Ishta's consciousness emerged from the darkness, her body feeling weightless and adrift, tethered only by the faintest thread to the world she knew. As she slowly opened her eyes, the sensation of cool earth beneath her fingertips anchored her in the present, pulling her from the void into an unfamiliar reality. She was lying on a soft bed of grass, the scent of it fresh and comforting despite the alien nature of her surroundings. Above her, the sky unfolded in a breathtaking display of swirling purples and blues, a nebula that stretched across the horizon, bathing the world in an ethereal glow.
The surreal beauty of the scene almost lulled her into a sense of peace, but that was shattered when she noticed a figure leaning over her. A man - no, a stranger - his hand hovering just inches above her head. Panic flared in her chest, her instinct urging her to move, to escape, but something about his presence held her still. A warmth spread from where his hand hovered, seeping into her body, calming the fever that had raged through her and dulling the relentless throb in her head. The relief was so unexpected, so profound, that it left her momentarily disoriented.
The man before her was unlike anyone she had seen, yet still somehow familiar. Tall and imposing with broad shoulders and a powerful frame encased in ornate armor that caught the nebula's light and shimmered with a life of its own. Gold accents traced intricate patterns on his chestplate, glinting like stars against the dark metal. Spikes lined the collar of his armor, giving him an air of both authority and danger.
His skin was a deep bronze tone, radiating warmth and vitality that contrasted with the cold gleam of his armor. Strands of black hair flowed back in thick waves, perfectly groomed and framing a face that was all sharp angles and harsh beauty. A well-trimmed beard accentuated his strong jawline, while a jagged scar ran across his right eye, adding to the commanding presence he exuded. But it was his eyes that captivated her the most: dark, intense, and unreadable, holding a depth of knowledge and experience that made her uneasy.
"I came just in time," he said, his voice resonating with a calm relief that belied the gravity of his words. "You are transforming."
The simple statement struck her like a blow, the calm delivery at odds with the dread those words conjured in her mind. Ishta's breath caught in her throat, and she quickly pushed herself up, the movement abrupt and unsteady. Her hands dug into the soft grass beneath her, its blades cool against her skin as she struggled to take in her surroundings.
The clearing she found herself in was dotted with the ruins of ancient structures - broken marble columns and crumbling benches that hinted at a world long lost to time. But the most disorienting detail was the ground itself: a floating rock, suspended in an endless sky, with other similarly adrift fragments of land hovering nearby. Each one adorned with their own crumbling relics, as if they were pieces of a puzzle from different eras scattered throughout this surreal landscape. The sight was mesmerizing and deeply unsettling, as though she had been transported to a place where the rules of reality no longer applied.
Ishta turned to face the man, her brow furrowed as she tried to piece together the fragments of recognition that were now surfacing. "I know your voice," she said slowly, the realization dawning on her like a distant memory finally breaking through the fog. "I've heard it before."
The stranger nodded, his expression softening slightly though his eyes remained intense as ever. "Yes, you have," he replied, his voice now tinged with something almost warm. "I saved you once before." He paused for a moment, an unreadable emotion crossing his face. "And now I'm here to save you again."
Images flashed through Ishta's mind - disjointed memories tangled together like threads of a spider's web. The terror on the Nautiloid, the stranger's face blurred yet familiar as she lay trapped inside a pod, helpless and afraid. And then again, when she was falling to certain death after the crash, the sensation of being lifted, defying gravity at the last possible moment. He had been there. He had saved her.
Ishta's breath caught in her throat as she stared at him in disbelief. "Don't worry," he continued, his tone gentle yet firm. "You will not become a Mindflayer. Not while I am around. I will protect you."
His reassurance was comforting, but Ishta could not easily place her trust in this stranger. Despite his kindness, he was still just that - a stranger. And this place, with its alien beauty and impossible landscapes only added to her unease. When he offered his hand to help her up from where she sat on the ground, she hesitated before pushing herself up with trembling legs.
The man observed her with an approving nod as if her choice had revealed something important about her character. "Independent," he remarked, a hint of respect in his voice. "Good. We do not have much time, so listen closely."
He began to walk, his steps sure and deliberate as he led her towards the edge of the floating rock on which they stood. Reluctantly, Ishta followed, her senses heightened as she took in every detail and sound in this strange new world. Her eyes flicked back to the man every few steps, wary of his calm assurance yet also drawn to the mystery he represented.
"There is great potential within you," the stranger said as they walked, his tone measured and deliberate. "It comes from that parasite. Your instinct is to resist its power, but you must learn to accept it, nurture it."
Ishta's footsteps faltered at his words, her fingers flexing at her sides as the remnants of dread tingled through her muscles. She turned to him with a furrowed brow, filled with both anger and fear. "Why would I want to do that?" she demanded. "It's trying to turn me into a monster."
"That is not its sole purpose," the stranger replied, his voice unwavering but now tinged with urgency. He met her gaze with intensity, causing her to take a small step back. "I will keep it from consuming you. But for the sake of both of us, you must learn to wield it."
As if in response to his words, the once peaceful sky darkened, the vibrant colors of the nebula fading into a swirling mass of ominous grays and purples. A sharp crack of lightning split the air, drawing Ishta's gaze towards the horizon where a fierce battle was unfolding. Her breath caught as she saw it - a giant skull, suspended in space, encased in a crystalline globe that was slowly forming around it like frost creeping across a windowpane. The skull was attached to something far larger, a skeletal titan whose bones stretched beyond her sight, too massive and too alien for her mind to fully comprehend. Was it one being? Multiple? A creature of nightmares or some long-forgotten god? The sheer magnitude of it left her reeling, too overwhelmed to process.
"What's happening out there?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, the sight of the massive skull filling her with a dread that threatened to swallow her whole.
