Sunlight seeped through the tent, bathing Astarion in a warm, golden glow that slowly stirred him awake. For a moment, he was disoriented as he gazed up at the canvas ceiling above. But then a smile spread across his face as he savoured the rare feeling of being well-rested. The previous night's feeding had revitalized him in ways he hadn't experienced in days, maybe even weeks. His body felt supple and strong, his senses sharp and alert. He could hear birds chirping in the distance and leaves rustling outside with remarkable acuity.
As he stretched, a vague memory from his dreams tugged at his mind. There had been a nightmare—one of those dark, tormenting dreams that often left him feeling emotionally drained and vulnerable. Yet this time, the usual fear was muted. Instead, a strange sense of protection lingered, as if someone had stood guard over him and chased away the darkness.
Ishta.
The thought of her name brought a strange mix of emotions. He could almost see her in the dream, standing firm and defiant, shielding him from unseen horrors. The details were hazy, slipping away like mist in the morning sun, but the feeling remained. Astarion shook his head, trying to dispel the remnants of the dream. He couldn't quite understand why she would be in his mind, especially in such a protective role. After all, they were companions by necessity, not by choice. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more he couldn't deny the gratitude that welled up within him. It was an unsettling feeling, foreign and unfamiliar, but not entirely unwelcome.
He sat up and looked around his tent—finding his shirt laying crumpled next to him where he had thrown it before falling into an exhausted sleep; too tired to meditate for a trance. He reached for it and put it on, the fabric comforting against his skin.
As he dressed himself in his leather armour, he thought back to the previous night's hunt. The thrill of chasing and catching a boar, satisfying his hunger in a way he hadn't been allowed to in years, was exhilarating.
He stood up, his movements graceful and fluid, and stepped out of the tent. The camp was still quiet, with most of the others still asleep or just beginning to stir. The morning air was crisp and fresh, carrying the scent of dew-soaked earth and leaves and the promise of a new day.
Astarion's gaze drifted over to where Ishta's tent stood, the fabric gently swaying with the morning breeze. He felt a strange pull towards it, a curiosity mingled with an unspoken sense of debt. He owed her something, though he couldn't quite define what it was.
Ignoring the feeling, he moved across the camp and knelt by the dying embers of last night's fire, poking at the ashes absently with a stick. As he watched the flickering remnants of the fire, Astarion couldn't shake off the imagery of Ishta in his dream, her fierce determination and unwavering strength juxtaposed with the vulnerability he had felt in her presence.
Frustration bubbled up in his chest and he poked harder at the ashes. The last thing he needed was to fall into the trap of hero worship again. He couldn't ignore the similarities between Ishta and a certain Drow Ranger from stories and songs he'd overheard in taverns. It was safer though to idolize someone from the pages of a book than to put all his hope in a real person who would ultimately disappoint him. But as he continued tending to the fire, a part of him couldn't help but wonder if Ishta would let him down like all the others before her, or was it possible that things might be different this time?
Lost in thought, he was startled by the sudden rustle of movement behind him. Turning his head sharply, he saw Ishta emerge from the undergrowth carrying a bundle of kindling. She walked over to the campfire and tossed the assortment of sticks and pinecones onto the embers. He leaned back sharply as sparks exploded outwards and frowned at her slightly as she brushed off dirt and flecks of bark from her hands before turning to face him.
Astarion quickly adjusted his facial expression, mustering a fake smile as he greeted her. His voice was carefully modulated and smooth, "Good morning, my dear. Did you sleep well?" His words lingered in the air, accompanied by an unreadable flicker in Ishta's expression.
She stared at him for a moment before responding curtly, "Good morning."
Ishta's intense gaze made Astarion feel uneasy and he fidgeted under her watchful eyes. There was something different about her this morning—a tightness in her jaw and a cold glint in her golden irises.
He stood up from where he had been squatting by the fire, feeling an unease mirrored by the crackling embers. A troubling thought crossed his mind—had she discovered his late night hunt?
He observed Ishta as she tended to the fire and heated up a pot of water, moving quickly and efficiently amidst the smoke. At one point, a log rolled out of the fire and he reached out to catch it, but flinched when Ishta snatched it away and snapped, "I've got this, go sharpen a dagger or something."
Her words were like daggers themselves, cutting through their supposed camaraderie. He tried to shake off the feeling, telling himself it was just the chill of the morning making her grumpy. But the seed of doubt had been planted. He replayed the previous night in his mind, searching for any sign that he had been careless, that his secret had been revealed. When she turned back to face him, her tense posture did little to ease his racing thoughts.
