The oppressive gloom of the Worg pens she had just left clung to Ishta like ticks on a deer as she navigated the Selunite temple's winding corridors. The stench of sweat, blood, and mildew still lingered, a grim reminder of the battle they had fought not long ago. The cold, damp walls seemed to press in around her, but Ishta's thoughts were focused on the task ahead. Still, traces of amusement flickered across her mind as she recalled the events from earlier.
She couldn't help but smile as she recalled Astarion's look of utter embarrassment when he had mistakenly assumed she and Halsin were lovers - the moment had been priceless. It had been a fleeting moment of vulnerability from someone who typically wore confidence like a second skin.
Ishta had tried to explain, patiently at first, that her relationship with Halsin was nothing more than the bond of adventuring partners, forged over a year of traveling together, facing danger side by side. But despite her reassurances, Astarion had retreated, sulking in a corner, his insecurity as evident as the scowl that marred his usually smirking features. Her fit of laughter probably hadn't done much to soothe his bruised ego either...
But there had been more pressing matters. The group had debated their next move, with Lae'zel suggesting they lure the Goblins to the grove. Ishta had agreed - it was too risky to fight the horde in this rabbit warren of a temple where they held the advantage. It had taken all of her determined logic to convince Halsin of this, who had been torn between his protective instincts and the necessity of their plan.
In the end, Halsin had agreed, though reluctantly. He had promised that he could reach the grove by sundown if he wildshaped into a falcon to make the journey quickly. Before leaving, he had given Ishta a parting embrace, his strength a brief comfort, before transforming into a rat and disappearing into the shadows.
Another boon to Ishta's plan had come from Gale, who informed her that he had placed teleportation sigils along their route to the temple, ensuring their return would be that much swifter. The thought of not having to travel through the swamp had bolstered everyone's mood, even Astarion's.
The Goblins, however, would take days to march to the grove, giving them time to prepare defenses.
Now, as Ishta made her way to speak with Minthara, she felt the weight of what she was about to do. Convincing the Drow leader to fall into their trap would be no easy task. Minthara was cunning, and one wrong word could unravel everything.
Ishta boldly pushed open the heavy, oak doors leading into Minthara's chamber, their ancient hinges creaking in protest, the groans swallowed by the oppressive silence of the room beyond. She entered with measured steps, her expression composed yet her mind a flurry of calculated thoughts. It was time to set the final part of their plan in motion.
The Drow warrior stood at the head of a large, crude table, her eyes fixed on the map spread out before her. Her posture was tense, every line of her body radiating a barely restrained fury. The low light from flickering torches cast deep shadows on her sharp features, making her appear even more intimidating. As Ishta approached, she could feel the tension in the air grow thicker, almost suffocating.
Ishta walked across the chamber with purpose, her boots echoing softly against the stone floor. She paused a few paces away from Minthara, just outside the reach of the other woman's weapon. The silence between them was heavy, punctuated only by the distant sound of Goblins squabbling somewhere down the corridor.
Minthara broke the silence first, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. "Report. And make it quick - organizing these creatures tests my patience."
Ishta inclined her head slightly, her expression remaining composed despite the tense atmosphere. She took a step closer, careful to keep her movements smooth and unhurried. "These Goblins are even more hopeless than I thought," she began, her voice cutting through the silence with a sharp, clear note of derision. "Not only did they kill the prisoner, but they were too stupid to realize they had a Druid from the grove right under their noses."
The words struck Minthara like a dagger, causing her head to snap up and her eyes to narrow into slits. She straightened to full height, her attention now fully on Ishta. The grip on her sword tightened, the leather of her gauntlets creaking under the pressure. "What?!" she demanded, her voice rising with barely contained anger. "Explain yourself."
Ishta held Minthara's fierce gaze without flinching, her own eyes steady and unwavering. She subtly shifted her weight, silently preparing for any potential violence that may erupt. "The bear in the Worg pens," she explained calmly, savoring the tension in the room before continuing. "Turns out he was the grove's First Druid himself. He tore up the place and started slaughtering all the guards. Seeing an opportunity, I decided to help him escape."
Minthara's jaw clenched, her breathing becoming more deliberate as she processed the information. "You did... what?" Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper as moved out from behind the table and took a step forward, closing the gap between them until their faces were mere inches apart. "I trust you had a very good reason. Though I cannot fathom what possible excuse you might have for committing treason against the Absolute."
Ishta could feel the heat of Minthara's breath, but she remained composed, her heart steady despite the perilous line she walked. She had anticipated this reaction, counted on it, even. The trick was to control it, to mold Minthara's anger into something she could use.
Ishta lifted her chin slightly, her piercing gaze never wavering from Minthara's face. "Sometimes, if you want to find a hive full of honey, you need to follow a bee," she stated calmly, her voice like ice water in contrast to the tense atmosphere between them. With a cunning gleam in her eye, Ishta continued, "While the grateful fool was busy thanking me, I managed to attach a charm onto his clothing. My Raven familiar is attuned to this charm and will lead us straight to the grove." Her words hung in the air, dripping with smug satisfaction.