The stranger's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he watched the distant battle unfold. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of a sword at his side, a gesture that spoke of readiness and determination. "A fight for the fate of Faerûn," he answered, his voice heavy with a resignation that spoke of countless battles fought and lost. "A fight we are losing. For now. You can change that, but only if you embrace your potential."
As they neared the edge of the floating rock they stood upon, the ground beneath them began to tremble, as if the very world was reacting to the conflict brewing on the horizon.The plants around them wilted, their vibrant colors draining away and leaving behind wilted stalks and shriveled leaves. The air grew thick and heavy with an unnatural energy, causing Ishta's skin to prickle and her hair to stand on end.
In the distance, Ishta caught glimpses of figures locked in fierce battle - silvery wisps of light clashing with dark, armored beings. The eerie cries she had heard earlier took on new meaning as she realized they were the sounds of spells being hurled at the glowing creatures. Lightning struck them, only to be deflected by their powerful magic, and the glowing figures retaliated by casting a spell that was forming the protective globe around someone or something. But the spell wasn't complete; the globe was still forming, and Ishta had the sinking feeling that whatever it was meant to protect, it wasn't ready.
The stranger halted, turning to her with a sense of urgency that hadn't been there before. He reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "I have to go. The enemy is closing in. I will be back."
Before Ishta could respond, a sudden blast of energy erupted from the colossal skull, a shockwave that threatened to throw her off her feet. But the stranger was quicker - he raised a hand, conjuring a shimmering shield of crackling energy that absorbed the impact, protecting them both. With a final look, his expression hardened with determination, he turned back to her, urgency in his voice.
"Wake now," he commanded urgently. "You'll feel better - I promise."
Before she could protest or question him further, he reached out and pushed her with surprising force, the momentum sending her stumbling backward. The world around her blurred and shifted, the vibrant colors and surreal sounds of the dreamscape dissipating into an all-consuming void that pulled her back into reality.
Ishta's eyes snapped open, her breath hitching in her chest as she found herself once again at the edge of the camp. The cool night air brushed against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. With a start, she realized that the fever and pain that had consumed her were gone, leaving behind a sense of renewal and vitality. She sat up quickly, taking in her surroundings with wide eyes. She noticed Astarion lying beside her, just beginning to stir. He looked disoriented, his eyes darting around as he assessed the situation before finally meeting her gaze.
For a moment, his usual composure faltered, a flicker of alarm crossing his features at finding himself so close to her. Ishta hesitated, unsure of how to broach the subject that had been consuming her thoughts since she woke. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering at her temple as she considered how to frame the question.
"I don't suppose you had an... interesting dream?" she ventured tentatively, searching his face for any sign of recognition.
Astarion's sharp gaze narrowed slightly, his brows knitting together as he weighed his response. He sat up slowly, bracing himself against the ground with his hands. "I might have..."
Ishta met his gaze, trying to gauge the truth behind his words. "Floating rocks in space, giant alien skull, tall dark and handsome stranger offering protection?"
Astarion's expression shifted, a reluctant acknowledgment darkening his eyes. He pushed a hand through his hair, a telltale sign of his discomfort. "Yes... protection and all sorts of delicious powers from the parasites in our heads."
Ishta sighed, the memory of the stranger's words echoing in her mind like a lingering shadow. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her arms on them as she stared out into the darkness beyond the campfire. "Apparently, we need to 'embrace our potential,' whatever that means."
Astarion's eyes gleamed with excitement, his wariness seeming to dissipate as he spoke. He got to his feet in one fluid motion, pacing a few steps before turning back to her. "Excellent! Maybe now we can see what these tadpoles can do for us."
But Ishta shook her head, her expression firm as she pushed herself to stand and brushed the dirt from her clothes. "I don't trust it. I think it would be wiser to avoid using these powers."
Astarion whirled around, frustration radiating off him as he threw up his hands in exasperation. "Is there a reason you're always such an utter drip? Do you have some sort of condition? Honestly, it's like you hate good news."
Ishta straightened, her gaze steady as she met his eyes. "I love good news. Adore it even. But my definition is obviously different from yours."
Astarion crossed his arms, his posture defensive as he regarded her with a mixture of disbelief and irritation. "You don't seem to have any problem using the telepathy with me and mind control on those weak-minded cultists... so why the sudden hesitation now?"
Ishta's gaze hardened, the memory of the stranger's presence lingering like a shadow in her thoughts. The battle she had witnessed, the weight of his warning - it all pressed down on her, making her cautious, wary of the power that had been thrust upon them. She took a step closer to Astarion, her voice low and measured. "Because something about this... about him... feels different. Dangerous. I need to understand more before I can just... embrace it."
Astarion's eyes flickered with something unreadable - disappointment, perhaps, or maybe just frustration. He held her gaze for a long moment, then sighed and shook his head slightly as he turned away. "Suit yourself. I'm going back to bed," he muttered, though the edge in his voice suggested the conversation was far from over.
Astarion's eyes flickered open as he emerged from a deep trance, the world still cloaked in the darkness of early morning. The sun had yet to rise, leaving the camp enshrouded in a peaceful silence. The weight of the previous night's affliction had lifted from his chest, replaced by an unusual vigor that pulsed through his veins.
He sat up, the only sound breaking the quiet being the soft crackling of the fire outside. The others were still immersed in their mortal slumbers, their steady breaths creating a comforting rhythm. Slipping out of his tent into the cool night air, Astarion noticed movement by the dying embers of the fire. Ishta was already awake, cradling a steaming cup of tea in her hands. Her posture exuded both relaxation and alertness as she greeted him with a wry smile.
"Well, you look remarkably well for someone who was coughing their guts up just a few hours ago.How are you feeling?" she asked lightly, but there was an undertone of concern laced within her words. Astarion returned her smile, though it did not quite reach his eyes.
"Much better, thank you. Strong, even. Whatever our little dream visitor did seems to have worked wonders. I feel full of life... relatively speaking." His voice carried a faint humor mixed with self-awareness. "And how about you?"
