"Okay, so which one of us wants to volunteer to go investigate the swirling vortex of unstable energy?" Ishta asked, her voice tinged with wry amusement.
Astarion responded with a cold, slightly hostile stare that made her chuckle. The two elves had been heading to re-join Shadowheart at the spot she had chosen to set up camp for the night. The sun had just begun its descent towards the horizon, casting long shadows through the trees, when a faint purple glow piercing through the gloom had caught Ishta's eye. Leaving the path to satisfy her curiosity had initially prompted a complaint from Astarion, but he had followed her willingly enough. Now they both stood in front of a cliffside, upon which a chaotic whirlpool of arcane energy spun, sparking and crackling with an unnatural intensity. The runes and glyphs surrounding it pointed towards it being a teleportation spell of some kind, but one that had obviously gone wrong.
"After you, I insist," Astarion remarked dryly, stepping back warily as another spark flew out from the edges of the swirling mass and hit against Ishta's leather jerkin. He folded his arms, a sceptical eyebrow raised, and his lips curling into a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Ishta felt a slight tingling sensation in her body radiating out from where the spark had landed, but nothing else alarming happened. Undeterred, she stepped forward and peered closely at the runes, her eyes narrowing as she tried to decipher the ancient symbols. The air around her buzzed with magical energy, making the hairs on her arms stand on end.
"It's definitely a portal of some kind, but it appears to be malfunctioning," she called back over her shoulder, her tone a mix of curiosity and concern.
"Wonderful, all the more reason not to touch it then," Astarion replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his wariness clear in his stance. His fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on the hilt of his dagger.
Ishta smiled to herself and reached out, whispering under her breath, "Well, now you've made me want to touch it even more."
The moment her fingers brushed the surface of one of the glowing runes, she felt a jolt of power surge through her hand, causing her to pull back sharply with a yelp of surprise. The sensation was intense, like a bolt of lightning coursing through her veins. Shaking her hand ruefully, she turned around and grinned at Astarion, who regarded her with a raised eyebrow and a look of bemused exasperation.
"Yep, you were right. I shouldn't have touched it," she agreed cheerfully, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of the experience.
"And you claim my survival depends on you? For some strange reason, I'm suddenly feeling less confident of that fact," Astarion smirked at her.
Ishta was about to retort when an arm clad in a purple sleeve shot through the center of the portal. The sudden appearance of the limb made her jump back in alarm, her hand instinctively reaching for her scimitars. The disembodied voice that followed was urgent and desperate.
"A hand? Anyone?"
Her heart raced as she eyed the arm warily. Nothing further happened, and the arm remained extended, waving slightly as if seeking a grip. Curiosity overrode caution, and she approached it carefully. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
"Just your average traveller stuck between realms. Pull me out and we'll get properly introduced," the voice replied, strained but with a hint of humour.
Ishta turned to Astarion, who simply shrugged at her and stepped even further back, clearly not eager to get involved. His eyes were narrowed, and his expression was one of sceptical detachment.
Rolling her eyes in annoyance, Ishta turned back to the portal. She grasped hold of the hand, the skin cold and slightly damp to the touch. Bracing herself, she pulled back with all her strength, feeling the resistance of the portal as it clung to its occupant.
"That's it! Go on, keep pulling!" the voice exclaimed excitedly, its tone filled with hope.
Ishta gritted her teeth, planting her feet firmly on the ground. Her muscles strained as she pulled harder, feeling the portal's grip weaken. Inch by inch, the figure began to emerge, the portal's chaotic energy sparking and crackling around them.
Suddenly, the portal flashed brightly for a moment, and Ishta felt the resistance abruptly give way. She stumbled backward and toppled over just as a figure came flying through the energy field, landing next to her with a surprised cry of "Ooft!"
Astarion tensed, his eyes narrowing as he saw Ishta fall backwards. Instinctively, he drew his dagger and moved forward, his muscles coiled like a spring, ready to attack the stranger now kneeling beside her. His breath quickened, and his gaze flicked between Ishta and the unfamiliar purple-robed figure.
Ishta glanced over at him, her eyes wide but calm, and silently waved her hand, cautioning him to stay back as she scrambled to her feet. Hesitating, Astarion caught her signal, his jaw tightening as he nodded in acknowledgment. He sheathed his dagger quickly, though his hand hovered near the hilt, ready to draw it again if needed.
The stranger rose smoothly, his movements fluid despite the disorienting circumstances. Astarion noted he appeared to be a human, with fair skin, shoulder-length windswept brown hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. A single silver earring hung from his left ear, shaped like a star and glinting in the light. He reached out and grasped Ishta's hands with a firm grip. "Hello. I'm Gale of Waterdeep," the man said, pumping her arm enthusiastically. His voice was rich and resonant, carrying a surprising warmth. "Apologies, I'm usually better at this."
"At what? Introductions?" she asked, a quizzical smile tugging at her lips.
