Towering statues loomed around Astarion, their severe expressions cold and unforgiving, their weapons poised as if to strike down any who dared tread their sacred ground. Walls of purple marble stretched as far as the eye could see and the air was stale, tinged with the metallic scent of decay and the faint crackle of dormant magic.
He still couldn't quite believe that the infamous Gauntlet of Shar was lurking below the mausoleum, but at the same time it didn't surprise him in the slightest.
Astarion walked behind Durge, every step measured, every movement taut with resentment. The mismatched scraps of armor and clothing he'd scavenged from fallen warriors clung awkwardly to him, a crude patchwork that scratched at his skin. It was better than nothing, but only barely. At least it shielded him from the indignity of parading around in nothing but Ashara's cloak, though the memory of that humiliation still burned fresh in his mind.
He loathed the sight of Durge's broad back ahead of him, the dragonborn's horned head tilted with an air of effortless dominance. Durge walked as though the world itself bent to his will - and for now, Astarion was part of that world. Every word, every action, every sneer reminded him of his centuries under Cazador's heel. The same chains, just a different master.
Ahead of him, Shadowheart's usually composed demeanor had shifted into something almost fervent. The Gauntlet had awoken something in her. She spoke with quiet intensity about the training ground of Dark Justiciars, the trials Shar's followers had endured to prove their devotion.
Astarion caught fragments of her words, the reverence in her voice making his skin crawl. She wasn't just following Durge - she was thriving under him, her devotion to Shar amplified by his indulgence.
It made Astarion's teeth grind. Durge - who mocked, belittled, and struck down others without hesitation - spoke to Shadowheart and Lae'zel as though they were his treasured diciples. They hovered close to him, their loyalty evident in every glance, every word spoken in support of him. Astarion couldn't fathom it. How could they see anything but the monster that he saw? The same creature who had humiliated him and left him frozen and vulnerable in the midst of a fight, a mere pawn on Durge's twisted chessboard.
His jaw tightened as the memory resurfaced. The reanimated skeletons had risen from the cracked stone floor, their eye sockets blazing with violet light as they surged forward. It had been chaos. Shadowheart and Lae'zel moved like blades in motion, cutting down their foes with precision. Gale had conjured bursts of flame and ice, his spells carving paths through the undead. And in the middle of it all, Astarion had tried to escape.
He'd almost made it - almost.
Then, Durge's command had slammed into him like a wall. His body had frozen mid-step, his limbs refusing to obey him. He'd stood there, paralyzed and exposed, as the battle raged around him. Helpless.
Ashara and Rolan had fought to keep the undead from overwhelming him, their movements frantic as they shielded his immobilized form. He could still hear the sound of Ashara's sword tearing through bone, the crack of Rolan's magic echoing in the chamber. Astarion had been forced to watch, his shame mingling with fury, unable to defend himself or them.
Now, he trudged after Durge, his movements stiff and bitter, the echoes of his humiliation clinging to him like the scraps of armor on his body. Ashara and Rolan walked behind him, their weapons drawn, their gazes sharp as they scanned the corridors.
The violet light grew dimmer as they descended further into the Gauntlet. The air thickened, and the silence was broken only by the soft shuffle of their footsteps and the occasional creak of armor. Shadowheart suddenly paused, her mace lowering as she pointed to an inscription etched into the wall.
"This is it," she said, her voice tinged with awe. Her gaze swept over the massive door in front of them, reverence filling her expression. "The training grounds of the Dark Justiciars. The trials... they're still intact." Her focus shifted to Durge, her tone growing insistent. "Let me complete them. It's what Shar would want."
Durge glanced at her, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully before he nodded. "Do as you will," he said, his tone almost indulgent. "But don't expect me to save you if you falter, my little night orchid."
Shadowheart's lips twitched into a faint smile, the kind that suggested she had no intention of failing. Astarion rolled his eyes, his patience for her zealous devotion wearing thin, but he kept his mouth shut. He had no desire to draw attention to himself again.
Ashara had asked him to trust her. Despite the resentment he felt over her apparent unwillingness to simply transform and rip the dragonborn to shreds, he had to admit her caution was warranted. There was no telling what Durge was capable of. The idea that the dragonborn might even force him to fight Ashara sent a chill down his spine. Would she still hold to her promise of never harming him? Best not to put it to the test.
For now, it was better to bide his time and trust in whatever Ashara was planning.
The violet lanterns hanging from the high, arched ceilings cast their light in jagged, flickering patterns, illuminating the chamber below like a scene from a nightmare. The walls, polished purple marble streaked with veins of black, seemed to drink in the light, their surface smooth and cold.
At the bottom of a wide stone staircase lay a scattering of corpses, their forms twisted and broken, the sharp stench of sulfur curling through the air like smoke from a smoldering fire. Astarion crouched with the others at the top of the stairs, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.
This had to be it. The devil's lair.
Astarion's fingers rested lightly on the hilt of his dagger, his other hand braced against the floor to steady himself. He scanned the room for movement but found only stillness, broken by the faint, sputtering crackle of torches lining the chamber's walls. At the far end, the prize gleamed - an Umbral gem, perched atop a pedestal like a dark promise.
Earlier in the Gauntlet, they had met with the necromancer Balthazar, a grotesque figure whose corpulent body reeked of decay, surrounded by his shambling undead servants. Astarion could still see the gleam of Balthazar's sunken eyes as he'd laid out their task with a tone of disinterest: find the Nightsong relic for Ketheric and prove their usefulness.
It was Balthazar who had told them of the Umbral gems needed to power the elevator platforms that linked each level of the Gauntlet. Now, one such gem lay within reach, but the scene before them screamed danger.
Durge leaned forward slightly, his claws clicking faintly against the stone as he rubbed his scaled chin in thought. "I know a baited trap when I see one," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of calculation and dark amusement.
"And I know a devil when I smell one," Astarion murmured, his voice dry but laced with disdain. His eyes stayed fixed on the chamber below. The sulfurous stench was a dead giveaway, even if the room itself hadn't screamed infernal danger.
Durge's head swiveled toward him, a faint flicker of a smirk curling on his reptilian lips. He ignored Astarion's comment and instead turned to Shadowheart, who was crouched beside him, her mace held loosely but ready. "Fancy putting those impressive shadow-stalking abilities of yours to good use, my dark angel?"
