"Oh, you have got to be kidding me..." Ishta exclaimed.
She stared in annoyed disbelief at the figure standing on the riverbank at the edge of the camp. Her eyes widened as she took in the gaunt, skeletal being wearing tattered robes, and a chill ran down her spine, settling deep in her bones. Steeling herself, she marched over to the Undead with a determined stride, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. When she reached him, she planted her hands on her hips and glared, her jaw set in defiance.
The skeletal figure regarded her calmly, with sunken eyes that seemed to pierce through her. He nodded slightly in acknowledgment of her presence. "We meet again, as predicted," he greeted her somberly, his voice like dry leaves rustling. "Come, there are important matters to discuss."
Keeping her tone level, Ishta frowned at the strange being and asked, "Not to be rude…but who or what are you exactly?"
"There are many answers to that question. None are important," he replied dismissively, his tone devoid of any warmth.
Ishta could feel her irritation rising. She had little patience for cryptic answers and felt her temper flare. "And if I were to hazard a guess at one of those answers being Jergal: The Scribe of The Dead?" she demanded, her voice tinged with frustration.
He stared at her silently for a moment, his expression inscrutable. Ishta thought she detected the faintest trace of sarcasm in his reply. "Then I would wonder why thou should waste breath asking a question thou hast already decided the answer to," he said with a slight tilt of his head.
Despite herself, Ishta smiled at the subtle jab and shook her head in resignation. She glanced around the camp, noting that everything was still quiet. Apparently, she was the first to rise—though technically she had only needed four hours of rest anyway. She had decided to use the remaining time going over the equipment they had taken from the bandits, choosing a selection of weapons and armour that might be suitable for her new companions. Then, as the first rays of the morning sun filtered through the trees, this unwelcome surprise had turned up.
"Fine. Then will you at least give me a name I can call you by and tell me what you want?" she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.
"What I want is of no consequence. I shall be here in thy camp, for whenever thou hast need of my services. And if thou wishes for a name, Withers will serve me as well as any other," he said.
"Withers…appropriate, I guess. Anyway—services. What kind of services are you talking about?" Ishta asked, her curiosity piqued despite her unease.
"A mending of the threads between life and death. Should thou or any of thy compatriots perish, I will cleave soul to body once more for a price," Withers replied, his tone matter-of-fact.
"Hold on…are you talking about resurrection? That's incredibly powerful magic. Why would you be offering it to us? For that matter, why are you offering to help us at all?" Ishta asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Be assured it is not by choice. However, it is my calling," Withers stated, his voice carrying a hint of resignation.
"Care to elaborate on that?" Ishta pressed, her curiosity now fully aroused.
"No," Withers said curtly, cutting off further inquiry.
"Fair enough. You mentioned a cost earlier…dare I ask what that cost is?" Ishta asked, her tone cautious.
Withers responded, "A matter of coin."
"Usually is," Ishta observed with a wry smile. "So how much are we talking?" she inquired, her mind racing with the implications.
"Two hundred gold pieces."
Ishta stared blankly at him, her jaw dropping slightly as she tried to wrap her brain around his answer. "So let me get this straight, you are willing to bring back someone from the dead—an insanely powerful thing to do—for a mere two hundred gold? How long have you been in that tomb? Because I have to tell you, I think the prices for services like that have gone up in the last few… I don't know… thousand years or so," she said incredulously, her voice rising slightly.
Withers replied calmly, "If thou wishes for the cost to be higher—"
"No, no! That is a perfectly reasonable sum," Astarion's urgent voice interrupted Withers over her shoulder, startling her. He grabbed her arm and hissed, "What the hells? Don't you know you're supposed to haggle for a lower price, not a higher one?"
"Good morning, Astarion. Let go of my arm," Ishta requested politely, but with a warning edge to her voice. She shot him a sharp look, her eyes flashing with annoyance.
He released her arm and stepped closer to Withers, a genial smile on his face as he bowed theatrically. "Your offer is most generous and we accept your price. However, I can't help but wonder what the fine print of this deal might be?"
