arousal of their screams…
An oncoming headache that burned hotter than a thousand suns meant she wouldn't be in control for long.
Calista threw on the hood of a blue cloak enough to cast shadows over her face and looked down to see Astarion tossing and turning in his boar-skin bedroll. Maybe he wouldn't be so cold if he laid in the bed. No, that wasn't how his kind worked.
Beautifully crafted white curls clung to the nape of his neck from the nightmare he was having. His pale skin grew colder every time she touched him, despite him swearing her hands warmed all of him.
They never did.
Astarion hurled insults through dusky lips at whoever stole his daggers. Probably her, given the number of times she stole - no, borrowed - from him. They shared a unique way of flirting that others gawked at. Drawing blood on each other and giggling about it, for one. Not like Astarion giggled; he'd just shoot off two quick 'ha's.
The second she took a step, she stilled to hear the only voice in the world that mattered, all sexy and low and quiet. The things that brought her heart to ruin…
"Well, hello. Having a difficult time sleeping, are you?"
If she hadn't dug through the trenches of memories, she'd have been at Moonrise Towers by now.
Damn it.
"I'm off to relieve my urges. Go back to sleep," she whispered, irritated and anxious all at once, and tightened her cloak's clasp.
The veins on her hands tightened and twisted, dark shades of purple and blue, which was step one of losing control. In ten minutes she'd cave to the beast and forget all that happened.
Were authorities dumb enough to believe her if she 'forgot' she committed lawless acts? Maybe a cushy gig as a serial killer with a piss-poor record of amnesia awaited her.
But mind flayer evolution hung by an already strained thread. Hmm.
"Is that so? Well, thank you for the invitation. I accept." Astarion kicked his bedroll near the crackling campfire and attached both gleaming daggers to his nightwear. He crouched low to the ground and stalked about to observe their comrades before returning to her side.
"Astarion, you aren't inv-"
"It's not very cute when you fight me, darling. Oh, and if you abandon me, I will fucking slit your throat this time."
Calista sneered, trying not to laugh. Astarion was adorable when threatening her livelihood, even more so when those violent blood-red eyes meant it. "Not if I do it first!"
"Not if you…what in the nine hells does that even mean?!" His hands waved dramatically in the air, his features the embodiment of confusion.
"Shut up! If the others wake, they'll want to tag along and I don't need them knowing my… secrets."
Astarion chuckled and ran a hand through the locks of his perfect hair. "Let's go turn someone inside out." His crazed lips quirked into a twisted grin.
There was something about the concept of murder that made Astarion akin to a kid on holiday. For Calista, killing was a quick fix to end the violent thoughts that came with murder sobriety.
"After all our blissful time spent together, they'd all be fools to leave you over something beyond your control. They never bat an eye when you unleash carnage or kill idiots, even those who didn't exactly deserve it. So, we're all in this together! Exhilarating, really," Astarion's euphoric voice faded into something serious. "Let's be off before whatever unsuspecting prey you hope to find scurries off for the night."
Trees practically hugged one another, making a quiet escape difficult. Past everyone's tents was a path void of shrubbery, but Calista didn't have the unnatural grace of a skilled predator that Astarion did. Not as an elf.
Right! How did she forget her druid nature? Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She snarled through the pain of transformation. Every bone contorted and snapped, muscles rebuilding anew. Her spine widened, nose tickling as it flattened, and whiskers spiked out in various directions. Whiskers annoyed her the most, always buckling beneath the wind. There were many reasons to complain, but something about being a lean, stalking cat was…freeing.
She swung her head around, motioning for Astarion to get on. There was no saddle, so whenever it was paramount to soar over cliffs or onto a rooftop, it was pure luck he managed to keep a steady grip.
"I am not doing this again. Not after what happened last time. You nearly killed me! And it took three weeks to rid that obscene smell you carried around when you were that awful owlbear. Three. Weeks. I'll never see those magnificently woven clothes again." He trailed ahead of Calista, muttering profanities.
Such a liar. His appetite for the dramatics skewed events wildly out of proportion. Her beloved bloodsucker clung to her neck feathers for dear life, his grip never loosening. Not once did he 'nearly die'. Had there even been a possibility, she'd have broken transformation and fired off a quick Feather Fall spell to prevent death or life-altering fractures.
Also, why in the hells did he care about 'nearly dying' in fabrications, but not when she actually tried to kill him? Of those she knew, Astarion made the least amount of sense.
