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AMNE POV

Once we persuaded Arabella back to our camp, it became a blur of traversing those shadows, descending into the dark, and revealing more and more of this Ketheric Thorm's evil. The man flitted between Gods like I… quite frankly no, I've never been that indecisive. I don't think. But regardless, he now worshipped Shar, had built his dark army and now threatened the whole area, as well as world as a Chosen of the Absolute. And then there was the Nightsong. Halsin sought it, so did a bunch of other people. And yet, specifics on what it was? Good luck. The more we didn't learn, the more convinced I was that it would be a trap.

But similarly, the further we went, the more Shadowheart seemed to struggle with what lay ahead as well as all around us. I knew she was dedicated to her god. No one would question that. Not if they fancied living. But still, I could see her wavering. See those hesitations growing. Something about this land had shifted that dedication in her, and allowed a little room for doubt. I couldn't deny it, I was a little glad. The softer moments with her, when she sought to protect a child like Arabella, or an animal like Scratch or the Baby Owl Bear she was looking after at camp, it all hinted at someone warm, loving, open to the world. Not a Shar worshipper. They had teachings on absence, on the value of loss. That wasn't Shadowheart. At least, not in those warm moments, not when she didn't think anyone was looking.

Still, we had a job to do. And so we did it. We followed the twisting path towards the large gates. They were broken it seemed, bent in and out, like some great struggle had happened with them. It had to be an area of contention. Not only did this place hold information on Ketheric Thorn's whole history, but now it would supposedly hold Balthasar, looking for whatever the hells it was that Ketheric sought. Most of this didn't register in my mind though. I just wanted answers. And something to use against Ketheric. The Nightsong was our goal, and apart from that, we had to kill this beastie for Raphael. I say beastie but he said devil. It could be anything. And considering it was Raphael talking, it was probably going to be anything but easy.

And it wasn't.

As soon as we descended into that cavern, the blur took on a new feel, but a blur all the same.

We found the Devil, and vanquished him for Raphael. It wasn't like he seemed to be a stand-up guy or anything, the chamber was littered with body parts, blood and all manner of horrifying gore. So we dispatched him. And then, as these things usually did for us, a domino effect took hold. We ended up in a Shar temple, doing Shar tasks, and stumbling about amongst the Shar lore. We found Balthasar and killed him too because my gods that bastard was creepy and he definitely wanted to control our corpses. But he fell too, and then we found more threads towards the Nightsong.

All the while, Shadowheart reeled.

This place would have been paving the road to her dreams of being a Dark Justicier, if not for the way her eyes kept wavering. We were stepping closer to that, and yet I felt her leaning away. Only a little. But a little was enough. The others seemed to have noticed as well, but did their due diligence in not mentioning it. Though I'm sure I saw Lae'zel wanting to a few times. No wonder. Shar and the Gith hardly got along. Then again, from what I had seen, neither seemed to get on with anyone.

But deeper we went, and while we managed to scrape a few shorter rests into place, generally we were trudging on with only exhaustion at our heels. Astarion had been growing antsy since we had dispatched the devil, but I assumed that was down to the fact he had completed the task for Raphael and now wanted his reward. But there was no telling really how long getting that might take. Still, between that and not getting to see or enjoy the sun this far down, he was clearly on edge. Really, we all were. This felt more and more like us getting out of our depth, and as we drew closer to the bottom of this strange place, and supposedly closer to the Nightsong, I had to wonder what we were trying to find.

An artefact?

A spell?

A person?

The last one turned my stomach though, because if it was, they had been trapped down here for a very long time. We came upon a pool of strange light, and Shadowheart stilled at the top of the stairs leading down. Her eyes were wide. Distant. As if she was no longer really in the room with us. I reached, about to try and stir her when she blinked back into the room and looked at me with open confusion. Emotion beamed out of her at me, and it was awash with so much panic and feeling I found myself struggling to know what she had eventually landed on.

