From his perch atop the wall, Astarion's keen eyes tracked the chaos below with a hawk's intensity. The battle was a roiling sea of blood and screams, but his focus remained locked on Ishta.
She was in the thick of it all, her twin scimitars glinting like silver bolts of lightning as she clashed with Minthara. At first, she held her own against the Drow, matching each blow with equal force. But as time wore on, Astarion could see the exhaustion taking its toll - the slight waver in her step, the labored swings of her weapons. His fingers tightened around his crossbows, knuckles white from the tension. He watched in mounting dread as Minthara's mace swung in a brutal arc, connecting with Ishta's side in a sickening thud.
Her body crumpled to the ground, her weapons slipping from her grasp.
Astarion's heart skipped a beat, his breath catching in his throat. "No," he hissed through gritted teeth, and without hesitation he leapt from the wall. His lithe form twisted through the air like a shadow, landing amidst the chaotic fray with a jarring impact that sent shockwaves up his legs. Ignoring the sea of bodies and faces snarling at him, he pushed forward with a singular determination: reach Ishta.
But the mass of enemies proved too dense to push through. Goblins and bugbears swarmed around him, their hatred and viciousness filling every inch of space. In one swift motion, he dispatched a goblin with an effortless slash of his dagger and ducked under another's blade, driving his weapon into its gut. Warm blood splattered his hands but he barely registered it - all his attention remained fixed on Ishta.
"Karlach!" Astarion bellowed above the chaos, his voice raw with urgency. "Clear a path for us!"
Karlach, not far off and cleaving through goblins, heard his call. She turned to see what he saw and her eyes widened in fury. With a guttural roar, she charged towards him, cutting through the horde of enemies between them with ferocious strength. Her muscles bulged with exertion, her gaze burning like coals as she tore apart anything in her way, reaching Astarion's side in seconds. Together they fought like a pair of frenzied wolves - him moving with vampiric speed and precision, her crushing and smashing with brute force - both driven by an unrelenting desire to reach Ishta.
As they drew closer, Astarion's heart hammered against his chest as he saw Minthara raise her mace once more, ready to deliver the final blow to Ishta's head. Panic surged through him like fire, threatening to consume him whole. He felt the tether between them stretch thin, fragile, and without thinking, he reached out with his mind, his voice like a whip crack in her head. "Did I say you could die? Get up and fight damn you!"
They were mere steps away now - so close that he could almost feel the warmth of Ishta's blood in the air. But then a bugbear stepped into his path, sneering as it raised its club to strike. In a blur of movement, Astarion's blade sliced through the creature before him... but in that split second, Minthara's mace came crashing down.
"No!" Astarion's scream echoed through the chaos, a sound filled with pure anguish. He pushed the bugbear aside with reckless strength, bracing himself for the sight of Ishta's broken and lifeless body beneath Minthara's mace. The world seemed to shrink down to that one single point - the sound of battle fading into a dull drone in his ears. His breath caught in his chest and his eyes widened with a grief that he couldn't even begin to process.
But then he saw it - a sight that defied all logic, a sight that almost made his legs buckle.
Ishta was standing tall, her hand gripping Minthara's mace mid-swing as if it were nothing more than a child's toy. Blood slicked her arms, dripping from her elbows, but she didn't seem to feel it. Even Minthara looked stunned for a moment, her face twisted in disbelief.
And then, in an impossibly fast movement, Ishta drove her fist into Minthara's face. The Drow was lifted off her feet and sent crashing to the ground, unconscious before she even landed. Ishta didn't stop there. She picked up her scimitars and charged into the enemy ranks with a fury that was terrifying to behold. Her speed and strength were otherworldly, her strikes so fast they were almost a blur. She moved like a demon unleashed, cutting down goblins and ogres with a ferocity that left Astarion speechless.
The goblin ranks began to falter, their leader down and the fight drained from them. They started to retreat, hesitating before breaking into a full run. Astarion could barely tear his eyes away from Ishta. He watched in awe as she moved like a woman possessed, her blades slicing through flesh and bone with terrifying ease. It was a bloody dance of death, beautiful and horrifying all at once.
He recognized the look in her eyes - bloodlust, pure and unleashed.
Astarions was snapped out of his daze as another wave of goblins surged toward him. With a growl, he refocused on the battle, tearing through the remaining enemies with renewed determination. The clash of steel, the screams of the dying, and the pounding of blood in his ears filled his world until finally, the last goblin fell.
The silence that followed was eerie, broken only by the groans of the wounded and the distant sounds of the retreating goblin horde. Astarion took a moment to catch his breath, his gaze lingering on Ishta. She stood amid a pile of corpses, her chest heaving, her whole body trembling. The blood on her blades dripped steadily, forming a dark pool at her feet. She trembled all over, vibrating with some terrible energy that had not yet been released.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Before he could say anything, a cheer cut through the stillness from atop the wall - a bright and jarring contrast to the carnage below. Ishta spun around, her blades flashing in the sun and Astarion's breath caught in his throat. Her eyes were wild and unfocused, filled with a feral rage that seemed to be consuming her. She didn't seem to recognize any of them, lost in some other battle, some other war.
Astarion took a tentative step back, suddenly hesitant in the face of this new, unpredictable version of his ally. "Ishta," he said carefully, "It's over now. It's just us."
Karlach, sensing the danger, moved swiftly and silently to Astarion's side. Her voice was low and soothing, like a gentle touch meant to calm a spooked horse. "Hey, hey, soldier," she murmured, her eyes focused on Ishta's wild and frantic gaze. "Easy now, fight's over, we won. You can put those away now."
But Ishta's breath remained ragged, her eyes darting frantically around the clearing as if searching for unseen enemies. Astarion's heart pounded in his chest, unease creeping over him as he watched her deteriorate before his eyes. "What's wrong with her?" he whispered, his voice strained with worry.
Karlach's expression was solemn, but there was a hint of compassion in her gaze. "I've seen this before during the Blood Wars," she explained in a low voice, attempting to soothe both Ishta and Astarion. "Sometimes the war never truly leaves you. I don't know what she has been through in her life... but right now, I'd say she's re-living it all over again."
Ishta's eyes fell upon her blood-stained blades, a look of confusion and dismay washing over her face as she stared at them. Her body trembled uncontrollably and her breaths came out in short gasps. A lump formed in Astarion's throat at the sight of her struggling. She wasn't seeing them or their victory; she was trapped in her own past - a sensation he knew only too well.
"What should we do?" he asked quietly, his voice on the brink of breaking.
Karlach gave him a sympathetic look, assessing his reaction carefully. "Just talk to her," she advised in a quiet tone. "Speak gently and calmly. She knows you better than me, so your voice might have a better chance of reaching her."
Astarion hesitated, swallowing hard as he gave Karlach a weak smile. "I'm fairly certain the sound of my voice will have the opposite effect."
But Karlach just gave him a half-smile, knowing and somewhat exasperated. "Then use your real voice," she advised. "Not your la-de-da posh boy one."
