"Why in the Nine Hells am I not dead..." Ishta sighed, her voice full of disbelief. She rubbed her bruised elbow, wincing slightly as she gazed down at the unconscious form of Shadowheart. Behind her, the still-burning wreck of the Nautiloid cast a sinister red glow over the beach where she had just woken up. Gigantic, pulsing tentacles surrounded them, two of which formed an arch above her head. Staring at the giant suckers, Ishta had to repress a sudden craving for calamari. 'Gods, your brain is weird sometimes, Ishta,' she thought, a wry smile tugging at her lips despite the chaos.
The beach was a scene of utter devastation. The acrid smell of burning wreckage mingled with the salty tang of the sea air. Smoke curled upwards in lazy spirals, painting the dawn sky with streaks of black. The distant cries of seagulls, usually a calming sound, now seemed eerie and out of place amid the destruction.
Turning her focus back to Shadowheart, Ishta felt a twinge of concern. She knelt beside her, and began to visually inspect her for any injuries. Shadowheart's dark hair was matted with sand and blood, but as far as she could tell there were no major wounds on her head. Ishta's eyes were drawn to a peculiar metal object clasped in the Cleric's hand. She briefly considered taking it from her, curiosity piqued, but decided to leave it alone. It felt wrong to take advantage of her in such a state.
That decision turned out to be a wise one. As Ishta reached out to check her pulse, Shadowheart's eyes suddenly fluttered open. She gasped and sat up abruptly, her eyes wide with confusion and suspicion.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, her voice tinged with mistrust.
Ishta quickly pulled her hands back, holding them up in a placating gesture. "Just checking to see if you had anything worth pinching," she joked, trying to lighten the mood with a mischievous smile.
Shadowheart stared at her blankly for a moment before her expression softened slightly. "Well, that's honest of you. Don't do it again - I'll give you a pass this time, considering I owe you my life."
Ishta laughed softly, shaking her head. "I was actually checking you for injuries, but you seem to be as surprisingly unscathed as I am. Don't suppose you have any idea how we managed that? I, for one, have no idea how I survived a fall from several hundred feet in the air, even if the beach is really soft here," she observed, running a handful of white sand through her fingers.
The grains sifted through her hand like the fleeting memories of the crash, each one slipping away before she could fully grasp it. The eerie sounds of their surroundings added to the surreal atmosphere. The gentle lapping of waves was overshadowed by strange, loud noises. It sounded like the groans of a huge, wounded animal mixed with the metallic creaking of broken machinery. Ishta's senses were on high alert, every unfamiliar sound making her twitch slightly.
Shadowheart frowned and looked around, her eyes scanning the wreckage and the unfamiliar coastline. "I'm not sure. I remember the ship, I remember falling... then nothing," she said hesitantly, her voice trembling slightly with residual fear and confusion.
Ishta stood up, wincing as her bruised body protested the movement, and offered her hand to the cleric. Shadowheart, however, declined the offer, determined to show her strength despite the circumstances. She rose to her feet unaided and walked over to a nearby pool of water. Kneeling by the edge, she cupped her hands and splashed the cool water on her face, scrubbing away the blood and grime.
Calling back over her shoulder, she said, "First things first—we need supplies, shelter, and most of all, a healer. We might have escaped, but we still have these little monsters in our heads." Her voice carried a steely resolve, masking the underlying fear of the unknown parasites within them.
Ishta watched her thoughtfully, feeling a surge of admiration for how quickly Shadowheart had recovered and her keen survival instincts. There was a strength in the Cleric that was reassuring to see.
"So you want to stay together then?" Ishta asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice as Shadowheart re-joined her.
Shadowheart shrugged and gave a slight smile, her eyes flashing with determination. "We need each other, and we both know what's at stake—I can't think of better company. I also wanted to thank you again for freeing me. It would've been all too easy for you to run right past my pod, but you didn't. I'll remember that."