The man called Gale shook his head. "At magic," he corrected, glancing back at the now silent runes with a wistful expression. His shoulders sagged slightly, and he gave a small sigh before turning his attention back to Ishta. "Say, but I know you, don't I? In a manner of speaking. You were on the Nautiloid as well," he observed, his chestnut brown eyes widening slightly in recognition.
"Yes, we both were," Ishta replied, nodding towards Astarion. Her tone was measured, but there was a spark of curiosity in her eyes. Gale followed her gaze, noticing Astarion for the first time. He raised a hand in greeting, a friendly smile on his face.
Astarion nodded his head politely, though his eyes remained cold and assessing. He walked over to stand behind Ishta, his posture relaxed but inwardly cautious as he continued to quietly observe the interaction between the two of them. His gaze flicked to Gale's purple and gold-trimmed mage's robe, noting the intricate patterns woven into the fabric; clearly, this was someone with wealth.
Ishta glanced back at the distant shattered remains of the Nautiloid, her eyes narrowing slightly as she brushed a lock of hair from her face. "Never mind the ship though," she said, her voice tinged with amused curiosity. "How did you manage to get stuck inside a rock?"
Gale sighed, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I don't know what transpired exactly," he admitted, his tone laced with confusion and a hint of embarrassment. "The ship broke into pieces, and I suddenly found myself in freefall." He paused, his eyes distant as he relived the moment. "As I was plummeting to certain death, I spied a glimmer quite near where I estimated my body would impact with less-than-savoury propulsion." Gale's eyes lit up with a spark of remembered hope. "Recognizing this glimmer to be magical in nature, I reached out to it with a Weaving of words and found myself on the other side, as it were." He turned his gaze back to Ishta, curiosity evident in his eyes. "How about you? How did you survive the fall?"
She shrugged, a faint smile playing on her lips. "To be honest, I haven't a clue."
Gale nodded, accepting her uncertainty with a slight frown. "Fair enough. But even so," he continued, his voice growing serious, "I have the unfortunate suspicion your survival is still very much in jeopardy."
Astarion interjected, his eyes glinting dangerously despite his light tone. "One might assume that to be a threat."
"Not a threat, my friend, I assure you. Merely an observation," Gale waved a hand dismissively, though his expression remained earnest. Shifting his attention back to Ishta, his brow furrowed in concern. "Back on the ship, you too were on the receiving end of a rather unwelcome insertion in the ocular region, were you not?"
Astarion saw Ishta wince at the memory, and she pulled a face. "Couldn't have phrased it more repellently myself. And thank you for the reminder," she added dryly. "I had just started to put it out of my mind."
"No use sugar-coating it, is there?" Gale said, shrugging apologetically. "The insertee we speak of, this parasite—are you aware that after a period of excruciating gestation, it will turn us into Mindflayers? It's a process known as ceremorphosis, and let me assure you: it is to be avoided."
Though her face was completely deadpan, Astarion could see the corners of Ishta's mouth twitching as she calmly remarked, "You don't say…"
Astarion quickly turned his head, stifling a laugh that threatened to escape his lips. There was something delightfully arrogant and irreverent about this woman that he was enjoying far too much—at least while it wasn't directed at him. He stole another glance at Ishta, noting the way her eyes sparkled with concealed mirth.
The sarcasm appeared to be lost on Gale. He tilted his head, studying Ishta with a hopeful expression. "You don't happen to be a Cleric, by any chance, do you? A doctor? Surgeon? Uncannily adroit with a knitting needle?"
She shook her head, a rueful smile on her lips. "I can tend to basic wounds and ailments, but alien parasites? I'm afraid not. I was hoping as a Wizard, you might have more of an idea on how to deal with them."
Gale sighed. "Then it seems we are both starved for answers. But how did you know I was a Wizard?" he asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
"The magical portal and the Spellbook attached to your belt may have tipped me off," Ishta replied, her tone laced with playful sarcasm. She raised an eyebrow, her smile growing wider as she spoke.
Gale glanced down and briefly placed his hand on the thick, leather-bound tome that hung horizontally from two straps fastened to his wide belt. Faintly glowing inscriptions covered the front, along with a star-shaped embellishment in the centre, similar to the earring Gale wore. Astarion now recognized it to be the holy symbol of Mystra, Goddess of Magic. 'I wonder how much that thing is worth…' he mused, eyeing the Wizard calculatingly.
Gale looked back up at Ishta and grinned in embarrassment. "Ah, yes, of course. Forgive me, this book is almost like a part of my own body at times. It's as strange to have it pointed out as it would be to have someone say, 'I noticed you have a head' or something equally ubiquitous."
Ishta simply smiled at him in response, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Astarion clenched his fists, feeling a slight twinge of dismay at the camaraderie forming.
The Wizard continued, "We're most certainly going to need a healer, and soon too. How about we lend each other a helping hand once more and look for a healer together?"