A look of indignation crossed Astarion's features. "My what?!"
Karlach shot him a wry smile, as if she knew something he didn't. Astarion opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off by the sound of approaching footsteps and concerned murmurs. He growled under his breath, quickly turning his attention back to Ishta.
"Keep them away from her," he instructed Karlach urgently. "Make up some excuse, just get them away."
Karlach nodded understandingly and turned to intercept the curious bystanders, her commanding presence enough to deter any objections. Astarion took a deep breath, gathering his courage as he slowly made his way towards Ishta. Every muscle in his body was tense, ready for whatever reaction she might have. He noticed her hands gripping her scimitars tightly, knuckles turning white, her fingers twitching with an instinctual readiness to strike out.
His pulse thundered in his ears, but he forced himself to keep his voice calm. The crunch of gravel under his boots echoed in the silence as he approached Ishta, the sound almost deafening in contrast to the stillness around them. "Ishta? Can you hear me?" He winced slightly at his own words, feeling foolish and inadequate. "Of course you can hear me... what I mean is, are you... alright? I mean, obviously you're not..." His words trailed off as he struggled to find the right thing to say.
He risked a step closer, his eyes locked on hers, searching for a flicker of recognition, of the woman he knew. "Ishta... I know we don't exactly see eye to eye on... well... almost everything," he continued, trying to keep his tone steady. "But despite my reservations, we may have actually done a good thing here today. You helped save all those people back in the grove... at least I'm assuming they're all still alive - I haven't really had a chance to find out yet."
There was only silence from Ishta, her eyes locked on something in the distance only she could see. Astarion felt a surge of frustration and helplessness rise up within him. "I don't know what to say. I don't know how to help you through this... I don't even know what this is..." His voice cracked with emotion, and he realized he was babbling.
He took another step forward, reaching out tentatively towards Ishta before quickly pulling back. "I'm sorry," he muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I am not the right person for this."
"Maybe Gale?" He suggested to himself, but even as the name left his lips, he knew it was a futile idea. "No. He'll probably lecture her on the 'fascinating effects of traumatic shock,'" he added, mimicking Gale's academic tone with a mocking flourish.
He sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "Is any of this helping at all?" He asked rhetorically, feeling desperate for some sign that Ishta was still there, still fighting to come back to reality.
There was a tense pause, and then, to his surprise, he heard a weak, exhausted chuckle from Ishta. "No," she said, her voice still shaky but unmistakably hers. "But it's funny watching you try."
Astarion let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, a relieved smile breaking across his face. "Well," he said softly, stepping a little closer, "I suppose that's something."
Ishta shuddered, her breath catching as she let her scimitars slip from her blood-slicked hands. The blades clattered against the ground, and she fell to her knees, pulling her arms tight around herself as if trying to hold her very being together. Her muscles trembled with exhaustion, her heart still pounding against her ribs, each beat a desperate attempt to push back the darkness she had unleashed.
She closed her eyes, shutting out the world, her senses overwhelmed by the scent of iron, the metallic tang of blood lingering in the air. She needed to breathe, to think, to claw her way back to herself.
Astarion's presence beside her, a whisper of movement in the chaos, drew Ishta's attention. His hand touched her shoulder - just for a moment, a fleeting, uncertain contact - before he withdrew it as if burned. The absence of his touch sent a pang of loneliness through her, a raw, unexpected need for comfort she hadn't realized she felt. She had to resist the sudden, foolish urge to pull him close, to find some solace in his presence, but she clenched her fists instead, fingernails digging into her palms.
Astarion's voice came, hesitant and awkward. "Is there anything I... do you need... I don't know... some kind of help? Or..."
Despite herself, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. The way he stumbled over his words, his discomfort so obvious, almost endeared him to her. His concern was genuine, however clumsy.
Ishta drew in a shaky breath, trying to steady herself, and managed to speak through the lingering tremor in her voice. "I'll be alright in a moment," she said quietly. "I tapped into something... something I don't like to use too often. I suppose it's similar to Karlach's flames. I just need to quench the fire."
Astarion's eyes flickered with something like admiration, mingled with a hint of something darker. "You were incredible out there," he said, his voice carrying a note of awe. "I've never seen anything like it. The way you carved up those goblins like they were made of paper..."
His words, though meant as praise, struck a discordant note within her. She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing as a cold knot of unease twisted in her gut. "This isn't something I'm proud of, Astarion," she said, her voice hardening, a shadow passing over her features. "I don't revel in death the way you seem to."
Astarion's response was a casual shrug, his indifference stark against her rising discomfort. "They were only goblins," he replied dismissively. "Either you kill them, or they kill each other squabbling over loot."
Ishta's gaze dropped to the bloodstains on her hands, her thoughts darkening. Once, she had felt the same way about him, seen Astarion as nothing more than a monster to be destroyed. The memory sent a chill down her spine. Her scimitars could just as easily have been coated in his blood, had fate twisted differently. The realization made her stomach churn, and she swallowed hard, pushing the thought aside, staying silent.
Astarion's gaze shifted to Minthara, lying unconscious in the dirt, her face contorted in pain even in her stupor. He smirked, and his eyes darkened with a wicked gleam. "She'll feel that later," he mused, his tone edged with malice. Then his smile turned sharp, almost gleeful. "Or not..." He drew his daggers, spinning them once in his hands before stepping toward the prone Drow, his intent unmistakable.
The sight of his blades and the look in his eyes sent a jolt through Ishta's body. Her instinct was to call out, to stop him, but her voice caught in her throat. Instead, she simply stared at him, willing him to turn around. As if sensing her silent plea, Astarion hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder. His expression was a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.
"Oh, come on!" he groaned, exasperation clear in his voice. "You're not seriously asking me to let her live, are you?"
Ishta forced a faint, weary smile, her limbs still trembling with the effort of containing the beast clawing at her gut. "I didn't say anything," she replied softly, but her eyes held a pleading that words couldn't mask.
Astarion rolled his eyes dramatically, his shoulders slumping in frustration. "No, but your eyes are doing that whole... thing," he muttered, waving a hand in the air as if to shoo away an invisible pest.
"Thing?" she echoed, one eyebrow arching in question, a flicker of amusement breaking through the fog in her mind.
He crouched down beside Minthara, his fingers deftly searching through her clothing and armour with practiced ease. "Yes, that thing that makes me feel like I have to show mercy or be honourable or some such nonsense," he muttered under his breath, annoyance lacing his words. "Like I'll be disappointing you if I kill her while she's unconscious."
Ishta watched him, her arms still wrapped tightly around herself. "Why would you let that stop you?" she asked quietly. "It's not as if you owe me anything."
Astarion's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he studied her face. For a moment, he seemed genuinely taken aback. "You are joking, aren't you?"
Ishta pushed herself to her feet, the world still tilting slightly under her, but she steadied herself and moved closer to him. "No," she said, her voice calm. "You don't have to feel obligated to do everything I say - but I do appreciate it when you listen to me. And right now, I'm asking you to let Minthara live. She's been defeated - soundly, I might add - by a bunch of surface dwellers. Which, for a Drow, is almost worse than death. Let her precious Absolute deal with her."
