Astarion stood before an ivy-covered gate set seamlessly into the cliff wall, his crimson eyes glinting with quiet authority. Behind him the sun hung low in the sky, its golden rays stretching across the ground where the scattered corpses of goblins and tieflings lay. The air carried the sharp, acrid tang of smokepowder mingled with the faint metallic hum of spent magic.
To his left, Ashara and Onyx stood tensely, the wolf's silver-streaked fur bristling slightly as ravens cawed and squabbled over the remains.
The goblins guarding the gates had been quick to challenge them, their grating voices and crude weapons raised in defiance. But Astarion had simply fixed them with an icy stare, his voice smooth and commanding as he ordered them to open the gates for a 'True Soul'. The reaction had been instantaneous: fear swept across their faces, and they scrambled to obey, fumbling with the heavy mechanisms.
Astarion smirked and leaned toward Ashara slightly, his voice a smooth purr. "See, what did I tell you?"
She exhaled softly, her gaze flicking between the gates and the wreckage surrounding them. "Maybe you should do all the talking then," she muttered, half-joking, half-pleading.
The gate groaned as it raised, revealing a dimly lit tunnel carved into the cliffside. Without hesitation, Astarion strode forward, his footsteps echoing faintly against the stone. Ashara hesitated for a moment before following, her grip on Onyx's fur tightening.
"Glad to," Astarion replied airily. "However, as leader of the pack, you'll be obligated to speak at some point, I would imagine."
Ashara swallowed hard, her eyes darting to the destruction that marred the area beyond the tunnel - splintered crates, bloodstains smeared across the ground, and the unmistakable stench of decay. Her voice was quieter now. "Can't you just be the leader for now?"
Astarion halted mid-stride, turning to her with an exaggerated laugh. "Ha!" His amusement faded as he studied her more closely. "Wait... you're serious?"
Ashara avoided his gaze, her hand now gripping Onyx's fur more tightly. Astarion's sharp eyes missed nothing: the tension in her jaw, the restless flick of her gaze, the slight tremor in her stance.
"You and Onyx wiped out an entire camp of orc raiders between the two of you," he said, incredulous. "You can't possibly tell me you're afraid of a few sniveling little goblins... are you?"
"It's not that," Ashara muttered, her voice low. "If I had to fight them, I'd be fine. It's talking to them that's the problem."
Astarion blinked, momentarily taken aback. "You're joking."
She huffed, defensive, and strode forward without waiting for him, forcing him to catch up. "I'm not good around people, okay? Especially large groups. I struggle to communicate properly in unfamiliar situations."
"You seem to have no trouble communicating with me," Astarion pointed out, his tone teasing but laced with genuine curiosity.
Ashara shrugged, glancing at him briefly. "That's different. I like you."
The casual sincerity of her words caught him completely off guard. His step faltered for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he recovered, straightening as if nothing had happened.
He cleared his throat, adopting his usual smooth nonchalance. "I'm flattered," he said lightly. "Well, just imagine they're all rabid squirrels or something."
Ashara snorted softly. "You're the one with the tadpole," she countered. "Wouldn't they expect you to be in charge anyway?"
Astarion stopped again, rubbing the back of his neck in mock contemplation. "I suppose so," he admitted. Then his grin returned, sharper this time. "Does this mean I get to order you and Onyx around?"
Ashara exchanged a quick look with Onyx. The wolf bared one sharp fang, his golden eyes narrowing with a look that could almost be called playful. "Within reason," he growled.
Astarion clasped his hands together, his crimson eyes gleaming with mischief. "Splendid. This is going to be such fun."
He turned on his heel and began marching forward with exaggerated determination, calling back over his shoulder. "Come along, then, minions!"
The ruins of the Emerald Grove sprawled in grotesque mockery of what it once had been - a haven of nature, now a scar of desecration. Ashara's boots crunched against splintered wood and shattered pottery, the remnants of barricades broken and overrun. Crude goblin banners, smeared with blood and ash, fluttered limply against the jagged remnants of the palisades. Spikes jutted from the ground at unnatural angles, their gruesome trophies grinning in silent mockery. Bones, both animal and humanoid, littered the earth alongside refuse and filth. The Grove was dead, its spirit strangled by the cruelty of its invaders.
She tightened her grip on Onyx's fur as they wove through the carnage. The wolf moved with a quiet grace despite the load of bags and bundles strapped across his back, a stark contrast to the chaos around them.
Ashara glanced at him, her brows knitting as her gaze fell on the burden he carried. "I think letting Astarion be in charge has gone to his head. I don't like that he's made you carry all that. You're not a donkey."
Onyx's ears flicked back briefly, and he huffed, the sound carrying a note of dry amusement. "If turning me into a beast of burden for a day makes him feel better about showing vulnerability in front of us... then I don't mind the slight indignity."
Ashara's scowl didn't ease. "You were only helping him. I don't see why he has to be so petty about it."
Onyx tilted his head, his golden eyes meeting hers with a steady, knowing gaze. "Let the man claw back his pride. He may feel like that is all he has left right now."
Ashara fell silent at that, the weight of his words sinking in. They neared Astarion, who stood just ahead, speaking with a goblin brawler. The goblin's voice was grating, coarse and full of boastful malice. The sharp stench of the creature - a mix of sweat, dirt, and rot - made Ashara's nose wrinkle as they drew closer.