As Ishta opened her mouth to speak, Astarion braced himself for accusations and hostility. But all she said was, "Let's hope today is the day we find answers about these tadpoles," before walking past him to greet the others emerging from their tents.
Relieved, he let out a deep breath and watched her walk away, her figure standing out boldly against the rising sun. Ishta may not suspect him yet, but Astarion felt like he was on thin ice. One wrong move could change everything, and he wasn't sure if he was prepared for the consequences.
He took in a breath of the crisp morning air, trying to quiet his racing mind. From now on, he needed to be more cautious around Ishta. Losing her trust was not an option when their lives were intertwined.
Taking a seat on one of the fallen logs near the fire, he stared broodingly into the steadily growing flames, wondering what the day might bring.
Ishta couldn't help but notice Astarion's subdued demeanour, and she felt a twinge of guilt. She hadn't intended to snap at him earlier, but her nerves were still raw from the events of the previous night. The lingering soreness in her arms and knuckles only added to her sour mood, as did the lack of sleep from keeping watch over Astarion's tent like a hawk.
Despite what she had witnessed in his dream and his decision to hunt an animal instead of one of them, Ishta refused to let her guard down. He may have been a victim of a cruel master, but he was still a Vampire. Her deep-seated hatred for his kind couldn't be erased in just one night.
Astarion's suffering didn't change the fact that Vampires were masters of manipulation. And based on what she had already seen of him, Ishta had no reason to believe he would be any different. Despite this, she also couldn't shake off the memories of his pain and torment. It made her hesitant to confront him or reveal his true nature to their companions. She could control her own feelings about him, but she couldn't speak for the others. The last thing they needed was more conflict. So instead, Ishta decided to keep a close and wary eye on Astarion at all times.
While he was currently occupied with brooding, Ishta turned her attention away from observing him to the large wooden chest that had mysteriously appeared overnight at the edges of the camp. It was intricately carved with ornate designs, each swirl and figure meticulously etched into the wood, standing out against the dreary backdrop of the camp. The chest's size and appearance were both ominous and intriguing, sparking the curiosity of all who laid eyes upon it. Interestingly, it had appeared very close to where their resident crypt-keeper had chosen to stand vigil.
"Withers… you wouldn't happen to know where this box came from, would you?" Ishta asked the skeletal man, her tone a mix of suspicion and fascination.
Withers stared at her with his usual calm detachment and nodded. "It is a gift from one who desires thy travels to be swift and unburdened."
Ishta raised an eyebrow at Withers' response. "A gift, you say? And who exactly might this generous benefactor be?"
"That is not important," he stated, his voice resonating with an air of finality.
Cautiously, Ishta approached the chest, her fingers tracing the intricate carvings that decorated its surface. Each design seemed to tell a story, some of adventure, others of loss and longing. She felt a connection to the stories, as if the chest itself was alive with the echoes of the past. With a deep breath, she grasped the heavy iron latch and lifted the lid.
Inside, the chest was completely empty.
Ishta gave the skeletal man a puzzled look and thought she detected a hint of amusement in his sunken eyes. She couldn't help but smile as she studied him, feeling like there was more to this situation than what met the eye.
She became aware of Astarion peering over her shoulder. "It's empty," he stated matter-of-factly.
"Yes, thank you for stating the obvious, Astarion. I do have functioning eyes," she replied with a hint of annoyance, rolling them for emphasis.
Intrigued, Ishta decided to test out a theory. She grabbed a small pot from the cooking fire and carefully placed it inside the chest. To her amazement, the pot shrank down to a minuscule size within the vast emptiness of the chest.
"Did you see that?" she exclaimed excitedly, forgetting her irritation. She reached in and retrieved the pot, watching in awe as it returned to its original size. Her eyes sparkled with childlike wonder and she let out a delighted laugh. "This is incredible!"
Astarion raised an eyebrow. "Curious," he admitted, trying to hide his own fascination .
Ishta, now fully engrossed in this discovery, ran back to her partially dismantled tent and quickly rolled it up. She carried the bundle of cloth and poles to the chest with determination and slowly lowered it into the depths.
Peering down, she giggled at the sight of her once large tent now reduced to the size of her pinkie finger.
"I'm not going to lie, this is pretty incredible," she grinned, marvelling at its capabilities.