Ignoring the theatrical vampire, she sprinted down a path lined with dead brush, adrenaline coursing through her veins, until she stood several yards ahead. The abrupt cold brought her to crinkle her nose. The owlbear was more appropriate for harsh weather conditions.
"Not fair! What did I tell you about abandoning me?!"
Calista rolled her eyes, followed by a strange purring sound that bubbled out of her throat and into the world.
Time for the owlbear. With a sharp inhale, she braced for excruciating pain repeating the same process until she proudly stood nine feet above ground. Raw power surged through her body, enough to take on the gods themselves. She raised a paw and smashed it into the dirt beneath her. Worms wriggled beneath her claws, reminding her of the damned tadpoles she never asked for, and so she ate them. They danced across her tongue, all slimy and irksome, and so she bit them into a million pieces and swallowed them down.
And they did nothing to satisfy her, only made her hungrier. There was nothing better than staggering about being dizzy and having a need to scratch every nook of skin from the hot itching that violated her. Steps two and three joined in fucking unison. Great.
Before her stood piles of ruined cobblestone and skeletal remains that littered what was maybe a great empire in its prime. Piles of sizzling ash laced with glowing green elements covered a bridge between her and Moonrise Towers. Hours ago her band of misfits put an end to Ketheric Thorm. What a useless pile of trash he turned out to be. No, that was an insult to trash.
Calista licked her beak, eyes dilated remembering the way her heart accelerated when the melodious symphony of his neckbones snapped beneath her claws, and the final gasp for breath that left him as she tore apart his ribcage with her beak. He tasted of thick bile and probably days-old hyena urine. Definitely not a tasty man, but his death was an artistic masterpiece.
Astarion's footsteps drew closer, bringing her back to the lackluster present. Her monstrous heart sent her howling as it thrashed against her chest, each thump reverberating louder. The sounds of nature were faded, and Astarion's raucous voice didn't register - only the tempo of her heart.
Whatever Astarion said registered in a foreign tongue.
She flew across the bridge and charged up icy steps of her own design until making it into the throne room where Ketheric ordered armies of the Absolute. Goblin and werewolf carcasses blanketed the ground. Her throat dried up at the sight of blood seeping into the wooden floorboards from a goblin whose neck she slit earlier.
Both hind legs burned hotter than the hells. Sweat soaked through her already agitated skin, the edges of her vision blurring together. "Get…out…NOW!" she ordered in a sound so guttural and evil that she didn't recognize it as her own. Astarion didn't even speak Owlbear, but surely he understood the severity.
"It's happening, isn't it? Well, shit," he sighed, backing up into the shadows. "I refuse to become one of your many snacks, put on display for the world to see. Don't worry, my wicked little thing - you will be normal soon enough."
Astarion became one with his surroundings, making it impossible to spot him. Being light on his easily breakable feet, he slipped away without a trace and with the amount of perfume he used to cover up his natural scent of death, she grew furious with her incompetence. Beast and vessel merged into a vengeful, blood-thirsty mess. She smelled nothing, heard nothing. With a vicious roar that strained her throat, shaking the rigid bodies and bringing paintings to their doom, she rampaged and crashed into walls with the hope of finding the only prey in the room.
Every movement no longer her own, every thought intertwined with an animalistic need to feed.
And then nothing.
"Fuck, fuck, FUCK! Calista could be dead because we all stood around sucking our thumbs. I should have been there to help her. I should have done something. Hells, what if she's gone and the last thing I said to her was that she was by far the most irrational prick I ever met? She probably didn't even know I was joking given we aren't that close. Oh, Karlach, you blazing piece of shit!" Karlach frantically paced back and forth until she punched something and shouted every curse word into oblivion.
Calista opened one heavy eye, intrigued by Karlach's rare bout of self-hatred.
A breathy chuckle left Shadowheart who looked up from the book she thumbed through. "From what we've seen, our fearless leader is rarely harmed. Though, I'll admit I'm curious as to what happened."
"So, we were out for a lovely stroll when this nasty group of undead had us cornered. Had it not been for yours truly, well, she'd already be dead." Astarion's lies became less believable with every nonsensical tale, and Shadowheart's snort confirmed it.
"I always knew you were delusional, Astarion. Whenever you open your mouth, I'm reminded of that. One touch from the undead and you may as well assume fetal position from what I've seen."
"Very funny. If only I respected you enough to value your oh, so insightful opinions." Astarion scoffed. He knelt down to check Calista's pulse and exhaled, his fingers like ice against her neck. A strand of his hair tickled her nose, his concerned ruby-reds close enough to block out her surroundings. She swallowed hard, goosebumps pimpling her skin when relatively warm puffs of Astarion's breath pelted her blood-stained, cracked lips.