"Poor suckers," the goblin snickered, jabbing a gnarled finger toward the remnants of the Grove's defenses. "Could almost feel sorry for 'em if they wasn't already dead. You'd have to be thick to trust a fellow like that Dragonborn - got a real killer's eye, that one does."
Astarion's tone was light, almost dismissive, though Ashara caught the subtle tension in his stance. "Dragonborn? Scaly white and red bruiser the size of a barn door? Breath like a morgue? Goes by the name Durge?"
The goblin's grin widened, his jagged teeth yellowed and cracked. "You know 'im?"
Astarion's shoulders remained relaxed, his expression smooth, but Ashara saw the faint twitch in his fingers. "We've met."
The goblin laughed again, a harsh, rasping sound that set Ashara's teeth on edge. "Well, then you've met the truest of true souls! Tricked this tree-huggin' lot into lettin' him in the Grove. Cosied up to 'em all nice like, then when we came along, he up and politely opens the gate and invites us in for a cuppa."
Ashara's throat tightened, her jaw clenching against the wave of anger that threatened to rise. Her fists curled at her sides as the goblin cackled at his own vile joke.
Astarion's voice remained even, though his words dripped with disdain. "So he betrayed them, did he? Well, at least he's consistent."
Ashara stepped forward, her voice cutting through the goblin's laughter. "How did his companions react to that?"
The goblin shrugged, scratching at a patch of flaky skin on its neck. "Dunno. Though now you mention it, there was a bit of a kerfuffle with a couple of 'em. Warlock and a big ol' flaming tieflin' kicked up a stink and turned traitor on us. True Soul Durge sorted 'em out, though."
Astarion's voice carried a brittle edge. "Oh? Gave them a slap on the wrist, did he? Or did he sell them to the first wandering vagrant he happened across?"
The goblin grinned wickedly, leaning in as if sharing a joke. "Nah, just straight-up killed the human. His head's on a spike somewhere around here - can't remember where like. Tieflin' managed to get away, though not before losin' an arm and burnin' half our lads to a crisp."
Ashara's eyes flicked to Astarion. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, the knuckles white, but his face remained a blank mask. It was a practiced expression, one that betrayed nothing, and the faint hitch in his breath was almost imperceptible, but Ashara noticed.
The goblin's gaze shifted to Onyx, and its eyes widened with crude admiration. "Now, he looks like a right vicious one! Never seen a direwolf as big as 'im before. What you been feedin' it on?"
Onyx turned his gaze toward the goblin, his voice a low rumble audible only to Ashara. "Goblins."
The corner of Ashara's mouth twitched into a faint smile, a flicker of humor breaking through the tension. Astarion's lips curved into a smirk at the same time, though the goblin, oblivious to Onyx's words, continued speaking.
"You should pay a visit to the worg pit," the goblin said, gesturing toward the Grove's depths. "Might 'ave some spare meat for you. Most of the prisoners already been shipped off to Monrise Towers, but there might be a bit of live prey left for your beast if you want some fun. Just follow the smell."
The casual way the goblin said "live prey" sent a chill rippling down Ashara's spine. Her stomach turned, and she forced herself to keep her expression steady. She could feel her pulse quicken, a mix of revulsion and fury building within her.
Onyx shifted beside her, his muscles tense beneath his fur. His eyes gleamed like molten metal as he stared at the goblin, a predator sizing up its next meal. Ashara reached out, her fingers brushing his neck in a silent gesture of restraint.
Astarion tilted his head, his smirk sharpening into something cold and dangerous. "Charming," he drawled, his voice laced with mockery. "We'll keep that in mind."
The goblin, still grinning, gave them a jaunty wave before sauntering off, leaving the three of them standing in the shadow of the ruined Grove. Ashara exhaled slowly, her fingers still gripping Onyx's fur.
"These creatures are worse than I imagined," she muttered, her voice tight.
Astarion's gaze lingered on the filth and carnage around them, his expression unreadable. He said nothing, but the tension in his frame spoke volumes. Ashara glanced at him, then turned her eyes forward, the weight of the goblin's words pressing heavily on her as they continued deeper into the ruined Grove.
It didn't take them long to come across the worg pit.
The stench hit Ashara first - rotting meat, bile, and the coppery tang of blood thick in the air. Jagged wooden palisades ringed what had once been the central sanctuary, their tops bristling with crude spikes.
Within the enclosure, the twisted canine forms of nearly a dozen worgs prowled, their yellow eyes gleaming with savage hunger. The beasts tore indiscriminately at the bodies littering the ground: animal carcasses mixed with the mangled remains of tieflings and other races, some still clad in the remnants of druidic robes.
Ashara's stomach churned, her hand reflexively gripping the fur at Onyx's shoulder. Her companion let out a low, guttural growl, but his eyes remained watchful, his body tensed and poised. She forced herself to look away from a druid's arm hanging limp from a worg's bloodied maw and tried to steady her breathing.
Even Astarion seemed shaken. His normally smooth stride faltered as his eyes scanned the carnage, his face tight with tension. Ashara followed closely behind, her boots crunching against the gravel, when he abruptly stopped. His shoulders trembled, and his breath caught audibly in his throat.
Ashara moved to his side, her gaze following his line of sight, and her heart seemed to stop.