Withers ignored him and addressed Ishta. "Five times shall a single soul be lost and five times shall it be returned. If thou should seek this service, take heed that the sun does not rise or set before thou should find me."
"Okay. So we only get five do-overs if we kick the bucket, and the time limit on a resurrection is from sun-up to sun-down and vice versa…correct?" Ishta summarized, looking to Withers for confirmation.
"Correct."
"Well then…welcome to camp, I guess," Ishta shrugged, giving him a final curious glance before turning to head back to the central campfire where Shadowheart and Gale were standing, watching the exchange.
"You know, this is all starting to make me think that finding a cure isn't going to be as simple as we hoped it was," Astarion said with a slight hint of unease in his voice as he followed behind her.
"Yes. The fallen 'God of The Dead' is just going to hang around me and my camp for the foreseeable future, offering to resurrect us if we die…that's not ominous in the slightest," Ishta said with false cheer, feeling a deep knot of dread in her stomach.
She unconsciously touched the small scrimshaw pendant around her neck, carved in the shape of a Unicorn's head, and clenched her fist. Frustration rose in her chest as she questioned why, of all the deities to show her a semblance of favour, it had to be this one.
Astarion looked up curiously at the distinctly hostile individual currently suspended in the crude cage trap above him. The warrior's mottled, yellowish skin glinted in the sunlight filtering through the forest canopy, and her expression was a mask of fury. He couldn't recall ever seeing a Githyanki before—at least not up close. The only thing he knew about them was that they had a reputation as ruthless fighters with little tolerance for other races. And this one already looked pissed off.
"Enough gawking—get me down," the strange Gith spat, her voice dripping with venom. Her cold, amber cat-like eyes glared at him, seeming to pierce right through him.
Turning to Ishta, who was unshouldering her bow, he asked doubtfully, "Are you sure about this?"
She glanced at him briefly while nocking an arrow. "I know this one; her name is Lae'zel," she explained, her voice steady. "She helped Shadowheart and I take control of the Nautiloid and land—well, crash it."
Astarion crossed his arms and leaned up against a tree, affecting an air of disinterest to mask his unease. "Well, if this backfires and she guts you like a fish, don't come bleeding to me," he remarked in irritation, though his eyes lingered on the Githyanki with a mixture of wariness and curiosity.
The forest around them was dense, the air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth after the morning dew. Birds chirped overhead, unaware of the tense situation unfolding below. He and Ishta had come across the trapped woman and two armed Tieflings arguing about what to do with her while scouting out the surrounding area. After a brief conversation with the nervous Tieflings, Ishta had managed to persuade them to let her handle the situation. They had seemed relieved at her offer and had even provided information on the location of a druid's grove not much more than a day's walk away. More importantly, they had mentioned a healer staying there—someone called Nettie.
Shadowheart and Gale were back at camp, busy packing up their supplies in preparation for the day's journey. Not wanting to bother with something so mundane, Astarion had all but begged Ishta to let him join her when she'd announced she was going to scout the road ahead for any possible dangers. She'd initially been reluctant, but he'd managed to convince her that he would be far more useful to her if he learned how to navigate the wilds and read the land the way she did. So, after equipping him with some leather armor and a short sword taken from the slain bandits, Ishta had led him through the forest while quietly pointing out the numerous tracks and signs of its varied flora and fauna.
At first, Astarion had only been half paying attention, as his expressed desire to learn had been more of a ruse to encourage her to agree to bring him along. However, the more she spoke, the more he had realized just how much more involved surviving in the wilds was compared to surviving in the city. He had quickly found himself keenly taking note of everything around them with renewed interest. Ishta had proven to be a surprisingly patient and effective teacher, not just telling him how to move through the undergrowth and what to look out for, but actively showing and explaining the reasons behind every step and action she took. Her lessons on how to track and hunt wildlife had been of special interest, as he still hadn't had the opportunity to feed. The hunger deep inside him was distracting, and his movements felt sluggish and weak, but he'd survived for longer than this without being allowed to satiate his bloodlust before now—he knew how to push it aside and be patient.