"It is curious what mortals find to be of wonder," Withers observed, almost thoughtfully. "The magic of this artifact is simple, but I believe it will prove to be of some use to thee."
"Simple for you, perhaps," Ishta retorted with a playful smile.
Gale, who had been watching her experimentation with an intense and eager expression, finally stepped forward. "By the gods, is that a genuine Gilded Chest of Holding?" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with both awe and excitement. "I haven't seen one of those in years. You could fit the entire contents of a castle inside with room to spare!"
Ishta glanced over at Withers, who was still observing her with a glint in his eyes. She narrowed her gaze, feeling a surge of determination and curiosity. Turning back to the chest, she nudged Gale and Astarion aside, her movements deliberate and focused. With a deep breath, she closed the lid and grasped the chest by its two leather handles.
To her astonishment, the chest was completely weightless, as if it defied the very laws of nature. It seemed to shrink between her arms, contracting and folding in on itself. In just seconds, it had transformed into the size of a small jewellery box, light enough to fit effortlessly into one of her belt pouches.
Gale was staring at the object she held in her hands, his mouth wide open in sheer disbelief. "Tha… that's not a Chest of Holding," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "That's… an Astral Reliquary!"
Ishta's eyes widened as she turned the small box over in her hands, marvelling at its weightlessness and the immense power it held. "An Astral Reliquary?" she echoed, her voice filled with a mixture of awe and curiosity.
Gale nodded, still visibly stunned. "Yes, it's an artifact of immense power. It doesn't just store objects; it transcends the material plane. We could even store an entire world within its confines."
Ishta felt a surge of excitement and responsibility course through her veins. The implications of this discovery were staggering. She glanced up at Withers, who continued to watch her with an inscrutable expression. "Withers… I could kiss you right now!" she exclaimed, the full realization of how much easier this object would make their travels washing over her.
She paused, noting the slow blink he gave—the closest thing she'd seen to seen to an emotion on his face—and grinned cheekily. "But neither of us wants that," she added. "So I'll settle for a wholehearted thank you. And yes, yes, I know. 'Thanks are not needed'."
"Indeed. They are, however, appreciated," Withers informed her with a slight bow of his head, his tone as calm and measured as ever.
"Well, I don't have any spare worlds lying around, but I do have a rather heavy pack I'm more than delighted to toss in there," Astarion remarked, a wry smile playing on his lips.
Ishta laughed, the sound light and joyful, a stark contrast to her earlier strained mood. She looked up and a wave of unease swept through her as she met his crimson eyes. The joy on her face faded as she remembered what the man standing before her was, and she turned away quickly. Placing the box down, she watched in silence as it expanded back to it's original size.
Straightening her posture, Ishta faced the curious onlookers—now including Shadowheart and Lae'zel—with hands on her hips. In a brusque tone, she commanded, "Alright everyone, while this will make traveling much easier, we still need to take down camp and be on the road before mid-morning. So stop staring and get to work!"
The group, still buzzing with excitement over the discovery of the chest, quickly sprang into action. With a dazed expression, Gale began organizing supplies while Ishta and Shadowheart efficiently packed away their gear. Astarion, always on the lookout for personal gain, took advantage of the newfound efficiency and swiftly gathered his belongings before dumping them all into the chest. The relief of not having to carry a pack added a bounce to his step and even prompted him to help the others with their packing—and also gave him an opportunity to search for anything valuable.
Soon, their camp was dismantled and everything was securely stored in the Astral Reliquary. Ishta's earlier command had been followed with surprising efficiency, and by the time the sun had fully risen, they were ready to move.
Ishta picked up the Reliquary and waited for it to shrink down. She then walked over to Withers. "Something as valuable as this could put our lives in even more danger," she said firmly, handing him the box. "So I think it's best that you hold onto it for us. You always seem to know where we are, and you appeared out of nowhere in our camp yesterday. I won't pretend to understand what interest you have in us, but for some strange reason, I feel I can trust you."
Withers' expression remained unreadable as he accepted the box with a slow nod, his bony fingers wrapping around it gracefully.
"Damn it all," Astarion exclaimed, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. "There goes my plan to pickpocket you and sell that Reliquary for a fortune. You just had to ruin my fun by giving it back to that pile of dusty old bones."
"You wouldn't dare," Gale interjected sharply, eyeing Astarion suspiciously.
"He would," Ishta said casually as she walked past them without even glancing their way.