Ishta dipped her head in acknowledgment of the Cleric's words, smiling softly as the pair began to walk towards the wreckage, their eyes darting around to scan for anything useful.
Along the way, they stumbled upon the corpses of several humans and elves. The bodies lay twisted and broken, some looking like they might have been from the crash, their faces frozen in expressions of terror. The rest appeared to be fishermen, their simple clothing and the contents of their pockets confirming their identity. Ishta knelt beside one of the bodies, her fingers deftly searching through the tattered garments. She found a small, weathered coin purse and a few fishing hooks, pocketing them with a practiced efficiency.
As she did so, she glanced over to see how Shadowheart reacted to her macabre scavenging tactics. The Cleric was kneeling beside another body, her face set in a mask of concentration as she searched through the man's belongings. To Ishta's satisfaction, Shadowheart seemed just as preoccupied with the task at hand, showing no signs of distaste.
'Good,' thought Ishta approvingly, 'she's practical and not squeamish.'
They continued their search, moving through the wreckage with a grim sense of purpose. The debris was scattered across the shore, a chaotic mix of splintered wood, massive chunks of organic matter, torn sails, and the remnants of what once must have been a thriving fishing village. Ishta's eyes were sharp, her movements swift as she picked up bits of food, pieces of cloth, and tools that might aid them in their journey. Each discovery, no matter how small, felt like a triumph, a step towards their uncertain future.
At one point, Ishta found a small, intricately carved wooden box, half-buried in the sand. She brushed off the sand and opened it, revealing a collection of delicate seashells. The sight of the shells, a remnant of a simpler, happier time, brought a brief sad smile to her lips before she tucked the box into her bag.
Shadowheart, meanwhile, had discovered a stash of dried fish, still wrapped in oilcloth. She held it up with a nod of approval, and Ishta felt a flicker of hope. It wasn't much, but it was something to sustain them until she could find an opportunity to go hunting.
The sounds of the crashing waves and the groans of the Nautiloid became a background symphony to their grim task. The once-mighty ship now lay in ruins, its tentacles limp and lifeless, a stark reminder of the chaos that had brought them here.
After several hours of scavenging for supplies—and a couple of violent but brief encounters with roaming Intellect Devourers—Ishta and Shadowheart had long since left the main sections of wreckage behind. They were now making their way up a narrow, winding trail leading towards the outer fringes of a dense pine forest. The air grew cooler and fresher as they ascended, filled with the scent of cedar and damp earth. The ground beneath their feet was uneven, scattered with pine needles and small rocks, making each step a cautious endeavour.
Shadows cast by the tall trees stretched long and twisted, creating an almost surreal landscape. As they walked, they came across numerous primitive traps, cleverly hidden yet deadly. They also found a couple of dead Goblins, their bodies lying lifeless and crumpled. Ishta, experienced with dealing with Goblin raiders, knew to be extra cautious in their territory. Goblins could be unpredictable, just as likely to simply threaten and rob travellers as they were to ambush and murder without warning.
Tension hung in the air, and both women moved with heightened awareness, their senses keenly attuned to any potential danger. Each snap of a twig or flutter of leaves put them on edge. The forest seemed to hold its breath, watching their every move.
Scattered around the trail were several pods, remnants of the crashed ship. Some were completely crushed, their occupants nothing more than mangled heaps of bones and flesh, a gruesome testament to the violence of the crash. Others were intact but ominously empty. Ishta knelt beside one pod, inspecting the deep grooves in the earth where something had crawled away. She spied footprints leading away from the pod and quickened her pace, her heart pounding with a mix of hope and trepidation.
Further down the trail, she noticed a flicker of movement among the trees. Her pulse quickened as she turned to Shadowheart. "Looks like there might be another survivor over there," she pointed out, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized a figure further up the path. The figure moved slowly, almost cautiously, and Ishta's mind raced with possibilities. Friend or foe? Another scavenger, or someone in need of help?