Astarion's heart raced as he quickly stepped forward, confronting the Wizard. "And why should we trust you? You seem to know an awful lot about these parasites. How do we know you aren't in league with these Mindflayers?" His voice was sharper than he intended, but the fear of being displaced drove him to challenge Gale.
He heard Ishta clear her throat behind him and turned to see her staring at him bemusedly with one eyebrow raised. "Well, for starters, he didn't pull a dagger on us…" she pointed out with a slight smirk on her face. "And secondly—"
Astarion watched as she raised her hand to her temple and closed her eyes, her expression one of intense concentration. He turned to see Gale also had his eyes closed and his head twitched slightly, a look of discomfort crossing his features.
"He's infected, same as us," Ishta finished with a sigh, opening her eyes and grimacing. She rubbed her temples, the pain evident in her eyes. Astarion's suspicion wavered as he took in the sight of the two of them, united by their shared affliction. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, though his guard remained up as Ishta moved to his side and addressed Gale again.
"The two of us were headed back to a camp being set up by another one of my fellow survivors, a Cleric called Shadowheart. You are welcome to join us if you want."
Gale smiled broadly. "Most excellent. A parasite shared is a parasite halved…" He paused here and seemed to reflect with some amusement at his own words before adding, "Or something to that effect. Oh! But before you think you're about to embark on a journey with the most ill-mannered of men: thank you for pulling me out of that stone. It was an act of foresighted kindness I assure you, for I have the feeling ample opportunities will present themselves for me to return the favour."
Ishta smiled warmly at the Wizard and nodded, "I'm sure there will be."
Astarion observed her smile with a growing feeling of alarm. He couldn't afford to be side-lined, not now. As Ishta turned and started to lead the way again, Astarion's mind raced as he tried to figure out a way he could prove himself a valuable asset to the Ranger. The thought of being cast aside gnawed at him, his steps quickening to keep pace with Ishta, determined to not let Gale steal his chance to make a connection with her.
As the sun started to dip below the horizon, filling the air with a soft golden glow, Ishta and her two new companions approached the intended campsite. The air was cool, filled with the scent of pine and the distant sound of a babbling brook. Shadowheart emerged silently from behind a dense clump of trees, her figure silhouetted against the backdrop of a red and orange sky. She raised a hand and urgently beckoned them closer, her face serious and uneasy.
Ishta's heart quickened; the Cleric's demeanour was enough to signal that something was amiss. "We might have some trouble ahead," Shadowheart whispered, her voice low and steady. "The ruins we scouted earlier seem to be occupied after all. I observed a small armed party entering the upper section, and they were met by another group already inside. They were carrying enough equipment and supplies to last several days."
A furrow formed on Ishta's brow as she processed the news. The area she and Shadowheart had painstakingly chosen to set up camp had seemed perfect. Fresh water was nearby, there were plenty of overhanging rocks for cover, and a ruined structure offered additional shelter. The thought of abandoning it filled her with frustration and disappointment. She clenched her fists, feeling the weight of responsibility for her group's safety.
Ishta turned her gaze to the ruins, now shrouded in the growing shadows. The potential danger posed by the armed scavengers could not be ignored. Her mind raced, weighing their options. She was loath to abandon such a prime location, but risking their lives was not an option.
Taking a deep breath, Ishta made a snap decision. "I will go and assess the situation," she said, her voice firm with resolve. "Take these two with you and share out the supplies we've gathered so far," she ordered Shadowheart, gesturing to Gale and Astarion. "And arm them with the weapons we took from the goblins."
Shadowheart nodded, her eyes reflecting a mix of apprehension and determination. She motioned for the two men to follow her, and Ishta watched the three of them disappear back into the cover of the forest. A surge of responsibility and protectiveness swelled within her as she turned back to the trail leading to the ruins.
It didn't take her long to spot the intruders; in fact, she heard them long before she laid eyes on them. Two men, a half-elf and a gnome, both wearing worn and patched leather and padded armour, were standing in front of a broken statue and arguing. Their dispute seemed to be about investigating the crashed Nautiloid. The half-elf's voice was high-pitched and uncertain, while the gnome's was sharp and biting. From their conversation, Ishta got the impression they were part of a band of either scavengers or bandits exploring the ruins of the crypt behind them.
Spying movement on the balcony sections above the main doorway, she observed two more individuals, a wiry female elf wearing mage robes and another gnome with a longbow, to the left and right of the arguing pair. Ishta keenly examined everything from her hiding place behind a moss-covered wall, weighing her options if it came down to a fight. Her eyes lit up as she noticed a block of stone suspended above the two men by a series of ropes and pulleys. The setup seemed precarious, and a plan formed in her mind. However, she wanted to see how the band reacted to her presence first. No point spilling blood if a simple conversation could solve things.