"I would," Astarion confirmed with nod and an impish grin.
"Remind me to keep a close eye on all of my belongings," Gale muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
"Oh, don't worry my dear magician, you have nothing of value that would interest me. Except perhaps that Spellbook of yours… and your boots," Astarion replied, his tone thoughtful.
"I honestly can't tell if you're joking… you are joking, aren't you?" Gale asked, his brow furrowing in worried confusion.
"Maybe," Astarion said with a sly smile, enjoying the look of alarm on Gale's face as he casually sauntered away to join Ishta.
She gave him a mildly disapproving look as he approached, but shook her head in resigned amusement and remarked, "At least you're honest about being dishonest."
Astarion chuckled softly, the sound carrying a hint of genuine mirth. "It's all part of my charm, I'm afraid. One must embrace their strengths, after all."
Ishta snorted derisively, as she led the group towards the road they would be travelling on. The rest of the group followed her, their feet crunching on the dry leaves and twigs that littered the forest floor. The trees around them were gnarled and twisted, their branches reaching out like skeletal arms. The morning light filtered through the thick canopy overhead, casting a mosaic of shadows across their path.
Using some of the skills Ishta had taught him, Astarion carefully observed his surroundings, his senses trained to pick up any hidden clues. He noticed a faint pattern etched on a rock partially hidden in the undergrowth, a swirling design carved on the branches of a tree, and a small totem hanging from a thornbush. Each discovery urging them forward with renewed determination.
As they made their way through the serene forest, the peaceful ambiance was abruptly shattered by the distant sound of frantic voices. Astarion's keen ears perked up, and he saw Shadowheart share a look with Ishta, who was already unslinging her bow and holding it at the ready.
"Trouble ahead," Ishta observed coolly, her eyes scanning their surroundings for any potential threats.
"We should check it out—but do be careful," Astarion suggested cautiously, his hand close to his own weapon.
With quickened steps, the group pushed through the last of the dense foliage. Emerging from the tangled underbrush, they found themselves facing a large wooden gate, partially hidden by overgrown vines and leaves. The air was thick with tension as three armed fighters frantically banged on the gate, their voices hoarse with desperation as they begged for someone to let them in.
Suddenly, a loud baying erupted from the trees to their left, and a horde of Goblins burst out from the shadows, their guttural cries filling the air. Astarion's trained eyes darted around, counting upwards of ten raiders, each wielding primitive but deadly weapons. Among them was a hulking Bugbear, its fur matted with dirt and blood, and a massive, savage-looking Worg, its eyes glowing with a malevolent hunger. The cornered fighters were hopelessly outnumbered and outmatched and he glanced at Ishta, wondering what her plan was.
Just then, a sudden blast of dark energy struck one of the Goblin archers, causing them to drop their weapon and cry out in pain. The sharp, acrid smell of burnt flesh filled the air. A commanding voice rang out above the chaos, "Damnable roach. Provoke the Blade…" Astarion looked up to see a figure leaping down from the top of the gate with impressive agility, landing gracefully beside the cornered humans.
The newcomer was a tall, dark-skinned human clad in vibrant red padded armour. He moved with a lethal grace, effortlessly thrusting his rapier into the chest of one of the Goblins as he finished his sentence, "And suffer its sting!" The sight was both impressive and intimidating, if somewhat theatrical. The Goblin let out a gurgling gasp before crumpling to the ground.
Ishta's eyes scanned the battlefield with quick precision, her gaze narrowing as she assessed the chaos before them. She turned to her companions, her voice urgent and unyielding.
"Gale, Shadowheart, take the left flank and protect the pinned down fighters from the raiders," she barked, her command brooking no argument. She then turned to Lae'zel—or rather the spot where Lae'zel had just been standing.
"Lae'zel—oh. Never mind, she's already off." Ishta observed with a touch of amusement as the Gith woman charged into the centre of the fray, her gleaming longsword slicing through the air with deadly intent as she aimed for the Bugbear.
"Well…you can't say she isn't enthusiastic about her role," Astarion remarked, a wry smile playing on his lips as Ishta turned to face him.
"We need to take out those archers on the outcrops," she said firmly, pointing over his shoulder towards two Goblin sharpshooters perched on a nearby rocky formation. "You and I will climb up there and provide cover for the others."