There was a sudden crack as Ishta's arrow found its mark on the pulley system holding the cage up, and the whole thing plummeted to the ground. The flimsy wooden structure burst on impact, and the Githyanki woman tumbled out. She scrambled to her feet in an instant and spun to face them both, her hand instinctively reaching for the longsword on her back. Astarion immediately stood upright and reached for his own sword, his body tense and alert.
"There's no need for that, Lae'zel," Ishta cautioned gently, shouldering her bow again and taking a step forward, her voice calm but firm.
Astarion watched as the woman called Lae'zel visibly relaxed, though her eyes remained wary. She moved her hand away from her weapon but didn't fully let her guard down. He relaxed his own posture and cautiously walked over to stand a little to one side of Ishta, eyeing the Gith suspiciously.
"The tadpole hasn't yet scrambled all your senses. Auspicious," Lae'zel commented, her tone a mixture of grudging respect and irritation. "But the longer we wait, the more it consumes," she added with a touch of impatience, her eyes narrowing. "My people possess the cure for this infection. I must find a crèche; you will join me."
Astarion glanced at Ishta out of the corner of his eye, wondering how she would respond to the imperious tone of the Gith's command. He saw her raise an eyebrow and tilt her head slightly, a small smirk playing on her lips.
"A simple 'thank you' wouldn't go amiss," she remarked, her voice light but with an edge of challenge.
Lae'zel sneered at Ishta, her lips curling in disdain. "You may as well suggest a wyvern bow to worms. The cure I offer will suffice as thanks," she retorted, her voice dripping with contempt.
Astarion saw the telltale twitching at the corner of Ishta's mouth and smiled inwardly. 'Oh, this is going to be fun,' he thought gleefully as he watched the two women stare at each other, the tension crackling in the air.
"And what exactly is a crèche...?" Ishta asked, keeping her face neutral, though her eyes gleamed with curiosity.
"It is many things. A hatchery, a training ground, a shelter," Lae'zel informed her dismissively, her chin lifting in pride. "Githyanki protocol is clear: when infected with a ghaik tadpole, we must report to a ghustil for purification. The horned ones mentioned a camp. One there—this Zorru—has seen Githyanki. This means a crèche is near."
Astarion watched as Ishta absorbed this information, her expression thoughtful. He could practically see the wheels turning in her mind as she considered their next move.
"Alright," Ishta said finally, nodding. "My companions and I were going to head to this camp to seek a healer. If we find this Zorru there, then I will aid you in finding a crèche if the healer is unable to help us. You are welcome to join me."
Astarion eagerly watched as the Gith glared at Ishta, revelling in the clash of wills he was witnessing. Both women seemed to be as stubborn as the other, and the silence stretched on while they stood with locked eyes. Lae'zel flicked a glance towards him, and he grinned wickedly at her. The implication that she was outnumbered seemed to influence the Gith's decision, and she inclined her head slightly at Ishta in grudging acknowledgment.
"Very well, we will travel together," Lae'zel acquiesced, her eyes flashing with irritation. "You have made an ally from Crèche K'liir—few know such fortune."
"I'm dreadfully curious, Lae'zel: might one neutralize the tadpole while keeping its powers?" Astarion suddenly asked while the three of them were headed back to the camp to rejoin the others.
Ishta looked back at him, feeling slightly annoyed that he was going on about this again, but glanced expectantly at Lae'zel, curious about the answer herself.
"I know my teachings. There are no half measures," Lae'zel informed him bluntly. "If you wish to be rid of the tadpole, you must either be purified—or beheaded," she added coldly.