With this thought, Ishta took a deep breath and left the concealment of her hiding spot. She straightened her posture, adopting an air of confidence as she boldly stepped out into the courtyard. The reaction was instant; both men turned to her, their expressions shifting from surprise to hostility. The gnome shouted at her, his tone laced with aggression, "Stop right there! Got ourselves competition already. That's our ship."
Ishta held up her hands in a placating gesture, her voice calm but firm. "I'm not looking for trouble. I'm just passing through and have no interest in that giant monstrosity on the beach. You are welcome to do what you want with it. I admire your courage, though. I'm not sure I'd want to get close to it with all those Mindflayer monsters roaming around."
Her words seemed to have an effect on the half-elf, and he looked to his companion nervously, his brow furrowing with concern. "You sure about this, Gimblebock? I've heard stories about Mindflayers; none of 'em was good."
The gnome's eyes narrowed, suspicion and anger flickering in his gaze as he sized up Ishta. "She's just trying to scare us off. You're all hot air — think you can get us to leave that bounty to you? Not a chance!"
Ishta sighed, her hands lowering slowly to rest lightly on the bow slung across her shoulder. Her fingers brushed against the smooth wood, a reminder of the weapon's reliability. "Look, Gimblebock, is it? I don't want to fight you, but I will defend myself if you force me to."
Gimblebock's face twisted into a sneer, his hand drifting to the hilt of a dagger at his belt. "What're you lot waiting for? Get 'er!"
The half-elf hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing his face, but the elf and gnome on the balconies above sprang into action. Ishta's muscles tensed as she prepared for the inevitable clash, her mind racing with strategies to outmanoeuvre and disarm her opponents without unnecessary bloodshed. The air crackled with tension, and Ishta knew that the next few moments would determine their fate.
A high-pitched twang cut through the air, and Ishta looked up in time to see an arrow slice across the rope that held the block of stone aloft and embed itself in the wooden scaffolding behind it. Before anyone could react, the heavy block plummeted down towards the two men and smashed through the stone floor they were standing on, sending them both screaming into the pitch darkness below. Ishta blinked in surprise for a second at the unexpected turn of events, but quickly regained her composure and swung her bow over her head, drawing an arrow from her quiver. As she nocked it, a second arrow came flying out from the shadows and hit the elven mage squarely in the chest, sending her tumbling down the stone steps. Ishta noticed a glow radiating from the impact zone and guessed that the woman had Mage Armor activated.
Ishta switched her attention to the gnome archer, who had prudently taken cover and was now sniping at her from behind a pile of rubble. The tension in her muscles tightened as she dived for cover herself, rolling behind the broken statue just as an arrow bounced off the floor inches from where she had been standing.
As she pulled back on the drawstring of her bow, a voice whispered next to her, "Well, this is fun."
Without looking at the speaker, Ishta frowned and hissed, "What the hells are you doing here, Astarion?"
Astarion's reply was laced with nonchalance. "What does it look like, my dear? Shooting bandits."
Ishta blew air through her teeth in irritation and sent an arrow flying toward the mage who had gotten to her feet and was readying a Firebolt. The arrow bounced harmlessly off the energy barrier surrounding her body, and Ishta cursed under her breath. She turned to glare at Astarion. "Let me rephrase that. Why are you here? I thought I told you all to stay back while I handled this."
Astarion grinned wolfishly at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You never explicitly ordered us to stay away, and once Shadowheart equipped me with a bow, I took it upon myself to see if I could lend you aid while you... assessed the situation," he commented, placing a slight emphasis on the word.
Ishta scowled at him briefly, frustration flashing in her eyes, but chose not to bother explaining herself. "Good thinking with the block, by the way; I had my eye on that too," she admitted grudgingly, then added with a half-smile, "You're an excellent shot. I'm curious to know what kind of education they give magistrates in Baldur's Gate."
They both ducked as an explosion of flame hit the statue, raining down sparks and fragments of chipped stonework. Astarion quickly stood and leaned out from behind the statue to fire off an arrow from his short-bow, before crouching down again.
"Oh, archery was more of a hobby really, something to pass the time in between dishing out justice to nefarious criminals and keeping the peace," Astarion said with a mock-serious tone, his lips curling into a smirk.
Ishta raised an eyebrow at him, scepticism evident in her gaze. "Uh huh..." she muttered doubtfully, her focus shifting back to the battlefield.
The gnome archer peeked out from behind his cover, ready to fire another shot. Ishta's keen eyes caught the movement along with the sight of the green vial attached to his arrow. Her heart pounded as she released an arrow of her own with precision, hitting the gnome's exposed shoulder. He cried out in pain, dropping his longbow, and Ishta winced as she heard the glass vial crack. The cry of pain became a shriek as the acid he had been about to unleash on them flew up into his face, the noxious fumes rising in a greenish mist.