We descended into the pool. I wasn't keen, none of us were, but it was important. Shadowheart went first, and the others followed. As I stepped forward to do the same, Astarion took my hand for a moment and we shared a solemn look. We'd look after each other. I knew that. I squeezed his hand and stepped forward, leading him on, holding onto him, glad to know he was so close by.

And after that?

Well… It's a good thing I know how to roll with the punches.

The Nightsong was indeed a person. Bound to that dark place by Ketheric, to steal their immortality, to use them like some kind of energy source for eternity. The Nightsong was beautiful. She was furious. But she was also kind. As much as Shar was the Nightsong's enemy, being a fighter for Selune, she saw something within Shadowheart that stilled her rage. Despite Shadowheart's protestations, and despite how much she tried to harden her heart to what we were seeing, she couldn't look away. Nor could she condemn this woman to death. Not after all she had suffered. And not after she was willing to fight with us against the evil of Ketheric. No. And that time, I didn't even need to ask the others to let it be her decision. No. They all stepped back. And I had to wonder how much that was out of trusting Shadowheart to pick right, vs how much they didn't want to have to choose themselves.

And so, we freed the Nightsong.

And she promised to speak with Shadowheart of the truth of her story.

It seemed there was more to it than following Shar…

And all the while, my mind was scattered amongst those howling winds and the ongoing miasma of chaos around us. Something within me churned. Again, feeling as though something was wriggling within my blood, something that didn't wish to be there. To be so acutely surrounded by Shar's influence. Something in me wanted out. By any means necessary. And as the winds buffeted everyone, I felt myself waver more and more as we continued. I kept it hidden as best I could, but the draining sensation was undeniable. I was weakening. In that space it wouldn't be long before I was on my knees, crawling instead of walking. Was it that darkness from before? Those violent urges? I thought on it and the wriggling sensation grew. If I had been right about theorising Bhaal then surely this place would feel awful to that influence, another god so close to hand. Maybe. Or I was going totally mad. Or my tadpole was acting up? So many possibilities. So many– A hand gripped my elbow, my steps having wavered again. Astarion. he held firm and kept me upright. Still, the others didn't seem to notice. Too much else going on, and I was so glad. I gave a thankful smile when he glanced my way, and he dipped his head. Happy to help, darling. It was written in that soft smirk, the line of his relaxed jaw. He saw that I needed help and simply gave it. My heart clenched at the kindness, and the relief of having someone to rely on was surprising.

Then again, he had already been so kind. When that madness descended upon me so violently, when it dragged me to his tent with the want to kill, he simply took me in and saved me from it. Held me when I needed it. Pinned me down too. As much as he sold this cold exterior, Astarion's capability for kindness seemed endless in that moment. I had to repay that somehow someday. And a small part of me looked forward to the chance – though admittedly without the hope of him actually being in that much peril.

Still, we continued, and he kept me upright, even as my exhaustion seeped into my very bones.

Once again, we had completed tasks, and picked up more questions. It was becoming quite the bad habit of ours. But I had no time to ruminate on that, as I held onto Shadowheart when she wavered, her skin pale and eyes glazed. She had been lied to. That was what Nightsong had insinuated. That somehow, Shar might have simply been using Shadowheart all this time. But on top of that, a more pressing immediate part of all this, was that Shadowheart had gone against her orders. She was supposed to kill the Nightsong, not free her. No doubt there would be some awful price to pay. But we would help her however we could, and I hoped she knew that as we left the shadow realm and returned to the surface. With answers in hand, new headaches brewing, and fresh blood on our boots.

ASTARION POV

Every moment within that strange vortex seemed to drain Amaya. Was it connected to the Bhaal thing? He couldn't be sure. But he could see the sweat upon her brow as she tried to stay upright, as she tried to focus in case they had another fight ahead of them. Turns out, a little luck came their way and Shadowheart came to her senses. So no fight. But still, it was a relief when they left that plane and landed again in Faerun. Yes, they were still in the Shar temple, and it was still distastefully creepy, but at least they weren't within that swirling madness. And immediately, Amaya seemed to breathe easier. She was still pale though, and as the others reeled over what had happened with the Nightsong woman, Astarion suggested they take the opportunity to properly rest. They had already been on fumes before that, and this Nightsong would need time to prepare as well. Then? They would go back to Moonrise towers and kill Ketheric Thorm.