Ishta paused, cocking her head slightly as she watched the person turn towards them. The figure emerged from the shadows, revealing fine, unblemished clothing that stood in stark contrast to the wreckage and carnage surrounding them. "A very… well-dressed survivor, it would seem," she added, a faint hint of amusement lacing her voice.
Despite the potential danger, a burgeoning curiosity pushed Ishta forward. She continued heading towards the figure, her stride confident and unhurried, yet every muscle in her body remained tense, ready to react.
"Hurry," the man beckoned her as she drew near, his voice tinged with urgency as he pointed towards a patch of tall grass. "I've got one of those brain things cornered. There, in the grass. You can kill it, can't you? Like you killed the others."
Ishta ran a critical eye over the man standing in front of her, noting his expensive-looking, gold-embroidered doublet and the way he carried himself with a certain grace. His fine, pale features and silver hair marked him as one of the Eladrin, possibly Teu'Tel'Quessir or Moon Elf. His manner of speech indicated an educated background; most likely he was a nobleman of some sorts. 'And probably completely clueless on how to survive out in the wilds,' she thought scornfully, her lip curling imperceptibly.
"Easily. Stand back," she commanded, waving him out of the way dismissively. As she passed the elf, she drew one of her scimitars with a smooth, practiced motion, her eyes scanning the long grass with a predator's focus.
"There, can you see it?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly as he backed away from her.
There was a rustling sound, and Ishta tensed, her muscles coiled like a spring, ready to unleash lethal force. A sharp, grunting squeal reached her ears, and her eyes caught sight of a large boar bolting out from the grass and racing away from them into the forest. Ishta frowned and relaxed her stance, a look of disdain crossing her face. "It's just a dumb boar," she scoffed, sheathing her blade with a swift, irritated motion.
As she did so, Ishta caught the faint glint of something metallic out of the corner of her eye. She spun around just in time to see the pale elf had drawn a dagger on her. As he lunged, Ishta sidestepped his attack with a grace and precision born from years of rigorous training. She thrust out her foot to trip him as he swept past her, but to her surprise, he anticipated her move and dodged. 'Huh… good reflexes,' she noted silently, her respect for him grudgingly increasing.
The elf now stood facing her, his dagger poised, his manner tense and threatening. Now that he was closer, Ishta could make out the details on his clothing, her keen eyes picking up on a few subtle signs of wear. The gold embroidery, though exquisite, was starting to unravel in places, and certain areas looked a little threadbare. 'So, a nobleman fallen on hard times then,' she mused, staring curiously at him. Her attention was drawn to the colour of his eyes, and for a moment, Ishta's heart skipped a beat. They were red; crimson as spilt blood. Memories came unbidden to her mind, and she pushed them away with a fierce mental shove, reminding herself that it wasn't that uncommon a colour these days.
Sensing Shadowheart swiftly coming up behind her, Ishta put out her arm to halt the Cleric and addressed the hostile man. "If this is a robbery, then you're off to a bad start, mate…" she cautioned, her voice dripping with derision, her eyes gleaming dangerously.
"I just need information. I saw you scuttling about on the ship," the elf demanded menacingly, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that he was outnumbered. "You're in league with them, aren't you? Those tentacled - argh!"
His words were cut short as he doubled over in pain and grasped his head. At the same time, Ishta felt her own head start to spin. 'Gods, not again…' she mentally groaned as the visions swept over her. She was looking out of unfamiliar eyes, prowling dark, busy streets. Feelings of anticipation mingled with fear and a deep yearning need for… something. Ishta tried to hold onto the memories, but they slipped from her grasp, fading into the twisting chaos before the connection broke. The elf almost dropped his dagger as he stumbled back, dazed and shaking his head. "What was that? What's going on?" he asked, his tone changing to one of fear and confusion.
Rubbing over her left eye, Ishta sighed in irritation. "Honestly, I have no idea, and I really wish it would stop happening."
"It's those tentacled monsters. Whatever they did - whatever they put in us - just created a connection," the elf stated thoughtfully, his voice softening. "They took you too. I saw it during... whatever just happened."