The thrill of battle surged through Astarion's veins at her words, his pulse quickening with excitement. He eagerly followed Ishta as she began scaling the rocky terrain on the right side of their position. Below them, the fight raged on in a deafening cacophony of clashing weapons and primal screams. Astarion took a moment to survey the scene, his eyes scanning the carnage with a predator's focus.
Lae'zel continued to dance through the melee like a whirlwind of steel and fury, her every movement calculated and lethal. The Bugbear roared in pain and anger as she evaded its massive club with ease, taunting it with each fluid strike of her sword.
Gale and Shadowheart fought with coordinated efficiency on the left flank. Gale's hands weaved intricate patterns, calling forth bursts of fire and ice that sent Goblins flying. Shadowheart was a dark avenger, her mace crushing bones and her shield deflecting blows meant for a wounded fighter by the gate. The red-clad swordsman continued his relentless assault on their enemies, his rapier darting in and out with deadly precision.
Astarion reached the top of the outcrop, crouching low to avoid detection. Ishta had already taken position, her bow drawn and an arrow ready. With a soft twang, she released her shot, and Astarion followed its path as it found its mark in the throat of a Goblin sharpshooter. The creature fell from its perch with a gurgle.
"Let's have some fun." Astarion's sly grin was mirrored by the glint in his eye as he pulled back on his bowstring, steadying his aim. The Goblin sharpshooter didn't stand a chance as Astarion's arrow found its mark, piercing through its chest and causing it to fall with a shriek of pain
Beside him, Ishta's arrows flew downwards with deadly precision, thinning the ranks of the enemy. Despite her concentration, Astarion tried to engage her in some playful banter like they had done before. But this time, she remained focused and unresponsive, and he quickly gave up.
As they continued to fight together, their companions below were provided much-needed relief thanks to their skills. Soon, the tide of battle turned in their favour as the remaining Goblins faltered and attempted to flee. Gale's and Shadowheart's spells and Lae'zel's relentless pursuit ensured none escaped.
The battlefield fell quiet, save for the groans of the wounded and the crackling of Gale's residual magic. Astarion scanned the area, ensuring there were no hidden threats. Seeing none, he slung his bow over his shoulder and turned to Ishta. "Well, that was invigorating," he said, his voice laced with dark humour. "Nothing like a good killing to loosen up the joints."
Ishta frowned at his comment, her usual receptive humour absent as she turned away from him. "We still have work to do," she said briskly, climbing back down the outcrop.
A sense of worry gnawed at Astarion as he watched her disengage from their victory, already focused on their next task. He couldn't help but wonder what had soured her mood, hoping fervently that it wasn't him.
"You like to make an entrance, don't you?" Gale observed, looking down at the unconscious man Ishta had just slugged in the jaw. His voice held a hint of reproof, but Ishta could see the amusement glinting in his eyes. She shook her hand, feeling the sting of impact from her punch. All the pent up emotions she felt over Astarion's secret and the stress and exhaustion from the events of the past few days had manifested themselves in a swift and resolute punch to the jaw of the man named Aradin. It wasn't her proudest moment, but it had certainly felt good to silence the irritating human.
Zevlor, the Asmodeus Tiefling he had been arguing with, looked at her with a mixture of admiration and gratitude as he commended her. "You acted quickly. I'm just sorry I didn't get there first," he remarked with satisfaction.
"I'm not usually this explosive," Ishta admitted, her voice tinged with regret. "I just can't stand bigoted morons. We just saved his ungrateful hide—as did you, Zevlor—and the first thing he does is throw racial slurs around and try to attack you."
"Aradin's a blowhard," Zevlor sighed, glancing at the fallen man. "But unfortunately, his opinion of Tieflings is one shared by many—though I'm glad to see not all."
Ishta returned the warm smile Zevlor gave her and introduced herself and her companions. He nodded courteously to each of them before addressing her again.
"I should warn you, visitors are no longer welcome in this grove. Whatever your business may be, I suggest taking care of it quickly," he urged. "The Druids have begun a ritual to cut off this grove from the outside world, blaming us 'outsiders' for attracting attacks from monsters. We can't stay here, but if we leave, we'll surely be slaughtered—we're no fighters."
Ishta's brows furrowed in concern; most Druid's she knew were usually tolerant and welcoming—so long as you respected the natural world within their borders. "This ritual…can it be stopped or delayed?" she asked.
Zevlor shrugged in frustration and shook his head. "I've tried to reason with them, but Kagha—their new First Druid—refuses to see me." He paused and looked at her thoughtfully. "However, perhaps you could convince her. After all, she owes you for saving this place. Perhaps you could persuade her. For more time to prepare, if nothing else."