Minthara's anger simmered just below the surface, but she held back from lashing out. Instead, she carefully studied Ishta's face, searching for any trace of deceit. Her grip on her sword loosened slightly and her posture relaxed ever so slightly as she considered Ishta's words.
After what felt like an eternity of tense silence, Minthara gave a curt nod of approval, although the tension still radiated from her body. "For your sake, I hope you are right," she grudgingly admitted, her sharp gaze still lingering on Ishta for a moment longer. "You have shown great cunning, Xindite. Perhaps there truly is more Ilythiiri blood in you than I first thought." She paused before continuing with a hint of begrudging respect in her tone. "I would ask you to use that cunning once more."
As Minthara paced a few steps, her boots scuffing against the uneven stones beneath them, she outlined her plan. Ishta would travel ahead of the warband and approach the grove under the guise of a friend. Once inside, she would open the gates for Minthara's raiding party to strike at the opportune moment.
A small smile tugged at the corners of Ishta's lips as she nodded in understanding and acknowledgement. She had played her hand well, and Minthara's grudging approval was proof enough. "As you command, My Lady," she replied respectfully, with a hint of triumph that she didn't bother to hide.
As Ishta turned to leave, she could feel Minthara's calculating gaze following her every move. It reminded her that the fragile trust she had just earned could easily be shattered. Steeling herself, Ishta reached for the door and paused, taking a moment to compose herself before stepping out into the dimly lit corridor. The heavy door creaked shut behind her, sealing both the chamber and Minthara within its confines.
In the coolness of the corridor, Ishta let out a slow exhale and leaned against the stone wall for support. The game was far from over and the stakes were high. But for now, Ishta had played her part well and that would have to suffice.
Astarion lounged outside his tent, taking in the cool night air as he flipped through the pages of his book. The flickering light from the campfire cast shadows across the worn pages, creating a mesmerizing dance of light and darkness. His senses were attuned to the gentle rustling of leaves, the distant call of an owl, and the murmurs of his fellow campers going about their various evening activities. It was a rare moment of peace, one that he intended to savor until it was inevitably disturbed.
Their recent trip to the Goblin camp had been eventful but ultimately unfruitful. Ishta's usual self-righteous determination had led them to free two more captives - a half-dead adventurer and a bard who seemed more useless than helpful. Astarion didn't have high hopes for their survival after they chose to break off from the group and make their own escape. But at least the adventurer had provided some valuable information about the Nightsong relic before departing - not that it was of any use right now.
Meanwhile, Minthara had taken the bait and sent Ishta and her party to infiltrate the Druid's grove. Now, camping once again in the ruined village of Moonhaven, they awaited word from Mèirleach on Halsin's safe return before revealing the location of the Druid's grove to the Drow leader.
So far the evening had been - surprising.
A smirk played at the corners of Astarion's mouth as he recalled the spectacle from several hours earlier. The tension between Lae'zel and Shadowheart had been a festering wound ever since the revelation that the Cleric carried a Githyanki artifact. Lae'zel's righteous indignation and Shadowheart's simmering defiance were a volatile mix, and when the accusation of theft had once again been hurled, it was as though a spark had met kindling.
But the real surprise hadn't been the argument itself - it had been Ishta's unexpected and dramatic intervention.
When Shadowheart had pinned Lae'zel to the ground and pressed her dagger to the Gith's throat, her eyes alight with righteous fury, Astarion had been content to watch from the sidelines. It was the kind of drama he relished, the type that exposed raw nerves and hidden tensions. But then, Ishta had intervened, and the scene had taken a deliciously unexpected turn.
Astarion had expected Ishta to try and reason with them, as she so often did, but he had not anticipated the raw display of strength that followed. She had stepped in with a fury that startled even him, and seized both women by the scruffs, as if they were no more than unruly animals.
The sheer physicality of it had been something to behold. Ishta had hauled them apart and unceremoniously sat them down on a nearby bench, her strength so effortless it seemed almost unreal.
But what truly amused him was the reaction of the two women. Lae'zel, the proud warrior, so used to standing her ground, had looked utterly bewildered. Astarion had caught a glimpse of something in her eyes - a flicker of awe that bordered on reverence, as though she were seeing Ishta for the first time.
Shadowheart, too, had been left speechless, her usual sharp wit and defiance crumbling under Ishta's grip. The way she had been sat down like a disobedient child, her dagger forgotten, was a sight Astarion knew he would savor for a long time. For all her snark, Shadowheart had been utterly cowed, and it was clear that she was as shocked as Lae'zel by the sudden shift in Ishta's demeanor.
As Ishta had scolded them, her voice low and simmering with barely restrained anger, Astarion had watched with growing amusement. The scene was almost too perfect - Lae'zel, the warrior, and Shadowheart, the zealot, both sat with bowed heads and and guilty looks, brought to heel by a woman who had until now been the epitome of benevolent tolerance. The silence that followed Ishta's tirade had been thick with a mixture of shame and something else - something like admiration.