Ishta nodded, her expression hardening. "Yes. We were both kidnapped, same as you."
The elf relaxed his posture and slowly put his dagger away, a smile forming on his face. "And to think I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. Apologies," he said, bowing his head formally and smiling at Ishta, who wasn't impressed with his attempt at civility.
"I admire your confidence," she remarked with a cold smile, "but it wouldn't have been my innards decorating the ground, I can assure you."
Astarion felt a slight shiver run down his spine at her words. Her tone was icy, a clear warning that any attempt on her life would end poorly for him. Looking at her, he had no doubt she could make good on the threat. Her air of calm detachment was unnerving, and he sensed that she didn't see him as much of a threat despite his attempt to appear otherwise. She had the bronzed skin and golden eyes typical of Ar-tel-quessir or Sun Elves, with copper-hued hair that shone like fire in the rays of the afternoon sun. She wore typical Ranger's gear: a dark brown leather jerkin, pauldrons, vambrace, and a hunting bow and belt quiver alongside two gleaming silver scimitars.
The dark-haired, green-eyed half-elf beside her was dressed in a mixture of leather, chainmail, and plate armour, holding a mace tightly in her hands. She looked ready to use it against him but seemed to be deferring to the Ranger. 'So, the golden she-elf is the leader here then,' he surmised. If he played his cards right, there might be an opportunity to ally himself with them, as long as he didn't piss them off more than he already had.
"Ah, a kindred spirit," Astarion purred, flashing a charming smile at the Ranger and then bowing to the two women. "My name is Astarion. I was in Baldur's Gate when those beasts snatched me."
He could feel the Ranger's eyes scanning over every inch of him, observing and assessing. He hoped she liked what she saw; it would make ingratiating himself into her company that much easier.
"I'm Ishta," the Ranger replied coolly, her eyes narrowing slightly. "And this is Shadowheart." Her voice was steady, with a hint of nonchalance. "So far today, I have fought my way through a Nautiloid ship in Avernus, crashed that same ship and then woken up on a beach, having miraculously survived said crash…" She paused, her gaze hardening as she continued, "and just recently, I was threatened by a moron with a dagger."
'Ah… so not liking what she sees then. Shit.'
Astarion decided to politely ignore her pointed comment and murmured, "My my. You've been busy." He tried to keep his tone light, a smile playing on his lips. She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed, but he continued on, asking hopefully, "So, did you learn anything about these worms while wandering the ship?"
The two women exchanged a look, and he felt a knot grow in his stomach; it had not been a positive expression.
"You could say that, yes. They are going to turn us into Mindflayers," Ishta informed him, her voice taking on a slightly sinister, sing-song quality as if she found the whole idea morbidly funny. He stared at her in shock for a moment.
"Turn us into—ha. Hahaha!" There was no mirth in the laugh he gave, as Astarion realized his earlier hopes were premature. "Of course, it'll turn me into a monster. What else did I expect?" he muttered bitterly, his shoulders sagging slightly.
Ishta cocked her head at him, a look of amused puzzlement on her face. Not wanting to further her curiosity about him, Astarion quickly added, "Although it hasn't happened yet. If we can find an expert—someone who can control these things—there might still be time."
"Control them? We need to get rid of them," Shadowheart spoke up, her grip tightening on her mace.
Trying to keep the irritation out of his voice, Astarion agreed, "Well yes, of course. But first things first."
Ishta shook her head and turned to leave. "Well, good luck with that. I've wasted enough time here already. Farewell."
Astarion stared at her with his mouth open for a second, panic rising in his throat; this was not going according to plan at all. He blurted out, "Wait, that's it? 'You're doomed, sorry,' and then off to the next adventure?"
Ishta turned back to him and gave another cold smile. "You probably shouldn't have threatened me with a dagger then, mate."
Astarion frowned and stepped towards her, trying to keep his voice calm. "These worms are doing something—I can feel it. What are you going to do about it?"