"I'll do what I can," Ishta replied earnestly. "But first, we need to find a healer. I heard there was one here in the grove?"
"Goblin got you? The druid Halsin's a renowned healer, but he didn't make it back from Aradin's expedition."
Ishta's heart skipped a beat as she heard the name. "Halsin? By any chance, would he happen to be a ridiculously oversized wood-elf? One might even say... a bear of a man?" she asked with a hopeful, lopsided smile.
Zevlor chuckled. "I see you're familiar with him. Yes, he was the First Druid of this grove until a few days ago. When he didn't come back, Kagha took over as First Druid. If your injury isn't too severe, you could try his apprentice, Nettie. She's with the other druids in the inner grove, preparing for their damn ritual."
"I'll find her and speak to Kagha while I'm there," Ishta said determinedly. "I can't promise anything, but I'll do my best."
"Really? We're messengers, now?" Astarion complained loudly.
Ishta gritted her teeth in annoyance and ignored his comment as she listened to Zevlor. "We'd owe you a great debt. If we're forced to leave now, we won't make it to Baldur's Gate," he admitted with a weary sigh. "Please, make them see sense."
Ishta tipped her head respectfully as Zevlor left them, her eyes following his retreat until he was out of sight. Turning to the rest of the party, she rolled her shoulders and set her jaw in determination.
"We have two tasks at hand: find Nettie and reason with Kagha. Let's not waste any more time," she ordered.
Lae'zel crossed her muscular arms and scoffed. "We've no time to offer aid to every whimpering pup," she sneered with disdain.
Ishta met Lae'zel's defiant gaze with a calm but firm expression. "Well, now is your chance to search for Zorru," she pointed out coolly. "Go inquire around while I take Shadowheart and Gale with me to speak with Kagha and Nettie. And please, try not to provoke anyone too much."
A cold smile curled onto the Gith's lips as she responded, "I make no promises. These Tieflings prove fragile. I've a mind to end their misery myself."
Ishta stepped closer to Lae'zel, her voice dropping to a warning whisper. "For your sake, Lae'zel... that had better be a joke," she cautioned, a hint of steel in her tone.
The tension hung heavy in the air for a moment before Lae'zel sniffed haughtily and turned to walk away. Ishta watched her go and shook her head in resignation before turning her attention back to the group.
"Astarion, since you don't fancy being a messenger, you will be responsible for purchasing supplies and finding a suitable spot for us to camp," she stated, pulling out a small pouch of coins from her belt and holding it out to him.
A mischievous glint sparked in Astarion's eyes as he replied with amusement, "That sounds suspiciously like hard work," reaching out for the bag with lazy grace.
Gale stepped forward, his brows furrowed in concern. "Hang on... are we entirely sure that entrusting the self-proclaimed thief with this task—and that gold—is the wisest course of action?" he protested, casting a wary glance at Astarion.
"Why Gale, I'm hurt," Astarion said with a mocking pout. "That almost sounds as if you doubt my honesty." His smirk returned, though his eyes flickered towards Ishta as if searching for her true intentions. She could see the curiosity in his gaze; he was clearly thinking along the same lines as Gale.
It was a calculated risk on her part, but one that could potentially solve her current moral dilemma. If Astarion took the gold and abandoned them, then she would be justified in her distrust of him, and she could go back to seeing him as a threat to her group. Ishta was aware it was the cowards way out to dangle temptation in front of him and hope he'd just disappear. However, if he proved himself trustworthy... she wasn't sure how to face that possibility.
Ishta took a deep breath, a small smile playing on her lips. "A skilled thief knows the value of things and how to negotiate for a better deal," she stated firmly, giving Astarion a pointed look. "I trust you will make good use of this opportunity."
Astarion's grin widened, a glimmer of genuine appreciation shining in his eyes. "Oh, I most certainly will," he promised, tucking the pouch into his own belt with a flourish.
Shadowheart and Gale exchanged uncertain glances, their concerns still present but tempered by Ishta's confidence. The party dispersed, each member heading off to their assigned tasks, the weight of their mission heavy on their minds.