For Astarion, the evening had been a revelation, not just of Ishta's surprising hidden strength, but of the power dynamics within their group. Watching Lae'zel and Shadowheart, both so strong-willed, finally encounter a force they couldn't simply overcome, had been endlessly entertaining. And now, as he settled in for the night, he couldn't help but chuckle softly to himself. The memory of their cowed expressions, and the knowledge that Ishta had finally shown them what lay beneath her calm exterior, was a pleasure he intended to savor for some time.
As he turned another page in his book, Astarion's attention was drawn by heavy footsteps approaching the campfire. His eyes followed Lae'zel's determined stride as she made her way towards Ishta, who sat idly poking at the fire with a stick. A hint of firelight glinted in her eyes as she stared pensively into the flames.
A knowing smile played on Astarion's lips as he shifted slightly, angling himself for a better view without being too obvious. Lae'zel rarely sought out conversation, and when she did, it was always worth listening to.
"I have a confession," announced Lae'zel, her tone devoid of hesitation or emotion.
Ishta blinked in surprise, clearly caught off guard by Lae'zel's unexpected statement. "You do?" she asked, tilting her head inquisitively.
Astarion couldn't help but be intrigued. Lae'zel and confessions? This was going to be interesting - apparently the evening's entertainment wasn't over quite just yet. He settled into a more comfortable position, one hand resting against his cheek as he pretended to be engrossed in his book, all the while listening intently to their conversation.
Without hesitation, Lae'zel continued, her voice measured but with an underlying intensity. "I was too hasty to judge you," she admitted. "I thought you were witless, gutless, unimpressively bland."
Astarion nearly lost his composure right then and there. He could feel the laughter bubbling up inside him, but he bit down on his lip, forcing it back. If Lae'zel caught even the faintest hint of a laugh, she'd be on him in an instant, and Astarion had no desire to test her temper tonight.
Ishta's expression shifted from confusion to bemusement, clearly not expecting this turn of events. "Can I assume a compliment is coming?" she quipped with a light tone, though there was a hint of wariness in her eyes.
"I don't pay compliments. I only say what is true," Lae'zel replied without missing a beat.
Astarion's smirk deepened. Ishta had walked right into that one. He could see her mentally scrambling, trying to navigate the conversation that was clearly not going the way she expected.
"So what about now?" Ishta asked tentatively, her voice softer as she tried to gauge where this confession was heading.
Lae'zel squared her shoulders, her gaze unwavering as she spoke. "Now, you've earned my respect, and more still. You've proven your wits. You are efficient and dominant, in and out of battle. You've proven your courage. I swear, you would tear the horns off one dragon to plunge into another. And you're hardly bland. Your scent alone is enough to make my neck sweat and my hairs stand on end."
Astarion had to bite down on his knuckle to keep silent, while Ishta, completely oblivious to the underlying meaning, furrowed her brow, concern clearly etched on her face. She leaned back slightly, her fingers tightening around the stick she held as if it might somehow offer her some clarity.
"If you're having some kind of allergic reaction to being around elves," Ishta offered, her voice filled with genuine concern, "I might be able to mix a tonic for you. Crag Cat's sometimes have the same reaction to the scent of Dwarves."
That was too much. Astarion felt his chest starting to cramp up from the sheer effort of keeping his laughter contained. The utter cluelessness, the sheer earnestness of her offer - this was better than he could have imagined. Lae'zel, however, was not deterred.
"It is not a tonic that I desire," Lae'zel stated bluntly, taking a deliberate step closer to Ishta, her eyes fixed on her with an almost predatory focus. "I will be plain: I desire you. I want to taste you. Perhaps tonight. Perhaps later. But I want it all the same."
Astarion watched as Ishta's face went from concerned to completely flustered in a matter of seconds. The stick she had been holding slipped from her fingers, tumbling into the fire with a soft hiss, and her face turned an interesting shade of pink as she finally started to understand what Lae'zel was saying. Her gaze darted around the camp as if searching for an escape, and when her eyes landed on Astarion, he felt her mental shout slam into his mind with a force that was almost physical.
"Help! What do I say?!"
Astarion stared into Ishta's wide, panic filled eyes, his face now half-buried in the book to hide his grin. "How in the hells should I know?" he responded, hoping the glee wasn't too apparent in his mental 'voice'.
"I think she wants to uh... sleep with me."
It was getting harder and harder to hold back. Astarion's eyes were watering now, his entire body trembling with the effort of stifling his laughter. "Well done," he mentally applauded Ishta. "You've grasped the basics of the mysteries of Githyanki flirting. It would seem your little display of temper earlier has stoked her fires."
"But I don't see her in that way!" Ishta's mental voice was tinged with desperation.
"Then tell her that," Astarion suggested, his amusement clear even in his thoughts.
"I don't want to die..."
He rolled his eyes behind the cover of his book, though his grin was still firmly in place. "Then don't tell her that."
Ishta's mental sigh was almost tangible, thick with exasperation. "Oh, thanks a lot, Astarion."
"My pleasure," he replied with a mental smirk, enjoying the chaos of it all. "Now get out of my head."