Yet another horrible bastard in their world.

But perhaps not for much longer.

Still, the group were weary, and as they found a place to camp beyond the temple, back in the wilderness of that strange land, Astarion made Amaya sit and prepare food while he gathered things for the fire. Karlach gave him the questioning side-eye, but he just nodded to Amaya and shrugged. She was a little weary, that's all. Nothing to worry about. Karlach nodded and carried on setting up the camp with the others. It was frustrating to know how closely they were being watched sometimes, but on the other hand, it was also gratifying to know there as close-by back up.

He paused, reached for firewood. When was it that his thoughts had turned so hopeful? So dependant. Was it something to run in the opposite direction of now that he had noticed? Or should he simply accept the fact he now had people around him that he could rely on, hells, that he wanted to rely on. His fellow Spawn didn't really count. Yes, they were technically his siblings, but they were also just victims like himself, shoe-horned into that dark, cold, palace under the thumb of Cazador. They shared the odd moment, common ground was hard to ignore there. But then there was also the constant sniping. The competition. If one of them did poorly, another could take the chance to rise in favour. It hardly made for sibling affection, instead it kept them at each other's throats, which of course was exactly how Cazador wanted it.

"Where did you go?" Amaya's voice broke into his reverie as he stoked the fire, and she smiled softly as she continued to chop things and add them to the pot with Shadowheart sorting herbs, then going to fetch more things. The shadows under Amaya's eyes were so deep, was she sleeping properly? He blinked, realising he hadn't responded yet as her expression clouded.

"I was getting firewood, Little One."

"Not what I meant." She tilted her head. "You were a million miles away for a few minutes there. Everything alright?"

"Ah, here's me forgetting you're getting rather too good at reading me."

She winced. "Sorry, didn't mean to pry–"

"No, no," he shook his head and smiled, the fire sorted and him going to sit by her. "Nothing to apologise for. It's a compliment if anything. No, I was just thinking of this little family we've cultivated, and how it differs to what I knew with Cazador."

"Guessing it wasn't the most loving of situations." She bit her lip and he nodded, eyes drawn back to the flames.

"Indeed not. How're you faring though, you seem less weary."

"Mm, yeah. I have no idea what was going on. I just couldn't seem to find any energy, it was like that wind was sucking the vitality right out of me."

"Hm. Shar is powerful, I wonder if it was a clash." He mused and she went rather still, shivering a little after a moment. "No?"

"I don't know. Sounds plausible." She hugged herself tightly. "I just hate to think that a god, be it Bhaal or some other dark bastard, has that much of a claim over me, that other gods can sense it and object. That… That doesn't sound great."

All Astarion knew of Bhaal, Bhaalspawn and Bhaalist's in general was the manic want of blood. And while she had her episodes, and had no issue protecting herself or her loved ones, he didn't see that enjoyment of it in her. Even when she had been dragged into that darkness, the one that had her looming over him in his sleep, it hadn't been enjoyment. More of a manic endurance test. As if it was something that had been forced into her. Or was that him simply seeing what he wanted to? Not wishing to believe her capable of such barbarity? Maybe. Or maybe he was simply seeing her as she was, rather than letting the label Bhaalspawn get in his way. Yes. He much preferred that answer.

He nudged her. "Perhaps the gods can get it wrong too?"

"Mm, maybe." She closed her eyes for a moment, but then they flashed open again and she shook her head, as if horrible images were waiting just behind her eyelids. With that he could relate on a horribly intimate level. "I wonder how Shadowheart is really doing."