She put a hand to her chin and rubbed it theatrically, her eyes mocking. "That's... none of your business. Why don't you ask the boar? He might have answers for you," she smiled sweetly, her eyes glinting with a dangerous light.
'Damn this woman!' He could feel the anger rising in him at her flippant disregard for his plight. "Funny," he said through gritted teeth.
This had clearly been an absolute disaster, and Astarion knew there was no point now in asking to join the pair. They had obviously judged him and found him wanting... something he was used to, but it still rankled all the same. He affected an air of nonchalance as he watched the two women walk away and called out after them, "Well, maybe I'll see you again. Still wearing the same skin, I hope."
"Doubt it," came the cheerful reply over Ishta's shoulder.
"Bitch," Astarion growled to himself, feeling the sting of rejection more keenly than he cared to admit. 'Now what do I do?' he wondered, staring out into the unfamiliar surroundings. Having someone like that Ranger on his side would have been perfect in a place like this. As beautiful as the forest was, he was under no illusions that it was a safe place to be. Any manner of dangers might lurk out there amongst the trees, and while Astarion was no stranger to living by his wits and blade, this wilderness was a far cry from the dark alleys and bawdy taverns he was accustomed to in Baldur's Gate.
"Suppose I might as well just sit and wait for the next lot of survivors to appear," he mumbled despondently, taking a seat on a fallen tree branch. Surely there must be more of them, and if so, perhaps there were some that would be more inclined to lend him aid. He would just need to be patient and hope nothing more... unsavoury found him in the meantime.
The drifting clouds above parted for a moment, and a beam of sunlight fell upon the back of his hand. Astarion resisted the urge to flinch and slowly turned his hand over and over in the light, savouring the warmth prickling against his skin, and smiled; he still couldn't believe it was possible.
His thoughts drifted back to the chaos of the crash. Astarion was still uncertain how he had survived, as the pod he had been trapped in had plummeted from the skies to the ground. The impact when it landed had shattered the transparent, domed section, throwing him clear of the wreckage and knocking him unconscious. He had awaken hours later, disoriented and bruised to the sight of sunlight filtering through the surrounding trees. It was a scene so ordinary, yet to him, it had been miraculous. For two centuries, the sun had been his enemy, its rays a deadly threat. Yet, there he had stood, bathed in its light, alive and unharmed.
Astarion's initial reaction had been one of disbelief and cautious joy. He had stood there, trembling slightly, eyes closed as he let the sunlight wash over him. The warmth felt like a long-lost embrace, tender and welcoming. It filled him with a sense of rebirth, as if he had been granted a second chance at life.
However, the initial euphoria had begun to wane, replaced by uncertainty and fear. This world was new and unfamiliar, filled with threats he could not yet name. And in the back of his mind, a nagging dread gnawed at him—the fear that his master, Cazador would be looking for him.
As he scanned the dense forest, every rustle of leaves and distant animal call set his nerves on edge. The dread of Cazador's wrath was a shadow that loomed over him, a dark cloud that tainted even the brightest moments. The thought of those harsh, cruel eyes finding him again, of the chains and torment he had barely escaped, was enough to make his blood run cold—as cold as the steel he suddenly felt being pressed against his neck.
Astarion froze, his breath hitching and heart pounding as a dagger slid past his face, the sharp edge dancing lightly across the skin under his chin. His pulse thundered in his ears, and he held his breath, painfully aware that even the slightest flinch could result in his carotid artery being sliced open. The sensation was a chilling reminder of how close death always was.
"Now this is how you threaten someone…" a voice purred menacingly.
His eyes widened as he recognized the voice. 'How in the hells did she sneak up on me so quietly?' he wondered in alarm. The fear was quickly replaced by a wave of embarrassment and anger. Swallowing nervously, Astarion slowly raised his hands, palms out to show he held no weapon. Trying to appear much calmer than he felt, he forced a cheerful tone, "Hello again. Still alive, I see."