Inside a battered metal cage, its bars twisted and smeared with rust and blood, lay the half-eaten body of a child. A tiefling boy, his blue hair tangled and matted, his small horns glistening with congealed blood. Glassy, unseeing eyes stared through the bars, as if accusing the world that had abandoned him.
Astarion's jaw tightened and his voice came out flat, dispassionate."The little would-be con artist... Looks like his scams won't be fleecing the citizens of Baldur's Gate after all."
Her eyes flicked to his hand, which had moved unconsciously to Onyx. The wolf leaned into the touch, pushing his massive head under Astarion's palm. The gesture seemed to ground him - if only slightly - but his eyes flicked toward the boy's body, unable to stay away for long.
Ashara's voice was barely above a whisper. "We need to leave this place now."
Astarion's answer was cold and clipped. "I couldn't agree more."
Before they could move, a commotion behind them drew their attention. Ashara turned to see two hulking bugbears dragging a tiefling between them. His head hung low, his torn and bloodstained clothes clinging to a battered frame marked with cruel burns and lacerations. His horns were chipped, his crimson skin pale and eyes sunken. The bugbears hauled him forward, their guttural laughter carrying over the din of the pit.
Ashara's fists clenched at her sides, her body vibrating with tension. Onyx pressed against her, his voice low and steady in her mind. "Stay calm. Show no emotion."
She sucked in a sharp breath, forcing her expression into neutrality. But when the tiefling looked up, his gaze landed on Astarion, and his battered face twisted with fury.
"You." His voice, hoarse but laced with venom, rose above the noise. "I remember you. You're one of the demons who promised to help us."
Astarion flinched, the movement so small Ashara doubted anyone else would have noticed. "Zevlor..." he muttered, the name barely audible.
Zevlor's voice rose, thick with sorrow and anger. "Was betraying us worth it, monster? All these lives wasted, families torn apart, children murdered... for what?!"
Astarion took a step back, his usual composure cracking. For a brief moment, a look of anguish crossed his face, raw and unguarded. "This wasn't... I didn't..." His voice faltered, and he glanced around, as if suddenly remembering they had an audience. His expression shifted in an instant, a mask of arrogance snapping into place.
"I didn't expect to see you still breathing, Zevlor," he sneered, his tone biting. "Hid under the bed while your people did all the fighting, did you?"
Zevlor's face contorted with rage, and he lunged forward with a roar. "Damn you!" he screamed, his voice breaking with grief and fury.
The bugbears laughed cruelly, yanking him back with practiced ease. One drove a fist into Zevlor's stomach, and he doubled over with a pained grunt before being dragged forward again. Ashara's nails dug into her palms as she fought to stay still, her heart pounding in her chest.
The bugbears hauled Zevlor toward a towering red-skinned hobgoblin who stood near the edge of the pit. His armor, cobbled together from scavenged metal and leather, glinted in the fading sunlight. His imposing figure radiated authority, and Ashara had no doubt that this was Dror Ragzlin, the leader of the horde.
Ashara leaned closer to Astarion, her voice barely a whisper. "We have to do something. He needs our help."
Astarion's jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on the scene ahead. He didn't reply immediately, his face unreadable. Onyx huffed softly, his massive frame still and coiled like a spring.
The air around the pit grew heavier as Ragzlin's gravelly voice cut through the jeers and laughter of the goblin horde.
"How does it feel to be the last man standing?" he growled at the tiefling, his jagged teeth bared in a mocking grin.
Zevlor remained silent, his head hanging low, his shoulders slumped under the weight of his defeat. The tension rippled through the crowd like a coiled serpent waiting to strike.
One of the bugbears sneered and jabbed him hard in the stomach with a crude club. "Oi! A true soul just asked you a question."
Zevlor winced but didn't falter. Lifting his head slightly, he muttered, "I have nothing to say to filth like you."
A hush fell over the gathered goblins, the boldness of his defiance hanging in the air. Ragzlin's grin turned to a snarl, his scarred face twisting with irritation.
"Well, in that case," he rumbled, "we'll just have to settle for your screams. Toss him in the pit."
Ashara's vision blurred with red-hot fury. She was already stepping forward, her hands curling into fists, when a cold grip on her wrist yanked her back. She twisted to see Astarion's hand clutching her tightly, his expression set in stone.
"Don't," he hissed through gritted teeth.
She whipped her head toward him, her eyes blazing. "Let go of me," she snapped, her voice a sharp whisper. "I have to help him!"
She turned back just in time to see Zevlor being dragged to the edge of the pit. Below, the worgs stirred, their ears pricking up, and their twisted, monstrous forms prowled closer, salivating in anticipation. The crowd erupted in cheers and jeers, their bloodlust palpable in the air.
Astarion's grip tightened. "No, you don't. You have to keep still and try not to attract the attention of an entire horde of murderers. His fate is sealed, Ashara. There's nothing you can do now."
Ashara's eyes narrowed, her voice trembling with anger. "Like your fate was sealed with those orcs?"
The barb landed, and Astarion faltered, his composure slipping for a heartbeat. A flicker of pain and guilt crossed his face, there and gone in an instant. He looked away, jaw clenched. "I know you want to be a hero, but we are outnumbered and outmatched." He shot a glare at Onyx. "Unless your friend here feels like slipping into something more terrifying any time soon?"