Shadowheart tilted her head, her lips curling faintly at the edges. "If you can provide me with a distraction," she replied, her voice soft but edged with challenge.
Durge's grin widened, the sharp edges of his teeth glinting in the violet light. "Oh, I have just the thing."
He turned, his gaze landing squarely on Astarion. "You wanted to kill the devil for Raphael, didn't you, spawn? Now's your opportunity. I think you should trot down there and introduce yourself."
Astarion's fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms. His crimson eyes darted to the altar, the corpses, the faint pulse of violet light, then back to Durge. "You want me to deliberately walk into an ambush?"
Durge tilted his head, his expression mockingly perplexed as he turned to Shadowheart and Lae'zel. "Did I speak too quietly? Did I not enunciate clearly? Or do you think the spawn is deaf?"
Lae'zel didn't hesitate, her lips curling in disdain as she rested her blade against her shoulder. "He is more than likely just cowardly," she said, her tone flat, almost bored.
Shadowheart smirked faintly, her sharp eyes gleaming as she turned to Gale, who crouched slightly behind them. "What do you think, Gale? Is the spawn deaf or simply stupid?"
Astarion's eyes flicked to Gale, catching the flicker of discomfort that crossed the wizard's face. Gale shifted his weight, his mouth opening slightly as though he might speak, but the words never came. He looked away, avoiding Astarion's gaze entirely.
Durge's grin vanished in an instant. His clawed hand shot out, grabbing Gale by the throat and dragging him forward with an effortless strength that made Astarion flinch. Gale gasped, his hands flying to Durge's wrist in a futile attempt to pry himself free. "She asked you a question, mage," Durge growled, his voice low and guttural.
Ashara was on her feet in an instant, anger blazing in her eyes as she stepped forward. "All right, we'll go!" she snapped, her voice sharp and defiant. "Just leave Gale alone."
Durge's eyes flicked toward her, his grip on Gale loosening slightly as a slow, satisfied grin spread across his face. Without a word, Ashara turned and began descending the staircase, her movements deliberate, her shoulders tense.
Astarion stood as well, his gaze flicking briefly to Gale. The wizard's expression was stricken, gratitude and shame twisting his features as he watched Ashara descend. Astarion clenched his jaw, the sight stirring something uncomfortable in his chest. He cast a glance at Durge, who smirked and gestured toward the chamber below.
"She's smarter than you, spawn," Durge said, his tone taunting. "Remind me to get her tadpoled."
Rolan made as if to follow them, but Lae'zel's hand shot out, grabbing his collar and yanking him back down as he attempted to stand. The tiefling stumbled, his eyes narrowing as he glared at her. "The tiefling stays," she growled. "To ensure your swift return."
Rolan snorted, brushing her hand off with exaggerated bravado. "You'll be waiting a while then," he said, his tone flippant. "They can't stand me."
Astarion hesitated on the stairs, the words cutting sharper than he'd expected. The bravado in Rolan's voice couldn't hide the truth beneath it, the hint of bitterness that made Astarion's own chest twist uncomfortably.
Durge chuckled low in his throat, the sound rumbling with dark amusement as his sharp claws tapped rhythmically against the stone steps. His eyes gleamed as he turned his gaze to Rolan. "Oh, I'm sure that's true of the spawn," he said, his tone smooth. "But the little she-elf is so delightfully compassionate. So easy to manipulate, it's almost unfair."
Lae'zel scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. "Compassion is a weakness," she said bluntly, her gaze darting to Astarion as if daring him to disagree.
Astarion stopped mid-step, turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder. His lips curled into a faint smirk, though his eyes gleamed with something colder. "I used to think that too... these days I'm not so sure."
He tilted his head, the smirk growing sharper as he added, "You all have fun being cowards up here while the 'weak' go and put themselves in danger."
Lae'zel's expression darkened instantly. She half-rose, her face twisting in fury, her hand twitching toward the hilt of her sword. Durge's clawed hand settled on her shoulder, stopping her with a subtle but commanding pressure.
"Patience, Lae'zel," he said, his tone casual but laced with menace. "You'll get your chance to make him suffer for that remark later."
The implied threat sent a faint prickle running down Astarion's spine like a whisper of cold air. He bit back his instinct to respond, turning his back on the group and continuing down the stairs. His focus shifted instead to Ashara, who waited just ahead, her posture tense yet ready. As he approached, her sharp intake of breath caught his attention.
"A displacer beast!" she gasped, her voice filled with something that could only be described as excitement.
Astarion's eyes snapped to the shadows ahead, narrowing as they adjusted to the shifting light. At first, the beast was nothing more than a ripple in the darkness, a distortion that didn't quite belong. But then it emerged, its sleek, panther-like body covered in dark, rippling fur. Its six limbs moved with unnerving grace, the long tentacles sprouting from its shoulders swaying with a deadly elegance. The faint violet glow reflected in its piercing yellow eyes, which flicked toward them before turning away.
Astarion couldn't help the faint smile that curved his lips. Only Ashara would see a creature like this - a predator of shadows and nightmares - and feel excitement instead of fear.
The displacer beast padded forward, its massive paws silent against the stone floor. Its tail swished lazily, as if utterly unconcerned by the intruders. It moved with purpose, crossing the chamber until it reached the glowing Umbral gem. There, it settled onto its haunches, its sinuous body lowering gracefully as it sat beside the gem. The beast's yellow eyes turned back to them, its gaze taunting and almost playful, like a cat daring a mouse to come closer.
Astarion raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. He stepped closer to Ashara, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "It doesn't seem terribly interested in eating us. Yet." He glanced at her, his smirk returning. "Do try not to pet it, will you?"
Ashara shot him a look, her sapphire eyes narrowing, though there was a faint twitch of amusement in her lips. "I'm not completely reckless," she murmured, though the flicker of longing in her gaze suggested otherwise.
Astarion chuckled under his breath, his tension easing slightly as he studied the creature. He wasn't sure what unnerved him more - the displacer beast's strange indifference to their presence, or the fact that the gem was so blatantly exposed, as if inviting them to take it. The sulfur in the air thickened, the oppressive scent clawing at his senses. Something was watching them, waiting.