The cleric in question had set the stew to cook and gone for patrol with Gale. She was present, still doing her bit, but it was clear her mind churned with all the new questions. Her whole world had been tilted no doubt. To be as sure as she had been of Shar, and to then turn away from her? To have believed the words of Nightsong enough to do that, hinted at doubts that went deeper. She was an odd woman. And a cold one at times. But Astarion had also seen the kindness in her, the strength and ferocity of an ally. Sincerely, he hoped she found her way to peace. And once again, he found himself doing a double take at himself. He was going soft.

"Walk with me?" Amaya asked, standing, holding her hand out for him to take and stand.

He did, and for a moment he didn't wish to let go of that hand. The concept of 'going soft' was so foreign to him. That whilst it worried him, he also found it exciting. It meant things could still change. He had been stuck in the same place for two hundred years, so to suddenly feel a shift, even if only a slight one that he still had to pull into question, it was exhilarating. And he knew it was thanks to her. His Amaya.

So perhaps with all that in mind, it was time to be bold and finally tell her who she really was. At least, as far as he knew her to be. Which probably came with its own secrets. But still, he had to tell her. It was the least she was owed–

"Do you feel that?" She stopped walking and hugged herself, looking over the dark surroundings with her brow furrowed. A pressure had taken to the air.

He stepped closer. "Yes. The hells is going on?"

They weren't far from camp, but Astarion wasn't sure he could take another fight that day. No, he didn't technically sleep, but he did need that quiet darkness in his meditative state.

A dark chuckle sounded from the shadows, and they both stepped even closer together. "Do you know what happens when a devil is struck down on this charming plane of existence?"

Raphael stepped into the dim light and they both sighed, relaxing but not going completely off guard of course. After all, he was still a devil.

He dipped his head and continued. "It returns to the hells – to the very point where it last stood before venturing to whichever devilforsaken plane it died on. In the case of our friend Yurgir, the Orthon you so handily dispatched in the temple of Shar, he manifested in my House of Hope."

Astarion had the distinct feeling there was no hope to be found whenever Raphael was enacting one of his plans. It hadn't sat well with Astarion to do the fiend's bidding, but they had nowhere else to turn to for his scars. And Amaya's reservations made sense. He had plenty of his own of course. But he had to know what it said. To know at least one part of Cazador's madness, even if not to understand.

Raphael grinned. "He returned to me chastened but intact, his wounds healed, his body restored. He thought I would dismember him but he has his uses so instead I am reducating him."

And still no word on the scars. Astarion's patience waned, the fiend clearly more interested in hearing his own voice than fulfilling his end of the bargain.

Astarion bared his teeth. "We delivered the devil. Now I want what I'm owed – we had a deal."

"Indeed we did." He raised a brow and smirked. "I discovered all there is to know about those scars of yours – it's a rather grim tale, even for my tastes."

Amaya snarled, stepping forward slightly, her fatigue all but vanished. "Stop stalling."

"As you wish." He bowed and then flourished, turning and holding his arms out wide. "Brace yourself Astarion – we're about to unveil your destiny."

Astarion did his best to prepare himself for whatever was about to be unveiled. No matter the content, the night itself had been endlessly long, arduous and painful. One flinch too many and they would start again. The pattering of his blood in the stone. Soft chattering of his teeth.

Raphael told his tale. "Carved into that ivory skin of yours is one part of an infernal contract between the archdevil Mephistopheles and your former master, Cazador Szarr."

"A contract?" Amaya's noe wrinkled. "Stating what?"

"In full, the contract states that Cazador will be granted knowledge of an infernal ritual so vile it has never been performed. The Rite of Profane Ascension."

The words meant nothing to Astarion, but they still managed to bore a hole into his gut.

Raphael grinned. "It promises to be a marvellous ceremony. Very elaborate, incredibly ancient, and entirely diabolical. If he completes the rite, he will become a new kind of being – the Vampire Ascendant. All the strengths of his vampiric form will be amplified, and alongside them he will enjoy the luxuries of the living. The arousals and appetites of man will return to him, and unlike Astarion, he will have no need of a parasite to protect him from the sun."