Ishta had to suppress a smile as she observed the look of alarm on Astarion's face and the way he moved to put more distance between himself and the Gith woman. She didn't blame his reluctance to walk too close; Lae'zel was somewhat unpredictable—if her experience fighting alongside her on the Nautiloid was any indication. Ishta found herself dreading how Shadowheart would react to the sight of their new traveling companion. She rubbed her temple in dismay just thinking about the headache the pair of them would be over the course of an entire day together.
She sensed Astarion at her side and glanced at him, feeling oddly thankful he'd been there to help sway the Gith into joining them—by his presence alone if not necessarily his support, she reflected wryly. Despite his irritatingly contradictory attitude, the Rogue was proving to be something of a surprising asset. His accuracy with a short-bow was impressive, and he had taken to her lessons on bushcraft like a duck to water, picking up quickly how to move through the forest silently and the kind of signs to look out for when scouting. Once or twice as they travelled together, she had tested out his knowledge to see if he'd actually been paying attention, and had been gratified to see how much he had retained. His steps were still somewhat clumsy in comparison to hers, but he had been living in a city—it was only to be expected. Given enough time and patience, Ishta reckoned that Astarion would make a decent Ranger if he wanted to…though the idea of the fussy, fancily dressed High Elf being at home in the wilds was perhaps a bit of a stretch.
Spying the outskirts of the camp, Ishta braced herself as she led her two companions past the line of snuffed-out torches and over to the central fire where Shadowheart and Gale were standing beside several packs. It didn't take Shadowheart long to spot the latest addition to the group.
"What the hells is she doing here?" she demanded, marching up to Ishta with a fierce look in her eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Ishta groaned internally, feeling the tension radiating off the Cleric. She quickly stepped in front of Lae'zel, holding out her hand to halt the approaching storm that was Shadowheart. Her heart quickened as she prepared to defuse the situation. They had only just made it back to camp and already things were starting to get awkward.
"Easy, Shadowheart," Ishta said, her voice steady but firm, her eyes locking onto the Cleric's with an unyielding gaze. "We have discovered a couple of possible leads on a cure, one of which Lae'zel informed me of after I freed her from a goblin trap." She heard an annoyed hiss of breath from behind her, but Ishta ignored it, determined to maintain control. "So I've asked her to join us while we travel to a nearby Druid's grove. There is a healer there called Nettie we can talk to while Lae'zel looks for information about a Githyanki crèche."
Shadowheart's frown deepened, her eyes narrowing into slits as she looked at Ishta. "Careful—she obviously sees your kindness as weakness. Don't let her take advantage."
Ishta sighed, a soft, weary exhalation, and gave a small, reassuring smile. "One thing you need to learn about me, Shadowheart, is that I am perfectly fine with people taking advantage of something I give freely," she said, her voice gentle but resolute. She reached out, placing a comforting hand on Shadowheart's shoulder, hoping her sincerity would reach the Cleric.
This seemed to surprise Shadowheart, and a flicker of uncertainty crossed her features. Her hardened expression softened slightly as she glanced away, avoiding Ishta's gaze. After a moment, she reluctantly agreed, "Fine, I'll trust your judgment on this—but I won't trust her. Not until I've gotten the measure of her."
"You've a sharp tongue, elf. Would that your mind proved its equal," Lae'zel spoke up, her voice dripping with scorn. She stood a few paces away, arms crossed over her chest, her posture rigid and unyielding. Ishta could feel the tension in the air thicken, the hostility palpable.
Shadowheart's retort was quick and biting, her eyes flashing with anger. "Half-elf. I suppose the finer details are lost on a creature like you."
Astarion sniggered beside Ishta, his eyes sparkling with amusement. She shot an annoyed look at him, her patience wearing thin. He simply grinned back, clearly enjoying the exchange and not bothering to hide it in the slightest. His amusement was like oil on the fire of her frustration.
'Mielikki save me. If the parasite doesn't kill these three… I will,' Ishta prayed silently, feeling her temper rising. She took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm, to be the anchor amidst the storm of emotions swirling around her. She needed to keep the group together, needed to keep them focused on the mission at hand, despite the personal animosities.