The elven mage saw the predicament her companion was in and rushed to his aid, her hands glowing with a pale green light. Her face was a mask of desperation, her eyes wide with panic. Ishta watched the scene unfold, her mind racing with possibilities. She saw Astarion raise his bow and take aim at the mage, but instinctively reached out and forced it downwards.
Astarion's expression shifted to one of confusion and slight annoyance. "What are you doing?" he demanded in a hushed tone.
Ishta's eyes were steely, her voice calm yet commanding. "There's no need to kill them if we can scare them off. Save your arrows."
She rose from her crouch, her movements deliberate and controlled, and walked over to the pair of bandits. Drawing her scimitars, she stood menacingly over them, looking every bit the warrior she was.
The gnome whimpered, his face contorted in pain, while the elven mage looked up at Ishta with a mixture of fear and defiance. "Leave now while you both still draw breath," Ishta commanded, her voice icy. "My companion over there has a bow trained on you both, and these blades are forged from Xindite Darksilver, which can cut through your Mage Armor like butter," she informed the woman, who looked pale and glanced at the scimitars in alarm.
The mage's hands trembled, the glow flickering as she struggled to maintain her healing spell. "W-we didn't mean any harm. We just... we just wanted the loot," she stammered, her eyes darting between Ishta's face and the lethal blades.
Ishta's gaze didn't waver. "Consider this your warning. Next time, I won't be so lenient." She took a step back, her eyes never leaving the pair, ready to strike if they made any sudden moves.
The elf helped the gnome to his feet, the pair of them retreating with haste, casting nervous glances over their shoulders. Ishta watched them go, her body still tense, every muscle coiled like a spring, ready for action. As the bandits disappeared into the distance, she allowed herself a moment to breathe, to let the adrenaline ebb. Astarion emerged from the shadows and stood beside her. "You have a wonderful way with words. I almost felt sorry for them," he remarked thoughtfully, with a faint hint of mockery in his voice.
Ishta shot him a glance, her expression softening slightly. "Sometimes fear is a more effective weapon than steel," she replied quietly, sheathing her scimitars with a swift, practiced motion. The metallic whisper of the blades returning to their scabbards was a sound she found oddly soothing.
Astarion snorted derisively, "Yes, well forgive me if I prefer to put my trust in cold hard steel—speaking of which…what in the hells is Xindite Darksilver?"
Ishta looked at him, considering how much to reveal. There was something enigmatic about Astarion, something that made her both curious and cautious. "It's an arcane metal created by my people, the Xindites. Darksilver is used primarily to slay undead and fiends, but it has certain anti-magic properties too," she informed him, her voice steady.
As she spoke, Ishta couldn't help but notice the subtle shifts in Astarion's expression. His gaze flickered, and for a moment, Ishta thought she saw a shadow of something unspoken pass over his features. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his usual mask of amused indifference. Was it surprise? Curiosity? Something else entirely? The thought lingered in her mind as she continued, "It's incredibly rare and difficult to forge. Only the most skilled Xindite smiths can work with it. It's a symbol of our people's resilience and ingenuity."
Astarion's eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing her words. "Fascinating. However, I have another question…who in the hells are the Xindites?"
Ishta laughed softly, the sound tinged with a mix of nostalgia and sadness. As she turned and walked over to the gaping hole in the courtyard, her steps were slow and deliberate. Peering into the darkness, she looked over her shoulder at Astarion, her expression guarded. "That is a story for another time, I'm afraid. Suffice it to say, we aren't all that well known, so it was a bit of a gamble that the mage would recognize and be afraid of my blades' capabilities… of course, not knowing about something can be equally as terrifying," she grinned at him as he joined her, trying to keep the conversation light despite the weight of her thoughts.
Astarion's eyes bore into hers, his usual smirk replaced by a more serious, almost contemplative look. "Indeed it can…" he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. There was an intensity in his gaze that made Ishta feel slightly uncomfortable, and she straightened up and dusted off her clothing.
"I want to check these ruins and clear out any more squatters. I can't have a nest of bandits this close to where we want to set up camp for the night. So, I suggest we go back and get Shadowheart and Gale and then venture inside to have a look round," she announced.
Shadowheart's voice called out behind them, "No need, we're already here."
Ishta spun round to see her and Gale step out from behind another section of the ruins and sighed loudly. "I can see I'm going to have to be more specific with my instructions in the future, aren't I?" she observed, glancing over in irritation at a chuckling Astarion and then smiling slightly at the sheepish look on Gale's face.
Shaking her head in exasperation, Ishta motioned them all to follow her down into the depths of the crypt below.
Ishta's guess about there being a nest of bandits turned out to be correct. Astarion panted slightly as he leaned against a doorframe, wiping blood off his face with the back of his hand. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the sprawled corpses of archers, spellcasters, and a barbarian. He felt a deep longing as he gazed at them, his hunger gnawing at his insides. It had been days since he last fed, and the time spent trapped inside the Nautiloid had only worsened his starvation. The overpowering blood hunger swirled in his gut like a storm, making it hard to tear his gaze away from the bodies. He forced himself to focus on Ishta, who was speaking with a commanding tone.