Astarion couldn't help but revel in the irony of the situation. This bold and confident Ranger, who had just hours earlier cowed two seasoned warriors with the sheer force of her strength and fury, was now left completely flustered and at a loss for words by the Gith's straightforward proposition. He watched intently as Ishta took a deep breath, her body tense as if preparing for a battle far more daunting than any they had faced together.
As she began to speak, Astarion noticed her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. "Lae'zel, I am... very flattered," she started awkwardly, searching for her words. "But I, um... I don't really think of you in that way. At all. Sorry, but the answer is no."
Astarion observed Lae'zel's reaction with rapt attention. Though her expression remained stoic, there was a slight tightening of her jaw and a flicker of something behind her eyes - disappointment, perhaps? She then responded in a low and firm tone, "Your loss, I fear. One day soon, you will wonder how my lips might have tasted, how my fingers on your skin might have felt. And you will wish you could return to this lost moment."
With one last lingering look, Lae'zel turned sharply on her heel and strode away with her usual rigid posture, though Astarion could detect a faint tension in her movements.
Meanwhile, Ishta slumped in her seat, letting out a long, shaky breath as she ran a hand through her hair. It was clear that she was relieved to have survived the encounter. "Oh, I'm fairly certain I won't," she muttered to herself while rubbing her temple.
Astarion couldn't hold it in any longer. A small, involuntary snort of laughter escaped him, the sound cutting through the quiet night air. Ishta's head whipped around, her eyes narrowing as she shot him a glare that could have melted steel.
Astarion quickly raised the book to cover his face, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter as he tried to stifle the giggles that were now threatening to escape. He peeked over the edge of the book, meeting Ishta's exasperated gaze with a look of pure, unrepentant amusement.
"Well, darling," he murmured, his voice barely audible, "this has been the most delightful evening."
Ishta scowled and picked up another stick, stabbing it into the fire with jerky movements as if taking out her embarrassed frustration on the embers. Her voice dripped with biting sarcasm as she stared moodily into the flames. "So glad I could provide you with entertainment."
Astarion lowered the book to his chest and leaned back languidly on the pile of cushions behind him. Resting both hands behind his head, he smirked at Ishta and drawled, "Indeed. I have to say that was one of the most entertaining things I have witnessed in quite some time."
In response, Ishta simply raised one hand and flipped him the middle finger.
The flickering flames of the campfire cast a warm glow on Astarion's pale skin as he sat on a log, pretending to read. The rest of the group were gathered around, eating their evening meal in quiet conversation. The scent of roasted meat mingled with the earthy aroma of the surrounding forest, but to Astarion, it was just another reminder of how different he was from them. The food they savored held no appeal for him.
However, the tension between Lae'zel and Ishta, who sat at opposite ends of the fire, was far more appetizing.
Astarion had intentionally chosen to join the others this evening, not out of any sense of camaraderie but because the simmering discomfort between Lae'zel and Ishta was far too entertaining to miss. As he sat observing, he couldn't resist trying to catch Ishta's eye, relishing the remnants of her earlier flustered encounter.
Ishta, sensing his gaze, finally looked up from her spot across the fire. Astarion met her eyes with a smirk, the glint of mischief in his expression clear. She glared at him for a moment, then a slow and suspiciously devious expression crept across her face.
Astarion raised an eyebrow, curious, as she subtly shifted in her seat and gestured to her wrist with a slight tilt of her head, tapping it lightly in a way that was almost imperceptible to anyone not paying close attention. Her challenging stare dared him to act.
Surprised and uncertain, Astarion felt a twinge of anxiety in his chest. Was she really suggesting what he thought she was? Here? Now? He quickly scanned the group gathered around the fire, relieved when he saw that no one else seemed to have noticed their silent exchange. Shadowheart poked at her stew absentmindedly, Gale was engrossed in some magical trinket, and Lae'zel, Wyll, and Karlach were deep in conversation with each other.
The others may have tolerated his presence, but Astarion knew how fragile their acceptance was. Reminding them too openly of his true nature - the predator that lurked beneath his charming facade - was a risk he wasn't sure he wanted to take.
Yet, Ishta's mental voice cut through his thoughts, calm and insistent. "They need to fully accept the reality of what you are. Chances are, that the longer we all stay together, the more likely it is that will see you feed. Might as well get the initial shock out of the way."
Astarion furrowed his brow in frustration, feeling the weight of her words pressing against his hesitation. "Do I have to?"
"You don't have to if you don't want to," Ishta replied calmly, "I just thought it would send a not-so-subtle message to them all, especially the newcomers."
A hint of sarcasm tinged Astarion's thoughts as he responded, "And what message might that be? That you're completely insane?"
Ishta's mental presence softened, a quiet confidence threading through her response. "That I trust you. And that they don't need to fear you."
Astarion hesitated, feeling the weight of the decision he wasn't quite ready to make. He couldn't help the defensive edge in his retort. "Maybe I want them to fear me, did you ever think of that?"
Ishta shrugged slightly, her gaze drifting back to the fire. "Never mind. It was just an idea... it would have been funny to see their reactions though."