Onyx stepped forward, his golden eyes glinting with purpose. "That won't be necessary," he rumbled. His voice was deep, resonating with quiet authority. "Astarion, be ready."
Astarion blinked, incredulous. "Ready for what?"
Ashara gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as Zevlor was shoved unceremoniously into the pit. He landed hard, rolling to a stop amidst the dirt and gore. Slowly, shakily, he pushed himself to his feet, his head turning as the worgs closed in, their snarls rising to a crescendo. The crowd leaned forward, eager for the spectacle, their shouts ringing out like a storm.
The worgs lunged.
"No!" Ashara screamed, her voice raw and piercing.
The sound carried across the pit like a whip crack, but was lost to the eager roar of the crowd. However, the effect on the worgs was instant. All of them froze mid-step, their heads snapping toward her in unison. A ripple of unease passed through the creatures, and their growls turned to whimpers. One by one, they backed away from Zevlor, their tails tucked between their legs as they cowered and whined.
A ripple of confusion swept through the crowd. The jeering ceased, replaced by murmurs and discontented grumbles. Heads turned, seeking the source of the disturbance, and Ashara felt the weight of their stares settle on her like a crushing burden.
Onyx stepped closer to Astarion, his voice low. "Astarion, you're up."
Astarion's head whipped toward him, his voice rising an octave. "What?! What do you expect me to do?"
"Claim this was the will of the Absolute," Onyx replied smoothly. "And think of some excuse to have Zevlor remanded into your custody."
Ashara's heart pounded as she saw Dror Ragzlin moving toward them, his hulking form cutting through the crowd like a boulder through a river.
Astarion shook his head vehemently. "No! Leave me out of this."
Ashara reached out, her hand brushing against his. "Please," she whispered, her voice trembling with urgency.
He turned to her, and for a moment, his crimson eyes met hers, searching. Then he exhaled sharply, his lips twisting into a grimace. "Shit..." he muttered under his breath.
When he turned back to face Ragzlin, the transformation was instant. His lips curved into a broad, self-assured smile, and he spun on his heel, arms spreading wide in an exaggerated gesture of confidence. "Ah! Dror Ragzlin, just the fellow I needed to see. Sorry to spoil your fun, but I'm afraid this particular prisoner is needed elsewhere."
Ragzlin stopped, his yellow eyes narrowing as he gestured to the worgs, still trembling at the edges of the pit. "This your doing?" His voice was suspicious, yet laced with intrigue.
Astarion spread his hands theatrically, his grin unwavering. "Why, yes! Isn't the power of the Absolute simply wonderful?" His voice dripped with faux reverence, each word calculated.
The hobgoblin's gaze lingered on the worgs, his expression shifting to one of reluctant admiration. "Impressive. Never seen them so spooked before. Not much can come between a worg and its prey - except another worg."
Astarion nodded sagely. "I'd be happy to share the secret, of course. However, first things first." He gestured to Zevlor, who was still slumped in the dirt. "I want that tiefling alive and in chains. Ready to take to... where was it Minthara wanted him again?"
He turned his head slightly, his eyes flicking to Ashara. She stepped forward quickly, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. "Moonrise Towers... Sir."
Astarion's smirk twitched upward ever so slightly at her use of "sir." He turned back to Ragzlin with an easy, confident air. "You heard her. Orders from the top, I'm afraid."
The mention of Minthara visibly unsettled Ragzlin. His hulking form shifted uneasily, and his lips pulled back in a slight sneer, though his suspicion lingered in his narrowed eyes. "Minthara already has enough prisoners," he grumbled, his voice heavy with irritation. "She said the rest were for my use."
Astarion's smile didn't waver, his tone light and filled with feigned exasperation."Yes, well, that was before we lost a few when the Dragonborn got drunk and went on a little killing spree," he replied smoothly, waving a hand as though recounting a minor inconvenience. "Minthara wasn't exactly thrilled with him, but you know how it is - what can you do, eh?"
A ripple of laughter spread through the nearby goblins, their cruel mirth echoing around the desecrated grove. Ragzlin's lips curled into a grin, his fangs glinting in the dim light. "I knew that guy would be a handful. Wish I'd been there to see the look on the drow's face."
"Oh, it was priceless," Astarion replied with a conspiratorial chuckle, his eyes glinting with faux delight. "I thought she'd burst a blood vessel right then and there. Anyway, she sent me back to pick up a few replacements. Seems you only have one left in stock." He glanced pointedly at Zevlor, still crumpled on the ground. "Not much, but it's better than showing up empty-handed, I suppose."
Ragzlin scratched his chin, his jagged nails scraping against his rough skin. "You might be able to pick up a few more along the road. Always plenty of lost souls wandering about these days."
He turned to the bugbears with a sharp gesture. "You heard him! Get that meatbag out of there and chain him up."
The bugbears moved quickly, their heavy footsteps thudding against the dirt. Zevlor was yanked from the pit, his body limp with exhaustion but his eyes burning with defiance. They shackled his wrists with brutal efficiency, slapping manacles onto him and attaching a chain to the cuffs. The end of the chain was handed to Astarion, who accepted it with an elegant nod, his expression unreadable.
Zevlor glared at them with such venom that Ashara wondered if looks alone could ignite fire.