"How observant. Yes, not much has really changed within the past half hour… including your position, it would seem," Ishta replied, a hint of amusement in her voice. He could detect a faint trace of mockery, and he felt his anger rising again, his pride stung by her nonchalance. The sensation of cold metal against his neck abruptly disappeared, accompanied by the sound of a dagger being sheathed.
Springing up, Astarion spun around and reached for his own dagger, only to find, to his dismay, that it was gone. Looking at the Ranger, he saw her holding it up and examining the blade, turning it around to catch the light. She glanced at him with laughing eyes, and he clenched his fists angrily.
"What do you want?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous, eyes narrowing into slits.
"Well, first of all, this edge is a mess. Needs a good sharpening," Ishta remarked, tossing the dagger back to him. He deftly caught it in mid-air by the hilt and looked at her with a mixture of surprise and annoyance. Folding her arms, the Ranger quietly observed him as he returned the blade to the sheath on his belt, his movements stiff and controlled.
"Is that all you came back to say?" Astarion asked testily, his patience wearing thin, his usual charm stripped away by the tension and humiliation of the encounter.
Ishta shook her head and smiled slyly. "No. I came back to test a theory."
Astarion stiffened slightly, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 'Surely she can't already suspect I'm a Vampire...' The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
"And what theory might that be?" he inquired casually, striving to keep his tone light and unconcerned.
"That you won't survive for long out here without help. If I could sneak up on you that easily without even trying, then I guarantee the predators of this forest are going to be eating gourmet tonight," Ishta grinned, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of mischief and mild concern.
Her words struck a chord, and Astarion felt a pang of vulnerability as he reflected on the harsh reality of his situation. He'd been so caught up in his own thoughts that he'd allowed this damned Ranger to get close enough to lay a blade on him. Either she was extremely stealthy, or he was getting sloppy. Neither explanation was very encouraging, but maybe there was still a chance to turn things around. She must have sought him out for a reason, unless she just enjoyed toying with people…
The Ranger's tone became more serious as she continued, "Look, the wilds can be a pretty dangerous place for someone on their own even at the best of times. Add to that, roaming Intellect Devourers, Mindflayers, and definitely Goblin raiders, and well… I think it would be best if you joined me and my companion after all."
Astarion could feel his pride warring with the stark truth in her words. He was no fool—he knew that his chances alone were slim. But to accept her offer would be to acknowledge his weakness, to admit he needed help, and that was a bitter pill to swallow.
He took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as he studied Ishta. Her confident stance and the way her eyes constantly flicked from his face to their surroundings indicated she was fully alert and taking in every detail around them. She wasn't wrong about the dangers; the forest was more than likely teeming with threats, and he was far from his best while starving as he was. If her fighting skills matched her calm confidence, then Astarion knew he'd be a fool to pass up an opportunity to ally himself with her—as much as he hated to admit it.
"I was ready to go this alone, but maybe sticking with the herd isn't a bad idea. Safety in numbers, after all," he said slowly, each word feeling like a concession. "And anyone that can crash a Mindflayer ship and walk away unscathed seems like a good person to know. All right, I accept. Lead on." He bowed, keeping his tone light, almost dismissive, but inside he felt a gnawing irritation at the situation. He hated needing anyone, but he hated the thought of becoming a Mindflayer's meal even more.
"Alright then, glad that's settled," Ishta said, gesturing for him to follow her.
Astarion fell into step beside her, his boots crunching softly on the underbrush. The further away they walked from the beach area where his pod had landed, the thicker the forest around them started to grow. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, and he quickly became aware of a problem he hadn't foreseen. Spending most of his life living in a city had left him a bit out of practice when it came to traveling over terrain that wasn't a paved street or tavern floor. While he was a master of stealth and grace in a dark alley, the chaotic jumble of branches, grasping vines, and uneven stones were proving slightly more of a challenge to navigate than he would have liked. Astarion couldn't help but notice the fluidity of Ishta's movements, the way she seemed to glide through the terrain with ease; a contrast to his slightly more clumsy steps.