"I tied you up and you seemed to like it, but I undid the rope before our repugnant…whatever you want to call them woke up. It wasn't pleasant, you know. It…it never is."
Calista's arms looked like a cat's took up years of vengeance on it. Sucking in a deep breath sent her ribcage writhing in agony. Her head may as well have been smashed in by a barrel. Or she had the worst hangover of her life. She groaned seeing her prized cloak tattered and torn, parts of it scattered across the floor. There went 10,000 gold pieces she'd never see again.
"Now isn't the time for more peril, but resting." Astarion got to his feet, his back turned to her with arms crossed. "I do consider myself sociopathic, but you have this habit of making me look sane. Did I not say I'd slit your throat if you left me?"
There was no doubt that he sliced her up to break transformation.
"You're alive, soldier! Hells, you're alive! I thought you weren't going to make it…" Karlach's eyes lit up, shoulders relaxed. The tiefling dashed forward to hug her, but Calista's scowl made her think twice.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Calista winced from one of many arm cuts that hit the dirt. And now the cuts were likely infected too because gods know that's what she fucking needed. "If only I knew what happened. Someone will atone and I won't rest until their innards are sprawled across the floor. The vultures will dine like kings tonight."
Astarion froze, still as a statue. The camp quieted to hear him swallow.
"Didn't you hear?" Shadowheart radiated with condescension. "Astarion suffered a fatal concussion, claiming he protected you from an undead army. Given you look like one of the many hells, I wonder who the real protector is. You're known to end your enemy with a few scratches."
Calista slapped her face hard enough she had to readjust her nose. After doing it enough, it stopped hurting. Avoiding the sinking pressure of judgment from her peers, she changed the subject. "Let's go to Baldur's Gate so we can get there yesterday. If we leave now and find a time-traveling portal, we can reach the outskirts by nightfall two days ago."
"And they have the audacity to call me delusional!" Astarion barked out a laugh, spinning to face her. "We aren't leaving. Not yet. You need rest - not another fight with only the devils know what!"
"Lucky that you have a cleric in the group, then. Allow me." Shadowheart uncomfortably hovered above Calista and did a few quick motions with her arms, channeling light magic while chanting indecipherable words to heal the injuries. "Better?"
The lacerations stung as they sealed themselves shut. The bruises on her ribcage slowly eased as she breathed. Shadowheart played witch doctor a time too many. "T-thanks. Now I can walk to Baldur's Gate with or without Astarion's permission."
Astarion shook his head. Quick retorts and witty remarks she had grown accustomed to didn't make their usual debut. "I…suppose I'll go and gather what I can."
"No one's ever had luck changing her mind once it's set. A change of scenery may do us all some good, yeah?" Karlach caught Calista's attention as she jumped in place with the energy of a caged dog and slammed her calloused fists together in excitement. "I got all I need on me. Let's go, let's go!"
"I feel there isn't much left for me here. Not anymore. I need to find my parents. I have no use for anything else." Shadowheart interjected, her mournful eyes unmoving from the dirt below. "I do hope for your companionship on my quest, Calista. When we first met and you cut off that hand reaching through the portal begging for help, my opinion of you varied. Now, I can't imagine my life without you in it."
"I'm sorry to ruin the mood, but I don't share, Shadowheart. As for Karlach, that one's all yours." Astarion pointed towards Karlach. He joined Calista on the ground, moving into her so that his bony shoulder grated against hers. "What a day that was. I almost feel bad for the wizard."
Calista hoped they had forgotten about the wizard. Apparently when you take a comrade's dagger and have them yelling at you over it, and then proceed to use said weapon to saw off someone's hand, people tend to remember that. Since no one tried to get up in her business and everyone argued all the time without divulging any personal information, Calista preferred the old days. Shadowheart was a brainwashed cult worshiper without morals to appease her misguided deity, Karlach caused forest fires in fits of pent-up rage, and Astarion approached every situation with suspicion and daggers drawn, even on budding plants.
"Now, as fun as rehashing the past and mulling over each other's feelings is, which it really isn't, our injury-prone troublemaker and I need to have a little chat." Astarion and Shadowheart went back and forth, attacking one another with childish insults.
Calista was tired of being in the presence of toddlers and swore to set off on her own if they couldn't shut up long enough to hear her to organize her thoughts. With that, their privacy was respected.