Ishta's gaze drifted into the distance, as if searching for something beyond the horizon. "Physically, I feel fine," she answered after a moment, her tone distant and contemplative. "But mentally... I'm still reeling. I thought I'd go and clear my head for a bit, explore the village while the others are still asleep."
Astarion watched as she effortlessly picked up her scimitars, their gleaming blades sliding into their sheaths on her back. Her movements were graceful and fluid, betraying no hint of weakness from their shared affliction.
"Do you need some company?" he asked casually, though there was a subtle eagerness in his posture. The idea of exploring the village and unearthing its secrets appealed to his insatiable curiosity.
Ishta paused, her hand resting on the hilt of one scimitar as she considered his offer. She gave him a faint smile that softened the edges of her otherwise pensive expression. "I never need company... but I wouldn't mind it all the same."
Astarion raised a skeptical eyebrow and chuckled dryly. "Well, with an invitation like that, how can I say no?"
The village lay nestled in the hush of night, its structures bathed in an ethereal glow from the moon above. The two elves moved with grace and stealth through the empty streets, their footfalls barely discernible against the smooth cobblestones. The air was heavy with the musty smell of old wood and dust, mingling with a faint trace of something sharp and acrid emanating from the nearby forge.
They entered the blacksmith's shop first, a dim and cluttered space filled with remnants of lost craftsmanship. Rusty tools, half-finished weapons, and heaps of scrap metal littered the workbenches. Astarion's sharp gaze swept over the room, homing in on a set of blueprints tucked away in a far corner. He plucked them up delicately, the fragile paper crinkling in his grasp.
"Interesting," he murmured, studying the plans closely. "These blueprints require Suusar Bark as a crucial component in the forging process."
Ishta peered over his shoulder, her expression thoughtful. "Suusar Bark... That is a rare and elusive find. It grows deep within the Underdark if I recall correctly."
Astarion arched an eyebrow. "The Underdark, you say? Well, that sounds like quite an adventure for another time." His tone held a hint of sarcasm, but he carefully folded up the blueprints and stowed them away in his pack nonetheless.
Leaving the blacksmith's shop, they made their way to the alchemist's abode - a place equally steeped in antiquity and forgotten labor. Shelves lined every wall, each brimming with vials and jars holding mysterious substances with names just as enigmatic as their contents. Astarion's slender fingers danced over them with ease, pocketing a few select ingredients and potions.
In the midst of their looting, Astarion's attention was caught by a shattered hand mirror lying among the clutter. His hand reached out for it almost unconsciously, his expression darkening as he gazed into the fragmented glass. The jagged edges reflected nothing back at him, a cruel reminder of his cursed existence. With a heavy sigh, he quickly slipped the mirror into his bag just as Ishta's voice broke the silence.
"There is mention of a cellar in this ledger," she said, flipping through its pages with a furrowed brow. "Search for a hatch or some sort of entrance - there could be more medicinal and alchemical supplies stored below."
Astarion nodded gratefully at the distraction and began to comb the room for any hidden passageways. His fingers traced over the rough floorboards, searching for any irregularities. After a few moments, they brushed against the edge of a concealed hatch. With a small grunt, he pried it open to reveal a ladder descending into darkness.
"Found it," he called out, his voice echoing softly in the tight space.
Ishta joined him at the edge, her eyes narrowing as she peered down into the dimly lit chamber below. A cool breeze wafted up from below, carrying with it the scent of old parchment and a faint bitterness.
Together they descended, their feet landing lightly on the smooth stone floor. The room was only slightly smaller than the one above, lined with shelves holding countless vials, books, and jars filled with mysterious substances. Astarion's eyes gleamed with curiosity and excitement as he took in the contents, his fingers itching to delve into the secrets hidden within.
Sifting through the cluttered shelves of the dimly lit study, his fingers brushed against a row of books, their spines worn and covered in dust. Absentmindedly pulling a few off the shelves, Astarion flipped through them with a practiced eye, his interest waning as he came across old alchemical recipes and outdated medical treatises. But then, his hand paused on one particular volume. His breath caught as his eyes landed on the name embossed in faded gold on a deep blue spine.
R. A. Salvatore.
He quickly pulled the book from the shelf, his heart beating a little faster. The name was unmistakable, an acclaimed Bard and author of tales he had secretly admired for years. He couldn't resist stealing a glance inside, confirming that this was indeed a story about Drizzt Do'Urden, the legendary Drow Ranger whose bravery and defiance against darkness had always struck a chord with him, even if he would never admit it aloud.
He eagerly flipped through the pages, his heart racing with anticipation as he realized it was one of the stories he hadn't yet read. The mere thought of losing himself in another adventure of the Drow hero was tantalizing, a rare indulgence in a life otherwise filled with a struggle for survival.
Astarion's gaze darted over to Ishta, making sure she wasn't paying any attention to him. She remained engrossed in her own search, completely unaware of his actions. Breathing a sigh of relief, Astarion carefully slid the book into his bag with the same deftness he used when stealing precious items. It was now his treasure, a private escape to be enjoyed later.
Heart still racing slightly, Astarion returned to searching the room. And that's when he noticed something - faint scratches on the floor, deliberate and repetitive as if something heavy had been dragged across it many times. His brow furrowed in curiosity as he followed the marks to the base of the bookcase from which he had just taken his prized possession.
"Ishta," he called softly, keeping his voice low. She looked up at him with a raised brow. "I think this bookcase is more than just a storage for dusty tomes. Look at these marks on the floor."
Ishta moved to his side and knelt down, tracing her fingers over the worn stone while studying the scratches intently. "You're right," she murmured. "It looks like this has been moved frequently."
Without any further hesitation, they each grabbed onto one side of the bookcase and began sliding it aside with great effort. The heavy wood scraped against the stone floor with a deep, echoing sound - revealing a hidden passageway that descended into darkness. The air that wafted up from below was cool and damp, carrying the earthy scents of moss and fungi.