"Loot whatever supplies you can from this place, and take any armor and weapons you think you might need from this lot," she instructed, gesturing to the scattered corpses. A faint look of sadness crossed her face, her eyes lingering on the dead bandits.
Her attempts to peacefully negotiate with the bandits had been a spectacular failure. Astarion suspected it might have had something to do with the fact that two of their number had come crashing through the ceiling and been crushed under a block of solid granite. The ensuing fight had been intense and dangerous. The narrow corridors and multiple cover points had added to the challenge, creating a chaotic battlefield. Ishta, however, had directed her team with an almost uncanny precision. Her voice cut through the noise, issuing commands that were instantly obeyed. She was a natural-born leader in battle, and both Shadowheart and Gale had quickly picked up on this and followed her direction without question.
The bandits, despite their superior numbers, had been swiftly overpowered. Astarion could still feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, a mixture of triumph and exhaustion. The fight had not been without its costs; one or two bandits had managed to land solid hits—mostly on Gale. The memory of the Wizard's initial overenthusiasm brought a wry smile to Astarion's face. Gale, though possessing an impressive array of spells, was completely untrained in the art of fast-paced combat. With each successful hit Astarion had landed with his bow, he could feel his confidence growing. The sight of Gale struggling to hold his own had only enhanced this feeling.
At one point, Shadowheart had needed to rush to Gale's aid with a powerful healing spell. Astarion had watched in amusement as the Wizard was toppled by a blow to the head from a raging Barbarian, his body crumpling to the ground. Shadowheart's intervention had been timely, her magic enveloping Gale in a soft, healing light. The relief in Gale's eyes had been palpable, a silent gratitude that spoke volumes.
Ishta herself had been a breath-taking sight to behold. Her scimitars flashed like bolts of silver lightning, cutting through her attackers with deadly grace. She moved with a fluidity that was mesmerizing, driving the bandits back into Astarion's line of fire. Her face had been a calm mask of determination, her eyes focused and unyielding. In the heat of battle, she was a force of nature, her presence commanding and reassuring.
As the dust settled, Astarion took a deep breath, trying to suppress the hunger that still roiled within him. He glanced at Ishta, admiration and a hint of envy mingling in his gaze. As irritating as her arrogance was, she was clearly a force to be reckoned with, and he felt even more determined to gain her trust and prove himself useful to her.
He noticed her and Gale head together into the library they had discovered behind one of the many doors and chambers in this long-abandoned ruin, and quickly followed them. When he entered, he saw Gale on one side of the room, searching through a bookcase, while Ishta was on the other, looking over a pile of manuscripts. Astarion sidled up next to her and pretended to browse through the dusty, crumbling shelves. The air was thick with the musty scent of aged paper and damp stone, and a dim light filtered through cracks in the ceiling above, casting golden patterns on the floor. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, he aimlessly picked up a book, its leather cover cracked and faded. As he turned it over in his hands, he froze when he saw the title: The Curse of the Vampyr. His eyes widened momentarily before he hurriedly put it back on the shelf, shoving it behind another book just as Ishta turned towards him.
Clearing his throat and striking a conversational manner, Astarion said, "So, we've picked up a Wizard who has no practical combat experience to speak of and somehow managed to get stuck inside his own portal... hardly a promising introduction." He flashed a charming smile, hoping to catch her attention.
Ishta, her focus fixed on an ancient manuscript she was meticulously examining, barely glanced at him. Her fingers traced the delicate, faded script as she replied, "Your introduction wasn't exactly off to a flying start either," her tone laced with mild amusement. "Yet here you stand."
Astarion leaned against the shelf, attempting to appear nonchalant. "Ah, but I have a certain... resilience," he said, his voice smooth and playful. "Surely, that's worth something?"
Ishta shrugged, her eyes still on the manuscript. "Resilience is one thing. Competence is another," she said, her voice calm and unbothered.
He chuckled softly, leaning in slightly closer. "I've already shown you I'm an excellent shot with a bow. What more do I need to do to prove my competence to you?" he asked, his tone both teasing and earnest.
She finally looked up, meeting his gaze with a steady, uninterested expression. "Don't get in my way and don't get killed," she said simply, then returned to her work, effectively dismissing him.
Astarion straightened, his smile faltering slightly, annoyed by her indifference. His fingers drummed lightly on the shelf as he thought. "Challenge accepted," he murmured to himself, stepping away to leave her in peace, the echo of his words lingering in the still, ancient air of the temple library. He strolled over to where Gale was occupied with sorting through a collection of books, assigning them to two separate piles as he went.
"Found anything of interest, Gale?" Astarion asked, his curiosity piqued despite his frustration.