Despite himself, a faint smile tugged at Astarion's lips, his dark sense of humor piqued by the imagined scene. The thought of unsettling the camp, of challenging their perceptions, was too delicious to pass up.
"Fine," he thought with a sharp glint of resolve in his mental voice. "Let's see how they handle it."
Ishta caught the determination in his eyes and she responded with a subtle nod of agreement. She gracefully rose from her seat across the fire and moved to sit beside him, her movements slow and deliberate. The rest of their companions were too wrapped up in their own conversations and tasks to immediately notice the change.
A tingling sensation shot through Astarion's veins as Ishta settled next to him, the excitement of what was about to happen coursing through his body. Her expression remained serene and almost casual as she extended her arm, offering her wrist as if she were simply passing him a drink. The flickering firelight danced across her skin, highlighting the steady pulse beneath, each beat beckoning him closer.
For a moment, he hesitated, holding onto the book resting in his lap with a tight grip. This was a risk, an uncharted path they were about to embark on. He could feel the weight of his companions' eyes on him, even if they hadn't yet caught on to what was happening. Taking a deep breath, Astarion gently cradled Ishta's wrist in his hand, his cool fingers standing out against her warm skin. In the glow of the campfire, he lowered his head slightly and brought her wrist up to his mouth, his fangs extending with an almost primal hunger.
As his teeth broke the skin, a hush fell over the camp. Shadowheart's spoon froze mid-air, Gale's trinket slipped from his fingers, and Lae'zel's conversation with Wyll and Karlach came to an abrupt halt. All eyes were fixed upon them in shock as they watched Astarion feed openly from Ishta's wrist, his lips pressed firmly against her skin.
But Ishta remained calm and composed, her demeanor unfazed as if it were the most natural thing in the world to have a Vampire latched onto her arm. She turned her head towards Karlach, a bright smile lighting up her face. "So, Karlach," she began in a light and conversational tone, "care to share a bit of your backstory with us?"
The tension around the campfire began to ease as Shadowheart resumed eating and cast curious glances their way. Gale picked up his trinket again, muttering something about "unforeseen alliances," while Lae'zel scoffed before returning to her meal and pointedly ignoring the spectacle. Wyll's eyes lingered on the pair a little longer, as if he wasn't quite certain what he was witnessing, before he too focused on his meal - his lips briefly pursing in a silent whistle of disbelief.
As Astarion's gaze flickered over each of his companions, he could hardly believe it. They were actually ignoring him, or at least pretending to. His nerves settled even further, bolstered by the nonchalant and almost dismissive reactions from the others.
Karlach blinked, clearly fascinated but tearing her gaze away from the pair to meet Ishta's eyes. Clearing her throat to regain her composure, she began, "Uh... sure. Why not. Let me see if I can paint you a picture. The year? Ten ere. The place? A sleepy little town called Baldur's Gate. Our hero? Karlach, a knock-kneed delinquent from the Outer City with everything to give and nothing to lose. I was a kid looking for a way to fill my days and make some cash when I fell into the wrong crowd. Worked for a guy I respected. A lot. Turns out the feeling wasn't mutual. Through the jigs and the reels, he made a deal with Zariel behind my back. You know Zariel, right? Archdevil of Avernus?"
Ishta didn't miss a beat. "Not personally, no. Heard she's a right bitch though."
Karlach's grin was laced with a touch of bitterness as she spoke, her voice tinged with the weight of past experiences. "You got that right, soldier. She put this thing in my chest and set me to work. Well, to war. I learned quick how to stay alive, and the engine served me when it came to killing devils. Ten years of that. The stories I could tell."
Astarion finally raised his head from Ishta's wrist, unable to resist making a remark. "Go on then, tell them."
He pulled out a silk handkerchief from his sleeve with a flourish, delicately dabbing at the corner of his mouth before passing it over to Ishta. A faint smirk played on his lips as he spoke. "Thank you, my dear. That was most excellent."
Without even bothering to look at him, Ishta took the proffered handkerchief and used it to bind up her wounded wrist. Her attention remained solely on Karlach as Astarion leisurely picked up his book again, theatrically licking his thumb before turning the page. His heart was still racing with excitement over the sheer audacity of what they had just done.
Karlach watched their performance with amusement clear in her eyes. She chuckled at their antics. "I'll dole out the best stories bit by bit, so you always have a reason to keep me around. Clever, right?"
Ishta's eyes sparkled with hidden mirth behind her calm facade as she met the Tiefling's gaze. "Excellent thinking," she replied smoothly. "I eagerly await your tales."
Gale, with his insatiable thirst for knowledge, leaned forward eagerly, his brown eyes fixed on Ishta. "While we're on the topic of backstories... Did I hear correctly when you told Minthara that you are a Xindite?"
Ishta, her attention focused on tending to her injured wrist, looked up at Gale with a calm but guarded expression. "Yes. Fourth generation free."
Gale's eyes widened in excitement, his scholarly enthusiasm showing in the way his fingers twitched as if itching to take notes. "How fascinating..."
Shadowheart, who had been listening intently with a furrowed brow, shifted her weight and spoke up. "And what exactly is a Xindite?"