Astarion heaved a melodramatic sigh, slipping his daggers back into their sheaths with a reluctant flick of his wrists. "Fine... but I'm taking her armour," he declared, his hands already working at the straps with a satisfied grin. "No offense, but it's much better quality than what you made me. With a few minor alterations, it should fit well enough."
Ishta folded her arms, trying to hide her smile. "Uh huh... and are you proficient in leathercraft?"
Astarion's grin widened, a spark of mischief dancing in his eyes as he glanced up at her. "No," he replied smoothly, "but you are."
Ishta couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped her, shaking her head in amused exasperation. "Of course," she murmured, her voice carrying a warmth that belied the earlier tension.
Ishta watched Astarion work for a moment longer, his fingers deftly stripping the armor from Minthara with a practiced efficiency that spoke of years spent scavenging whatever he could. Her gaze softened, and before she could second-guess herself, she knelt down beside him, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm.
She felt his muscles tense beneath her touch, a brief, instinctive reaction as if he were prepared for some blow, some reprimand. He froze, his hands stilling on the leather straps, and for a moment, his entire body seemed to hold its breath.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, he looked up, his eyes meeting hers. There was a flicker of something in his gaze - caution, curiosity, perhaps even a trace of unease - but his expression remained carefully guarded.
"Thank you," she said softly, her voice filled with a sincerity that she hoped would reach past the walls he kept so firmly in place.
Astarion's expression didn't shift, but she noticed the subtle movement of his throat as he swallowed, his eyes never leaving hers until, with a faint sigh, he looked away. He resumed his task, his hands moving with renewed purpose as he continued to remove the armor from Minthara's unconscious form.
Ishta watched him for a few more seconds, sensing that whatever unspoken understanding had passed between them was enough for now. She felt a quiet confidence settle over her, trusting that she could leave him to his task.
Rising to her feet, she slipped away, her steps light as she moved behind a nearby rock formation where the shadows deepened, giving her a moment of privacy. Her breath came in short, uneven bursts as she fumbled with the pouch at her belt, pulling out a pair of pliers. The cold metal glinted in the soft light, and she stared at them for a long moment, her fingers curling around the handle, the weight of them a grim reminder of what she was about to do.
Her heart hammered in her chest, and she felt a wave of nausea rise, unbidden. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to steady, to focus. This had to be done; there was no other way. She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them, setting her jaw with determination as she stared at the pliers, her mind bracing for what came next.
Astarion moved through the camp, his steps almost silent despite the festive chaos that surrounded him. The victory celebration was in full swing, with Tieflings laughing, singing, and clinking mugs of ale together in the glow of the campfires.
The air was thick with the smell of roasting meat and spiced wine, a stark contrast to the earlier stench of blood and death. Torches flickered along the pathways, casting shifting shadows that danced across the ancient stone walls of the grove.
Yet for all the merriment around him, Astarion felt a lingering tension in his muscles, a wariness that refused to fade. The battle had left a raw edge to his nerves, and the unsettling memory of Ishta's near-manic state still gnawed at him. He was tired of the forced smiles, the endless gratitude, and the constant eyes on him. He dodged another Tiefling, flushed and smiling, who tried to thrust a mug of ale into his hands, and he felt his patience fraying.
Enough. He needed space - quiet. Somewhere away from all these overly grateful faces. His gaze swept over the crowd, looking for an escape, and that's when he saw her.
Mol, the little Tiefling urchin, was lingering near a crumbling section of ruins, her small frame half-hidden in shadow. Her movements were cagey, her good eye darting around, watching for anyone who might be paying too much attention.
Astarion's curiosity flared, and he changed direction, moving with practiced stealth. As he approached, he noted the way her shoulders stiffened slightly, her fingers twitching near the hem of her ragged tunic.
Mol noticed him before he spoke. She turned her head slowly, her eye narrowing in suspicion. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice low and wary, her posture tensing like a coiled spring.
Astarion offered a charming smile, but there was a sharpness in his gaze. "Oh, just checking on our resident sneak thief," he replied lightly. "What's got you looking so... shifty?"
Mol's gaze flicked around again, then back to him, her expression guarded. "Nothing that concerns you," she muttered, pulling her arms closer to her chest. "I don't need you sticking your nose in my business."
He chuckled softly, leaning against the wall with casual ease. "Come now, Mol," he teased, "I thought we were allies."
She hesitated, her eye studying him carefully. "You did help," she admitted grudgingly. "That's more than most adults I know would have done." Her voice was softer, but her shoulders remained tight, her stance defensive.
"That sounded dangerously close to a compliment," Astarion quipped, tilting his head to study her reaction.
Mol shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her expression still skeptical. "And that sounds like the wine drowning your wits," she shot back, her voice laced with a challenge.
Astarion laughed, a genuine sound that seemed to ease some of the tension between them. "Ha! Sorry to disappoint, but I haven't drunk any yet... wine isn't exactly my preference these days."
Mol's eye narrowed further, studying him as if trying to find the hidden trick behind his words. But slowly, the corners of her mouth quirked up in a faint, almost reluctant smirk. "Well, if you change your mind," she offered, her tone casual but with a hint of cunning, "I found a good hiding place where I've squirreled away a few extra bottles. When the barrel's empty, I'll be out there to save the night. For a price, of course."
Astarion arched an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued now. "Of course," he echoed, matching her tone, his own smirk growing.
As they spoke, his gaze drifted toward Ishta, who was seated on a blanket not far off, surrounded by a small group of Tieflings. The flickering firelight cast warm highlights in her hair, but even from a distance, Astarion could sense the tension beneath her composed exterior. She was smiling, talking, but something about her posture, the way her fingers clenched around her cup, betrayed the unease she was trying to hide.
Mol noticed his distraction and followed his gaze. She shifted on her feet, crossing her arms defensively as she studied Ishta from afar. "Seriously though," she said, her tone softening just a fraction, as if reluctant to admit any sense of gratitude. "You and the rest of that Ranger's lot were the only ones to stick up for us. We won't forget it."
Astarion's attention remained on Ishta, but her words stirred something in him, a quiet recognition of the sincerity buried under her wary exterior. He didn't reply, only offering a slight nod of acknowledgment.
His eyes narrowed as he saw Karlach approaching Ishta, her hulking figure casting a long shadow over the smaller Tieflings around her. A slow grin spread across his face as he watched her sit beside Ishta as the other Tiefling left to rejoin the party.
"Oh, this should be fun," he murmured, a note of anticipation in his voice.
Mol shot him a suspicious look. "What are you—?"
Astarion held up a finger, silencing her. "Shhh... I want to watch this."
He crouched down behind a stack of barrels, his eyes gleaming with barely contained glee as he watched the interaction between Ishta and Karlach. Mol hesitated for a moment, then, curiosity getting the better of her, she moved closer, peeking over the top of a crate.