Gale had wandered over by this point, sensing the tension, and remarked cheerfully, "A Githyanki joining our company. Not a collaboration I'd have anticipated, but a welcome one nonetheless. Your people's skills in battle are quite the sight to behold. I'm sure with you on our side, any lurking goblins will think twice about attacking us on the road." He adjusted his robes, a friendly smile playing on his lips as he tried to defuse the situation.
His words seemed to pacify Lae'zel somewhat, and Ishta mouthed a silent "thank you" to him as the Gith turned away from the still-glaring Shadowheart to give the Wizard an appraising glance before addressing Ishta.
"I am willing to aid you in battle should the need arise. However, we must make haste to this Druid's grove. While we stand here talking, the parasite grows," she said impatiently, her fists clenching and unclenching.
Ishta bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment and then swept her eyes over the group, her gaze lingering on each member. "Gather your supplies. Take only what you can comfortably carry and leave the rest," she commanded firmly. "The grove is a day's march from here, and we've already wasted a morning. I intend for us to make good time, so be prepared for a gruelling pace."
"I hope you're joking…" Astarion said with a look of dismay on his face, his shoulders slumping.
Ishta simply stared at him with a raised eyebrow, and he audibly groaned as he went to collect his pack, shouldering it while grumbling and shooting her filthy looks. Stooping, she picked up two packs and slung them over her shoulders, giving Astarion a self-satisfied smirk. He scowled at her in response, and Ishta suddenly felt the urge to stick out her tongue at him. She turned away to hide her silent laughter as he gaped in astonishment.
With everyone ready, Ishta took a deep breath and looked ahead. "Let's move out," she said, her voice carrying a note of determination.
Ishta's warning about a grueling pace turned out to be correct, as Astarion found himself struggling to keep up with her. Her stamina seemed endless; her long strides swallowed up the ground beneath her feet with effortless grace, and he wondered if all her people were like her. Every movement she made was fluid and precise, like a predatory cat, never wasting an ounce of energy. His curiosity about who the Xindites were only increased the more he observed the Ranger and the way she carried herself. Outwardly, she looked just like any other Eladrin, but the singular characteristics that defined each race were lacking in her manner of speech and temperament. If anything, she seemed to personify all of them at once—a mystery wrapped in elegance and strength.
His musings were abruptly interrupted by the sound of someone stumbling behind him, followed by a string of colorful curses. He turned to see Gale brushing dirt off his robes, looking thoroughly disheveled and exhausted. Astarion couldn't help but smirk slightly at the Wizard's appearance. It briefly took his mind off his own exhaustion, which, if he was being honest, probably wasn't that far behind Gale's at this point. 'Gods… I need to feed soon, or I'll be as pathetic as this human,' he thought uneasily, his hunger gnawing at the edges of his consciousness, adding to his general discomfort.
As glorious as it was to walk in the sunlight, Astarion had forgotten to account for the heat. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back, soaking into his finely tailored shirt, clinging uncomfortably to his skin. The rhythmic pounding of his heart echoed in his ears as his weakened body sped up its metabolism to maintain his dwindling energy reserves.
He glanced around at the others, noting the toll the pace had taken on them all. Shadowheart's normally composed expression was strained, beads of sweat dotting her forehead as she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Even the formidable Lae'zel seemed a bit winded, her breaths coming in measured but heavy intervals, her usually fierce gaze softened by fatigue. Astarion's eyes flickered to Ishta, who continued to stride ahead with the same relentless energy, as if the journey had only just begun for her. He couldn't help but feel a pang of envy at her stamina.
Suddenly, Ishta halted and turned back towards them, her eyes scanning the group with concern. The shift in her demeanour was palpable; the fierce determination was momentarily replaced by a softer, more empathetic expression. She quickly walked back towards them, her movements still as fluid and purposeful as ever.