Gale hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with his own lack of knowledge. His brow furrowed in thought before he spoke. "I must admit, this is one subject that I am not well-versed in. There is very little written about Xindites, so I would prefer to defer to Ishta herself for an accurate explanation... if she is willing to share the history of her people, of course."
Ishta's gaze swept over the group, her eyes lingering on each of them before settling back on Gale. She sighed, the weight of the distant past heavy on her shoulders, pressing down on her with every breath. "It's not a story I enjoy telling, and I can assure you that your history books will not have all the facts."
Gale leaned forward even more, his voice softening, as if coaxing the truth from her. "Then please allow me to learn from you. I promise it is purely out of curiosity, and if you do not wish for this information to be shared, I will respect your wishes. As will the others, I'm sure."
The group fell silent, the crackling of the campfire the only sound as Ishta gathered her thoughts. Astarion watched her closely, noticing how she absentmindedly traced the edge of her wrist, grounding herself before delving into painful memories.
"When I was deemed old enough to understand the darker side of my heritage, my parents told me the story of how we came to be," she began, her voice steady but with an underlying tension that hinted at the emotions she kept tightly controlled, "Many centuries ago, during one of the countless wars against the Red Wizards of Thay, a project was initiated by a group of alchemists and mages. Their ultimate goal was to create an army of living weapons - supreme soldiers who were impervious to necrotic energy and immune to being turned into undead by the necromancers. This group believed that elves, with their innate magical abilities and physical resilience, were the perfect test subjects."
A chill ran down Astarion's spine as Ishta's words painted a grim picture. He watched her intently, feeling a growing sense of intrigue and anticipation.
"To achieve this goal, they kidnapped thousands of children from almost every elven race in Faerûn - High Elves, Wood Elves, Drow, Wild Elves, Sea Elves, even Avariel and Shadar-kai." Ishta paused, her voice wavering as if the memories of those lost children threatened to overwhelm her.
She took a deep breath before continuing, her hands trembling slightly as she spoke. "These children were subjected to brutal experiments; infused with powerful magic to enhance their physical and genetic traits. Once they reached maturity and were capable of bearing children, they were... bred with each other." Her voice cracked slightly, the emotion she had been holding back breaking through.
Gale's face drained of color, his initial curiosity replaced by horror. His usually composed features were marred by a deep frown as he struggled to reconcile the knowledge he had just gained. "By Mystra..." he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Ishta swallowed hard, her gaze distant as she continued, her words now laced with a cold, detached fury. "It gets worse. The resulting offspring from these interbreeding experiments were magically grown to childbearing age in a matter of days and then used to continue the cycle. This process went on for five years, producing countless generations of enslaved elves who were treated like mere breeding stock and calliously slaughtered if they didn't meet the desired genetic standards. And the end result... was a new breed of Elf - a 'perfected' one, with the combined strength and abilities of all races, and the power to destroy undead without ever being corrupted by them. These elves were then trained as soldiers from childhood and forced to fight in the Red Wars."
The camp was eerily silent, each member of the group struggling to process the weight of Ishta's story. The crackle of the fire seemed almost deafening in the stillness that followed her words.
Wyll, who had been silently listening, finally broke the heavy silence with a voice tinged with guilt. He leaned forward, his eyes filled with a mix of understanding and regret. "I can understand now why you were so angry with me training the Tiefling children to fight. I'm sorry if I offended you back then."
Ishta shook her head, her expression softening as she looked at him, her voice warm despite the dark tale she had just told. "There is no need for apologies, Wyll. It is a controversial topic among Xindites, but your intentions were pure."
Gale, still reeling from Ishta's tale, nodded slowly, his mind clearly grappling with the enormity of what she had revealed. He spoke with a new reverence in his tone. "You were right, Ishta. The history books barely mentioned any of this. Only that they were of mixed heritage and imbued with magic to become warriors of unmatched strength and skill... the exact details of their origins were sorely lacking. I can see why though... It is truly barbaric."
"Barbaric is one word for it," Ishta agreed, her tone now colder, edged with a bitter fury. "The cruel irony is that these atrocities were committed by those deemed 'the good side' in our history books. Ha!"
Her derisive laughter pierced the air, brittle and sharp as glass, and she threw her head back and gazed up at the night sky. The stars above seemed indifferent to the horrors she described, twinkling in their eternal dance as if mocking the cruelty of mortals. "I suppose all things are forgiven in the name of war," she murmured softly, her voice carrying the weight of centuries of pain.
A bitter smile crept across her face as she lowered her head and glanced around at her companions. "However, when you set out to make a slave race of supreme warriors, it's probably a good idea to make sure the means of controlling them can't be stolen."
Astarion's interest piqued at her words, and he noticed the way Ishta turned to him with a knowing look, her eyes locking onto his. "A sneaky, conniving, opportunistic son-of-a-bitch named Xin stole what he thought was a valuable gem - only to find himself the master of an army of nearly a thousand warriors. Long story short, the Rogue chose to help them rebel against their creators, breaking the chains that bound them."
