Astarion and Delphie waste no time in returning to the Dragon Cove. It's just a sigil away, making the journey swift. As they step back into the familiar surroundings, they relay everything that transpired during their absence—everything about Wyll and such. However, they gloss over the intimate moment they shared on top of Astarion's old grave. It's a topic they're not inclined to discuss.
With everyone gathered, a general consensus is reached: they'll depart for the Temple of Bhaal come morning. Despite the agreement and the reassurance of a plan, as the night descends and everyone retreats to their quarters, Delphie finds herself unable to shake the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach. The feeling that has resurfaced after a few days. Once again her mind floods with the questions: what if something were to happen to any of her other companions? To Shadowheart? To Echo? To her father? To Astarion? She knows she would never forgive herself if any harm were to befall those she cares about.
Despite knowing it's a rash decision, Delphie feels it's the only option available to her. Tonight, as she curls up next to Astarion, she makes sure to give herself an opportunity for this outing. Once she's certain Astarion has succumbed to sleep, she carefully disentangles herself from him and slips out of the tent. With a swift, silent movement, she dons her armor and retrieves her bow.
Unbeknownst to her, Astarion had a suspicion that this moment would arrive. As Delphie prepares to depart, she senses the weight of his gaze, the intensity of his crimson eyes fixed upon her. Though she resists the urge to turn and meet his stare, she can feel his presence keenly.
"What are you doing, darling?" Astarion's voice whispers from behind her, breaking the silence of the night.
"Protecting everyone," Delphie responds, her tone resolute, though her back remains turned to him. "Protecting you." Finally, she turns to face him, tears beginning to well in her eyes. "You've earned your freedom, dretri. You deserve it. I can't bear the thought of your will to live fading because my path led you to your demise."
Confusion clouds Astarion's voice as he questions, "What are you going on about, Delphie? We made a promise to protect each other. I can't keep you safe if I'm not by your side. You helped me defeat Cazador. Let me return the favor."
Delphie's gaze holds a mixture of sadness and determination as she tries to make him understand. "This is bigger than just us," she explains, her voice trembling slightly. "I don't want to face this alone, but I have to." Despite the ache in her heart at the prospect of leaving him behind, she knows that she must continue on her path, even if it means doing so without him by her side.
"We're dealing with gods now, Astarion. You heard what Orin said. She was cryptic, but now it all makes sense. He wants us to fight to the death. If I don't play by his rules, something bad will happen, and I worry that he'll hurt you to get to me. So please, let me handle this," she pleads, her desperation palpable.
A fragile vulnerability creeps into Astarion's voice as he asks, "What happened to us fighting this together?"
"I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you," Delphie confesses after a brief moment, curling into herself as she shakes with sobs.
Astarion observes Delphie's vulnerability, a sight he hasn't witnessed since their harrowing encounter with Galure. He can sense the conflict raging within her, and it pains him to see her in such distress. While part of him is upset that she kept such a significant revelation from him, he understands all too well the tendency they all have to harbor their secrets, even if it doesn't lessen the sting of betrayal for him.
The vampire spawn, Astarion, places his hands gently on Delphie's arms, his touch a mixture of concern and affection. "And you honestly believe I wouldn't be utterly devastated if anything were to happen to you?" His words coax a collapse from her, drawing her into his chest. With a tender embrace, he enfolds her, pressing a soft kiss to her temple while his fingers trace soothing circles on her back. She has a way of softening him, and he can't bear to witness her distress. "We're leaving, now. You and I, together. As much as I think this is a bad idea, I refuse to let you face it alone."
Delphie reciprocates, tightening her hold around him before composing herself. With a determined air, she shifts her focus to Esme, the pink and gold pseudodragon perched atop their tent. As if sensing her resolve, the creature flits to her shoulder. Astarion swiftly dons his leather armor, joining Delphie at the portal's threshold. Together, they cast one final glance at their temporary camp, its silence punctuated only by the faint crackle of dwindling flames. In unison, Delphie and Astarion draw a deep breath, steeling themselves for what lies ahead, before stepping through the portal.