With longing in his eyes, Astarion gazed at the pair of hand-crossbows displayed on the table before him. They were compact and finely crafted, but with a simplicity in design belied their deadly potential. His fingers traced the polished walnut grips, marvelling at the craftsmanship and intricate floral design etched onto the steel barrels. Dammon, the talented smith responsible for these weapons, had just expressed his gratitude to Astarion for defending the grove. In return, he had offered a generous discount on his wares. Astarion couldn't resist the allure of treating himself, but the weight of responsibility placed on him by Ishta kept nagging at the back of his mind. She had put her trust in him, and he needed to prove himself worthy of that trust if he wanted to keep her invested in his safety.
With a wistful sigh, he reluctantly tore his gaze away from the gleaming crossbows and turned his attention to the more practical items in the smith's inventory. The sun was at its highest, casting a warm glow on the bustling refugee camp set up in the lower-tiered sections of the grove. Astarion had already managed to procure a decent amount of supplies during his wanderings and had even made some connections with less-than-lawful individuals. However, he couldn't bring himself to label the scruffy band of Tiefling urchins as true criminals—they were more like mischievous rogues-in-training. In fact, Astarion had briefly taken one under his wing and shared some tricks of the trade after the youngster had attempted to swindle him with a 'lucky ring'. He couldn't help but smile at the memory of the boy's amazed expression as he performed a simple sleight of hand to make the ring disappear into thin air.
"Although, the lad will probably be less thrilled to find out he's lost his profits," Astarion chuckled to himself, pulling a small, shabby coin pouch from his sleeve and pocketing it.
After purchasing a few items from Dammon, Astarion spent some time loitering around, listening to conversations, and poking around the various nooks and crannies of the grove. Sneaking around was decidedly more difficult in broad daylight, but so far, he hadn't drawn anything more than a few curious glances. The enclave was a tranquil chaos of sorts: Druids scurried about with preparations for the looming ritual while Tiefling refugees wandered aimlessly around ramshackle tents and huts. There was an air of desperation that clung to everyone like an unwelcome scent.
Astarion eventually found himself at the edge of the sunken centre of the grove. The air was thick with tension as a mob of angry Tieflings milled around the stone archway leading into it. Beyond the arch, he could see a group of Druids standing circled around large carved animal totems, their faces stern and unyielding as they chanted in low, resonating tones. In the middle of the totems, there was a raised plinth with an idol of some kind on it, emanating a green glow.
At the far end of the area stood a massive stone door set into a wall of earth and rock. Intricate swirling patterns were carved into its surface, hinting at the underground chambers and main quarters of the enclave that lay beyond. As Astarion watched, the heavy door slowly descended into the ground, revealing a lit tunnel that led deeper into the grove.
Suddenly, a young Tiefling girl burst through the tunnel's entrance, her face tear-stained and panicked. She was met by two relieved adult Tieflings who he assumed to be her parents. From their hushed conversation, Astarion gathered that Ishta was once again causing chaos, and he sighed in irritation. Why couldn't she just let things be? Deciding he'd had quite enough heroics for one day, he turned around and headed back up the stone steps leading away from the central arena. He spied a small path leading down through a tangled thicket and followed it curiously. The trail led him to the edges of a lake, surrounded by high sandstone cliffs.
The afternoon sun cast a soft, golden glow over the expansive sandy beach of the lake, where Astarion stumbled upon a scene that managed to be both serene and deeply unsettling. A young Tiefling child, with a thick mop of dark curly hair and small curved horns, stood at the water's edge. The deep crimson of his skin created a vivid contrast against the shimmering golden sands. He was gazing into the horizon, utterly captivated by something unseen.
Moved by curiosity, Astarion trotted down the sloping dunes to join the child. As he approached, the boy remained fixated on the water, whispering without turning, "Shh! Listen."
Astarion surveyed the scene with a furrowed brow, his gaze shifting from the child to the towering rock formation that loomed ominously ahead. He squinted, trying in vain to discern what had captured the boy's attention, and muttered, "I can't hear anything. You probably shouldn't be standing this close to the water's edge, though... unless you can swim. In which case, stand wherever the hells you want, I suppose."
"Don't you hear it? It's so peaceful," the child implored, turning his glazed-over eyes towards Astarion for the first time. The elf felt a sudden twinge of alarm and strained his ears, trying to pick up any trace of sound that had eluded him.
Suddenly, a faint, sweet melody wafted through the air, carried by a gentle breeze. The song pulsed with an enchanting magic, and Astarion's heart raced as he recognized the imminent danger—it was a Harpy's charm.