"You're up to something, aren't you?" she whispered, her voice still guarded but tinged with growing interest.
Astarion didn't take his eyes off the scene unfolding before them. "I'm always up to something," he replied, his tone laced with amusement. "But in this case, I'm more of an instigator."
They both watched as Ishta lifted her pint to her lips just as Karlach leaned in to whisper something. The effect was immediate - Ishta's eyes widened, and she spluttered, spraying her drink all over Karlach's face. Ishta's cheeks flushed a deep red as she coughed and gasped for air, while Karlach simply sat there, bemused, wiping the liquid off her face with an unconcerned shrug.
Astarion burst out in gleeful cackles, his shoulders shaking as he leaned against the barrels for support. Mol's eye widened, and then she giggled, quickly clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.
"You set the big one up to say something to the Ranger, didn't you?" she guessed, her smile growing.
Astarion gave her a mock bow, his grin widening. "I might have enlisted some help," he admitted, "in my ongoing quest to keep myself amused at our leaders expense."
Mol's smile turned sly. "What did she say?"
Astarion paused, suddenly remembering his audience. He glanced at Mol and then cleared his throat, considering his words. "Um... how old are you?"
Mol crossed her arms, her smile fading into a look of annoyance. "What's that got to do with anything?"
Astarion waved a hand dismissively. "Never mind what she said. The result is what matters."
Mol's smile returned, sharper now. "Looks like the big one ratted you out."
Astarion followed her gaze to see Ishta standing, her eyes scanning the crowd with a fierce determination. Karlach's eyes met his across the camp and she gave him a smug grin as Ishta angrily called out his name.
Astarion's grin faltered. "Ah, shit..." He ducked down behind the barrels, glancing at Mol with a touch of desperation. "That place you mentioned... with the wine. Any chance it could fit one adult-sized elf?"
Mol's grin turned wicked, her eye sparkling with mischief. "Maybe... for a price. Ten gold buys my silence."
Astarion spluttered, caught off guard by her boldness. "Ten gold?! That's daylight robbery!"
Mol crossed her arms, her expression unyielding. "Good job it's nighttime then."
Astarion narrowed his eyes at her, his tone turning mock-threatening. "You do know I'm a Vampire...? I could rip out your throat in a heartbeat."
Mol, to his surprise, didn't flinch. Her grin only widened, confidence oozing from her every word. "Well, in that case... twenty gold."
Astarion's eyebrows shot up. "Twenty?!"
She shrugged, her expression innocent, though her eye sparkled with challenge. "Extra on account of the danger I'm putting myself in by sheltering a dangerous individual such as yourself."
He stared at her, momentarily speechless. She's good... I could do with having her in camp on my side to negotiate loot distribution.
"Alright, fine. Twenty gold it is."
Mol beamed, holding out her hand expectantly. "Pleasure doing business with you."
She pocketed the coins with a deft flick of her wrist, then made a quick series of hand signals to some of the other children nearby. Astarion watched as they immediately swarmed around Ishta, bombarding her with questions and playful jabs, distracting her from her search. Mol gestured for Astarion to follow, and she led him to a pile of crates hidden beneath a heavy tarp.
With a sly grin, she lifted the edge and pointed underneath. "In there," she whispered, her tone filled with satisfaction.
Astarion ducked under the tarp, crouching low as he concealed himself. The sounds of the camp were muffled here, the laughter and music distant and subdued. He strained his ears, listening as Mol returned to Ishta, her voice carrying just enough for him to catch the conversation.
"Hey, Mol," Ishta's voice was edged with frustration, though she tried to keep it light. "Have you seen Astarion around by any chance?"
Mol's voice took on that familiar sly tone. "I might have... what's it worth to you?"
Astarion clenched his fists under the tarp, his jaw tightening as he muttered under his breath. "Why that little rat..."
But then he heard Ishta sigh, and his irritation faded into concern. "Actually, you know what, never mind. I need to get away for a bit. Can you do me a favor and cover for me? I'll pay you for your time, of course."
Mol hesitated for just a moment, her voice softer when she spoke. "You alright? You look a bit... jumpy."
Ishta's voice wavered slightly. "I'm fine... I'm just not good in large social gatherings. I need to go and clear my head."
"Don't worry, I got your back," came Mol's confident answer.
Astarion watched as Ishta slipped past his hiding place, her steps hurried and uneven. He waited a beat, then stealthily emerged from his cover, his senses sharp and focused as he watched her slink off into the darkness.
Where is she off to?
Astarion moved like a wraith through the dense underbrush, each step silent and deliberate, his senses finely attuned to every rustle of leaves, every shifting shadow. He kept his eyes fixed on Ishta, slipping in and out of sight ahead of him, her movements purposeful and swift.
The moonlight filtered through the thick canopy of the trees, casting mottled patterns on the forest floor, and he used them to his advantage, merging with the shifting shadows as he followed her trail. He felt a twinge of pride at how well he was navigating the uneven terrain - skills that she herself had taught him, without realizing they would ever be used against her.
A curious mix of emotions tugged at his thoughts. He wondered where she was going, why she was so determined to get there, and what she might be hiding. A small part of him hoped she wasn't meeting some secret lover for a late-night tryst. He almost snorted at the idea, half-annoyed, half-amused.
Though... he had been planning to proposition her for a bit of 'fun' himself later. Maybe he'd miscalculated by not acting sooner. His mind flickered with the thought of her with someone else, and he felt a sharp, unexpected sting of... was it jealousy? He shook it off, focusing instead on matching her steps, on keeping his distance just right.
She moved with purpose, her form lithe and graceful as she navigated the forest, but Astarion kept pace effortlessly, his movements fluid and precise. He knew this was more than just a walk to clear her head; he could feel it in the tension in her shoulders, the way her head turned slightly, alert to every sound.
Eventually, she reached a small clearing, a thin layer of mist hanging over a pond that reflected the moon's pale light. Astarion slipped into the shadows just beyond the tree line, his breath held, his body tense. He watched as Ishta crouched down, her gaze fixed on something across the water. He followed her line of sight and saw a small deer drinking from the pool, its delicate frame trembling with each cautious sip. Ishta rose slowly, extending her hand toward the creature, whispering softly, "Amicus Animalis."
The deer raised its head, water still dripping from its muzzle, and stared at Ishta in placid curiosity. It made no move to run as she trod softly across the moss-covered ground and knelt beside it, gently stroking its russet brown head.
Astarion muttered under his breath, his voice laced with disbelief. "She left a night of wine, music and good food to come and pet a bloody deer? Gods... you're pathetic sometimes, Ishta."
His irritation deepened as she wrapped her arms around the deer's neck, her head lowering as if to nuzzle the creature. Astarion rolled his eyes, leaning back against the tree, exasperation evident in his every movement. "And now she's hugging the damn thing."
But then, something changed. The deer let out a startled bleat, its body tensing as it struggled in her grasp. Astarion's eyes narrowed in confusion, then widened in horror as he heard the unmistakable sound of gulping and swallowing. The realization hit him like a physical blow, his heart stuttering in his chest as he watched the scene unfold.