Astarion tipped his head to Ragzlin, his smile razor-sharp. "Thank you. Well, it's been lovely, but I'm afraid we must be going. So many other errands to run, you understand."
He turned to leave, gesturing for Ashara and Onyx to follow. The three had barely taken a step when Ragzlin's voice rumbled behind them. "Wait."
Ashara's heart stuttered as the hobgoblin took a step forward, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "How did you control those worgs?"
Astarion paused, his body perfectly still for a moment before turning back. "Ah, that." He feigned a thoughtful expression, his voice dripping with theatrical gravitas. "I prayed to the Absolute three times, ground up a worg's tooth with my blood, and drank it under a full moon. It's not for everyone, I admit."
Ashara felt her stomach knot as Ragzlin narrowed his eyes. Her palms grew damp, and she could feel a single bead of sweat slide down the back of her neck. The hobgoblin scrutinized Astarion for a long, excruciating moment before grunting and turning away, his interest waning.
Ashara let out a quiet breath, her relief palpable. Astarion, ever the performer, gave the chain attached to Zevlor a sharp tug, his voice snapping with derision. "Walk faster, foulblood."
Ashara shot him a withering glare, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. Astarion ignored her, his eyes fixed ahead as they wove their way through the wreckage of the Grove. Every step felt like an eternity, each glance from the goblins and bugbears setting her nerves alight. She half-expected someone to challenge them, to demand an explanation, but no one did.
Finally, they passed through the gates and into the open air. The charred remains of trees loomed like skeletal sentinels, but the path ahead was clear. They kept walking until the ruined Grove disappeared behind them. Ashara let out a long, shaky sigh and wiped her damp palms on her tunic.
"I can't believe that worked," she murmured, her voice tinged with awe and exhaustion.
"Neither can I," Astarion admitted, glancing sidelong at her. "Tell me, how did you control those worgs, by the way?"
Ashara shook her head. "I didn't."
Their gazes snapped to Onyx, who trotted beside them with an air of smugness. He bared a single fang in a wolfish grin, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
Before Ashara could speak, there was a sudden flurry of movement. Cold metal pressed against her throat, and she was yanked backward with a force that nearly knocked her off her feet. A sharp, rattling sound filled her ears as the chain tightened around her neck.
Zevlor's voice hissed venomously beside her ear. "Release me, demon, or I swear by the Nine Hells I will snap her neck."
Astarion froze at the sight of Zevlor holding the chain taut against Ashara's neck. His eyes narrowed, and his hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his blade. Beside him, Onyx growled low and menacing, his hackles bristling like a sea of steel quills. Yet, the wolf's voice was calm and steady, directed not at the aggressor but at the victim.
"Stay calm, Ashara," Onyx said, his tone like a heavy stone settling. "He is acting out of fear and desperation."
Ashara's struggles ceased. Her hands fell away from the chain, though her breaths came fast and shallow. Her composure held, but Astarion could see the strain in her tense shoulders.
"I said release me!" Zevlor's voice cracked, fear clawing at its edges.
Astarion cocked his head, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "I'd love to, believe me. However, the goblins, in their infinite wisdom, seemed to have neglected to provide me with the key to your restraints. I can only assume they expected I wouldn't need to free you until we reached our destination."
Zevlor's frantic gaze darted around, his mind clearly racing for options. Astarion didn't miss the way his grip on the chain tightened momentarily before his shoulders sagged with the weight of growing despair. Still, there was a grim resolve in his eyes.
"Then she comes with me until I find something to get these chains off me," Zevlor snapped, his grip tightening around the chain.
"Good idea," Astarion replied breezily, his tone as sharp as glass. "Or... you could let her go, and we all pay a visit to the blacksmith's workshop in Moonhaven. It's just further up the road. Lovely little place, probably still crawling with goblin scouts. You'll find all the tools you need there to free yourself. Although..." He let the word hang, savoring the moment. "Walking in with my companion as your prisoner might raise a few eyebrows. Or weapons."
Zevlor's eyes narrowed. "You could order them to stand down."
Astarion feigned a thoughtful pause, his fingers drumming lightly against the hilt of his sword. "True... but then I'd have to explain how a half-dead wretch like you managed to get the drop on a True Soul. It would be a little embarrassing, don't you think? I'd hate for the goblins to lose confidence in my authority."
The tiefling's grip faltered slightly, and Astarion saw the hesitation creeping into his expression. Yet, desperation flared again, and Zevlor yanked the chain harder, forcing Ashara to stumble slightly.
"Enough!" Zevlor barked. "Take me to Moonhaven now."
"Absolutely," Astarion said without missing a beat, his tone saccharine sweet. "Just as soon as you let go of the girl."
Ashara shot him a glare, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Girl?" she hissed under her breath, clearly irritated.
Astarion sighed theatrically. "Look, Zevlor," he said, his voice adopting a sharper edge, "as astonishing as this may sound, we're actually trying to help you - or at least she is." He gestured vaguely at Ashara. "Frankly, I couldn't care less what happens to you."
"Liar!" Zevlor spat. "Why would I believe you after what you and your companions did to us? After you helped those goblins slaughter my people?"
The accusation hit Astarion like a physical blow, and his carefully maintained mask cracked. His voice rose, sharp and raw. "I had nothing to do with any of that!"