Ashara and Astarion exchanged a glance, their expressions an unspoken mirror of resigned determination. Without a word, they both shrugged at the same time, a simultaneous gesture that seemed to say: Here goes nothing. Together, they stepped into the room, the oppressive air of the chamber pressing against their skin like a damp shroud.
No sooner had their feet touched the cracked stone floor than a deep, gravelly voice thundered through the room, reverberating off the towering walls. "What's this? Fresh entertainment."
They turned sharply, their eyes darting to the source of the voice. Perched atop a jagged outcropping of stone, a monstrous figure loomed.
His immense frame was coated in dark red flesh, gleaming in the dim torchlight as if slick with fresh blood. His broad shoulders were draped with a tattered cloak that shimmered faintly, skulls hanging like trophies from his armor. Two jagged horns curled wickedly from his brow, framing a face that twisted into a mocking sneer. His glowing, molten eyes locked onto them as he hefted a massive crossbow, the weapon's jagged bolt glinting with cruel intent. His claws tapped the weapon's stock, each tap a promise of violence.
It wasn't just him. Around the chamber, shadows shifted as figures stepped into the light. Sinister creatures clad in spiked armor and devilish masks peered down at them from crumbling ledges and broken columns. Merregons. Their cold, calculating eyes glinted behind their masks, and their weapons gleamed faintly in the violet light of the chamber.
"But you're too fresh for this place, aren't you?" the devil continued. He leaned forward slightly, his horns casting jagged shadows across the floor. "There's a whiff of the surface to you..."
Ashara leaned slightly toward Astarion, her voice barely a whisper. "There's no way we can take on this thing alone."
Astarion's eyes flicked to her, his voice equally low but pointed. "You could..."
Ashara frowned, her hand tugging at the edge of her leather cuirass. Her hesitation was clear, her gaze shifting briefly to the shadows as if calculating the cost of unleashing what lay within her. "I'd prefer to keep the wolf as a last resort," she murmured.
Before Astarion could respond, the devil's mocking tone broke through again. "A new arrival, then. You burrowed too deep and stumbled into Yurgir's lair, little rabbit..."
The name hung heavy in the air. Yurgir. The devil's grin widened as he adjusted his grip on the crossbow, leaning forward slightly as though savoring the tension.
Astarion decided to gamble. If nothing else, he could try to buy them time.
"Well," he said, stepping forward with calculated poise. His voice was smooth, even charming, as he met the devil's blazing gaze. "Allow me to hop to it - I want to talk."
Yurgir's sneer deepened, his massive hand tightening on the crossbow. "I don't talk to prey, I-"
He stopped abruptly, his nostrils flaring. His glowing eyes narrowed as he sniffed the air, his expression twisting into a snarl. "There's something else," he growled, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. "Almost hidden by your fear-stink... cherries, musk... and sulfur."
Yurgir straightened as he growled one word: "Raphael."
The name was a curse, venom dripping from every syllable. Yurgir's claws flexed as he adjusted his grip on the crossbow. "I can smell him all over you. Where is he?! That perfumed trickster swindled me - trapped me."
Astarion arched an eyebrow, forcing a calm expression even as his pulse quickened. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but he wants you dead."
The words had barely left his mouth before Yurgir moved, his bulk shifting with unnatural speed. He raised the crossbow, the massive bolt gleaming menacingly as he leveled it directly at Astarion's chest. "Where is he?!" Yurgir roared, his voice shaking the chamber. "Spit it out - NOW."
"Well," Astarion said, his tone almost flippant despite the danger. "I'd tell you, but I imagine Raphael would consider that terribly rude. And I've always been a stickler for etiquette."
A sharp, piercing yowl echoed through the chamber, cutting through the tension like a blade. Yurgir's massive head snapped toward the source of the noise, his molten eyes narrowing as he roared, "Nessa!"
Without hesitation, he loosed a bolt from his massive crossbow, the projectile slicing through the air like a streak of dark lightning. Astarion turned in time to see Shadowheart roll out of its path, the bolt embedding itself into the stone floor with a deafening crack.
Shadowheart clutched the Umbral gem in one hand, its faint violet glow reflecting in her eyes as she swung her mace with the other, narrowly keeping the displacer beast at bay. The creature snarled, its sleek, muscled form darting around her in a blur, its twin shoulder tentacles lashing out like barbed whips.
The chamber erupted into chaos.
The merregons, perched like vultures on the ledges above, leapt to the ground, landing with heavy thuds, their spears and pikes raised. The spiked armor and devilish masks of the infernal soldiers glinted ominously in the torchlight. They moved with unnerving precision, surrounding Astarion and Ashara in moments.
Astarion barely had time to draw his sword before a spear thrust toward his chest. He sidestepped, the weapon grazing his ribs as he brought his blade up in a sharp counter, striking the shaft of the spear and forcing his attacker to withdraw.
Ashara's blade flashed beside him as she parried a pike aimed at her midsection. Her movements were swift, her strikes measured, but Astarion could see the strain in her as more merregons closed in. Their numbers were overwhelming, their attacks relentless. Every clash of steel sent vibrations up his arm, his muscles burning with the effort of keeping them at bay.
"Shadowheart!" Durge's voice rang out, his tone sharp and commanding. He stood near the chamber's entrance, watching the chaos unfold with a smug grin. "Leave the dead weight and bring the gem."
Astarion's heart sank as Shadowheart hesitated for only a moment before vanishing in a swirl of shadow. She reappeared effortlessly beside Durge, the Umbral gem glowing in her hands. Astarion's lips curled into a snarl as Durge chuckled, his gaze shifting to Astarion and Ashara, who were being forced back against the far wall.
"I was going to use you as trap fodder," Durge called out, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. "But I think I like this outcome better."
One of the merregons lunged, its pike narrowly missing Astarion's side as he twisted and countered, his blade slicing a jagged line across its armored chest. The creature stumbled but didn't fall, its glowing eyes unblinking as it advanced again. Beside him, Ashara deflected another blow, her blade cutting a shallow line across the merregon's arm. Their backs pressed against the cold marble wall, and the press of enemies grew tighter.