A smile tugged at Astarion's lips as he considered the irony of the situation - a thief becoming a leader and liberator of slaves. He leaned back, the warmth of the fire licking at his skin, his mind whirling with thoughts of this Rogue who had defied the odds. There was a certain kinship he felt with Xin, an understanding of the cunning and daring it took to turn the tables on those who sought to control others.
"So what happened after they were freed?" Karlach asked, breaking the silence that had settled over the group.
Ishta met Karlach's gaze, her expression softening as she prepared to share the final chapter of the tale. "Without a specific clan or culture to belong to, they took on the name of their liberator and became known as Xindites. They scattered across Faerûn, blending into other elven societies and keeping their true heritage hidden for the most part. But they were bred to be warriors - remaining still and hidden isn't in their nature. Eventually, people began to notice elves with extraordinary abilities appearing all over, and stories turned into folk tales which turned into legends. History books were written and rewritten. All while the Xindites forged their own unique culture, hidden in plain sight. To this day, we're still something of a mystery to most people."
The hush that followed Ishta's story was thick and stifling, as if the weight of her words had pressed down on them all. The crackling flames seemed to screech in protest against the heavy silence that now lingered. Each member of the group sat in stunned contemplation, avoiding eye contact and unsure of what to say after such a weighty disclosure. Ishta's shoulders drooped, her face etched with distress as she struggled with the awkward tension.
Astarion, sensing the need to break the unbearable silence, decided to take a gamble - a risky one, as always. With a dramatic flair, he exclaimed, "It all makes sense now! That's why your blood tastes so exquisite... why, you're a veritable cocktail of elven flavors, aren't you?"
The group froze, their expressions shifting from shock to disbelief as they processed what he had just said. The initial reaction was one of horror, the seemingly callous and flippant remark hanging in the air like a slap to the face. Shadowheart's eyes narrowed in anger, Gale's brow furrowed in disapproval, and even Karlach looked like she was about to say something sharp in response.
All eyes were on Astarion, but before anyone could respond, their attention was diverted by an unexpected sound - a loud burst of laughter.
Ishta quickly muffled her giggles with her hands as everyone turned their astonished gazes towards her. Her cheeks flushed red as she struggled to contain her amusement, her shoulders shaking as she tried not to choke on her own laughter.
As she lowered her hands and attempted to compose herself, her sparkling eyes met Astarion's mischievous gaze. The others exchanged bewildered glances, not sure how to react, but something about seeing Ishta trying to stifle her laughter disarmed them. Slowly but surely, the tension began to dissipate and the heavy mood lifted.
Clearing her throat and giving Astarion a reproachful look, though her amusement was still evident in the corners of her mouth, Ishta teased, "Leave it to you to find the most inappropriate way to lighten the mood." She shook her head with a chuckle.
The rest of the group couldn't help but join in with a few chuckles of their own, relieved that the tension had finally been broken. Gale let out a sigh of relief, Shadowheart rolled her eyes but a small smile tugged at her lips, and even Wyll couldn't resist grinning.
Astarion winked at Ishta, his smile growing wider. "What can I say? It's a talent."
Restless and feverish, Ishta tossed and turned in her tent, the heat of her fever coursing through her veins. She couldn't escape the events of the evening, each moment replaying relentlessly in her mind. From Lae'zel's sudden proposition to the somber reception of her people's history, every detail churned through her brain in blinding clarity.
But it was the recent events that weighed heaviest on her thoughts. Mèirleach had finally reached out to her through their bond with news that Halsin had safely made it back to the grove. So, under cover of darkness, Ishta had slipped away to report its location to Minthara. The Drow had eagerly accepted the information, her eyes gleaming with the promise of an easy victory as she ordered Ishta to travel at first light.
Returning to the camp, Ishta's thoughts had been preoccupied with the risks she was taking, but she pushed them aside, focusing on the need to rest and be ready to travel in the morning.
But now, lying in her bedroll, the weight of responsibility was like a Stone Giant sitting on her chest. She kicked off the stifling blanket and crawled out of her tent, desperate for some relief from the fever that raged within her.
The cool night air enveloped her like a soothing embrace, but it was only temporary. Her steps were unsteady and she felt as if she were walking on shifting sand. The night was quiet except for the distant sounds of Goblins preparing for battle and the crackling of the campfire.
Ishta wiped the sweat from her forehead, but it returned almost instantly, stinging her eyes and making her feel like she was drowning in her own body.
And then she heard it - a wet, rattling cough that sent a shiver down her spine. Turning towards the treeline, she saw Astarion hunched over, his body wracked with convulsions. Even in the darkness, she could see dark stains of blood on his pale hands and spatters on the ground with each heave.
She froze for a moment, her heart clenching at the sight of him in such a state, before silently making her way over to him. When Astarion finally noticed her presence, his eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and fear that made her hesitate. He tried to straighten up, but the effort left him trembling, his usually poised form now shaky and unsteady. "Leave... me the hells... alone!" he managed to rasp out, each word punctuated by another cough that racked his body.