Onyx's deep voice cut through the tension, smooth and cautious. "Take a deep breath and calm yourself, Astarion. Zevlor needs a reason to trust you beyond words."
Astarion inhaled sharply, his chest rising as he tried to tamp down the anger threatening to consume him. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, tinged with a sincerity that felt foreign on his tongue. "My former companions and I split ways some time ago," he said, the words slow and deliberate. "Being sold to a wandering monster hunter rather soured the relationship."
Zevlor's grip loosened slightly, his brow furrowing as he studied him. Encouraged, Astarion pressed on. "They betrayed me too, Zevlor. I don't know why, any more than I know why they chose to side with those vermin in the grove against your people. I'd probably be dead by now if these two hadn't found and... rescued me." He hesitated briefly, the weight of his words settling in his mind. Rescued. He hated how much truth that single word carried.
Astarion pushed the thought aside and met Zevlor's gaze directly, his tone softening. "You're currently threatening the one person who was willing to risk her life for you. Take it from someone who already made the mistake of doing that - it works out so much better if you trust her."
Zevlor glanced at Ashara, the tension in his face slowly melting into weariness. His shoulders slumped, and the chain slackened in his hands. His head bowed, his voice heavy with defeat. "What more do I have to lose? Those monsters already took everything from me."
The chain fell from his hands, clattering softly to the ground. Ashara stepped back, rubbing her neck where the metal had bitten into her skin. Zevlor stood frozen, his head hung low. "I'm sorry," he murmured.
Ashara reached out, placing a hand gently on his arm. "It's okay," she said softly. A flicker of warmth touched her voice. "Astarion held a dagger to my throat after I saved him. At least you apologized. I'm still waiting on one from him."
She turned, raising an eyebrow at Astarion, her expression wry.
He smirked, his usual self-assurance sliding back into place. "Must have slipped my mind," he said breezily.
Ashara huffed indignantly, her hand flying to her hip. "Oh, and girl?" she repeated, her tone sharp.
Astarion gave her an exaggerated shrug, his grin widening. "I was hoping to pass you off as a child for the sympathy vote."
Zevlor suddenly stumbled, his knees buckling as if the weight of the world had finally crushed him. Astarion watched as Ashara darted forward, catching the tiefling just before he collapsed entirely. Zevlor's breaths were ragged, each inhale a visible struggle. His hand clutched his stomach, fingers stained with blood seeping through torn fabric. Pain etched deep lines across his face, his eyes dulled by exhaustion.
"You're in pretty bad shape," Ashara said softly, her brow knitted with concern.
Zevlor's lips quirked in a faint, wry smile, his tone tinged with both resignation and irony. "I must confess, I've had better days."
Onyx stepped forward, his massive form casting a long shadow over the group. His deep voice carried a calm authority. "Help him onto my back."
Astarion hesitated only a moment before moving to assist. Together with Ashara, they guided Zevlor onto Onyx's broad back, settling him amidst the bags and bundles. It was a delicate task, but between the two of them, they managed to hoist him into position without causing him too much discomfort.
"Thank you," Zevlor murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced between Ashara and Astarion, regret shadowing his features. "I admit that I have misjudged you both greatly."
Astarion waved off the sentiment with a dismissive flick of his hand. "No harm done. Happens all the time."
Zevlor brushed a hand along Onyx's fur, his fingers tracing idle patterns as he murmured, "I would have given much to have a mount like this back in Elturel."
Onyx's ears swiveled back slightly, and he replied with a gentle rumble. "It would have been an honor to bear a Hellrider such as you into battle."
Zevlor's head snapped up, his eyes widening in surprise. "Forgive me," he said hurriedly, his voice tinged with awe. "I did not know I was addressing a druid."
"I am no druid," Onyx corrected gently. "I am Onyx of the Fenris Guard."
The reaction was immediate. Zevlor stiffened, awe and apprehension mingling in his expression. "Then I must ask your forgiveness once more," he insisted. "Please, let me get down. One such as you should not be treated as a common garron for a broken soldier like me."
Onyx huffed, the sound half-amusement, half-dismissal. "Nonsense. I choose to carry you willingly."
Curiosity ignited within Astarion like a spark catching dry tinder. The deference Zevlor had given the wolf bordered on reverent. "What in the hells is a Fenris Guard?" he asked, unable to keep the question contained.
Onyx began walking, his stride careful to avoid jostling Zevlor. "A guard of Fenrir," he said simply, his tone making it clear he would elaborate no further.
Astarion's mind raced, searching for any recollection of the name Fenrir, but his memory came up frustratingly blank. He quickened his pace, catching up to the wolf. "Oh no, you don't," he said, his voice a mix of exasperation and determination. "You're not walking off and being cryptic again."
He turned to Ashara, who was grinning mischievously at his growing frustration. "What is he?" he demanded.
She shrugged, her grin widening. "If Onyx wants to tell you more about himself, he'll do it in his own sweet time. Took me a week before he even told me his name."
Onyx glanced back, a glimmer of amusement in his golden eyes. "I was unconscious for most of that week, if you recall..."
Ashara stuck her tongue out at him, her voice teasing. "It takes less than five seconds to say it."
Without missing a beat, Onyx's massive tail swung around, slapping her lightly over the head. Ashara giggled, the sound light and incongruous against the tension in the air.