"We can't leave them there!" Gale's voice broke through the cacophony, desperate and pleading. He stood at Durge's side, his expression pale but determined. "Please, they can still be of use to you."
Durge swatted away a stray merregon with a lazy flick of his clawed hand, his gaze never leaving the fight. "Gale," he said, his tone laced with mock patience, "Thunderwave the doorway and seal them in. I don't want this rabble following us when they've finished off the spawn and his whore."
Ashara's sharp gasp snapped Astarion's attention back to her. Her blade clashed against a merregon's spear, forcing it back as her eyes suddenly glowed faintly with arcane light. "There!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with a mix of triumph and disbelief. "I have it - I have the chains!"
Astarion deflected another thrust, his irritation boiling over. "What in the hells are you on about?" he snapped, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
Ashara slashed at a merregon's leg, forcing it to retreat a step. "I've severed Durge's control!" she shouted, her voice trembling with triumph. "For both of you!"
For a moment, Astarion hesitated, disbelief flashing across his face. His mind raced as her words sunk in. He glanced toward Gale, who stood frozen, his eyes wide with shock and confusion. Summoning his strength, Astarion reached out with his mind, the connection shaky but unmistakable. "Gale, you're free! Get the hells away from him!"
Gale's head snapped toward him, his wide eyes locking on Astarion's for a moment. But hesitation clouded his gaze, uncertainty rooting him in place.
Astarion snarled as he parried another strike, kicking a merregon back with a sharp motion. "Or stay as Durge's dog," he growled through the mental link, his tone biting. "Your choice."
Gale's hesitation faltered. His eyes flicked to Durge, who was preoccupied swatting away another merregon, and then to Rolan, still crouched on the staircase beside Lae'zel. With a sudden burst of determination, Gale lunged forward, grabbing Rolan by the shoulder and yanking him away from the githyanki's grasp. Light erupted around them, bright and blinding, as the two disappeared from sight.
A moment later, they reappeared just behind the line of merregons surrounding Astarion and Ashara. Rolan looked disoriented, his wide eyes darting around the chaotic scene, but Gale's expression was steeled, determination hardening his features.
Astarion allowed himself a grim smile, his grip tightening on his sword. "Took you long enough," he muttered, before turning to Ashara with a strained look on his face.
"Now my dear, if you would be so kind... bloody shift already!"
Ashara didn't need to be told twice. The power she'd been holding back surged through her like a breaking dam, wild and uncontrollable, unraveling her human form in an instant. Her muscles expanded, her limbs lengthened, and her vision sharpened as the transformation overtook her.
A thunderous growl ripped from her chest as her massive wolf form erupted outward, the sheer force of it sending the surrounding merregons flying backward. Their spiked armor scraped against the marble floor as they tumbled away, their weapons clattering uselessly.
Ashara wasted no time. Her enormous paw swept out in a vicious arc, claws gleaming, and the nearest merregon was hurled into a crumbling pillar with a sickening crunch. Another charged her, its pike raised, but she lowered her head and snapped it up in her jaws, crushing it to a pulp. The violet glow of the chamber lights reflected in her eyes as she turned, her fur bristling and her breath coming in low, guttural snarls.
A sudden blast of heat struck her square on the head, the force of it jarring her momentarily. Flames licked at her fur, and her ears flattened as she snapped her massive jaws toward the source. A figure stood before her, hand outstretched, smoke curling from his fingertips, his scent unfamiliar. Her lips peeled back, exposing her fangs, and she lunged toward him, her massive jaws open wide. How dare this puny little mage attack me!
But before she could strike, another figure darted into her path, his pale hands raised in a frantic gesture. She recognized the scent immediately - Astarion.
"Wait, Ashara!" he shouted, his voice pitched with urgency. "He's not an enemy!"
Ashara paused mid-lunge, her massive body skidding to a halt as her jaws closed like a steel trap inches from his face. She saw the momentary panic in Astarion's eyes before his expression filled with relief.
He turned toward the mage - Gale, her instincts reminded her, though her wolf mind fought to parse the details.
"The terrifying demon wolf is on our side," Astarion snapped, his crimson eyes narrowing at Gale. "But for gods' sake, don't piss her off!"
Gale's expression was a mixture of bewilderment and alarm. He opened his mouth as if to argue but quickly closed it, shaking his head. "Filing away my abundant questions for later," he muttered, taking a careful step back.
Ashara huffed, the air from her lungs stirring the mage's hair as she leaned closer. Her nose twitched as she lowered her head, inhaling deeply. Gale stiffened, his wide eyes darting to Astarion, who gave a faint shrug as if to say Just let her do it. The scent of Gale locked into Ashara's mind, familiar and distinct, and her instincts shifted slightly. She mentally marked him with a single word: friend.
Satisfied, she pulled back, her head swinging around toward the entrance of the chamber. Her gaze locked onto the figure of the white-scaled dragonborn standing there, his eyes watching her with interest. The sight of him sent a hot surge of rage flooding through her veins, her every muscle tightening. Her thoughts narrowed, singular and primal: KILL.
She let out a thunderous roar that shook the walls, her claws scraping against the marble as she lunged toward him. Her vision tunneled, the sound of her own growls drowning out everything else as she charged. But before she could reach him, a blinding pain erupted in her side. The force of the blow sent her skidding across the floor, her claws gouging deep furrows into the stone as she struggled to regain her footing.
Ashara whipped her massive head around, her eyes locking onto her attacker. Yurgir. The infernal devil stood before her, his spiked club gleaming with malicious energy. His molten eyes burned with fury as he hefted the weapon again, his muscles rippling under his crimson skin.
Ashara lunged, her jaws snapping around the club as he swung it toward her again. Her teeth dug into the jagged metal, the taste of rust and sulfur filling her mouth. Yurgir snarled, his massive frame bracing against her strength as they struggled for control of the weapon.
Around them, the chaos of the battle raged on. Astarion darted through the fray, his blade flashing as he struck at the merregons swarming toward Ashara's flanks. Gale raised his hands, a shimmering barrier of arcane light erupting between them and another wave of enemies. Rolan, wide-eyed but determined, hurled bolts of crackling magic from the edges of the fight, his voice rising in frantic incantations.