Peering into the darkness, Astarion couldn't help but let a wry smile tug at the corners of his lips. "It's probably not wise to go poking around in a dark and ominous secret lair, is it?"
Standing beside him, Ishta nodded thoughtfully, her voice laced with mock seriousness. "I agree, it's a terrible idea. This place is bound to be filled with traps."
For a moment, they both maintained their serious expressions, but then, almost in unison, they turned to each other, wide and mischievous grins spreading across their faces. Without another word, they eagerly stepped into the darkness.
The air enveloped Ishta like a clammy, unwelcome embrace, its dampness seeping into her hair and trickling down her spine. Each inhale was heavy with the earthy, metallic aroma of the cave, tinged with the nauseating stench of decay.
Before her stretched a vast underground cavern, a landscape so alien it could have been plucked from another world. Time and nature had carved the space into something almost otherworldly, with towering stone pillars rising from the floor like the fossilized remains of some long-forgotten creature. The pillars were slick with moisture, coated in a thin layer that shimmered in the faint light filtering through the phosphorescent fungi clinging to the walls.
Beside her stood Astarion, his typically confident stance now rigid with tension. The only sound he made was the soft creaking of his armour as his eyes darted nervously around the chamber. When he finally spoke, his voice held a tight edge that belied his attempt at composure. "Are those... spiderwebs?"
Ishta followed his gaze to the thick strands of webbing that blanketed every surface in sight. The webs glimmered in the dim light, their silver threads intricately woven into patterns that spoke of both artistry and death. She reached out tentatively, her fingers hovering before brushing against one of the nearest cocoons. An unpleasant sensation coursed through her - the webbing clung to her skin like a living thing, sticky and unyielding as if reluctant to let her go. A grimace twisted her lips and she hastily wiped her hand on her leg, shuddering with disgust.
"Unfortunately, yes," she replied in a hushed voice, as if the oppressive silence of the cave demanded it. Turning to Astarion, she hardened her expression. "Be careful where you step. Watch out for the silver strands on the ground. One wrong move and you'll meet the owner of these webs much sooner than you'd like."
Astarion's eyes darted downward, his pale face paling further as he realized the peril at their feet. His usual bravado faltered, his movements becoming cautious and hesitant. "I'd rather not meet them at all," he muttered, genuine anxiety lacing his words.
Ishta shared his trepidation - this was not how she had envisioned their exploration venture ending up.
Their investigation of the secret lair hidden within the alchemist's study had revealed more than a few surprises. It seemed the local physician had been dabbling in necromancy during his spare time, guided by a stolen Thayan artifact.
The eerie-looking tome, now safely stowed away in her bag, bore a cover bound in what appeared to be human skin, with a contorted face frozen in an eternal scream. A recess in the mouth suggested it required an object to unlock its secrets. Through perusing various papers and journals, Ishta and Astarion had discovered that the necessary item was a gem - stolen by the physician's apprentice and possibly concealed down the village well.
After descending into the well using the rope attached to the bucket, they had found themselves in a vast underground cave system. As they ventured deeper into the cavern, their footsteps echoed softly against the stone and the air grew colder and heavier, as if the weight of the earth above was bearing down on them. With each step, the cavern expanded, revealing more horrors - grotesque shapes suspended in midair, twisted into unnatural angles within their silken prisons. Once humanoid forms were barely recognizable beneath layers of webbing.
"I just wish I knew which species we're dealing with," Ishta murmured, her voice betraying the unease she was trying to suppress, as her fingers flexed nervously around her bow, her hand never straying far from its grip as she and Astarion crept through the dark cavern.
Astarion's expression twisted into something between a smirk and a grimace. "Does it make a difference?" he asked, attempting to dismiss the situation but failing to hide the edge in his tone. "I would imagine any giant spider would be equally terrifying."
Ishta shook her head, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed their surroundings. "Some species possess more dangerous traits than others. Some have a venomous bite, while others can shoot webs directly at you or even spit acid. And the most fearsome ones are able to do all of those things while also being able to phase in and out of the material plane."
Astarion's facade of nonchalance crumbled, and he let out a bitter laugh. "Splendid. And here I thought this little expedition was going to be dull."
As if on cue, Astarion halted in his tracks and peered over the edge of a jagged rock ledge that hung precariously over the dark abyss below. His gaze locked onto something lurking in the shadows, and Ishta followed his line of sight to see a group of spiders scurrying across the cave floor. Their bodies were a chilling mixture of blue and silver, their legs moving with an unnatural precision as though they were mere extensions of one malevolent mind.
"So...what sort are those down there?" Astarion spoke in a hushed whisper.
Ishta's breath caught in her throat. "Damn... those are the scary ones. Phase Spiders."
Astarion's jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the rock. "This just keeps getting better," he muttered, his sarcasm unable to mask the fear that was creeping into his voice.
Before Ishta could respond, a movement in her periphery made her heart skip a beat. Her body reacted instinctively before her mind could fully register what she was seeing - a dark, hulking shape emerging from the shadows and moving towards them. Its many eyes glinted with a predatory gleam, sending shivers down Ishta's spine. Without hesitation, she grabbed Astarion by the collar and pulled him down behind the nearest cover - a rough, uneven boulder that offered little protection against what was approaching. Astarion struggled against her grip, his eyes flashing with irritation.
"What are you—"
She didn't let him finish, clamping her hand over his mouth and gripping his arm tightly."Shhh!" she hissed urgently, her wide eyes pleading with him to listen. The urgency in her gaze silenced him and he froze, his hot breath tickling her palm.
They crouched in tense silence as the creature lumbered past them. Ishta's heart pounded in her chest, so loud she was certain it would give them away. The spider - no, the monstrosity - was enormous, each of its eight legs moving with a terrifying, deliberate slowness. Its body was covered in a thick exoskeleton of blue and red chitin and its numerous glowing eyes were fixated straight ahead like cursed jewels.