Astarion sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up. "I thought we were supposed to trust one another in this 'pack.'"
Onyx met his gaze evenly. "Why? Are you ready to divulge every part of your own history to people you only met a day ago?"
Astarion narrowed his eyes, a smile forming despite himself. "Touché," he conceded.
They walked on in a contemplative silence. Onyx moved with deliberate care, ensuring Zevlor was jostled as little as possible. The forest around them was gradually darkening, shadows stretching long under the fading light. Astarion couldn't shake an uneasy feeling gnawing at him. The scent of blood hung heavy in the air - Zevlor's blood. It stirred a mixture of hunger and dread within him, a reminder of both his nature and the tiefling's dire condition.
He sidled closer to Ashara, his voice low. "Do you have any healing potions or know any spells that can help him?"
Ashara glanced at Zevlor, worry flickering in her eyes. "As soon as we're a safe distance away, I'll—"
Her words were abruptly cut off by a roar that shattered the quiet. From the dense foliage burst a towering figure - a red-skinned tiefling with a broken horn and an arm severed at the elbow. Flames licked across her body, casting her in a fierce, otherworldly light. She swung a massive battle axe with her remaining hand, the blade slicing through the air toward them.
"Down!" Astarion shouted, instinctively grabbing Ashara and pulling her aside. They tumbled to the ground as the axe slammed into the spot where they'd just stood, the impact sending a tremor through the earth and a spray of dirt and rocks into the air.
Heart pounding, Astarion scrambled to his feet. Recognition hit him like a cold wave. "Oh, for the love of - why did it have to be her?" he muttered under his breath.
Ashara, panting as she pushed herself upright, shot him a look. "You know that devil?"
"She's not a devil," he snapped, casting a wary glance at their assailant. "But yes. Her name is Karlach, and I think it's best if we run."
Karlach's eyes blazed hotter than the flames engulfing her. "Let Zevlor go!" she bellowed, her voice reverberating through the trees.
From atop Onyx, Zevlor leaned forward urgently. "Karlach, wait! They are not your enemy."
Astarion raised his hands defensively as Karlach advanced, her axe poised for another strike. "Yes, what he said!" he echoed, forcing a strained smile.
She froze mid-swing, her fiery gaze narrowing as if only now registering him. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Astarion? How are you here?"
He threw up his hands in exasperation. "Long story, so here's the short version: Sold to Gur, captured by orcs, freed by a wild woman and her pet wolf, infiltrated goblin camp, saved Zevlor, reunited with crazy axe-wielding flaming tiefling. That about sums it up, don't you think?"
For a moment, Karlach's lips twitched as though fighting a smile. The flames surrounding her dimmed slightly, though her expression twisted in pain. She glanced up at Zevlor. "Why is he still in chains then?"
Astarion's voice was dry as he quipped, "Would you believe I lost the key down the back of the couch, darling?"
Karlach sighed, her expression a mix of irritation and weary amusement. Before she could respond, Ashara stepped forward, hands raised in a calming gesture. "We needed a credible way to get him out of the grove," she explained quickly. "The goblins didn't give us a way to remove the shackles. We're heading to the blacksmith's in Moonhaven. You can join us if you want?"
Karlach studied Ashara for a long moment, the fiery glow in her eyes softening. She leaned heavily on her axe, the weapon sinking slightly into the soil. The flames around her extinguished completely, leaving only the faint scent of smoke. "Fine," she muttered, her voice gruff. "But if you're lying..."
"We're not," Ashara assured her, her tone earnest. "You have my word."
Karlach's words were sharp-edged, her voice carrying the weight of old wounds. "Yeah, well, the last people I trusted turned out to be shitheads. Should've known that Dragonborn was a crook the moment he hung you out to dry, Astarion."
Astarion's tone was no less cutting, his irritation bubbling to the surface. "I didn't see you making any objections at the time."
The tiefling's shoulders stiffened, and she glanced away, guilt flickering across her face. "It didn't sit right with me, handing you over to the hunter like that," she admitted, her voice quieter now, laced with regret. "But I was too caught up in the whole 'you hid the fact you were a vampire from us' thing. I get now why you did, though."
From atop Onyx, Zevlor stirred, his gaze sharpening with unease. "You're a vampire?" His words carried both surprise and apprehension.
Astarion rolled his eyes, irritated. "Yes, and you're bleeding, but I'm not going feral over it. So it's safe to say I'm not a threat to you."
Onyx interjected smoothly, his deep voice calm. "He also fed on me recently, if that helps to reassure you."
Zevlor blinked, clearly taken aback, and his expression shifted to one of slight embarrassment. "I... apologize. I should know better than to judge someone based on their perceived nature."
Astarion's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "Oh, don't worry. You're perfectly within your rights to fear and mistrust a vampire. On the whole, we're vicious, power-hungry monsters. I'm just... slightly less so."
Zevlor tilted his head, his voice unexpectedly warm. "And yet you helped rescue me and have the trust of a Fenris Guard. I think perhaps you give yourself too little credit."
The kindness in the tiefling's tone threw Astarion off balance. For a fleeting moment, he found himself at a loss for words, the familiar reflex of a snarky retort faltering. Before he could recover, Karlach drew in a sharp breath, her hand clutching at her severed arm.