She was drinking its blood.
The deer's movements grew sluggish, its bleats softer, weaker, until it finally went limp in her arms and fell to the ground. Astarion's entire body tensed, instinct screaming at him to run, to get away. But his legs wouldn't move, rooted to the spot as he watched, unable to look away.
Ishta stood, her movements slow, almost mechanical, like a marionette on broken strings. She staggered to the edge of the pond, her face pale in the moonlight, and knelt down by the water's edge. Blood dripped from her lips, sending ripples across the still surface.
She stared into the water, searching for something... or perhaps someone. Whatever she saw - or didn't see - made her throw her head back. The scream that bubbled up from her throat and escaped from her blood-covered lips would haunt Astarion for days to come. It was a mix of rage and pain, made all the more terrifying by the sight of her sharp fangs glinting in the moonlight.
Ishta's scream gave way to sobs, raw and broken, as she pounded her fists into the water, sending spray into the air. The droplets mingled with her tears, falling back into the pond in a chaotic dance of rage and despair. She slammed her fists down again and again, as if trying to break the very reflection that stared back at her.
But then Astarion noticed something else - one of her hands closing around a smooth branch, worn down by time and nature. With a sickening twist and snap that sent a shiver down his spine, she broke off a piece, her movements frenzied, almost desperate, as she carried it over to a large rock at the edge of the clearing. Without hesitation, she sat with her back against the rock, the jagged end of the stick poised over her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Panic seized Astarion's heart. His eyes widened in horror as he realized what she was about to do. Without thinking, he let out a desperate "No!" and sprinted toward her, his feet barely touching the ground.
He reached her just as she began to press the sharp wood against her skin, wrenching the stick from her hands with a strength fueled by fear. He flung it as far as he could, hearing it clatter against the stones as it landed out of sight.
Falling to his knees in front of her, he gripped her shoulders, his entire body trembling with emotion as he looked into her startled face.
"I didn't know... oh gods, Ishta, I'm so sorry!" His voice was frantic, the words spilling out in a rush. "It shouldn't be possible - this damn worm must have - I couldn't have known!"
Astarion knew he was babbling, but he couldn't stop, his mind racing with the implications, the horror of it all. How could this have happened? A Spawn couldn't make another Vampire - it was unheard of... unless the Illithid parasite had altered him in some terrible, unknowable way. He had never felt so helpless, so trapped in his own skin.
His hands slid down her arms, his fingers curling around her wrists, holding onto her as if she might vanish if he let go. His voice dropped to a broken whisper, filled with despair. "Forgive me..."
Ishta's eyes burned with a mixture of sorrow and shame as she looked upon Astarion's wretched appearance. In that moment, a cruel corner of her mind whispered to let him continue believing that this was his fault, to let him bear the burden of her cursed existence and hide behind him for eternity. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. The pain in his wide eyes, filled with guilt and anguish, tore at her heart more fiercely than any blade ever could.
Choking back sobs, Ishta reached out a trembling hand to touch Astarion's cheek. "No," she whispered fiercely, "this wasn't your fault. You are not the one responsible for this."
For a moment, Astarion seemed to soften under her touch, but then his features hardened. He pulled away abruptly, standing up and creating a distance between them, his expression becoming a mask, a barrier. Ishta could feel the coldness radiating from him as he took a step back, the moonlight casting long, sharp shadows across his face. His eyes remained fixed on her, searching, questioning, but no longer as open as before.
She leaned back against the cold stone behind her, drawing her knees up to her chest, holding herself tightly as if trying to shield herself from the weight of his gaze. The night air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves above, but her heart pounded with a heavy, frantic rhythm. She searched for words, something to make him understand, but they felt heavy and awkward on her tongue.
Astarion's voice cut through the silence, low and taut. "I think... I think you owe me an explanation, Ishta." There was a coldness to his tone, a restrained anger simmering just beneath the surface.
Ishta nodded slowly, her eyes closing briefly as she tried to gather her thoughts. "I know. But you might want to sit down."
He shook his head, his mouth a thin line. "I would prefer to stand, if it's all the same to you."
Ishta exhaled, a sigh that carried the weight of her exhaustion and frustration. She could feel the tension radiating off him, could see the hard set of his jaw, the tightness around his eyes. He wasn't going to make this easy.
She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts, then opened them again, meeting his gaze. "You know some of the history of my people, the Xindites. How we are known for our skills in combat, our resistance to necrotic energy, our immunity to undeath. I used these skills to carve out a name for myself as a renowned monster hunter in Aglarond. I was good - really good- at killing things I considered to be evil, and proud of my reputation as a Ranger in the Hunter's Guild."
Ishta paused, watching his face for any reaction, but it remained guarded, his expression unreadable. "I was arrogant," she continued, her voice quieter. "I thought I could defeat anything. But then... a Vampire Lord named Haro'kon Vale set his sights on me. He decided I was a threat... or perhaps he just wanted a new game. Either way, he managed to rally several other Vampire Lords to his cause. They hunted me... and dragged me back to his castle like a trophy.""
Her voice faltered, the memories of her capture flooding back with a vividness that made her shudder. Ishta swallowed and tried to fight back the rising tide of fear churning in her stomach. She closed her eyes as her chest started to heave and her body trembled uncontrollably.
Dammit! Not now...
Ishta closed her eyes as the nausea threatened to take hold. The images of chains, of cold stone floors, of eyes staring at her with dark hunger flashed before her mind. She had to focus - on the present, on the here and now. The sensation of the rough rock at her back, the distant murmur of the breeze in the pine trees... but the memories were relentless, clawing at her mind.
A slight rustling of leaves beside her brought her back to the moment. Astarion had moved closer, and to her surprise, he was sitting beside her. His face was set in a mask, his features hard, but she noticed the tremor in his hand as he rested it on his knee. His gaze flicked briefly to hers, then away, his voice quieter now, almost tentative. "What did they do?"
With great effort, Ishta slowed her breathing and waited until her body was still before continuing. "Oh, you know, the usual," she said with a wry, humorless smile, though her voice still trembled. "Torture. Humiliation. Draining me night after night until I was a breath away from death."
Her voice betrayed her efforts to sound detached. "Haro'kon delighted in parading me naked and bound in chains for his esteemed guests to... indulge in." Her voice cracked on the last words, her eyes falling to the ground as a shudder ran through her. "And indulge they did, in every way imaginable."
The air around them seemed to tighten with tension. Astarion's body seemed to flinch at her words, his eyes darting back to her, wide and filled with an expression she had never seen in him before - empathy. She could feel his stare like a weight, burning against her skin.
Ishta looked away, focusing on the earth beneath her, the dirt, the tiny roots poking through the soil. "One of them, a Sorcerer named Ulanic, took a special interest in me. He thought he could find a way to break my immunity, unravel the secrets of my blood. He requested... no, demanded... that I be given to him. For months, he experimented on me. Dark rituals, alchemy, things I still don't understand. He was determined to undo the work put into creating my 'species'. I survived because... well, that's what I do. I survive. But each day, each new horror, it felt like he was pulling me apart, inch by inch."