"Let's take a break, shall we?" she suggested, her tone apologetic and gentle. "There is a stream just over there in that clearing where we can have a drink and rest for a while."
Astarion felt a wave of relief wash over him at her words, and he heard a collective sigh of gratitude from everyone else. He adjusted his pack, feeling the weight shift slightly, and followed her gesture toward the clearing. The promise of cool water and a brief respite was a welcome one.
Upon reaching the stream, Astarion dropped his pack unceremoniously and knelt by the water's edge. For a moment, he stared uncertainly at the water, feeling a flicker of fear. There was no way to tell if the effects of running water had disappeared along with his vulnerability to sunlight—not without physically finding out the hard way. A quick glance around the clearing assured him that no one was watching, so he cautiously lowered his hand, hesitating ever so slightly before dipping the tips of his fingers below the surface. Instead of the searing pain he had come to expect, the coolness of the water against his skin was an immediate relief. Smiling at this new and welcome discovery, he splashed some onto his face, washing away the grime and fatigue. He glanced over at Gale, who had collapsed onto a patch of grass, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Shadowheart was already filling her canteen, her expression thoughtful as she gazed into the distance.
Ishta knelt beside the stream as well, her hands cupping the water as she drank deeply. She seemed to radiate a calm strength, a stark contrast to the rest of the group, who looked utterly spent. Astarion watched her for a moment longer before turning his attention back to the stream, letting the soothing sound of the water help him relax. Fortunately, the agitation on the stream's surface and the sunlight reflecting off it hid his own lack of a reflection effectively. If he had been alone, he would have stripped off then and there and laid in the crystal-clear waters, allowing it to wash away all his fatigue. Instead, he settled for pulling off his boots and rolling up his trousers, dangling his bare feet over the edge of the stream bank. Relishing the feel of the swift current against his legs, Astarion lay back on the grass and stared up at the sky. With the warmth of the afternoon sun on his face and the scent of wildflowers and pine sap in his nostrils, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh of contentment. Despite the dangers that still lay ahead and the ever-present hunger, Astarion couldn't recall a time when he had felt this happy—and it scared him.
The fear that it could all end at any moment, that Cazador could have people out looking for him, brought the familiar knot into his stomach, and he sat up abruptly. Chiding himself for his complacency, he quickly donned his boots and stood up, looking around at his companions thoughtfully. So far, he hadn't made any headway in charming the Ranger, but maybe one of the others might be more receptive?
He spied Shadowheart sitting a little away from the rest of the group, busy sharpening a dagger, and casually walked over to join her. She looked up curiously at his approach but said nothing as he sat down on the grass a little to one side of her.
Giving her a disarming smile, he nodded in the direction of Ishta and remarked, "Our leader is quite the impressive athlete, wouldn't you say? I can't remember the last time I had to compete with such levels of endurance. How about you?"
"What do you want, Astarion?" Shadowheart asked with a slight hint of impatience in her voice, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Undeterred, he shrugged nonchalantly. "Simply making conversation. I realize I may not have given a very good first impression back at the crash site, and hoped I might have the opportunity to remedy that."
"Your aid in clearing out that crypt was all the remedy needed to make up for your first impression," she said, giving a nod of thanks before turning her attention back to her dagger.
Encouraged by her statement, Astarion leaned closer, his voice dripping with charm. "Shadowheart… Such a grim name for such a beautiful flower," he drawled.
She looked up sharply and gave him a cold stare. "I heard you mumbling that line to yourself earlier—it needs more work," she stated bluntly and turned away, clearly dismissing him.
From a few steps away, Lae'zel observed the exchange, her lips curling slightly into a smirk. "Oh, but do keep calling her 'flower.' She'll love that," she remarked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
"I was wondering when he'd try it out on me," Shadowheart said, addressing Lae'zel as if Astarion didn't exist.
Lae'zel's smirk turned into a challenging stare that made him squirm slightly. "Fortunate for his tongue he didn't say it to me," she declared, her eyes glinting dangerously.