The ground trembled beneath its weight as it took each step, the vibrations traveling through the stone and into Ishta's bones. She held her breath, refusing to move or even think until the creature finally descended down the ledge to join its brethren below. Only then did she allow herself to exhale, a slow and shaky breath that did little to calm her racing heart
Trembling, Ishta released her grip on Astarion's hand, her fingers quivering as she pulled back. "That's what I was afraid of," she whispered, her voice taut and strained. "That's a Broodmother. The smaller ones, the males, are nothing compared to the strength and power she possesses."
Astarion's usual snark and bravado were replaced by a grim determination. He swallowed hard and glanced around warily. "Maybe this was a bad idea after all," he murmured. "We should leave."
"I think you're right." Ishta nodded in agreement, but as she peered over the edge once more, her breath caught in her throat. "Oh..."
There, among the crawling horrors, something glimmered faintly in the gloom - a small, radiant gem. Its purple light pulsed softly as if alive, drawing Ishta's gaze like a moth to a flame. It was beautiful, mesmerizing even, and yet, surrounded by such darkness and danger, it felt like a cruel taunt.
Astarion's patience, already stretched thin, snapped. "Now what?" he asked through gritted teeth.
Ishta pointed to the shimmering gem with exasperation and resignation etched into her features. "You know that gem we're looking for?"
A low groan escaped Astarion's lips, filled with dread and frustration. "Let me guess..."
"Yup," Ishta confirmed with a wry smile and narrowed eyes. "Right down there."
Astarion's keen eyes flicked toward the Broodmother, its monstrous form just barely visible in the distance as it tore into the body of one of its slain kin. The sickening sound of its mandibles ravaging through chitin echoed faintly through the cave, sending a slight shiver down his spine. He quickly dismissed it, forcing himself to look away, unwilling to dwell on the gruesome display. Instead, he turned his attention to Ishta, convincing himself that things weren't as dire as they seemed.
He had always admired her boldness, the way she fearlessly charged into perilous situations with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. But now, seeing her slumped against the rough cave wall, her skin growing paler by the second, stirred something unsettling within him. Astarion pushed it aside, telling himself it was just frustration at their predicament, nothing more.
Astarion wanted to believe in Ishta's confidence in her Drow blood, her belief that it would protect her from the worst effects of the venom. But as he watched the color slowly drain from her face, a flicker of doubt crossed his mind.
His mind wandered back to the chaotic moments that led them here. Ishta had been determined to retrieve the gem for the Thayan Tome, unwavering in her resolve despite his attempts to dissuade her. He understood why - given what he now knew about her people's history with the Thayans.
Astarion could still picture her graceful movements, dark and silent like a predator in the shadows. He had stayed behind watching from above, heart pounding as she approached the gem. When she plucked it free and tucked it into her pouch, its eerie glow had felt like a promise that they might escape unscathed.
But that fragile hope shattered when an Ettercap - hunched, grey-purplish humanoids with spider-like faces and distended white underbellies - spotted Ishta. The memory of its screech still lingered, a warning that summoned every spider in the vicinity.
What followed was a frantic battle for survival. Astarion had perched himself on higher ground, firing arrows with deadly precision as Ishta danced through the swarm, her scimitars flashing like silver lightning. Together, they fought with brutal efficiency, their retreat more controlled than panicked as they struggled to fend off the horde.
But the Broodmother changed everything. It had been watching, waiting, and Astarion hadn't realized they were outmaneuvered until Ishta shoved him aside, taking the strike meant for him.
The memory of her ensnared in webbing, her body jerking violently as she was cocooned, was still fresh. They had fought desperately to free her, every second counting as the Broodmother drew closer. It was a blur of frantic movements - cutting through webs, fending off the monstrous spider, and knowing time was running out.
They had barely escaped, but not before the Broodmother had buried its fang in Ishta's leg. The sight of the venom spreading through her veins had sparked something unsettling in him.
Now, in the suffocating silence of the scholar's cave, that feeling began to take root. The only sound was Ishta's labored breathing, a sound that felt too loud, too final in the stillness.
"It looks like she's distracted with feeding on one of the smaller ones we killed. It would appear that spiders aren't the sentimental kind," Astarion remarked, the words coming out more brittle than he intended. His hand drifted toward his blade, an unconscious habit, though he knew it would do little against the creature. "We can make it to the well rope if we're quick."
But Ishta remained still, not even glancing at the rope he indicated. She was focused on tending to her wounds, seemingly resigned to their current predicament. Her calm, almost detached expression as she cast a healing spell on her leg only deepened the unease twisting in Astarion's gut.
"It's too risky," she murmured, her voice steady in a way that made his fingers curl into a fist. "That thing will be on us before we can even reach the rope. It's best to wait until she returns to her nest."
Frustration flared, the cave walls seeming to close in on him. He forced himself to breathe evenly, the idea of waiting gnawing at his already frayed nerves. "That could take hours," he snapped, irritation masking the tightness in his chest. "I say we take our chances now."
Ishta's lips twitched in a faint smile, though it held little of its usual warmth. She leaned her head against the stone wall, finally meeting his gaze. "You can leave if you want," she said quietly, still with that unsettling calm. "But I'm staying here."
Astarion dropped to a crouch in front of her, his eyes narrowing as he tried to read her expression. Why wasn't she moving? Why was she so calm? His heart began to beat a little faster. "Why? The rope is right there, we can-"
"Because I can't feel my legs, Astarion..."
The words stopped him cold. He stared at her, the meaning sinking in, dragging a leaden weight down his spine. Panic clawed at the edges of his mind, but he fought it off, replacing it with a sharp edge to his tone. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
Ishta looked away, tension in her shoulders. After a moment, she turned back to him, a tired smile tugging at her lips, but it was a shadow of its usual self. "You think you're the only one afraid to show weakness? To hide behind a mask of confidence?" Her words were laced with irony, but there was also a reluctant admission that twisted painfully in Astarion's chest.