Astarion's breath hitched, a small sound of horror escaping him. His expression remained unreadable, but Ishta saw his jaw clench, his knuckles whitening. She knew the impact her words were having; she knew he understood the kind of pain she was describing.
"Eventually, Ulanic found the solution - it turned out to be deceptively simple in the end. He went back to the basics, so to speak, and used a ritual to drain half the blood from my body into his while simultaneously draining half of his into mine. Then, as I lay there with his foul, tainted blood flowing in my veins, he bit me."
Her voice became quieter, almost a whisper, as she recalled the moment. She shuddered, feeling the coldness of his touch, the sensation of his fangs sinking into her neck like fire. She felt herself spiraling back, the walls of that dark room pressing in on her.
It's getting to the good part, the sadistic part of her mind whispered.
"That did the trick," she spoke aloud, her tone flippant despite the heaviness in her heart. "Goodbye, Ishta the Xindite, hello, Ishta the starving newborn Vampire.
Astarion looked mildly disapproving at her nonchalant attitude, but Ishta was too mentally exhausted to care.
"And here comes the shocking twist. Turns out Ulanic didn't see eye to eye with Haro'kon and wanted him eliminated. Hardly surprising, given how Vampires feel about competition. Seems I was his murder weapon of choice. He whispered sweet promises of revenge in my ear as he gave me his 'gift'." Ishta spat the last word in disgust and glanced at Astarion again.
His eyes had taken on a distant look, and she knew he was most likely remembering the moment he'd been on the receiving end of his own 'gift'. The sooner this tale of woe was over the better for both of them.
"Then Ulanic set me loose in Haro'kon's castle and sat back to watch. One bloodbath later and Faerûn finds itself three Vampire Lords short."
The clearing seemed to hold its breath, the forest around them silent as each word of her story lingered in the air like the scent of blood. Astarion's focus suddenly shifted back to her, jolted out of his reverie by her last statement. His shock was evident in his wide eyes and slightly parted lips amd his voice cracked as he blurted out, "Holy shit... three?!"
The words tumbled out of Astarion's mouth faster than he could catch them, driven by a potent mix of awe, fear, and the intoxicating thrill of discovery.
What in the hells was this woman? To take on not just one, but three Vampire Lords at once was an incredible - no, impossible - feat. The sheer power she must possess sent a spark of excitement coursing through his veins. His earlier wariness gave way to something warmer, something almost... hopeful. He had made the right decision in choosing to ally himself with her group. Perhaps Ishta was the key to more than just his safety - maybe his freedom too.
"I suddenly feel a bit foolish for cautioning you against the dangers of underestimating Cazador," he said with a lopsided smile, masking the awe that tinged his voice. "Seems like I'm the one who underestimated you... again."
Ishta gave a dry, almost sardonic smile, her eyes glinting with amusement. "I did try to tell you I could keep you safe."
"I'm starting to believe you."
Ishta ran her hands through her tangled hair, pushing it back from her face, and shifted into a more relaxed position, stretching her legs out in front of her. A deep breath filled her lungs, her eyes clouding over with distant memories. The moonlight filtered through the leaves above, casting flickering shadows across her face, highlighting the fatigue etched into her features.
"Ulanic also made the mistake of underestimating me," she continued, her voice dropping to a low, steady tone. "After I'd finished tearing apart his rivals, he came to me, so full of pride in his 'achievement.' He called me his most perfect creation, his crowning glory, his beautiful Spawn - the first Xindite Vampire in history."
Her laugh was cold and sharp, slicing through the night like a blade. Astarion felt a shiver run down his spine as the hollow sound echoed in the stillness. When she turned to look at him, he saw that hard, unyielding gleam in her eyes, like shards of golden ice. The air around them seemed to grow colder as Ishta's voice took on a sinister edge. "He was only half right. He succeeded in making me a Vampire alright... just not a Spawn."
Astarion found himself shifting slightly, an instinctive move to put more space between them. Ishta noticed, and a flicker of something - regret, maybe - crossed her face. Her shoulders seemed to soften just a touch, and she looked down, suddenly interested in her hands.
"I take it this... Ulanic... did not live long enough to fully appreciate his mistake?" Astarion ventured, trying to keep his voice steady, cautious.
Ishta nodded, her expression hardening like stone. "I ripped out his throat with the lovely new fangs he gave me," she said flatly, her tone devoid of any emotion.
A small chuckle escaped from Astarion's lips, though it sounded strained. "I would have loved to see the look on his face when you did that," he said quietly, silently adding, A look I hope to see on Cazador's face one day.
Ishta's body seemed to relax a fraction, the tension easing from her shoulders as she continued, "Then I took back every drop of blood he stole from me, in the more 'traditional' way." She gave a wry smile. "But here's where it gets interesting. The moment I drained him dry, I blacked out. When I woke up, the fangs, the red eyes, the blood hunger - gone. As if it had never been."
Astarion's brows furrowed, his curiosity piqued. He leaned in slightly, unable to hide his intrigue. "That certainly is... an interesting development," he mused. He'd heard countless tales of so-called 'cures' for vampirism, but none quite like this. Then again, Ishta was hardly a typical case.
Ishta's expression grew more somber, a shadow crossing her face. "I thought so too," she said quietly, almost to herself. "I should have known better, I suppose."
"What happened?" Astarion's voice was soft, a gentle nudge urging her to continue.
She tilted her head back, staring up at the sky, the moonlight catching in her hair. A faint breeze rustled through the leaves, and the scent of crushed pine needles mingled with the metallic tang of the deer's blood still clinging to her. Astarion couldn't help but wonder how long she had carried this burden, waiting for someone she could share it with.
"I thought it was finally over," she began, her voice heavy, as though the words themselves were laden with the weight of years. "I escaped from the castle and made my way back to civilization, taking a few months off to recuperate and recover... Ha! Like you can ever fully recover from something like that." Ishta looked down and angrily ground her fist into the dirt, the action resonating with Astarion.
He felt a pang of empathy pierce his chest - he knew that kind of hatred, that kind of fear. He could almost see the emotional battle playing out in her eyes, the same one he had fought every day for two centuries.
For a fleeting moment, he considered reaching out, offering some small gesture of comfort, but he hesitated. He wasn't sure she would welcome it - or that he was capable of it. After all, his very presence must serve as a reminder of what she had endured. Instead, he waited silently for her to continue.
"I even went back to work - with a new and fearsome reputation and an intense hatred of Vampires, I might add." Here she paused and looked at him, her eyes searching his face.
"Understandable," he replied simply, keeping his head fixed straight ahead but stealing a glance at her from the corner of his eye.
A weak smile tugged at her lips, and she continued, "I was convinced I was free. Cured. Things felt... almost normal. Then, one day, while hunting down a band of goblin raiders, I got shot in the shoulder. They had me cornered, and the next thing I knew... my fangs were buried in their leader's neck. I'm not sure which of us was more surprised - especially considering we were all in full sunlight."