"Godsdamnit, you're a child posing as a decrepit man." Calista threw her head backward, her hands balling up mud that oozed between her dirtied knuckles. Annoyed with instant regret, she smeared thick streaks across Astarion's porcelain cheeks.
"Now who's the child? And decrepit? Do these flawless features look decrepit to you?! I hope you're happy. I doubt there's a stream nearby to wash off this vile…" as he spoke, exasperated and exhausted, Calista smeared mud across her cheeks wearing a dead expression so they matched. He did an iconic 180 and his lips twitched on the verge of a laugh. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"
"Lae'zel launched a formal complaint. Left ahead of us to be rid of you. Shadowheart's complained. Karlach has…"
"You wound me, darling. Yes, it's painfully obvious the others have a rather dull sense of humor. Lae'zel is all bark, no bite. Shadowheart struggles with who she is most of the time and Karlach has an engine in lieu of a heart and an unpredictable temper that may as well lead us to our deaths. If anything, I'm the least of our concerns."
Calista held Astarion's hand and propped her head on his shoulder. She felt the tension pour out of him; the tightness in his body softened and his lanky fingers curled around hers. His head gently brushed against hers and replaced dark memories with happier ones.
Memories built to be broken once the elderbrain freed itself from the chains of the netherstones that kept the world ender trapped. With Ketheric's stone in their possession and zero idea how to use the damn thing, another brief respite with Astarion may never happen.
"I do rather like your touch. In a far more dire topic, do you remember that hideous troll near the study? Yes, well, when I happened upon you, it had been picked clean. Nothing but bones that had been chewed up and spit out." he exhaled through his nose, his head weighing heavier against hers. "I…had to pry one from your mouth. You caused yourself a great deal of pain rampaging into walls and trapwires. I'm lucky to have found you when I did."
That explained the revolting taste of decay lurking in her throat. Or her first theory proved true and he cut her up until she transformed.
"And the others?"
"No need to fret for I've already thought up a foolproof plan for that. I'll tell them how ashamed we were that they bore witness to our perverse foreplay and tell them to pay us in gold if they want to see what happens next. A main course like this doesn't come free, after all. That should be enough to shut them up."
Calista had no words. If their companions bought that incredulous load of horseshit, it was time to go on a recruiting campaign.
"Let's go and wreak havoc on those who deserve it - or those who don't. I can't wait to see what hellish chaos awaits us this time. You seem to have a knack for getting us into trouble." Astarion failed to temper a wry smile. "Since no one can change that beautiful mind of yours, shall we head for Rivington? Unfortunately, we do need to pass through that poor excuse of a town and even then it will be quite a bit of walking until we reach Baldur's Gate."
"Rivington it is. The quicker we get answers for me and slay Cazador for you, the quicker we can finally live our lives."
"And if we don't happen to succeed in finding your answers?"
"That crazed doll-looking wench and the homeless pirate will have answers. If Ketheric knew me, they would too. I'll do anything to find out who I am unless it involves hurting you. All with perish who try to stop me." Calista and Astarion stood up and set their sights on the faded path past the trees.
"I've so missed decorating my daggers with the blood of our enemies - especially when we're outnumbered. They never see it coming. I imagine the sensation will be much stronger when face to face with my former 'master'. I want to be the one to take his sorry little life, so you go chirping at his forever loyal army of bats and werewolves instead." Animosity clouded Astarions' features, his pupils searched hers carrying the familiarity of a hungry predator. "You are still with me in this, aren't you?"
An amalgamation of melancholy and hatred ravaged his voice. If she said no, he might end their relationship, but she wanted Cazador to suffer. She wanted him to feel pain, to look Astarion in the eye as he carved into his flesh, ending with a severed tongue.
Thoughts that came with a lack of sleep were becoming too vivid.
"After you do what you want with him, I want a go myself. Dead or not, mauling people three times over is my signature move!"
His chest sank with the heavy breath he made. "That? That I can grant you, my love. Thank you. I…suppose it wouldn't hurt to say it more often. I never used to care what happened to me. I mean, in a way I did, since I stayed latched onto Cazador to survive. But I never had something to live for, nothing that mattered to me. For the first time, I feel I finally have someone who fully trusts me, and in return, someone that I fully trust. Now let's go get my gory vengeance on that deplorable miscreant. Oh, how I can't wait to peel the skin from his colorless body."
Calista pinched her wrist until it bled out of fear she and Astarion switched places. His sadistic words and fists so tight his blue veins popped were almost too similar.
"We'll make his blood rain all over the Baldur's Gate," Calista vowed in a low growl. "And you shall rise as the greatest vampire lord since Strahd himself."