Despite the unpleasant memories associated with the underground temple, Delphie navigates its corridors with ease, her familiarity guiding them to their destination. She recalls vividly how her mother once performed the ritual to open the doors, the macabre requirement of making freshly hung corpses bleed onto a skull within a ritualistic circle. Though the sight still disgusts her, Delphie steadies herself and expertly shoots an arrow at one of the hanging corpses, watching uncomfortably as a slow stream of blood trickles down its form and onto the skull. With a click, the heavy doors swing open, granting them passage into the depths below.
Inside, they are met by a group of Bhaalists, their presence a clear indication of the challenges that lie ahead. To gain entry, they must pass a test—a trial that demands they obtain the amulet of Bhaal from one of the unholy assassins lurking within the temple. It's a grim task that necessitates the brutal termination of their foe. Yet, working in seamless coordination, like a well-oiled machine, Delphie and Astarion navigate the ambush with calculated precision, overcoming each obstacle in their path.
Meanwhile, Esme cloaks herself in invisibility, perching stealthily on a high cliff overlooking the scene. Since the loss of Vesper, their companions have served primarily as support rather than direct combatants. Astarion once quipped about their companions joining missions for "moral support," a half-truth that acknowledges the odd sense of comfort their presence brings, especially in the face of daunting battles—like the imminent confrontation with Orin.
While Astarion revels in the chaos of battle, he's not blind to the risks. If he senses the odds are against them, his enthusiasm wanes. He may enjoy the thrill of bloodshed, but he's not reckless. As they prepare to face Orin, a tense anticipation hangs in the air, the two elves bracing themselves for the impending clash.
As soon as their fingers close around the amulet, the remaining ambushers vanish into thin air, leaving Delphie and Astarion standing alone in the eerie silence of the temple. Esme, sensing the tension ease, gracefully swoops down to alight on Delphie's shoulder once more, a silent companion in their journey.
With the amulet in hand, they approach a previously unnoticed door, its ancient surface adorned with intricate symbols that seem to pulse with otherworldly energy. As they insert the amulet into the keyhole, the door creaks open, revealing a darkened passageway that descends ominously into the depths below.
Astarion's nerves are already on edge, but they are pushed to their limit as they step onto the path and the statues lining it suddenly spring to life, casting eerie glows and speaking in ominous tones as they pass. Astartion startles, nearly leaping out of his skin at the unexpected animation of the stone figures.
"Gods above, if one more of those blasted statues—" His exasperated complaint is abruptly cut off by the sudden illumination of yet another statue, its booming voice echoing through the chamber, followed by a shrill shriek that pierces the air.
Delphie can't help but chuckle at Astarion's reaction, her amusement mingling with a hint of fond exasperation. "It's all rather overly dramatic, isn't it? These statues have always seemed to revel in their theatrics every time someone traverses this path," she remarks casually, continuing to descend deeper into the darkness.
"Indeed," Astarion responds dryly, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "Divine beings and their inflated egos. It's a wonder they don't implode from all the self-importance," he muses as they finally reach the end of the path, emerging into a chamber shrouded in darkness.
Delphie inhales deeply, steeling herself for what lies ahead. "Well, this is it," she murmurs, her voice a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. Astarion moves to stride forward, but Delphie's hand on his arm halts him in his tracks. "Careful. If nothing's changed, there'll be traps leading up to the door," she warns, her eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger.
True to her words, the path is laced with traps, each one meticulously disarmed by the agile hands of the rogue as they inch closer to the imposing temple door. With each deactivated mechanism, the tension in the air thickens, anticipation mingling with the palpable sense of danger.
As they finally stand before the entrance, Astarion lets out an exasperated sigh, his gaze shifting to Delphie, seeking her guidance. "My dear, how would you like to approach this? Shall we slip in quietly, with all the grace of shadows?" he suggests, his voice dripping with the allure of stealth and cunning. Yet, Delphie remains silent, her normally vibrant emerald eyes betraying a mixture of fear and determination.