The Wizard looked up and smiled, his eyes twinkling with intellectual excitement. "Everything is of some interest, but nothing that pertains to our current predicament yet. I did discover that this library has duplicates of some of its more popular tomes, including six copies of The Curse of The Vampyr for some strange reason."
'Oh, for fuck's sake!' Astarion groaned inwardly while keeping his face as neutral as possible, feeling a mix of annoyance and unease.
Ishta's voice piped up distractedly, "If it's the one written by Volo, it's a pile of warg dung," she said, not looking up from her manuscript.
Gale picked up a thin leather-bound tome and examined the spine. "Doesn't say who the author is," he informed her, his brow furrowing slightly.
Astarion abruptly turned away and started to head towards the far end of the room, his patience wearing thin. "Well, if you two aren't going to do anything more than sift through mouldy old books, then it looks like I will have to carry on searching for useful things by myself," he snapped, feeling his tension rising and his charm wearing off.
"Don't wander too far," called out Ishta without looking up, her voice steady and focused, still deeply immersed in her task.
"Yes, mother," Astarion muttered under his breath, just as he spied something interesting in one corner of an alcove. Hidden behind an assortment of books, scrolls, and various utensils was a metal sconce in the shape of a skull with a rolled scroll in its mouth. The dim light flickered as he approached, casting long shadows that danced across the ancient walls. Looking around, Astarion couldn't see any others like it. Upon closer inspection, he felt a thrill of excitement when he saw tell-tale grooves in the stone underneath the skull. It was clearly a lever of some kind, but its purpose was a mystery for now.
"It's your turn to touch the strange, dangerous looking thing."
Ishta's sudden voice over his shoulder made Astarion nearly leap out of his skin. He spun to face her, heart racing. 'Gods! How is she so damn quiet?' he wondered in irritation, mixed with a hint of admiration. Ishta stepped closer to the lever and peered at it, her expression thoughtful. She then moved to examine the walls and floors surrounding it, her fingers lightly brushing over the ancient stonework. Astarion watched her curiously as she scanned the entire room, even the ceiling, before giving a satisfied nod of her head.
"Doesn't seem to be any traps in this room, so you can go ahead if you want," she said, gesturing to the skull and then taking an exaggerated step backward, a challenging grin on her face.
Astarion suddenly felt less enthusiastic about finding out the purpose of the lever and glanced back up the library at Gale, who was making his way towards a different room. "Why don't we let the Wizard have a go?" he suggested playfully, hoping to deflect the task.
Ishta stepped forward again and started to reach out towards the handle. "Fine, if you're too afraid…" she smirked at him, her eyes gleaming with amusement.
Astarion shot out his hand and grasped the rolled scroll, glaring at her as he did so. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he slowly, almost lazily, pulled back on the metal bar. He gave a challenging smirk of his own, feeling a surge of determination. They both flinched slightly when the skull seemed to shriek, a high-pitched, eerie sound echoing through the library as whatever ancient mechanism or arcane connection it powered activated. Astarion tore his gaze away from Ishta's dancing eyes and looked around at the now silent library, his heart pounding.
"Huh... well, that was anticlimactic," he remarked, his voice tinged with disappointment, as nothing appeared to happen in response.
"Probably broken," Ishta shrugged, a look of disappointment on her face as well. She turned back to the manuscript in her hands, her interest already waning.
"Did either of you two do that?" came a shout from Gale, who popped his head around the archway leading into the library.
Ishta's head perked up immediately and Astarion caught a look of excited glee on her face as she glanced at him and then sprinted towards the Wizard, tossing her manuscript onto a table. He felt excitement rising in his own chest as he ran after her, infected by her eagerness at a potential new discovery. They were joined by Shadowheart who was carrying two large bags full of supplies pilfered from the bandits' makeshift base of operations. She dropped them beside a growing pile of odds and ends and walked over to stand beside Gale, who was gesturing to an open door.
"This door was definitely locked the last time I checked, with no obvious signs of a keyhole or even a handle. Then lo and behold, it obligingly opened up as I passed by just now," he explained excitedly.
Glancing through the doorway, Astarion could see it led into an antechamber of some sort, with another door at the far end, flanked by two stone statues of rather ominous-looking figures with their heads broken or destroyed. A curious banner hung on the far wall, a skull symbol with a scroll in its mouth, similar to the sconce in the library. However, in this version, the scroll was unrolled with a stylized quill above the skull, and he couldn't shake the feeling he had seen the symbol somewhere before.
Ishta quickly moved through the room and tested the far door, beckoning the others to follow as she opened it up. Astarion felt a slight thrill of excitement when he saw the vast, dimly lit space beyond and eagerly followed her.
The large chamber inside the crypt was a hauntingly beautiful sight. The stonework, once grand and imposing, was now covered in a thick layer of moss and fern, nature reclaiming its hold over the ancient structure. The walls and pillars, crumbling with age, had cracks running through them, giving a glimpse of the history that had passed through this place.