His head snapped upwards, eyes scanning the skies for any sign of the foul creatures known for their lethal allure. His sharp elven ears picked up the faint flap of wings. Whirling around, he spotted a dark shadow darting from behind the rock formation, its claws dangerously outstretched.
With a curse and a swift movement, Astarion grabbed the child by the shoulder and pulled him back just in time, as wickedly sharp talons sliced through the air where the boy's head had been mere seconds before. A harsh, angry screech echoed across the water as Astarion bolted towards a nearby rocky outcrop, dragging the bewildered and reluctant Tiefling behind him. They slid under the shelter of craggy stones just as two more harpies descended, their talons scraping against the rocks in a fury of attempted strikes.
"Wha… what's going on?" the boy stammered, his voice quivering with confusion as he emerged from his charmed state, his eyes wide with terror.
"What's going on?" Astarion echoed, his tone sharp and laden with accusation as he glared at the frightened child. "Thanks to you, there's a very good chance I'm going to be killed and eaten by a Harpy!" His voice, thick with frustration and fear, bounced off the narrow stone walls enclosing them.
The child, overwhelmed by the sudden eruption of violence and the stern rebuke from his unexpected protector, began to sob, his tears catching the light and glittering like molten gold. The sight only fuelled Astarion's irritation as he turned back to face their attackers.
As the Harpies descended upon the beach, their horrifying visage became clear under the afternoon sun. These creatures bore the haunting features of women from the waist up, with wild, tangled hair framing their sharp, cruel faces. Their eyes glinted with a predatory hunger as they advanced with a menacing grace. Below their waists, the transformation was stark—the lower half of their legs morphed into the powerful, scaled limbs of a bird of prey, ending in vicious, curved talons.
Their hands, though human in shape, were tipped with long, deadly claws that seemed perfectly designed to snatch and rend. Enormous wings, each feathered pinion strong enough to create gusts of wind with a mere flap, unfurled from their backs, casting large, ominous shadows on the sand. Around their waists, they wore skirts that were a barbaric mix of rough leather and coarse feathers, which fluttered wildly in the breeze as they stepped closer.
The child's sobs escalated into panicked wails as he caught sight of the Harpies, his cries piercing the tense air. Astarion gritted his teeth at the noise and rounded on the boy with a fierce whisper, "If you don't shut your mouth and stop crying this instant, I'm throwing you out there for the Harpies to feast on!"
However, his terrifying promise had the opposite effect than he intended, and the boy's wailing became even louder. "Wh… why are you s… so mean?" he sobbed uncontrollably, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Astarion stared at the child, and his expression softened ever so slightly. He turned away and muttered bitterly, under his breath, "Because being nice always ends up badly for me."
The cramped quarters made it impossible for Astarion to draw his bow, so he unsheathed his dagger and short-sword, brandishing them fiercely at the looming threats. A harsh gust of wind howled through the cramped enclosure, rattling the jagged rocky walls that served as their precarious shelter as the child's sobs were joined by bone-chilling shrieks of harpies. The closest Harpy, her eyes alight with a feral gleam, lunged viciously at Astarion. Her talons, sharp and unyielding, lashed out in a flurry aimed directly at his eyes. With a swift motion borne of desperation, Astarion raised his sword, the metal clashing against talons in a shower of sparks, deflecting the lethal strikes just in time.
As he parried the blows of the first attacker, the second Harpy swooped in, capitalizing on his momentary distraction. Forced to retreat, Astarion pressed his back against the cold, unyielding rockface, his sword swinging in desperate, wide arcs. Below him, the Tiefling child clung to his legs, trembling and trying to make himself as small as possible, away from the Harpies' grasping talons.
As a third Harpy joined the fray, alighting with a thud beside her kin, a sinking realization dawned on Astarion—escape was not an option. The grim thought of using the child as a distraction flickered through his mind, a dark, fleeting temptation that he dismissed almost as quickly as it arose. There was no advantage to be gained now; the Harpies had effectively cornered them both.
This newly arrived Harpy stood tall, her silhouette menacing against the sunlight. She began to sway in a hypnotic dance, her wings spreading out in an entrancing rhythm. And then she opened her mouth and sang; a haunting melody that seemed to seep into every fiber of his being. As the enchanting song filled his ears and ensnared his senses, Astarion felt himself slipping further and further into a trance-like state. He fought desperately against it, but despite his valiant efforts, his body began to betray him; his arms grew heavy, his grip slackened, and slowly, inexorably, his weapons slipped from his numb fingers, clattering to the stony ground.