Yurgir roared and swung the club, dragging Ashara with it. The motion sent her crashing into a nearby pillar, the impact rattling her bones, but she refused to let go. Her ice magic surged, the frost creeping up Yurgir's hands. He bellowed in anger, dropping the weapon as the cold bit into his flesh. Ashara immediately released the club, twisting and slashing out with her claws, catching him across the chest. Deep gashes opened in his flesh, and black ichor spilled from the wounds.
Yurgir staggered, his eyes burning with rage as he swung at her with his own claws, managing to rake her side. Ashara snarled in pain but retaliated with a burst of icy breath. The freezing mist engulfed Yurgir, frost forming across his horns and shoulders as he howled in fury. Taking advantage of his disorientation, Ashara leapt onto him, her massive form knocking him to the ground. Her jaws found his throat, clamping down as her claws raked across his chest again and again.
Meanwhile, across the chamber, Astarion and Gale worked to keep the displacer beast at bay. Its sleek, black form darted between them, its twin tentacles lashing out with deadly precision. Rolan hurled bolts of crackling energy, his spells lighting up the dim chamber, but the creature's agility made it nearly impossible to land a direct hit.
The beast lunged for Rolan, its fanged jaws snapping. Gale shoved the tiefling aside at the last moment, conjuring a shimmering shield of arcane light. The beast's claws raked across Gale's chest, the force of the blow sending him staggering backward, deep gashes vivid against his pale skin.
Rolan, shaken but determined, raised his hands, muttering an incantation. A burst of golden energy erupted from his palms, striking the beast and freezing it in place momentarily.
Astarion didn't waste the opportunity, slashing at its exposed side. Gale, wincing in pain, managed to cast another spell, fire erupting from his hands and engulfing the beast. With a final, pained yowl, the creature collapsed, its body smoking as the light in its eyes dimmed.
Back in the center of the chamber, Ashara stood over Yurgir's crumpled form, her breath heaving, her jaws dripping with black ichor. The devil lay still, his body broken and coated in frost. Ashara's claws flexed against the stone, her bloodlust roaring in her mind, urging her to keep tearing, to destroy everything in her path. She trembled, fighting for control, her breaths coming in low, guttural snarls.
A loud rumble broke through her haze, and her ears swiveled toward the sound. She lifted her head, her eyes narrowing as she saw the entrance to the chamber shuddering. Massive chunks of stone began to fall, the archway collapsing in on itself.
Her gaze snapped to Durge. The dragonborn stood just beyond the crumbling entrance, his white scales gleaming in the dim light. His eyes locked onto hers, and his lips curled into a mocking grin. He raised a clawed hand in a slow, taunting wave before disappearing behind the cascade of rubble.
Ashara's fury surged. She roared, charging toward the collapsing entrance, but it was too late. The rubble came crashing down, sealing the chamber. She skidded to a halt, her claws scraping against the stone as she howled in frustration. Her massive paws clawed at the rocks, sending shards flying, but the barrier was impenetrable.
The way was shut, and Durge was gone.
Astarion approached Ashara cautiously, his movements slow and deliberate. She was frantic, clawing and biting at the fallen stones like a beast possessed. Her growls reverberated through the chamber, low and guttural, vibrating through the cracked marble floor. Her claws scraped deep grooves into the rock, and her jaws snapped, flecks of stone flying with each strike.
Astarion hesitated. The primal energy radiating off her made his instincts scream to stay away, but he pushed the fear down, forcing his feet to move. When he reached her foreleg, he extended a hand and placed it against the blood-matted fur.
"Ashara," he said loudly, his voice steady but cautious. "It's over. He's gone. Stop."
Her massive head turned sharply, the wolf skull gleaming dully in the dim light. Her glowing eyes locked onto him, blazing with frustration and fury. Her jaws opened slightly, and for a moment, he felt the weight of her growl - deep and menacing. She was a creature of pure instinct now, and for a fleeting moment, Astarion wasn't sure if she recognized him.
But then, the glow in her eyes dimmed, flickering as if her mind had regained control. She huffed, a low, resigned sound, and stepped back from the rubble, lowering herself to the ground, her body folding into a crouch as her chin hit the stone with a dejected thud.
Astarion moved around her head, his boots crunching softly against the rubble-strewn floor. He stopped in front of her, his gaze lingering as he finally took her in.
This was the first time he'd seen her like this without an immediate threat bearing down on them. Her massive form was terrifyingly beautiful, her dark fur shimmering faintly with an almost ethereal quality. But his eyes were drawn to the bone-like structure of her jaws, sharp and angular, streaked with blood, both hers and Yurgir's.
Tentatively, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the smooth, cool surface of her muzzle. He hesitated, uncertain if he was crossing a boundary, but when she didn't flinch or growl, he let his fingers trace a small arc along the ridge of her jaw.
Her glowing, icy blue eyes flicked toward him, and for a moment, he felt trapped in their light. Slowly, the ethereal glow began to fade, the pale blue orbs shifting into a more familiar sight. Her eyes - Ashara's eyes. The ones he knew so well. The iridescent silver flecks mingled with the sapphire gleam, catching the faint light of the chamber.
"I'm sure we'll have another chance at him," he said, his voice softer now, almost reassuring.
Ashara let out a deep huff, the sound heavy with disappointment and resignation. It rumbled through her chest and into the ground beneath her, ending in a low groan.
Astarion grinned despite himself, his hand patting her muzzle lightly. "Don't sulk," he teased. "Breaking Durge's control over me was far more important anyway."
Her massive tail gave a single, lazy wag, sending a cloud of dust into the air and nearly knocking Rolan off his feet. The tiefling stumbled, his expression sour as he glared at her. "Watch it!" he barked, brushing ash and dirt off his already battered clothing.
Ashara's eyes flicked toward him briefly, but her focus shifted as Gale approached more cautiously. His face was pale, his hand pressed against the deep gashes on his chest where the displacer beast had struck him. His wide eyes were fixed on Ashara, his mouth slightly agape as if he were about to speak.
Astarion glanced at Ashara, quirking an eyebrow before turning to Gale. "Super secret druid wild-shape," he said smoothly, waving a hand dismissively, "that she's absolutely not allowed to talk about."