Two huge wooden doors stood at either side of the room, their surfaces weathered and scarred. The wood, darkened with time, was studded with iron, the metal rusted and pitted. Despite their age, the doors remained formidable, a testament to the craftsmanship of a bygone era.
Light streamed through gaps in the ceiling, where the stone had given way to the elements. The last feeble rays of the setting sun pierced the gloom, illuminating patches of the chamber in a soft, ethereal glow. Dust motes danced in the light, creating a serene, almost otherworldly atmosphere. The air was cool and damp, filled with the earthy scent of moss and the faint, lingering odor of decay.
"Oh, I like it… homely," Astarion quipped, not entirely joking. There was something inherently peaceful about the silent space, despite its grim connotations.
Ishta briefly gave him an odd look but seemed more interested in inspecting one of the huge doors. When it proved to be locked, she knelt down and pulled out a small roll of leather from a pouch on her belt, opening it up to reveal an impressive set of lockpicking tools.
"Shadowheart, you and Gale go check out that other door while I work on this one," she instructed, her tone brisk and focused.
Shadowheart hesitated, glancing around the chamber. "And remind me why this is so important?" she asked, a note of scepticism in her voice.
Ishta didn't look up from her task, her hands deftly working the lock. "Crypts like this usually have good loot. Loot we can sell to buy better equipment and supplies if we find a village or town nearby. Also… I just really want to know what's behind this door," she replied, a hint of excitement creeping into her voice.
Astarion leaned against a stone pillar, closing his eyes as the exhaustion of the day caught up to him. The cool, damp air of the crypt pressed against his skin, a stark contrast to the heat of battle they had just endured. 'Gods… I'm so tired. How do people do this all day?' he wondered silently as the faint scraping of metal on metal echoed softly into the chamber.
Suddenly, a snapping sound and a forceful "Shit!" startled Astarion. He opened his eyes to see Ishta looking forlornly at a broken lockpick. Smirking at her expression of annoyed dismay, he closed his eyes again as she pulled out another pick and set to work on the lock once more. A couple of minutes went by, filled only with the sound of her efforts, then another snapping sound and another loud exclamation came from Ishta's direction.
"Double shit!"
Without opening his eyes, Astarion drawled, "Oh dear, has our fearless leader finally met her match? Who knew your prowess in battle didn't extend to opening doors… it's really rather embarrassing."
"Like you could do any better, toff," she snapped at him, her frustration evident in her tone.
Astarion opened his eyes and grinned. "Oh, I rather think I can, my dear."
Ishta snorted, "Oh, this I have to see."
Astarion pushed himself away from the pillar, feeling a fresh wave of determination. He crouched down next to her, his eyes glinting with amusement at her scornful tone. He examined the lock with a critical eye, taking in its age and complexity. With a confident smirk, he selected a hook and tension wrench from the leather roll.
The familiar thrill coursed through him as he inserted the first tool into the lock, his hands moving with practiced precision. The intricate mechanism of the lock challenged him, but he welcomed it, relishing the mental focus it demanded. His pale fingers danced over the lock, feeling for the subtle clicks and resistance of the pins. The faint metallic sounds of the lock yielding to his touch filled the silence, each click bringing him closer to success.
His face was a mask of concentration, brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. The lock resisted for a moment longer, then, with a final, satisfying click, it gave way. Slowly pushing against the door, Astarion smiled as it creaked open slightly. He stood up and turned to Ishta with a look of triumph on his face.
He was met with the sight of her smiling deviously at him, like the cat that had got the cream, her eyes dancing with barely restrained laughter. Feeling both irritated and impressed, Astarion realized he'd just been played.
"So… a magistrate, hmm?" Ishta purred innocently, tilting her head to the side and narrowing her eyes. "You entirely sure you want to stick with that story?"
"Would you believe me if I said lockpicking was another one of my hobbies?" he offered weakly, painfully aware she wasn't buying it, yet somehow he didn't seem to mind all that much.
Ishta laughed, the sound echoing through the crypt, and shook her head. "You are a highly efficient fighter. You blend into the shadows like you were born in them…" She paused and glanced at the door behind him, whistling in admiration. "And you just picked that lock faster than it takes to turn a key."
Astarion felt a glow of pride at her praise, but also a hint of anxiety at where she was going with this. The admiration in her eyes was tempered by a shrewdness that made him uneasy.
"So," Ishta continued, folding her arms and looking at him intently, "I'll be honest with you. Astarion 'The Magistrate'— I have absolutely no use for. However, Astarion the charlatan sneak thief… well… him I can work with."
Cocking his head thoughtfully at her words, he smiled and shrugged. "I've been called worse, I suppose," he said, his tone light but his mind racing. The implications of her statement were clear, and as much as it unnerved him, it also felt strangely liberating.
As if she sensed his relief at no longer having to put on this particular performance, Ishta smiled and extended her hand.
"Well then. Welcome to the team…Rogue."