Ashara was at her side in an instant, her voice filled with concern. "Are you okay?"
"Not really, soldier," Karlach replied weakly, her tone strained. "Stump's giving me hell. These flames of mine may have cauterized the wound quick enough, but it still hurts like the day it was lopped off."
Astarion hesitated, his curiosity edging past his usual aloofness. "How... how did that happen? I never thought I'd see you of all people in this state."
Karlach's laugh was hollow, bitter. "That makes two of us. Funny, all those years I spent in Avernus, I never once had a wound like this. I finally escape, and it takes all of a week before I'm out of action. Guess that's what happens when you're fighting for something you actually care about."
Zevlor straightened slightly, his voice steady despite his pain. "Your courage was remarkable, Karlach. I cannot thank you enough for choosing to fight for us."
Her expression crumpled, the weight of failure bearing down on her. "Didn't do much good in the end, though, did it?"
"You did enough," Zevlor insisted. "You and Wyll gave us a fighting chance. If it hadn't been for that damn drow and her spiders, we could have made it to the forest."
Karlach's face twisted in anguish at the mention of Wyll. "Gods... Wyll." Her voice cracked, and her fiery eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "He fought so hard to protect the kids... and they... they..."
The words broke into a sob, her grief spilling out in waves. Astarion felt a twist of sympathy, an ache in his chest that surprised him. As much as Wyll's self-righteousness had irritated him, the man had been a fierce fighter. His decision to spare Karlach's life and accept the consequences of angering his patron had impressed Astarion - a little.
Onyx stepped closer, his massive frame radiating calm. His head dipped slightly toward Karlach, the gesture deliberate yet unhurried. Astarion's eyes narrowed in concern.
"Careful!" he cautioned, his voice sharper than intended. "She'll singe your fur, Onyx."
The wolf ignored him, pressing his head gently against Karlach's side. She recoiled instinctively, her flames flickering brighter.
"Watch out, pup," she warned, her voice thick with tears. "I'll bur—"
Her words died on her lips as Onyx leaned further into her, his fur untouched by the flames licking at her skin. Her wide eyes met his golden gaze, disbelief etched across her face. Slowly, her hand reached out, trembling as it found purchase in his thick mane. When the flames didn't consume him, the tension in her shoulders melted, replaced by a look of overwhelmed relief.
Astarion watched, his mouth slightly agape, as Karlach buried her face into Onyx's fur. Her sobs grew louder, but they carried a different tone now - less despair, more catharsis. She gripped the wolf tightly, stroking him with almost frantic desperation, as if afraid this fragile, impossible moment might slip away.
The group waited in silence, the tension easing only slightly as Karlach's sobs subsided. Astarion shifted his weight impatiently but refrained from speaking, his usual acerbic remarks tempered by the rawness of the moment. Beside him, Ashara stood quietly, her gaze resting on Karlach with a mix of sympathy and patience. Onyx remained still as a stone, allowing Karlach to cling to him until she was ready to let go.
Finally, Karlach pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffing loudly. "Gods... look at me," she muttered, her voice thick but steady. "Blubbering like a little kid."
Onyx tilted his head, his deep voice gentle but firm. "Crying is not just for children. Brave souls sometimes need a release too, especially after loss."
Karlach opened her mouth to respond, but Onyx cut her off with a faintly sardonic tone. "And before you ask: no, I am not a druid."
The tiefling blinked, then let out a rough laugh, her voice scratchy but genuine. "Alright, just a normal talking wolf then. Gotcha."
Onyx's golden eyes glinted as he lifted his head and looked toward Ashara. "I like her."
Ashara smiled warmly at Karlach, and Astarion felt an unexpected twinge of unease. The easy camaraderie between them unsettled him, though he couldn't quite pinpoint why. Was it the prospect of Karlach joining their group? Or the thought that her presence might upset the tenuous bond he'd formed with Ashara and her enigmatic companion?
He cleared his throat, brushing the feeling aside with practiced indifference. "Well, now that we've all caught up and shed our requisite tears, what say we finally head to Moonhaven?"
His words seemed to lighten the mood further, but Ashara's expression shifted suddenly. She straightened, her smile fading, and turned to him with an intensity that made him pause.
Ashara's smile faded as her expression turned serious. Her gaze shifted to him, her blue eyes hardening into something steely. "After we do that..." she said slowly, her voice cold and deliberate. "There's one thing I need to do."
Astarion rolled his eyes, already exasperated. "Now what?"
Ashara stepped closer, and the intensity in her gaze made him straighten instinctively. "I'm going to go back and kill every last living thing in that grove," she said, her tone as icy as her eyes.
Astarion felt a chill creep up his spine. He stared at her, caught off guard by the sheer ferocity in her expression. For a moment, her usually warm, steady presence had transformed into something dangerous, an edge honed by pain and fury.
Behind her, Karlach's lips curved into a fierce grin. "Hell yeah."
Astarion raised an eyebrow, forcing a smirk onto his face to mask his discomfort. "Oh? And how exactly were you planning on accomplishing that? Because while your enthusiasm is admirable, I do hope you have more than just righteous fury on your side."
Ashara didn't flinch. Her gaze didn't waver. "With help from a few new friends," she said, her voice cool and measured. Her eyes flicked briefly to Onyx. "And an ancient, forgotten god."