Gale's mouth snapped shut, his brows furrowing as he glanced between Astarion and the massive wolf sprawled on the floor. "Right..." he muttered, clearly unconvinced but too tired to argue. He shifted uncomfortably, grimacing as the movement pulled at his wounds. Blood seeped through his fingers, dripping onto the cracked stone floor.
Astarion's gaze flicked to the tiefling standing stiffly nearby. "I don't suppose you'd care to heal him?" he asked Rolan dryly, gesturing toward Gale's bleeding chest. "Seeing as he heroically threw himself between you and that displacer beast?"
Rolan folded his arms, his expression sour. "No," he replied flatly.
Astarion sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Really? Not even a thank you? You're truly the embodiment of gratitude."
"I didn't ask for his help," Rolan shot back, his tone defensive. "I can handle myself."
"Oh yes, you certainly looked like you were 'handling' that cat," Astarion quipped, his lips curling into a smirk.
Ashara let out another huff, this one sounding faintly like a growl. Astarion's smirk softened as he reached out to pat her again. "Don't worry, my dear," he said lightly. "They'll get along eventually. Probably."
Gale, still clutching his chest, gave a weak smile. "It's quite all right," he said, his voice strained but carrying a quiet dignity. "I am capable of healing myself."
As if to prove his point, he straightened slightly, only to sway precariously and grab onto the nearest broken pillar for support. "Though I fear I am perhaps too exhausted at this particular moment," he added, his words laced with wry humor.
Ashara let out a faint whine, her massive head turning toward Rolan. Her ears flattened, her body lowering slightly in what could only be described as a pleading gesture.
Rolan folded his arms, his glare fixed firmly on her. "Playing cute won't work on me," he said flatly. "I've had years of dealing with Cal to build up an immunity to puppy dog eyes."
Ashara's ears pinned fully back, her tail bristling as a low, menacing growl rumbled from her throat. She bared her teeth slightly, her massive jaws parting just enough to reveal the sharp glint of her fangs.
Astarion's smirk widened as he noticed Rolan tense, the tiefling's bravado faltering under the weight of Ashara's displeasure. "How about threats?" Astarion said smoothly, his tone light but edged with amusement.
Rolan rolled his eyes but didn't miss a beat. He stepped forward, placed his hand over Gale's chest, and muttered, "Te Curo."
Green light pulsed from his palm, flowing over Gale's wounds like liquid sunlight. The gashes on Gale's chest began to close, the bleeding stemmed as the magic knitted his skin back together. The wizard let out a relieved sigh as the pain ebbed, his posture straightening slightly.
As soon as the spell finished, Ashara extended her head toward Rolan, the tip of her cold nose brushing against his cheek in a surprisingly gentle gesture. Rolan stiffened, his scowl deepening, but Astarion caught the subtle flicker of something softer in his expression. The glare he shot her was half-hearted at best.
"Fine," Rolan muttered, stepping back and brushing at his cheek as though trying to wipe away the contact. "But I'm not making a habit of it."
Ashara rose to her feet, her towering form moving with a fluid grace. She sniffed at the piles of ash that littered the chamber - the remnants of the merregons and Yurgir. Her nose twitched as she took in the scent, her ears flicking as if sifting through the faint traces of magic still lingering in the air.
Astarion watched her with a faint smirk. "Don't go licking them up," he called, his tone light but laced with humor. "You'll make yourself sick."
Ashara turned her head, fixing him with an unamused glare. She huffed, the sound sharp and dismissive, before returning to her investigation. But something about the way she lingered in her wolf form gnawed at Astarion's mind. She didn't seem inclined to change back, and that unsettled him.
Pulling the cloak from his shoulders, he stepped closer, holding it out. "Do you want to...?" he began, his voice quiet, almost uncertain.
Ashara tilted her head, her eyes flicking toward the cloak. Before she could respond, the slow, deliberate sound of clapping echoed through the chamber. The sharp noise cut through the stillness, and everyone turned sharply toward its source.
Standing beside the largest ash pile, Raphael emerged from the shadows, his presence as pristine and unnerving as ever. His maroon doublet was immaculate, the golden embroidery catching the faint light. He smiled, sharp and calculating, his pale eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Impressive," Raphael said smoothly, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "Yurgir truly met his match in you, little godling."
The air in the chamber seemed to freeze, tension thick and crackling as Raphael's words hung in the air. Astarion's stomach churned at the casual way Raphael revealed his knowledge of Ashara's true nature, as though dangling a secret he intended to exploit. He barely had time to process the implication before Ashara's snarl rippled through the air.
Her growl built to a thunderous roar, and in an instant, she lunged. Her massive form propelled forward, jaws wide and glinting, her muscles rippling as frost billowed from her open maw. Astarion barely blinked before Raphael was gone, his form dissolving into nothingness as Ashara's jaws snapped shut on empty air. She landed heavily, her claws skidding across the stone, and spun, her eyes blazing with fury.
Raphael reappeared to one side, his smirk still firmly in place. "Ah ah, bad girl," he chided, wagging a finger at her as if scolding a misbehaving pet. "It's not nice to attack when someone is speaking." His tone was light, mocking, but Astarion caught the way Raphael shifted his weight slightly, his stance just a touch too defensive for his usual bravado.
Ashara wasn't finished. With a snarl that could chill blood, she whirled and launched herself again, jaws wide, frost curling from her mouth like a storm. Raphael vanished once more, his figure dissipating in a swirl of shadows, only to reappear behind Astarion.
"Call her off," Raphael said smoothly, though there was a distinct edge to his voice now. "Or so is the deal."
Astarion turned his head slightly, just enough to catch Raphael's expression. "I get the distinct impression she's still mad about you stripping me earlier," he said lightly.
Raphael's frown deepened, his gaze flicking toward Ashara, who was now stalking closer, her massive body low and predatory, frost coating the ground where her paws touched. Even Astarion felt a prickle of unease as her icy blue eyes locked on Raphael with unrelenting focus.
With a quick motion, Raphael raised his hand, and Astarion tensed. But as he glanced down, his apprehension eased - his original armor and weapons shimmered back into place, settling on him with their familiar weight.