He scoffed, trying to dismiss her accusation, but it rang hollow. Standing, he turned his attention back to the distant spider. "I don't need to hide behind anything." The words felt empty, even to him.
Ishta's soft laugh was almost a sigh. "Good for you," she said, a faint note of sarcasm in her voice. She closed her eyes for a moment, then forced them open again. "Then use that confidence to get the hells out of here."
The thought of leaving her had crossed Astarion's mind more than once, but with each passing second, the idea left a bitter taste.
"And leave you behind?" he tried to inject some levity, but it came out strained. "Tempting, but I think I'd rather face the Broodmother in hand-to-hand combat than risk Shadowheart's wrath when she finds out I abandoned you to your fate."
Ishta's laughter bubbled up, the sound almost incongruous in the dim, tense cave. "Don't you mean hand to leg leg leg leg-" she started, her grin wide despite the situation.
"I get the idea," he interrupted, managing a small, strained smile despite himself. He watched as she continued to giggle uncontrollably, her body shaking with mirth, and for the first time, he felt a cold, gnawing dread settling in his gut. "Is the venom making you delirious?" he asked, the alarm in his voice now barely concealed.
Ishta blinked up at him, her gaze unfocused, her smile fading. "I have no idea," she admitted, her head tilting slightly as if she were trying to bring him into focus. "Though I am seeing two of you right now..."
Astarion forced a smile, but it felt brittle, as if it could shatter at any moment. "Both fabulous, I hope?" he joked, but inside, the anxiety that had been simmering beneath the surface was beginning to boil over.
"Dunno," Ishta grunted, squeezing her eyes shut as if trying to clear her vision. "Too blurry to tell."
He crouched down beside her again, his breath catching as he noticed the subtle tremors running through her body. His hand hovered near her shoulder, unsure whether to reach out or not. "How bad is this really?" The words slipped out, rough and tinged with the concern that was now impossible to deny.
Ishta didn't answer right away. Her gaze drifted upward, studying the ceiling as if it held some hidden answer. "From what I can remember from last time... The paralysis will continue creeping up my body until it reaches my lungs." Her voice was quiet, almost detached, as if she were talking about someone else. "Then I'll have to hold my breath for about 30 minutes until the venom is filtered through my liver."
Astarion heart skipped a beat as he leaned in, struggling to keep his voice steady. "What's the catch?"
"My personal best is 27," Ishta murmured weakly. Her hand twitched, as if she were trying to reach out to him, before falling back limply by her side.
He stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe himself.
The rational part of him screamed to get out, to save himself, but he couldn't move, couldn't think. "You're telling me a race of genetically perfected warriors can only hold their breath for less than half a bloody hour?" Astarion asked incredulously, trying to inject some humor into the situation despite his shaking voice.
Ishta's lips curved into a faint smile. "I'm one-quarter Sun-elf," she explained softly. "My father is only half Xindite. I guess the sea-elf genes skipped a generation."
Astarion forced a chuckle, though it felt like it might crack under the strain. "Well, that explains a lot," he muttered, his mind scrambling for a plan, any plan.
"The point is," Ishta continued, her voice barely a whisper now, "I'm going to lose consciousness soon, and my heart will stop. If it doesn't start beating again after about 3 minutes, I'll need you to kick it awake."
Astarion's throat tightened. He could feel the fear rising in earnest now, threatening to break through his facade. "How do I do that?" he asked, hating how small his voice sounded.
Ishta's hand fumbled weakly at her side as she reached for her belt pouch. Her fingers were shaky and uncoordinated, but she managed to pull out a small square of parchment. She gazed at it for a moment before speaking again, "There's a scroll of Shocking Grasp here... well, more like a folded note really. Not quite as impressive sounding though, is it?"
Astarion couldn't help but let out a strained, shaky laugh at the absurdity of it all. "Retrieve the ancient folded note of wisdom from the tomb of the lost king..." he said theatrically, stroking his chin in mock-contemplation. "No, it doesn't quite have the same ring to it."
Ishta's faint laughter echoed in the cave, but it was cut off by a sharp gasp as her body spasmed. She lay back, taking a deep breath before closing her eyes, her entire body seizing up and becoming as still as death.
Astarion's heart pounded, and for the first time in a long while, he felt completely out of his depth. He was in a situation he couldn't charm, fight, or talk his way out of - he was helpless, and the weight of that realization settled over him like a shroud.
Ishta's awareness crept back gradually, like the slow unfurling of wings. The darkness and paralysis that had held her in a suffocating grip began to lift, leaving behind a heavy numbness in her limbs. She blinked, and the dim light of the cave seeped into her vision, casting long, jagged shadows across the rough stone walls. Her body felt sluggish, unfamiliar, but the simple fact that she could feel anything at all brought a quiet relief.
She tried to sit up, but a dull ache pulsed through her muscles, forcing her back down. Each breath was shallow, each movement a reminder of how close she had come to slipping away into that endless dark. A shape in the corner of her vision caught her attention - Astarion, sitting with his back to her, his posture rigid as he kept watch at the cave entrance. His shoulders were slightly hunched, neck stiff, the tension in his body palpable even from where she lay.
Ishta's gaze shifted to his hands, tightly gripping an ornate hand mirror, the cracked surface still reflecting enough for him to keep an eye on her without turning around. The faint, fractured image of herself stared back at her, and for a moment, she simply watched him, piecing together the fragments of her memory. She vaguely remembered him reaching into her bag while she was paralyzed, her heart racing with the fear that he might take the Thayan Tome and gem and leave her to die. But he hadn't. He had stayed by her side and protected her.
"You stayed," she rasped, her voice rough as though she had been swallowing sand.