After a pregnant pause, Delphie shakes her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "No," she declares with a newfound resolve. "They already know we're coming." With a sudden surge of anger, she wrenches open the temple doors, revealing the darkness beyond. Esme, already attuned to their plan, vanishes from her perch on the wood elf's shoulder, slipping into invisibility.
Descending the staircase, their footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls, a sense of unease hangs heavy in the air. Delphie's muscles tense with each step, her mind assaulted by a flood of haunting memories. Astarion, attuned to her distress, reaches out and clasps her hand, offering a reassuring squeeze that speaks volumes of unspoken understanding. In that moment, their roles reverse, and he becomes the comforting presence she once was for him during their confrontation with Cazador.
As they reach the bottom of the stairs, the sight that greets them is chilling: Orin looms over Wyll's prone form, sprawled across a stone altar. Delphie's breath catches in her throat at the sight of her friend, her heart clenching.
"Don't worry, darling. We'll rescue him, I promise," Astarion whispers into her ear, his words a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. With a nod of gratitude, Delphie steels herself for the impending confrontation, her grip on her bow tightening as they draw closer to the altar.
Astarion's keen senses catch a subtle shift in the air, prompting him to glance over his shoulder. There, on the platform above, Allatou watches their approach with a menacing gaze. Anger simmers beneath the surface as he locks eyes with the older wood elf, a surge of protectiveness rising within him. The urge to exact vengeance for the suffering inflicted upon Delphie burns fiercely in his chest, fueling his resolve to confront her and put an end to the darkness that consumes the love of his life.
"You are a mangled blood brain, thinking Father can be refused," Orin taunts, her voice dripping with malice as she locks eyes with Delphie, her pupilless gaze filled with a darkness that seems to devour the light. "Did it think it could protect? Did it think it could save? Only the blades can offer salvation," she hisses, her words echoing ominously in the dimly lit chamber.
A shiver courses down Delphie's spine as Orin draws forth her signature red blade, the glint of its edge casting an eerie crimson glow across Wyll's pale skin. With a trembling voice, Delphie issues a warning, her fingers tightening around her bow. "Harm him and I will unleash the agonies of Bhaal upon you," she threatens, her resolve burning fiercely despite the fear gnawing at her heart.
Orin's lips curl into a twisted smile at Delphie's defiance, her eyes alight with sadistic pleasure. "Yes, yes. Give me agony," she taunts, her voice laced with cruel anticipation. "Pluck me bone from socket. Stroke me with a jagged edge until my skin shreds wet and red," she continues, relishing in the terror that flickers across Delphie's features.
Standing tall upon the altar next to Wyll's prone form, Orin strides confidently toward Delphie and Astarion, her movements fluid and predatory. "Does it not recall the glorious events from long ago?" she jeers, her voice taking on an eerie echo as she morphs into an exact duplicate of Delphie, encircling them with a sinister grace. "How you screamed as my knife thrust through your ribs, your blood sticky and sweet," she reminisces, her words like poison dripping from her lips. "And then your body became a blood sack to feed the worm. The offspring of Bhaal turned meat puppet," she sneers, her mocking laughter filling the chamber with a chilling echo of past horrors.
The tension in the chamber is palpable, thickening with each passing moment as Orin's malevolent presence looms over them. The pale elf feels his muscles coil with every subtle movement the shapeshifter makes. Oh, how he longs to tear her apart, to rend her flesh until there is nothing left but a heap of viscera at his feet. But he knows better than to act impulsively. He must wait for Delphie's signal, for her guidance in this deadly dance. Yet, as he steals a glance at her, he sees her trapped in the clutches of her own haunted thoughts, her features drawn with a mixture of fear and determination. Doubt gnaws at him. What if she cannot give him the signal? What if she is paralyzed with terror, unable to strike back before Orin's blade finds its mark? The mere thought of standing idly by while Delphie falls prey to Orin's cruelty ignites a fierce resolve within him. He cannot, and will not, allow such a fate to befall her.