Up until now, Astarion had been reclined against the rock while listening to Ishta's story, but now he bolted upright and turned to face her directly, his eyes wide with shock.
"Wait... what?" he exclaimed, his mind racing to comprehend the implications of her words.
Trust him to find that part of my story the most interesting.
Ishta felt a wry smile tugging at her lips despite herself. Astarion's reaction - his curiosity so vivid, almost childlike - was oddly endearing. She could see the way his eyes lit up with a strange, almost morbid fascination, like a child entranced by a particularly grim fairy tale.
"That was more or less my reaction too," she replied, waving a hand toward his wide-eyed expression. Her grin was dry, her tone self-deprecating. "And after the short and bloody battle that followed, I went to check my reflection in a nearby pool of water - or rather, I went to check if I still had one."
Astarion's head tilted, his curiosity deepening, his eyes bright with anticipation. "And did you?"
Ishta nodded, raising a hand to her mouth and tapping a finger against one of her fangs. "That's when I got my first good look at these beauties. It was... unsettling, to say the least." Her smile faded, replaced by a grimace. "So much so that I grabbed a pair of pliers and ripped them right out of my jaw."
Astarion flinched, an involuntary shudder running through him. His mouth opened, then closed, his throat working as if swallowing against a sudden wave of discomfort. Ishta caught the movement, and a bitter, humorless laugh escaped her lips. "Not the wisest decision, I know," she admitted, her voice touched with old pain. "But in the moment, it felt right. Excruciating, but right."
She paused, taking a breath that trembled on the way out. "After a long rest, I woke the following morning to find a new pair of perfectly normal teeth had obligingly grown in place of the extracted fangs. But the realisation that I hadn't fully escaped my fate... it broke something inside me."
Ishta hesitated for a moment, knowing the next part of her story would lay bare a darker truth, one that might alter Astarion's view of her forever. Her voice became softer, almost contemplative, as she prepared to continue.
"I went on a rampage across Aglarond and beyond - a killing spree, really. I slaughtered hundreds of Vampires, True and Spawn alike. Gandrel was right when he said I was something of a legend to hunters like him. I became known as the Blood Huntress of the East, a name whispered in fear among the undead around the Sea of Fallen Stars." She let out a bitter chuckle and glanced up. "I wonder what they'd whisper if they knew the truth."
Astarion's eyes had grew wider with every word she spoke. At one point, Ishta worried his eyes might actually pop out of his head. Awe and fear flickered across his face, his gaze shifting between fascination and wariness. Ishta met his wide-eyed stare with a tight smile, her lips pressed together in a thin, taut line. "So now you know," she murmured. "Ishta Dawnstar, famed Vampire slayer and monster hunter, is actually a monster herself. It would be tragic if it weren't so damn funny."
A low whistle escaped Astarion's lips, and he shook his head slowly. "And I thought Wyll's new horns were the only tragic irony around here."
Ishta snorted in amusement, a short, harsh sound that held no real mirth. Astarion grinned at her before quickly sobering up again. He looked down at his hands for a moment, and Ishta could practically see the gears turning in his head as he tried to process everything she had told him.
She watched him carefully, noticing the way he fidgeted, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on his clothing, his eyes flitting between her and the ground. He seemed to want to speak, his lips moving as if testing the shape of the words before he finally found the courage to voice his thoughts.
"Ishta... if you hate Vampires so much, then why am I..." He faltered, his voice trailing off as he raised his head to look at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and dread.
"Why are you still alive?" Ishta finished for him, her voice quiet but steady.
Astarion gave a small nod, his expression tense, as though he were bracing himself for a blow. Ishta could see the fear in his eyes, the wariness that came from living too long with enemies masquerading as friends. She knew what she was about to say wouldn't ease his anxiety, but she was done hiding the truth.
"You nearly weren't," she confessed, each word weighted with its own burden. "The night I realized what you were, I waited until you fell asleep and crept into your tent, dagger in hand, fully prepared to kill you."
Astarion's breath hitched, and his entire body went rigid, his eyes widening in alarm. She saw his hands twitch, as if fighting the urge to reach for a weapon. She continued before he could react, her voice unwavering. "I was filled with so much rage and hate in that moment. How dare a loathsome creature like you trick us and ingratiate yourself in our camp. I held my dagger above your heart and then..."
"And then?" Astarion's voice was tight, barely more than a breath, his whole body coiled with tension.
Ishta closed her eyes for a moment, the memory of that night rushing back with painful clarity. "And then you had a nightmare," she said, opening her eyes to meet his. They were filled with bewilderment, and something softer, more vulnerable. It made her want to reach out, to touch him, to offer some comfort. But she resisted, knowing he would not welcome it.
"You cried out, 'No! Stop... no more, please, I beg you.' At first, I thought you had seen me, but your eyes were still closed. You were thrashing around in your sleep, begging for mercy. Those words you uttered... they were the same ones I screamed out again and again while I was being tortured in Haro'kon's dungeon."
Astarion's back ached, a dull throb from holding himself so tensely for what felt like hours. He forced himself to relax, though his mind still whirled with the revelations Ishta had shared. When he'd followed her out into the forest, it had been with the hope of getting to know her on a more 'intimate' level. But this? This was not what he had envisioned at all.
The weight of her story, the grim details of her past, pressed down on him like a heavy cloak. And the cold grip of fear still twisted in his gut when he realized just how close he had come to death by her hand.
Trying to shake off the creeping unease, Astarion resorted to his usual defense mechanism. "And that was enough to allow me to live?" he quipped, forcing a smirk onto his lips. "I find that hard to believe. Are you sure it wasn't the sight of my beautiful face at rest that stayed your hand?"
But the moment the words left his mouth, he saw the way Ishta's expression hardened, and his smirk faltered.
Oh well done, Astarion. That's it, go and piss off the vampire slayer who literally just admitted five seconds ago to almost murdering you!
Panic surged in him, but he bit it back, holding his ground despite the sudden urge to flee. He'd been stupid - again. Why couldn't he ever keep his mouth shut when it mattered?
Ishta, however, only shook her head, her smile tinged with a grimness that made his heart sink. "You're right," she said, her voice laced with bitter truth. "Your words wouldn't have been enough. But they did make me pause. Long enough for curiosity to creep in." She tapped the side of her head, just above her left eye, the gesture small but loaded with meaning. "So, I used our little stowaway here to find out what you were dreaming about."
Astarion tried to cast his mind back to that time, wondering which of his nightmares she had peered into. Who knew... there were so many to choose from these days. He didn't relish the thought of her looking into his mind while he was asleep though. Was there no such thing as privacy anymore? Not while these damned tadpoles slithered around in everyone's brains, it would seem.