"There," Raphael said, his tone almost nonchalant, though his eyes flicked back to Ashara's form. "A gesture of goodwill."
Astarion raised a hand, halting Ashara's advance. "Wait a moment, darling," he said, his voice calm but firm. He stepped forward, placing himself in front of her, his gaze locked on Raphael. "He still needs to uphold his end of the deal, after all."
He turned his head slightly, throwing a sly smile over his shoulder at Ashara. "You can eat him afterwards if you want though."
Raphael sneered, unimpressed, but his eyes flicked nervously to Ashara's open jaws, her teeth gleaming like jagged shards of ice. He smoothed down his doublet with a theatrical air, straightening his posture and striking a pose that was meant to exude confidence.
"I discovered all there is to know about those scars of yours," Raphael said, his voice regaining its usual smoothness. "It's a rather grim tale, even for my tastes." His smirk sharpened. "Brace yourself, Astarion - we're about to unveil your destiny."
Astarion felt the knot in his stomach tighten, dread coiling deep in his chest. He folded his arms, his posture a mask of false indifference. Behind him, Ashara let out a low growl. He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze meeting hers briefly.
"I agree," he said, his tone dry as his lips curled into a faint smirk. "I think he's stalling too."
Raphael's eyes narrowed at Astarion, his gaze sharp as a blade. The devil's lips curled in a mockery of a smile, but his irritation was plain as he continued. "Carved into that ivory skin of yours is one part of an infernal contract between the archdevil Mephistopheles and your former master, Cazador Szarr. 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 hung heavy, and Astarion felt the dread tighten around his chest. His body tensed involuntarily, and Raphael's smirk returned, sensing his unease. "It promises to be a marvellous ceremony," Raphael drawled, each word steeped in mockery. "Very elaborate, incredibly ancient, and entirely diabolical. If he completes the rite, he will become a new kind of being - the Vampire Ascendant."
Astarion felt what little blood he had drain from his face, but he kept his expression as composed as possible. Before he could muster a response, Gale stepped to his side, his gaze wary and analytical as he looked at Raphael.
"I've read tales of the myth," Gale said, his voice low. "In the forbidden archives of Waterdeep. All the strengths of a vampire will be amplified, and alongside them, they will enjoy the luxuries of the living."
Raphael's eyes lit up at the wizard's contribution. He nodded, a mocking appreciation in his tone. "Just so. 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's breath caught in his throat. The thought of such power - such a perverse perfection of what he was - seemed too fantastical to be real. Yet the devil's tone left no room for disbelief. Raphael savored every moment of the tension he was building.
"But the ritual," Raphael continued, "comes with a price. As all worthwhile things do. Lord Cazador will need to sacrifice a number of souls, including all of his vampiric spawn, to ascend." Raphael leaned closer, his voice dipping conspiratorially, like a serpent coiled to strike. "Imagine, then, how he felt when one of those precious spawn simply disappeared into thin air."
Astarion's heart sank, the knot in his chest pulling tighter. Of course. Of course it would come back to him.
Raphael stepped closer, the glow in his eyes illuminating the faint smirk on his lips. "You," he said softly, with the air of delivering a grand revelation, "are the final piece he requires to complete the ritual. Your scars bind you to it. Your soul will set off a wave of death, bringing Cazador his twisted life. And that, my tragic and toothsome friend, is that."
The devil's words struck like hammers, each one pounding against the fragile composure Astarion clung to. He didn't move, his mind reeling as Raphael gave a low bow, his posture dripping with mockery.
Straightening, Raphael turned his gaze to Ashara, his expression sharpening into something more predatory. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he said smoothly, "I have another deal to conclude."
Before Astarion - or anyone - could respond, Raphael vanished in a puff of red smoke. The acrid scent lingered in the air, and Ashara threw her head back, a thunderous bay of frustration tearing from her throat. The sound echoed through the chamber, reverberating off the cold stone walls.
Astarion stood there, still as stone, his mind still spinning. All he could manage to utter was a quiet, drawn-out, "Hmm..."
Gale stepped closer, his brow furrowed. "That's all you have to say?" he asked incredulously. "Really?"
"I was... contemplating," Astarion replied, his voice distant, distracted. He folded his arms across his chest, trying to gather his composure. "It's a lot to take in."
A soft nudge against his back brought him out of his thoughts. He turned to see Ashara, looked at him with those glowing icy blue eyes. The sight of her should have been unnerving - her skeletal head offered no expression - but something about her presence steadied him.
He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "He'll never leave me alone, will he?" he said softly, more to himself than her. "I didn't think he would even when I was just another wretched toy for him to play with. But now..." His voice faltered. "If I'm the key to this power he craves, he'll hunt me to the ends of Faerûn."
Ashara opened her jaws, a deep snarl rumbling from her throat as her teeth snapped repeatedly at the air. The sound was sharp, deliberate, a clear expression of her disdain. Then she lowered her head again, nudging him gently with her nose.
Astarion blinked, a faint, fond smile breaking through his otherwise grim expression. He reached out, his fingers brushing along the top of her smooth, bone-like muzzle. "If that's your way of telling me not to worry, because you'll kill him first-" He was cut off by her rapid, almost enthusiastic nodding under his hand.
A soft chuckle escaped him, warmth blooming in his chest despite the storm still raging in his mind. "Then... thank you," he said quietly, his voice sincere.
Ashara let out a soft whine, her tail wagging with quick, eager swishes as she rose to her paws. Pacing the chamber, her eyes scanned every crevice and corner with restless intent. She paused near the shattered remains of the ledge where Yurgir had stood, her head tilting as she took in the jagged edges.
Rising onto her hind legs, her claws found purchase on the ledge as she peered over it. Her tail wagged faster, the rhythmic movement betraying her excitement. She lingered only a moment before bounding back toward Astarion, her heavy footfalls sending faint vibrations through the floor. Her jaws hung open wide, and she lowered her head toward him
Astarion took an instinctive step back, his crimson eyes widening. "Wait! What are you doing?" he asked sharply, his voice laced with alarm.
Ashara stopped, her head cocking to one side as if confused by his reaction. She tried again, her jaws parting as she reached for him. Astarion's heart thundered in his chest, his mind flashing to how effortlessly those same jaws had snapped through an orc's armor and bone. But he clenched his fists and pushed the fear down, forcing his feet to stay still as her teeth gently closed around his torso.