"Husk. Maggot. A Bhaalspawn slip-sliding in filth with these pigs. You don't deserve the Murder Lord's blessing," Orin's voice drips with disdain and jealousy, her words laced with venom as she seeks to undermine Delphie's resolve.
Delphie's emerald eyes narrow into a steely glare, a fire burning within her despite the fear that threatens to consume her. "I'm not his child and I don't want his damned blessing," she growls defiantly, her voice laced with determination. In that moment, Astarion sees not just the wood elf he has come to know and cherish, but a warrior, fierce and unyielding in the face of adversity. And with renewed determination, he continues to vow to stand by her side, ready to unleash the full fury of his wrath upon anyone who dares threaten her.
"I'm done being pushed around by you. You said Bhaal wanted us to fight. Well, then come and fight me, bitch," Delphie's voice reverberates through the chamber, her defiance slicing through the oppressive atmosphere like a blade. With arms outstretched in a challenge, she dares Orin to confront her, her gaze steady and unwavering.
The shapeshifter's lips curl into a wicked smile, a glint of anticipation dancing in her eyes as she returns to her true form. "You do not lie. It is your blood I'm destined to spill. Your death spit will stain these walls, little lamb," Orin taunts, her voice dripping with malice as she steps into the center of a pulsating, crimson ritualistic circle, her arms raised to the ceiling in a macabre gesture of invocation. "Come to me, Father. Set my flesh to your unholy purpose," she intones, her words a twisted prayer to the dark deity they both serve.
In an instant, the air crackles with malevolent energy as Orin undergoes a grotesque transformation, her form contorting and shifting into a monstrous abomination with four arms and rows of razor-sharp teeth. Astarion's grip tightens on his daggers, his senses honed for battle as he witnesses the return of Delphie's primal bloodlust, her eyes ablaze with a fierce determination.
With a thunderous war cry, Delphie charges toward the monstrous creature, her movements fluid and sure as she unleashes the full force of her fury upon her adversary. Two of the Bhaalists spring forth from the shadows, their weapons poised for attack as they seek to thwart Astarion's advance.
Orin, in her grotesque beast form, swiftly evades the incoming arrow from Delphie's bow, her movements fluid and sinuous as she dodges the projectile with unnerving agility. The wood elf snarls in frustration, her golden wings unfurling majestically as she takes flight, her forehead illuminated by the glow of her shimmering scales. With a determined gaze, her emerald eyes alight with power, she extends her hands before her, the golden circlet bestowed upon her by Alden pulsating with arcane energy.
"Llonna kagh camlib," Delphie intones, her voice a fierce declaration as two rays of shimmering green and gold emerge from her outstretched palms, weaving and intertwining with each other like serpents in a deadly dance. As the radiant and necrotic energy descends towards the ground, the stone platform beneath Orin begins to tremble, fissures spiderwebbing across its surface as tendrils of life force burst forth, only to wither and fade into dust moments later.
With a deafening impact, the combined force of Delphie's magic strikes Orin head-on, eliciting a primal growl of fury from the monstrous creature. Undeterred, Orin retaliates with savage ferocity, her claws slashing through the air with deadly precision as she lunges toward Delphie, her razor-sharp talons aiming to rend flesh and bone. The wood elf is sent hurtling through the air, her golden wings faltering as she crashes to the ground with a bone-rattling thud, the impact driving the breath from her lungs as pain blooms across her body. Yet, even as agony courses through her, Delphie refuses to yield, her determination burning bright amidst the chaos of battle.
Amidst the chaos of battle, Astarion moves with the fluid grace of a seasoned dancer, effortlessly evading the frenzied assaults of the Bhaalists with a series of agile dodges and deft parries. His twin daggers flash in the dim light, finding their marks with deadly accuracy as he swiftly dispatches each foe that dares to cross his path. Yet, even as he revels in his smooth victory, his focus remains fixed on the unfolding confrontation between Delphie and the monstrous Orin.