"What I saw..." Ishta's voice drew him back, low and strained, carrying the weight of something unspeakable. Her eyes softened, losing their sharpness. "It was like looking into a mirror. And in that moment, I realized - somewhat to my dismay - that I didn't have the stomach to kill you anymore. It had never occurred to me before to see Vampire Spawn as anything other than soulless extensions of their equally soulless masters. The idea that they could be powerless victims of the same cruelty I'd experienced..."
Her gaze shifted, dropping to the ground as if ashamed of her admission. Astarion could see her fingers twitching slightly, a flicker of agitation in the tense line of her shoulders. "Well... the memories I experienced through your eyes changed my perspective on a lot of things. So I sheathed my dagger, left your tent, and spent the rest of the night trying to learn how to let go of my hatred for you."
Astarion felt a strange mix of relief and unease. "My continued existence would indicate you were successful, I take it?" he inquired, tentatively offering a smile.
"It's a work in progress," she replied, her voice dry, a flicker of humor returning to her eyes.
"Oh... I see."
Ishta must have sensed the lingering worry in his tone because she shook her head, her expression softening. "I was being facetious," she said, the edges of her lips curling into something close to a genuine smile. "You annoy the hells out of me sometimes, but I don't hate you, Astarion. I don't even hate what you are anymore, as much as you remind me of things I'd rather forget. You're unlike any Vampire I've ever met before... or maybe there were others like you, but I never stopped to find out."
Astarion let out a small, dry laugh, more out of habit than anything else. "Yes, I imagine it would be rather difficult to have a meaningful conversation with a pile of ash."
Ishta snorted in amusement, the sound rough but genuine, and it sent a strange warmth through him. Astarion couldn't help but feel a sense of relief - she was loosening up, and perhaps he was, too. Her laughter, even if strained, lightened the tension that had been building, and he found himself relaxing in her presence, despite everything.
Nothing soothes the soul quite so much as finding out someone else's life has been nearly as shit as your own.
Stretching her arms, Ishta shifted her position, crossing her legs beneath her, her shoulders easing into a more comfortable posture. "Anyway, now you know my dark and terrible secret. Seems to be a running theme with our lot," she said, the humor in her voice undercut by a note of sincerity. "But I'd appreciate it if this one could remain a secret a little while longer."
Her eyes met his, pleading softly, and Astarion felt a strange pang in his chest. He wasn't used to seeing this fierce, confident woman looking so... vulnerable. The moonlight framed her face, casting a soft glow on her copper hair, making her look almost ethereal. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, considering her request. The information was powerful - potentially useful. He could use it to his advantage if he wanted. But the thought of betraying her trust made something in him recoil - much to his surprise.
"I think that would be for the best," he finally said, his voice thoughtful. "Having one Vampire in the party is pushing the limit already. I fear having two - especially one in charge - might lead them to think there is some kind of sinister conspiracy at play."
Ishta closed her eyes for a moment, releasing a breath she'd been holding. "Thank you," she whispered, her gratitude plain in her voice.
Astarion pushed himself off the ground, brushing the dirt from his clothes with a flourish, trying to appear nonchalant. "Of course, my dear, we are in this together, after all. I would hate if the others got the wrong idea. And now that I know what you're capable of, I'm not inclined to do anything that might... upset you." He offered a grin, but it wavered slightly.
Ishta blew air through her teeth, the sound of irritation clear. "I wouldn't hurt you even if you told everyone in the camp right now. I just would prefer it if you didn't, for now."
Astarion lifted a finger in mock admonishment. "You can't blame me for being cautious, especially now I know you are the dreaded 'Blood Huntress of the East.'"
She dropped her head into her hands, groaning loudly, and Astarion couldn't help but chuckle. He thought back to the stories he had heard, though vague, about the famous slayers roaming Faerûn. Had Cazador heard of her? Would it make him hesitate if he knew Astarion was under her protection? It was a tantalizing thought. All he needed to do was make sure Ishta continued to have a reason to want to protect him. He watched her keenly as she followed his lead, getting up from her seated position and stretching her legs.
Glancing around at the clearing as if seeing it for the first time, Ishta cocked her head at him. "What were you doing out here anyway?" she asked. "I thought you'd still be at the party, basking in the praise of all the adoring fans and flirting left, right, and centre."
Astarion bit back the flippant quip that immediately sprang to mind - Oh, nothing much, I just came out here to seduce you. Something told him she wouldn't appreciate his sense of humor at this particular moment. But then again, Ishta did have a penchant for dark and inappropriate humor. Tonight seemed to be a night for honesty. Couldn't hurt to give it a try... hopefully.
"Well, if you must know," he began, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes, "I followed you in the hopes that I could tempt you to a wild night of passion. But after careful consideration, I find I've quite gone off the idea."
For a long moment, Ishta just stared at him, her face unreadable. Astarion felt a trickle of sweat form at the back of his neck. Had he gone too far? But then, laughter rang out into the night, clear and free, and Astarion breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Ishta's shoulders shook with the force of her mirth, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to catch her breath. He watched her with satisfaction, enjoying the sight of her slowly releasing the tension she'd been holding onto so tightly.
"Well, you didn't have to find it that funny," he said, pretending to pout, though his eyes gleamed with amusement.
"No... I'm sorry... I shouldn't laugh," she gasped between breathless chuckles. "It's just... what with Karlach earlier - thanks for that, by the way, you little cretin - Lae'zel the other day, Gale, and a couple of others at the party, and now you... I'm just a bit sick of people wanting to sleep with me."
You should try living my life for the past two centuries, Astarion thought cynically but kept quiet. The mention of Gale caught his attention, though. He made a mental note to circle back to that later.
Instead, he folded his arms and waited for Ishta to compose herself once more. The smile she gave him was full of warmth, and for a second, he felt his heartbeat speed up. Her laughter was a balm to his frayed nerves, and he found himself smiling back despite everything.
"Thank you for being here and listening to me," she said, her voice soft, sincere. "To use your words, this is a gift I won't forget. However, this is where we part ways for tonight." She took a step back and gave a half bow, her copper hair spilling over her shoulders like a curtain of flame. The moonlight caught in her eyes, making them shine like molten gold. "Goodnight, Astarion," she added quietly.
He returned her bow with a flourish, trying to keep his composure. "Goodnight, Ishta. Sweet dreams," he replied, his voice softer than he intended.
As Astarion watched her turn and head back toward the camp, a strange pang of regret settled in his chest. He wished he could have done more, said more, to offer comfort after she had bared her soul to him. But what comfort could he provide? She had made it abundantly clear she wasn't interested in sleeping with him, so what else could he do? Swap stories of torture and reminisce about all the twisted things that had been done to them?
No, that wasn't what she needed now.
With a sigh, Astarion decided he'd had enough of the revelry with the Tieflings. His thoughts were too jumbled, and the gnawing hunger had begun to creep back, pressing against his thoughts like a weight. He turned away from the direction of the camp, slipping silently into the shadows of the forest.
A good hunt - that was what he needed. Something to clear his mind, to distract him from the storm brewing in his soul.
The darkness of the forest welcomed him like an old friend, the shadows closing in around him, and he welcomed them back, a grim smile playing on his lips.