Astarion glanced between the two women, their eyes fixed on him with a mixture of amusement and irritation. Feeling his confidence wane under their scrutiny, he stood up, forced a quick, graceful bow, and retreated hastily toward where Ishta was resting.
He found her sitting by a mossy bank, her eyes closed, seemingly at peace. He dropped down opposite her and leaned back against the soft cushion of moss, letting out a defeated sigh. His pride was bruised, and irritation simmered just beneath the surface.
Ishta's mouth twitched as she sensed his presence. She opened one eye, a cheeky grin forming on her lips. "Not quite the marks you are used to, eh?" she remarked, her voice laced with amusement.
Astarion glared at her, his annoyance clear as he realized she must have heard the entire exchange. "I may be a little off my game," he admitted reluctantly, closing his eyes as if to shut out his embarrassment.
Ishta snorted. "A little?"
Astarion opened his eyes again, glaring at her more intensely, which only prompted her to laugh, the sound clear and bell-like, echoing into the clearing. It annoyed him, but he couldn't deny a growing warmth in his chest as he watched her. Her laughter was infectious, and he found himself secretly liking it.
"Tell you what," Ishta said, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "Why don't you practice your best lines on me, and I'll let you know which ones make me cringe and which ones make me want to stab you."
"Oh, piss off!" he retorted testily, though a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Her laughter echoed again, and this time, he allowed himself to enjoy it. He realized, with a mix of surprise and reluctance, that he might actually be starting to like this arrogant golden elf.
Astarion leaned back, watching Ishta's playful grin. Despite his initial irritation, he felt a connection forming that was different from his usual flirtations. 'Perhaps,' he mused, 'the best way to make progress with her is to stop trying so hard.'
"I'll say one thing for you though, you've managed to temporarily unite those two over their shared distaste for your pickup lines," she chuckled, nodding over at Lae'zel and Shadowheart, who seemed to be tolerating each other's presence a little better after his swift exit.
"Hmm... I don't envy your task of keeping them from each other's throats," he commented with a sly smile at Ishta.
She grimaced and leaned back with a sigh. "As if we didn't already have enough problems to deal with," she muttered bitterly.
"Well, if it comes to blows…my money is on the Gith."
Ishta gave him a disapproving frown, then chuckled mirthlessly. "I'll take that bet…just don't try anything to encourage a fight, will you?" she warned, with a twinkle in her eye.
Astarion gasped theatrically and put his hand to his chest. "Ishta! I would never do something so underhanded. What do you take me for?" he protested innocently.
"A sneaky, conniving, opportunistic son of a bitch," Ishta replied, grinning broadly at him.
"Ha!"
Astarion's sincere laugh was both a surprising and welcome deviation from his usual sarcasm and suspicious attitude, and Ishta was glad to hear it. She had observed him earlier by the stream, smiling to herself when she saw how relaxed he looked. His shoulders had been less tense, his usual guarded expression momentarily softened as he lay on the grass. But then a dark shadow had crossed his face, a flicker of pain that quickly returned his features to their usual wariness. Whatever memory had spoiled his brief respite had also spurred him to try and flirt with Shadowheart; an action that made Ishta curious. Everything she had observed about Astarion gave her the impression that he was hiding from something or someone. She'd seen enough creatures being hunted to recognize the signs in him, and hoped that whatever he was afraid of wouldn't rear its ugly head anytime soon.
As for the rest—Lae'zel and Shadowheart's animosity aside—they had all proven to be welcome allies so far. Ishta felt a pang of guilt as she noticed Gale still panting slightly, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, as he walked over to join her and Astarion.
"I'm sorry about the forced march," Ishta said, her voice tinged with genuine regret. Her eyes softened as she looked at Gale, feeling the weight of her oversight. "I'm so used to traveling on my own that I forgot to take into account that not everyone here is used to the distances I regularly cover."