Rushing to her side, Astarion witnesses the wood elf pushing herself upright just as Orin prepares to strike once more. Without hesitation, the vampire spawn retrieves a bullet-bodied tip arrow from his quiver, nocking it onto his bowstring with practiced ease. With a swift release, the arrow streaks through the air, finding its mark in Orin's monstrous form and sending her hurtling backward as she staggers to the edge of the platform.
As Orin regains her footing and lunges towards Astarion, Delphie's scales begin to shimmer once more with arcane energy, her eyes flashing with determination. But before she can unleash her magic upon her foe, a movement catches her eye—a sinister figure approaching from the shadows. With a roar of fury, Delphie redirects her focus, her rage fueling a powerful wave of thunderous purple energy that crashes towards Allatou with devastating force, sending the older elven woman sprawling to the ground.
Despite the impact, Allatou rises with a sadistic smile.
"That's it, Delphnye. Accept His power!" Allatou's voice echoes with a perverse sense of affection, her eyes glowing with a twisted fervor as she watches her daughter approach, her gaze a chilling blend of manipulation and anticipation.
Delphie's steps falter for a moment, but she remains resolute in her defiance. She understands her mother's twisted intentions all too well—Allatou craves nothing more than to see her daughter succumb to the dark influence of Bhaal. Yet, Delphie refuses to yield, her heart steadfast in its allegiance to a different lineage, a different power. "My name's Delphie, now, mother. And I'm not the offspring of the Lord of Murder... I'm the offspring of a dragon," she declares, her words ringing with a quiet strength born of newfound identity and purpose.
Allatou's expression flickers with a tumult of conflicting emotions, a mixture of anger, longing, and perhaps even a hint of regret. Does she still harbor feelings for Alden? Did she truly believe Bhaal to be the father of her child? But as quickly as these emotions surface, they are consumed by a burning rage that ignites within her.
"Ylyrjizual," Allatou intones, her voice dripping with malice as she extends her hand towards Delphie. From her outstretched palm, a dark, inky tendril unfurls, snaking its way towards her daughter with sinister intent. Delphie grits her teeth against the searing pain as the tendril coils around her, threatening to ensnare her in its malevolent grasp.
With a fierce determination, Delphie wrenches herself free from the tendrils' grip, her body trembling with the effort. She meets her mother's gaze with steely resolve, refusing to be cowed by her dark influence. The confrontation between mother and daughter reaches a boiling point, the air thick with tension as they stand locked in a battle of wills.
The tension between mother and daughter reaches its climax as they stand locked in a silent battle of wills, their gazes locked in a fierce staring contest. Allatou's resolve wavers for a moment as her eyes flicker towards Astarion, who struggles valiantly against Orin's relentless assault. Delphie's keen senses catch the subtle shift in her mother's demeanor—a telltale sign of impending danger.
With a surge of instinctual clarity, Delphie detects the malevolent magic gathering in her mother's hand, a deadly red aura pulsating with dark intent. Without hesitation, she invokes a simple yet potent command, channeling her willpower to repel the burgeoning spell. The air crackles with arcane energy as Delphie's command disrupts the flow of magic, thwarting her mother's dark intentions.
In response, Delphie's own powers surge forth, her golden eyes ablaze with determination as she levitates into the air, her radiant energy spreading to the enchanted circlet adorning her brow, casting a brilliant halo of light around her.
"Siksta su'vay," she incants with venomous precision, her hands outstretched before her like a vengeful deity. A blinding beam of radiant energy erupts from her fingertips, crashing into Allatou with a force that sends her hurtling backwards, crashing against the unforgiving stone floor with a resounding thud.
Redirecting the searing beam towards Orin, Delphie watches with grim satisfaction as the shapechanger is forced back into her true form, her monstrous facade crumbling away under the onslaught of radiant energy. Astarion, seizing the opportunity, delivers the decisive blow with both daggers, his movements swift and sure as he strikes with deadly precision.