He held his breath as she lifted him off the ground, his muscles tense and ready to react. But despite the strength he knew she wielded, her grip was impossibly gentle. Her teeth didn't press hard enough to bruise, and her breath puffed warm and steady against him as she padded back to the ledge. Rising onto her hind legs, she placed him carefully atop the platform before stepping back, her tail wagging again.
Astarion straightened, brushing at his clothes with exaggerated precision, though his trembling hands betrayed him. "Urgh... wolf drool all over me," he muttered, his tone carrying a note of theatrical disgust.
Despite his grumbling, he couldn't help but marvel at her gentleness. For all her raw power, she had handled him as though he were made of glass. Not even the faintest pressure mark lingered where her teeth had been. He turned, his gaze drawn to a gap in the cracked walls visible from the ledge. Realization dawned, a grin tugging at his lips. There was a way out.
"Clever girl," he murmured, glancing back at Ashara.
Ashara's tail wagged furiously, the motion nearly toppling her balance as she disappeared from the ledge. Astarion barely had time to ponder her next move before a panicked voice echoed from below.
"Wait... no, not m- Asharaaaa!"
Rolan's flailing form appeared, held firmly in Ashara's jaws as she rose back to the ledge. With no ceremony at all, she dropped the tiefling onto the platform before disappearing again.
Astarion leaned casually against a wall, a hand pressed to his lips as he stifled the laughter bubbling in his chest. Rolan scrambled to his feet, his crimson skin a shade paler as he brushed off his robes with a huff. "I could have just Misty Stepped up here," he muttered under his breath.
Moments later, Ashara's massive head popped up again, this time with Gale carefully held in her jaws. Astarion couldn't help but notice how much more delicate she was with the wizard compared to Rolan.
Gale straightened once she set him down, bowing slightly toward her. "Thank you," he said, his voice tinged with wry humor. "That was quite an experience - being carried in the literal jaws of death."
Astarion sauntered to the ledge, peering down at Ashara below. She stood there, her tongue lolling out as she panted, her tail wagging with obvious satisfaction. She looked thoroughly pleased with herself, as though she'd just solved a puzzle no one else could.
"And how exactly were you planning to join us?" Astarion asked, his tone indulgent and laced with amusement. "The ledge isn't big enough for you like that, and it's too steep for you to climb as an elf."
Ashara's wagging tail stilled, and her jaws clicked shut. She sat abruptly, her massive form settling with a heavy thud. Her expression - or lack thereof - was so comically blank that Astarion had to turn away, his shoulders shaking with a silent laugh.
Clearing his throat to compose himself, he turned to Rolan and Gale with a sigh. "Either of you have a rope?" he asked, his tone long-suffering.
Gale reached into the leather bag at his hip, his expression thoughtful as he rummaged around. Astarion's sharp eyes narrowed slightly, recognizing the faint shimmer of magic that clung to the edges of it. From the seemingly bottomless bag, Gale withdrew a neatly coiled rope and handed it to Astarion, who accepted it with a nod of thanks.
As he took the rope, Astarion reached into his own recently restored bag, pulling out a blue silk shirt that glimmered faintly in the dim light. He strode back to the edge of the ledge, the rope slung over his arm, and tossed the shirt and his cloak down to Ashara. "Change back, and we'll haul you up," he called.
Below, Ashara's blue eyes flickered with faint amusement. Then, black smoke began to swirl around her, thick and inky, shrouding her body in twisting shadows. Astarion turned away from the sight, focusing on tying the rope securely to a large chunk of stone that looked solid enough to hold. The knots came easily to his fingers, though his mind was half-distracted by the sound of humming energy behind him.
When the rope was tied off, he walked back to the edge and tossed the other end down. Ashara stood below, now in her normal form, draped in the silk shirt that hung loosely on her frame. The hem reached her mid-thigh, making it passable as a short dress, and she was already fastening his cloak around her shoulders. She looked up at him, her expression soft with gratitude.
Astarion grinned down at her, his crimson eyes sparkling with mirth. "You really need to invest in some clothing that can shapeshift with you."
Ashara grasped the rope, her expression rueful as she called back, "I know. This drives me insane sometimes."
He braced himself and began pulling her up, but he couldn't stop himself from slipping in a quip. "Well, I'm not complaining about the view."
As soon as the words left his mouth, he winced, his jaw tightening in frustration at himself. "Sorry," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. "Just pretend I didn't say that. Force of habit."
There was no immediate response, and he hesitated, cracking one eye open. Ashara wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was fixed downward, her body tense. Astarion followed her line of sight, and his stomach plummeted at what he saw.
Below her, a vortex of dark purple energy had begun to form, swirling violently as it expanded. The air around it rippled with power, and tendrils of crackling energy snaked outward, pulling at the rope like a living thing. Astarion felt the tug, the rope vibrating in his hands as the vortex's pull intensified.
Ashara's wide eyes shot up to meet his, her expression filled with dread. Panic surged through him, and he shouted over his shoulder, "Help me!" His voice cracked slightly, and he didn't care.
Gale and Rolan rushed to his side, their faces taut with alarm as they grabbed hold of the rope. Together, they strained against the pull, the muscles in Astarion's arms burning as the vortex grew more insistent.
"Take my hand!" Astarion yelled, leaning as far over the edge as he dared.
Ashara reached up, her hand trembling as their fingers brushed. Her face was pale, her fear unmistakable. Astarion stretched further, his heart hammering as he finally managed to clasp her hand, gripping her tightly.
"Hold on!" he shouted, his voice raw with desperation.
Before they could act, two thick black tendrils shot up from the vortex, coiling around Ashara's waist like living chains. The pull was immediate, vicious, and overwhelming. Ashara screamed his name, her voice filled with terror.
"Astarion!"
Time seemed to freeze as he looked into her eyes. Then, with a violent jerk, the tendrils yanked her downward. Astarion's grip tightened instinctively, but the force was too great. In a single, shared moment of clarity, he knew he wasn't letting go.
The pull dragged them both into the churning vortex, their forms vanishing into its swirling depths.