Astarion didn't turn, but his posture shifted, a subtle response to her words. "Surprised?" he replied, his tone carefully even, though something unspoken rippled beneath it.
She attempted a smile, but it felt unfamiliar, as if her face had forgotten the motion. "A little. I thought you were smarter."
He shrugged, the gesture as dismissive as his tone, yet his gaze remained fixed on the mirror, fingers tracing the cracks as if seeking answers within them. The weight on him seemed almost tangible, pressing down with a force that made even his usual nonchalance seem strained.
Ishta's eyes followed his hand as it moved across the mirror's surface. "Good thinking, using the mirror like that," she said softly.
Astarion turned his head just enough for her to catch the wry twist of his lips, though it lacked the usual sharpness. "The only use I have for a mirror these days," he said, bitterness curling at the edges of his words.
"Do you miss it?" Ishta asked, her curiosity more tentative than prying. She shifted again, propping herself up just enough to meet his eyes. "Seeing your reflection, I mean."
For a moment, Astarion was silent, the question hovering between them like a fragile thread. When he finally turned to face her, the look in his eyes made her heart clench. His usual sardonic humor was there, but it barely masked the cracks - and the raw, unguarded pain beneath.
"Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity? Of course I miss it." His tone was scornful, but his shoulders slumped slightly, as if the admission weighed him down. He pulled his knees to his chest, folding his arms around them and resting his chin on top. The movement was almost childlike, a stark contrast to the confident figure she was used to seeing.
"I've never even seen this face," he murmured, the anger in his voice softened by something more vulnerable. "Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red."
Ishta's chest tightened with empathy as she watched him, momentarily forgetting her own pain. His brow furrowed, his jaw clenched, tension visible in every line of his body as if he were holding himself together by sheer will. His fingers dug into his arms, clutching at the one thing he could still control.
"What color were they before?" she asked, her voice gentle, as if handling something delicate.
Astarion frowned, searching for a memory that had long since faded. His mouth opened to offer a sharp retort, but the words died on his lips. He really looked at her then, and she could see realization wash over him - a wave of distress that softened his features into something almost unrecognizable.
"I...I don't know," he stammered, the admission slipping out before he could stop it. "I can't remember," he added with a thick sadness that seemed to reverberate through the cave. "My face is just a dark shape in my past - another thing I've lost."
Ishta's heart ached at the sight of him unraveling. Before she could offer comfort, his expression twisted with sudden anger. He hurled the mirror to the ground with a burst of violence, the fragile glass shattering against the stone floor. The sound of breaking glass echoed through the cave, pulling her back to the stark reality of their situation.
She watched as Astarion's chest heaved, his breath ragged, fists clenched tightly over his knees. His usually composed features were now a storm of turmoil - pain and anger radiating from him. His gaze fixed on the shattered remnants of the mirror, as if the broken pieces held answers just out of reach.
"You never once had a portrait or drawing done of yourself in the last 200 years?" she asked softly, trying to pull him out of the dark spiral he seemed to be caught in.
A bitter, hollow laugh escaped his lips, sharp and jarring. Restlessly, he ran a hand through his hair, his movements betraying the storm inside. "Unfortunately, among the types of people I... encountered, there weren't many artists," he replied with heavy sarcasm, his fingers fidgeting with agitation. "And when there were, I was too busy luring them back to Cazador's clutches. Not much time to ask for a quick sketch before they met their end."
He paused, his gaze distant, lost in the darkness of his past. His hands clenched and unclenched, each movement revealing more of the tension simmering beneath the surface. "And I certainly couldn't afford to pay for one. I had to resort to thievery just to keep myself clothed and warm most days. Cazador took all my earnings from working as a-"
Astarion stopped abruptly, the words dying on his lips, and Ishta could see the way his expression shifted, his eyes widening slightly in a moment of realization. He turned his head sharply away from her gaze and his entire body tensed, as if recoiling in shame from the truth he nearly revealed.
For a moment, Ishta watched him in silence, her own heart heavy with the weight of his unspoken pain. She knew she had to tread carefully with him, but she couldn't let him drown in his own self-loathing.
"Look at me," she said gently, her voice soft but insistent.
Astarion's body stiffened even more, his neck muscles visibly tightening as if resisting the urge to comply. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he turned his gaze back to her. His expression was guarded, wary, as if bracing himself for her judgment. The uncertainty and vulnerability in his usually self-assured gaze were stark, a reminder of the fragile person beneath the mask.
"What?" he asked hesitantly, almost fearfully, as if dreading what she might say.
"You can use me as a mirror," Ishta offered, her tone sincere, free of any judgment. "What do you want to know?"
For a moment, Astarion just stared at her, searching her face for any hidden motives. She could see the turmoil in his gaze - the fear, the longing, the desperate need for something he couldn't quite articulate. And when he finally spoke, his voice was stripped of all pretense, raw and honest in a way she had never heard before.
"I want to know what the world sees when it looks at me," he confessed with a tinge of sadness. "What you see."
The weight of his words settled heavily in the space between them. He wasn't asking just for a mere description; he was searching for a piece of himself, something to anchor him in a world that had changed beyond recognition. Ishta felt the gravity of what he was asking, and she knew her answer had to be more than skin deep.
"What does the world see when it looks at you?" she asked softly, trying to piece together her thoughts. "It sees whatever you choose to show it..."
Astarion's expression shifted, disappointment fleeting in his eyes as he turned away, resting his chin on his arms once more. The vulnerability he had briefly let slip seemed to retreat, replaced by an icy distance. But Ishta wasn't finished yet, refusing to let him retreat behind his walls again.
"As for what I see," she spoke up again, her words confident and unwavering, breaking through the heavy silence between them. "I see a survivor. I see someone who has clawed their way out of the pit that the world tried so desperately to bury them in. I see a fighter, with the strength and skill to chart their own path forward. I see someone who has proven themselves worthy of my trust and respect time and time again. But I also see a man who has forgotten more about himself than just the color of his eyes."