As Orin falls, life draining from her body, Astarion reels back with a sharp breath, the toll of the battle evident in the weariness that weighs upon him. Delphie lands gracefully behind him, her concern evident as she watches him falter, his hand clutching his abdomen in a gesture of pain before he collapses to his knees.
"Astarion!" Delphie's voice rings out with alarm and fear, her heart seizing in her chest.
"I'm alright, darling," Astarion gasps, though his voice betrays the pain he tries to mask. With a shaky hand, he reaches for the blade containing the second netherstone, his fingers trembling slightly as he retrieves it. Without hesitation, he retrieves a small vial from the pouch on his belt and hastily drinks its contents. "It's just a scratch," he reassures Delphie, though his strained breath and pallid complexion betray the severity of his condition.
Concern etches lines of worry across Delphie's features as she moves to rush to his side, intent on offering her healing touch. However, before she can reach him, a sudden searing pain erupts from her scalp, causing her to cry out in agony. Astarion's head whips around at the sound, his eyes widening in horror as he sees Allatou gripping Delphie's hair with a cruel grip.
With a swift and merciless stroke, Allatou wields a dagger with ruthless precision, severing Delphie's long locks with a single decisive cut. The wood elf staggers to her knees, her hands trembling as she reaches up to touch the shorn ends of her once-flowing mane. Tears well up in her eyes as she realizes her mother has robbed her of a part of herself, leaving her with a painful reminder of her past trauma.
Astarion's eyes blaze with a fiery rage as he witnesses the violation of Delphie's autonomy, his heart wrenching at the sight of her anguish. He recalls their intimate conversation about her hair, how she confided in him about the significance it held for her, a symbol of freedom and autonomy reclaimed from her tumultuous past. The knowledge that Allatou has callously stripped her of this symbol fills him with a burning fury that threatens to consume him.
With a primal roar, Astarion charges towards Allatou, his mind consumed with a singular purpose: to exact vengeance for the suffering inflicted upon Delphie. His hand tightens around the hilt of his dagger, ready to plunge it into the heart of the woman who dared to harm his beloved. But as he moves to strike, a sudden paralysis seizes his limbs, rendering him immobile and powerless to act. The daggers slip from his grasp, clattering to the ground as he stands frozen in place.
Delphie sits amidst the cold, unforgiving stone floor, her once flowing locks now a disheveled pile around her, framing her hunched form like a curtain of lost dreams. Her anguish is palpable, her heart heavy with the weight of her stolen identity, yet she remains lost in her grief, oblivious to the unfolding danger around her.
Allatou, her mother, approaches with a predatory grace, her eyes alight with a twisted sense of power and superiority. She towers over Delphie, casting a shadow that seems to swallow the younger elf whole as she speaks with a voice dripping with venomous condescension. "You have always been so fixated on the smallest things like the length of your hair, ever since you were a child," she taunts, her words like daggers aimed at Delphie's wounded pride. "You're a Bhaalspawn, Delphnye. Your petty vanity makes you weak. It's time for you to accept who you are!"
With a casual flick of her hand, Allatou releases Astarion from his paralysis, sending the pale elf hurtling backwards with a burst of raw energy. Delphie's attention remains ensnared by her mother's words, her thoughts consumed by the bitter truths they contain.
Before Delphie can even register the danger looming over her, Allatou weaves a dark incantation, her words twisting and warping reality itself. A surge of dark energy courses through Delphie's veins, her grief and despair replaced by a cold, calculated resolve. With a silent command, she rises to her feet.
Astarion's eyes widen in horror as he witnesses the unsettling transformation overtaking Delphie, her intentions veiled behind closed eyes, her mind no longer her own. His heart races with fear and desperation as Allatou leans in close, her voice a whisper in Delphie's ear, her words a chilling command that threatens to tear their fragile bond asunder. "Kill him."