As if sensing his observation, she turned to him with an apologetic grin. "Oh, and sorry for the dagger thing. You were miles away, lost in thought, and I couldn't resist a little payback. One thing you might need to know about me is I tend to hold grudges."
Astarion frowned slightly, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "I will try to remember that in the future," he replied, his voice tinged with irony.
Ishta chuckled, the sound light and untroubled, contrasting sharply with the tension he felt. "Now that we are even, just don't do anything to piss me off, and I'm sure we will get along just fine," she said with a casual shrug, her eyes scanning the surroundings with practiced vigilance. "So who are you then? What's your story?" she asked him.
Astarion quickly wondered which of his many personas to use and decided to go with the easiest to remember. "Oh, what's to tell? I'm a magistrate back in Baldur's Gate. It's all rather tedious, really," he answered, adding a distracted wave of his hand.
Ishta halted and turned to stare at him. "A magistrate," she repeated, a slight curl appearing in the corner of her mouth, "how… useful."
The slight pause before the last word did not go unnoticed, and Astarion felt a mixture of amusement and indignation at her clear disdain for his supposed profession. As she started to move again, he overheard her mutter under her breath, "I give him three days tops before he's eaten by a bear."
Astarion stood for a moment, his mouth hanging open as he struggled to decide if he should be angry or burst out laughing. In the past, when he'd used this line on people, the respect and fawning admiration it had garnered from the more impressionable members of both the upper and lower classes had been a useful tool. This woman, however, appeared to be completely unimpressed with titles or status. If he wanted to curry favour with her, he would have to work harder than he was used to; she was definitely sharper than the marks he usually targeted.
Catching up to her, Astarion couldn't help but feel a tinge of curiosity about Ishta. He began to wonder if his earlier guess at her heritage might be wrong. She may have the insufferably arrogant bearing of a Sun Elf, but there was a more savage wildness to her that spoke of someone who revelled in nature rather than in the trappings of civilization. Perhaps Wood Elf, then? No matter—if he was going to survive out here in the wilds, he might as well learn from the best. Despite his initial irritation, he couldn't deny the sense of security he felt in her presence. For now, he would bide his time, watch, and learn; and find a way to turn this situation to his advantage. Pride might be a luxury, but survival was a necessity. And he was nothing if not a survivor.
"So, what made you change your mind then?" he asked curiously as the two of them emerged from the dense forest and onto what looked like a well-traversed path.
Ishta glanced at him and gave a half-smile, her expression softening. "Sudden attack of conscience," she admitted with a slight shrug. Her face became more serious, and a touch of regret softened her voice as she continued, "There were a lot of victims on that ship, and most didn't make it out alive. I owe it to the ones I left behind to at least try and help the survivors." She paused, her eyes momentarily distant, as if haunted by the memories of those she couldn't save.
'A heroic type then, even better,' Astarion thought, a smug smile curling on his lips.
"So, after Shadowheart and I found a good spot to set up camp, I decided to come back and see if you wanted to join us," Ishta finished, her voice regaining its usual strength.
"How very noble of you," he remarked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He couldn't resist the urge to poke at her idealism after her earlier comment about him.
The Ranger snorted in amusement, shaking her head. "Yes, I very nobly kicked a few trees out of temper on my way to you," she confessed, her voice lightening. She demonstrated with a playful kick at a nearby rock, sending it skittering across the path. "It came down to a battle between my irritation at your little ambush trick and my guilt at abandoning you… guilt won," she grinned at him.
Despite himself, Astarion smiled back at her, his curiosity about this Ranger deepening. Her bluntness and self-awareness were a refreshing change from the usual types he met, who always presented carefully curated versions of themselves, designed to manipulate or deceive. Ishta genuinely seemed unconcerned with making a good impression, and her stark honesty intrigued him. Maybe traveling with her wouldn't be too unbearable after all…