Gale smiled warmly, his exhaustion evident in the sag of his shoulders and the lines on his face. He waved his hand dismissively. "No need to apologize," he replied, sinking gratefully onto a nearby tree stump. "My life has been somewhat sedentary as of late, due to…circumstances. Despite my current fatigue, I won't deny that this pace has been most invigorating, and something of an eye-opener about how lax I have been in my physical upkeep," he admitted, a rueful smile playing on his lips. He wiped the sweat from his brow, the glistening beads a testament to his effort.
Ishta nodded in understanding. "While we rest, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself," she suggested, her curiosity piqued.
Gale's eyes lit up and he cleared his throat. "Let's see. I hail from Waterdeep, the City of Splendors. I'm a Wizard of considerable acclaim, and scholar of exceptional accomplishment—"
"Modest too." Ishta interjected with a chuckle, her amusement evident in the sparkle of her eyes.
Gale laughed softly, and continued, "I have a cat, a library, and a weakness for a good glass of wine. And if the mood takes me, I'm known to try my hand at poetry."
"Don't stop there," Astarion chimed in, leaning forward with a playful grin. "You must have many stories to tell about your adventures as an arch-mage...?"
Gale shook his head, shifting uncomfortably as he tugged at the collar of his robe. "None of them nearly as exciting as Ishta's adventures as a tomb-robbing Ranger, I'll warrant."
Ishta grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Robbing is a strong word. I like to think of it as a redistribution of wealth from those who no longer need it to those that do," she said, her tone light yet tinged with a hint of defensiveness.
Gale chuckled, nodding in agreement. "You sound a bit like this fellow here," he remarked, gesturing to Astarion with a good-natured smile.
Ishta and Astarion exchanged amused glances. "Gods, I hope not," Ishta snorted, earning an offended 'hmph' from Astarion as he crossed his arms, feigning hurt.
The moment of camaraderie was rudely interrupted by Lae'zel loudly marching up to them and standing over the seated trio with an annoyed expression on her face. Her eyes blazed with impatience.
"We have rested long enough. Let us continue on to the grove," she demanded, her tone sharp and unyielding.
"Oh come now, surely a few moments longer won't kill us…will it?" Gale protested, partly joking but with a pleading edge to his voice.
"I knew your kind to be fragile. I did not foresee the severity," Lae'zel replied scornfully, her lips curling in disdain. "The parasites inside us do not rest. Even as we speak they defile our brains and warp our bones. Should a single tentacle split your skull, I will not hesitate to end you."
Gale's face fell, his expression a mix of exhaustion and frustration. "You know, I'm beginning to feel a little bit attacked," he remarked forlornly as Lae'zel marched away again. "What with her comment just now and Astarion sneering at me when I tripped earlier—yes, I did see you do that," he said, turning to the indignant elf, "And don't think I didn't notice you smirking when that Barbarian clobbered me," he added with an irritated frown.
"It's nothing personal, my dear boy. I simply enjoy other people's pain," Astarion smiled ingratiatingly, his eyes gleaming.
Gale narrowed his eyes, anger evident in the set of his shoulders.
"Well…on that cheerful note, shall we get a move on?" Ishta announced loudly, eager to avoid any further conflicts developing in the group.
She rose to her feet with a sigh, covertly giving Gale a pained look of apology. He gave her a resigned shrug in return, understanding the need to keep moving. Heading over to where the packs were piled together, Ishta picked up her two packs and waited for the rest of the group to do likewise. As she did, she watched Gale's weary movements and Astarion's quick, graceful motions, their contrasting natures glaringly obvious.
Shadowheart stood silently, her eyes glinting with irritation as she strapped on her gear. Her movements were precise but edged with tension, every action betraying unease in the presence of a Githyanki. Meanwhile, Lae'zel impatiently paced a short distance away, her expression a storm of barely contained frustration, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Ishta felt the weight of their collective tension pressing down on her shoulders, an almost tangible force.
As they all headed out onto the road again, Ishta silently cursed whatever fate had made her responsible for such a mismatched band of survivors.