Astarion's breath caught in his throat as Ishta's words tumbled over and over in his mind, each one settling in his thoughts like stones dropped into deep water, sending ripples he wasn't ready to confront. His head lifted slowly, eyes narrowing as he searched hers, hunting for any sign of deception, any hint that she was merely playing with him as so many had before. But there was nothing - no mockery hidden behind a smile, no agenda lurking in her gaze - just a sincerity that left him feeling stripped bare. Her eyes sparkled with a light that seemed almost out of place in the grim cave, a light that carried a belief in him he could hardly fathom.
The tightness in his chest grew unbearable, a constricting force that wrapped around his ribs like iron bands, threatening to crush him from the inside. As Ishta's voice lingered in his mind, it mingled with another - a voice cold and harsh, a whisper that crawled over his thoughts like a swarm of biting insects, stinging and relentless.
"Useless boy."
"Worthless spawn."
"Your only value lies in your body."
"You failed me."
"No one will ever care for you as I have."
"You will never be worthy of the gifts I bestow."
"You are nothing without me."
Each word rose like a twisted corpse from the depths of his memory, the voice of Cazador entwined with that cruel smile that haunted his nights. Astarion shivered, feeling the phantom touch of his former master's presence, the weight of those words pressing down like shackles.
Yet Ishta's words were different. They carried a warmth, a kindness that felt almost alien in his world of shadows. But even as they offered something gentler, Cazador's venomous whispers refused to relent, insisting that she was lying, that she was just another actor in the same cruel play.
His hand twitched at his side, fingers curling into a fist as he battled to silence those thoughts. Slowly, he forced out words, though they scraped against his throat, tinged with a pain he couldn't entirely hide. "You're as shit as a Gith at giving compliments," he said, the attempt at humor falling flat even as it left his lips.
He grasped at the jest, trying to deflect, to keep himself from being pulled under by the darkness. "I was hoping for a more physical description which included references to my perfect hair and outstanding beauty, among other things."
Ishta sighed softly, the sound carrying a blend of exasperation and something almost like affection. Astarion glanced at her, noticing the way her lips curved into a faint smile, the corners lifting despite the weight of their situation. "And you are just as shit at accepting them."
He wanted to brush it off, to toss out another quip that would keep the conversation light and distant, but before he could, she spoke again.
"Alright, fine," she said, her tone shifting to something resigned, tinged with playful frustration that made the corners of his mouth twitch despite himself. "If shallow praise is all you want: Your silver hair is curled to perfection - even if it is brighter than a deer's backside. Your eyes are strong and piercing - with such deadly accuracy you make me feel insecure enough to practice my archery more. And you have a dangerous smile that somehow gets you out of trouble as much as it gets you in it."
Astarion blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden shift from depth to levity. It was such a small thing, her playful twist on his deflection, yet it was enough to halt the spiral his thoughts had been taking. He found himself blinking rapidly, trying to process her words. Cazador's voice still lingered, a faint echo in the recesses of his mind, but her warmth dulled its edge, like sunlight chasing away a shadow.
He inhaled slowly, feeling the tightness in his chest begin to ease, as if her words had started to loosen the invisible chains constricting him. "Those were the most backhanded compliments I have ever received... but I suppose I'll take what I can get," he said, his tone lighter, almost playful. He tilted his head slightly, giving her a sly smile. "Now just tell me I'm beautiful and we can call it a day."
Ishta groaned playfully, rolling her eyes as she leaned back against the cave wall, her expression tinged with amused disbelief. "Gods... you never quit, do you?"
Astarion's grin widened, a flicker of genuine amusement breaking through the tension that had been building. "No," he replied simply, a hint of mischief coloring his voice.
Before he could react, Ishta suddenly sprang to her feet, the sudden burst of energy startling him. His eyes widened slightly as he watched her, any trace of the venom's lingering effects seemingly gone. The sight of her standing so confidently, as if the pain and fear of the last few moments had never happened, filled him with a strange mix of relief and surprise.
She looked down at him, her smile bright and genuine, and for a moment, he felt his breath catch again, but this time for an entirely different reason. "If it gets me out of this conversation, fine." She neatly crossed her hands in front of her and nodded solemnly. "You are beautiful."
A small, startled laugh escaped Astarion before he could stop it and Ishta reached down, grasping his hand and pulling him to his feet. The warmth of her touch lingered on his skin as she patted him on the shoulder good-naturedly, her smile never wavering.
"But next time I'll just draw you a picture," she added with a resigned sigh, her eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and exasperation.
Astarion shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips as he looked at her, standing so close, so full of life and light that it made something deep inside him ache. He couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at him like this, with no fear, no malice - just... acceptance. It was both comforting and terrifying, and he wasn't sure which emotion was stronger.
As they sprinted toward the well rope, Ishta's words echoed in his mind, an insistent rhythm he couldn't shake. "Proved worthy of my trust and respect." The phrase clung to him, warm and unfamiliar, even as they navigated the treacherous escape.
When they finally emerged into the cool morning air, the light filtering through the canopy like a balm, Ishta's words lingered. As they made their way back to camp, her voice stayed with him, a soft but persistent refrain that refused to fade.
Trust? Respect?
He had never imagined those words could apply to him. Yet here he was, walking beside someone who saw him as more than a tool, more than a monster - someone who had risked her life for his, who had called him worthy.
Astarion couldn't help but breathe deeply, feeling the tightness in his chest slowly loosen as he accepted the truth of Ishta's words. A slow, determined smile spread across his face as he contemplated the challenges that lay ahead for them in the coming days. The battle against the Goblin horde may be a daunting prospect, but Astarion's eyes gleamed with savage anticipation as one certainty settled in his mind:
With Ishta by his side - the enemy didn't stand a chance.