Ignoring his words, Ishta took a step closer, her gaze never leaving his face. "Talk to me, Astarion," she urged softly, trying to keep her own unease at bay. "Let me help you."
Astarion's breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to hold himself upright. "I feel awful," he muttered, one hand pressed against his forehead as if trying to hold his skull together. "My head is pounding, my teeth are loose, and I can barely see straight."
The unfiltered honesty in his words hung heavy in the air. Ishta nodded slowly, her own throat tight with fear. "Me too," she whispered, barely audible.
Astarion's gaze held hers, filled with dread and desperation. "This is it, isn't it?" he said, voice trembling. "The beginning of the end."
Ishta watched Astarion's already pale face turn even whiter, his breath hitching and his body doubling over in another violent coughing fit. She could see the strain on his face, one hand clutching at his chest while the other gripped onto a nearby tree for support. Blood flecked his lips, the sight of it stark against his ashen skin. When the fit finally subsided, he looked up at Ishta with wide, pleading eyes.
In that moment, Ishta saw a raw vulnerability in him, a desperate need for her to have all the answers and make sense of the chaos unraveling within them. The weight of his unspoken plea settled heavily on her shoulders, and she found herself wishing she could give him the reassurance he sought.
Straightening as much as he could manage, Astarion asked the question that neither of them had an answer for: "What are we going to do?"
Ishta's shoulders slumped and she shook her head. She couldn't find the words to offer any reassurance because she had none to give. "I don't know," she admitted with a dry mouth, her resolve wavering. "I've faced many monsters before, but this... this is one I can't slay with a bow or sword."
A bitter laugh escaped Astarion's lips before it was cut short by another fit of coughing. He pressed a hand to his chest, wincing in pain as he struggled to catch his breath. "I won't lie...I'm almost ready to take Raphael up on his offer," he gasped, dark humor lacing his words. "The problem is... I have no idea how to contact him. How does one summon a devil exactly? Do I need candles? Entrails?" Despite his attempt at covering up his fear with angry sarcasm, his voice betrayed him with its shaking panic.
As if in response, a sudden coughing fit ripped through Ishta's body, sending her crashing to her knees. The world seemed to tilt dangerously as she struggled for breath, her vision swimming. When she brought her hand to her mouth, she felt warm and wetness on her fingers. Looking down, she saw the smear of blood on her palm, her stomach lurching at the sight.
Astarion's eyes widened in alarm, his anger dissipating as he rushed to her side. He knelt beside her, his hand hovering uncertainly before finally settling on her shoulder. "Ishta," he whispered softly, the edge in his voice replaced by genuine concern that was almost painful to hear.
She looked up at him with weary eyes, her breath coming in shallow and ragged bursts. "You are free to do what you want, Astarion," she said, her voice trembling with exhaustion and resignation. "But please, you promised to do something for me first."
Her hand fumbled at her belt, fingers grasping for the cold metal of her dagger. With a swift, practiced motion, she pulled it free, the blade glinting in the dim light like a sliver of ice. Astarion's eyes widened with understanding as he realized her intentions, instinctively pulling his hand back as if the sharp edge might bite him.
"I'd love to, darling, but my head is spinning," he said, his voice faltering as he struggled to maintain his usual facade. "I wouldn't know which of you three to stab. Find someone else to kill you."
"Please," Ishta whispered urgently, desperation clawing at her insides. "I don't have the strength to do it myself."
With trembling hands, she guided Astarion's fingers around the hilt of the dagger, positioning it over her chest. The sharp point pressed lightly against her skin, a cold contrast to the raging fever burning through her body. Their eyes met in a moment of shared understanding and pain. "One good thrust to the heart, remember?" Ishta reminded him, her voice barely audible.
Astarion's breath hitched, his grip on the dagger unsteady. His face twisted in anguish, the mask he always wore now fully shattered. "You can't be seriously asking me to do this," he choked out, his voice breaking, the words filled with a sorrow that cut deeper than any blade.
"Please," Ishta begged, her voice barely audible, her strength waning fast. "I don't want to become a monster again."
Astarion's entire body tensed, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as he tried to summon the will to do what she asked. His fingers tightened around the dagger's hilt, his knuckles turning white with the effort. He began to mutter under his breath, a desperate litany of words meant to convince himself. "It's easy, I've done this plenty of times. I can even do this in my sleep."
But as he stared at the shaking blade, his eyes flicked up to meet Ishta's with a look of confusion etched into his features. "Why can't I do this?" he asked, his voice filled with frustration and bewilderment.
Despite the direness of their situation, Ishta couldn't help but let out a soft groan that turned into a weak smile. "Of all the times for a Vampire to develop a conscience, you had to pick now."
Astarion's lips twitched slightly, a wry smile forming on his face as he, too, recognized the irony of their predicament.
For just a fleeting moment, their shared amusement was a glimmer of something almost like normalcy amidst the chaos. But before they could fully savor it, both of them suddenly clutched their heads, and a searing pain ripped through Ishta's skull. It was blinding, overwhelming, and before either could react, they collapsed to the ground, darkness swallowing them whole in its merciless embrace as the dagger slipped from Astarion's grasp.