Astarion faltered. A new being? Cazador intended to raise himself towards godhood. A Vampire unleashed upon the world, unbound by the few weaknesses they actually bore.

Raphael raised a hand. "But the ritual has its price, as all worthwhile things do. Lord Cazador will need to sacrifice a number of souls, including all of his vampiric spawn, if he is to ascend."

"How many?" Amaya demanded, stepping slightly in front of Astarion, shielding him a little as if it would make any difference to a bargain made so long ago. "How many have to die in order for this shit to–"

"Imagine how he felt, then, when one of those precious spawn simply disappeared into thin air." Raphael ignored her, eyes boring into Astarion, setting a shiver into his bones. "The only missing ingredient is Astarion. You are the final piece he requires to complete the ritual – your scars bind you to it. Your soul will set off a very wave of death, bringing Cazador his twisted life."

"Will it fuck." She snarled.

Again, Raphael chuckled darkly. "Mm. And that, my tragic and toothsome friend, is that. Now if you'll excuse me, I have business elsewhere." He nodded to them both, clicked his fingers and disappeared in a stinking cloud of sulphurous dark.

And the pieces fell into place. The reason for the marks needing to be so perfect – it had seemed extra manic, the way in which Cazador had wanted those lines correct. The way he obsessed over them, from spawn to spawn. Muttering to himself. Cackling as they were completed. Astarion hadn't really taken note at the time, why would he? It was just another bloodied day in hell. But now, knowing of this contract, of all it meant for Cazador, Astarion's already stilled heart chilled. Like frost had blossomed there and taken over his whole being, he shivered. The Vampire Ascendant. A whole new being. No one more powerful, no one able to take control and attach some sordid leash. Temptation. It joined the frost, lacquering it in a shimmering opal effect, making that coldness harden within him, turning to determination instead. It could be possible. It could be…

"Hmm…"

Amaya did a double take at him. "Hmm? That's it?"

"I was…" Those big beautiful eyes of hers were staring. He couldn't tell her of the temptation to enact the ritual, the way her lips had curled, her nose wrinkled, she saw it as wrong, didn't she? Perhaps it was. He had to think. Had to consider. Had to… He cleared his throat. "Contemplating. It's a lot to take in."

That seemed to soothe her. She didn't wish to control, he knew that, but she was also very bad at pretending she was okay with things. This had her scared. No doubt, at that point, scared for him, for his role in the ritual. She likely hadn't even considered yet that he would want to do it himself. He wasn't either. But again, that tickle of temptation winked. But to kill all his spawn siblings… Was that his right? His mind reeled.

He looked to her and pursed his lips. "What do you think I should do?"

She stared at him long and hard, no doubt her own mind reeling at the question. Run and hide, probably occurred to her. But then she took a deep breath and shook her head. "We can't let Cazador complete that ritual. He could unleash terrible horrors."

Entirely true. But what would she think of Astarion as the potential Ascendant? Would she approve? And why did he care so much if she did or didn't? Well… He knew that answer. Deeper than anything else he had ever known.

He nodded to her. "The end of my life among them. Just when I was starting to enjoy it."

A pained look crossed her face. How desperate she was to help.

He paced, that tickle of temptation giving way to the very real threat hanging over him in the meantime. Cazador would be incensed. Paranoid. Obsessed. To have that plan, likely centuries in the making, oh-so-suddenly undone? Or threatened? Getting another Spawn seemed like the obvious solution, but Astarion had been part of his plan, his design. So it had to be Astarion. He knew this to his bones that the bastard wouldn't accept anything else.

"He'll never leave me alone. I didn't think he would when I was just one more wretched toy for him to play with. But if I'm the key to this power he craves, he'll hunt me to the ends of Faerun."

And for once, Astarion didn't feel like running. But to turn and fight, he knew he needed help.

He stopped pacing, instead going to her and reaching for her hands. "I need to take the fight to him. And I need you to help me."

Without a second of hesitation, she took his hands firmly and smiled. "Of course."

"Thank you."

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