The morning light filtered through the thick canopy of the grove, casting dappled pools of gold that danced on the ground as Ishta and Karlach made their way back to camp. The cool air was still, carrying the faint scent of pine, pitch and crushed leaves.

As they walked, Ishta couldn't help but notice Karlach's restless energy, her every step bursting with a barely contained enthusiasm. Her hands flexed at her sides, her eyes bright and wide, darting around as if seeking something, anything, to channel her boundless vitality into. Clearly their visit to Dammon's forge had been a good start to the morning for the excitable Tiefling.

"Dammon's upgrade didn't cool me down, but it did juice me up," Karlach announced, her voice crackling with excitement. "I don't think I've ever felt more powerful. Thanks for giving him that infernal iron."

"I'm sure we'll find more of it along the way and get you that second upgrade, too," Ishta replied, a small smile playing at her lips as she watched her friend's almost hyperactive state.

Karlach's grin widened, but there was a slight edge to her expression. "Sooner rather than later would be good," she admitted, her voice tinged with urgency. "I feel like I'm burning serious fuel."

Ishta's smile turned more playful as she quipped, "Let's find you something to burn, then."

Karlach's grin was wide and wicked. "That's what I like to hear," she replied, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Then, her gaze shifted, and her expression turned sly. "Speaking of heat... did I really see you and Astarion sneaking off together for a drink last night?"

Ishta halted abruptly, the question catching her off guard. She met Karlach's gaze cautiously, trying to gauge how much the Tiefling already knew. "Yes... but to quote an oft-misused phrase, 'it's not what you think.' We just talked."

Karlach raised an eyebrow, her skepticism evident. "All night? Seriously, you two didn't-"

"No," Ishta cut in sharply, resuming her pace with purposeful strides. "I'm... not really looking for that sort of thing right now - from anyone." Her words were clipped, and she focused her gaze straight ahead, trying to dismiss the subject.

Karlach's expression softened into something more contemplative as she fell into step beside Ishta. "Huh... could have sworn there was something between you and the Vamp."

Ishta kept silent, her thoughts turning inward. The truth of it was more complicated than she cared to admit, even to herself.

As they entered the camp, the scene was one of sluggish recovery. The Tieflings that had stayed overnight were only just starting to stir, many of them groaning and stretching as they shook off the remnants of the previous night's festivities. The scent of smoldering ashes from the dying fires lingered in the air, mixing with the fresh morning dew.

Karlach scanned the camp with a critical eye, her hands on her hips. "Look at this lot, sore heads and stiff backs. Highly doubt we're setting off before noon at this rate." She turned to Ishta, her tone businesslike. "Speaking of which, you decided which route we're taking yet?"

Ishta knelt outside her tent, pulling her pack closer as she began methodically packing supplies. She didn't look up as she answered, her mind preoccupied. "I'm not sure. Halsin seems set on traveling through the Underdark, but the mountain pass might take us past the crèche that Lae'zel has been all but begging us to visit." She glanced up at Karlach sheepishly. "I sort of feel like I owe her the chance to see if her people can cure us or not - after ignoring her idea for so long."

Karlach knelt beside her, her fingers absently tracing patterns in the dirt. "You could always get Gale to set up another portal network along the way," she suggested thoughtfully. "If the crèche is a dud, at least we won't have to walk back, and we can still check out Halsin's underground Selunite temple. It's not as if we're in that much of a rush, now that we know we have a guardian angel keeping us un-squidified."

Ishta paused in her packing, her hands hovering over a bundle of arrows. "Did you have another visit from him last night?"

Karlach's expression darkened slightly, her playful demeanor fading. "Yeah, you?"

Ishta nodded, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Yes. It seems our goals are aligned - at least regarding finding the source of the altered tadpoles. I don't like how much he's pushing me to use the Illithid powers, though."

She stood up, attaching a pouch to her belt and securing her scimitars in place, the weight of them a familiar comfort. Karlach rose with her, her eyes following Ishta's movements with an approving expression.

"Well, I'm glad to see you haven't gone down the tadpole-slorping route yet," Karlach remarked, her tone half-joking but with an undercurrent of seriousness. "As for me, I don't want to get more mixed in with this Mindflayer shit than I already am."

Ishta gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I wouldn't ask you to do anything I wasn't prepared to do myself." Her expression hardened slightly, a flicker of frustration crossing her features. "I just wish Astarion had your common sense. I caught him trying to steal one of the specimens from my bag the other day."

Karlach let out a low whistle, shaking her head. "You can't blame the guy for wanting to take whatever advantage he can get over his former master," she mused, her tone sympathetic. "Maybe you can... I dunno... distract him with something else?"

Ishta stared at Karlach for a moment, the gears turning in her mind, and then a slow grin spread across her face. "Karlach, you're a genius."

Karlach blinked, clearly taken aback. "I am? That's a new one for me."

Ishta's grin widened as she quickly formulated a plan. "If you want something to do today, meet me outside the grove. Like you said, I doubt we're heading out any time soon after last night, so I thought I'd go and investigate something in the nearby swamp. Give me a few minutes to grab more gear and whoever else is awake, and I'll join you."

Karlach's eyes lit up with anticipation, and she gave Ishta a quick salute. "You got it, boss. I'll be waiting."

As Karlach turned to head off, her energy almost sparking with anticipation, Ishta watched her go with a smile. There was something contagious about Karlach's spirit - a fierce joy that seemed to burn even brighter despite everything they faced. Ishta felt a small spark of that energy light up in her own chest as she entered her tent and pulled out a wrapped bundle from underneath her bed.

This should keep him occupied for awhile.

Astarion sat in his tent, the dawn light filtering through the fabric, casting soft shadows on the canvas walls. The silence around him was comforting, a rare moment of peace after the tumultuous night before. He leaned back against the pillows, his thoughts drifting to the clifftop where he had woken just before dawn. The space beside him had been empty, Ishta already gone, leaving only the faintest trace of her scent in the air.

A pang of regret gnawed at him, a small, unexpected disappointment at not finding her there. But even as that feeling surfaced, it was quickly replaced by a sense of contentment. The memory of the night before brought a rare, genuine smile to his lips. For once, he hadn't needed to put on an act, hadn't felt the pressure to charm or manipulate. He had simply been himself - whatever that meant these days - and it had been... nice.

A sudden sound outside his tent broke through his reverie, and he opened his eyes, his senses sharpening as he heard the familiar voice calling his name. He quickly pushed himself up, adjusting his clothes and running a hand through his hair before stepping outside to greet Ishta.

Astarion's eyes were immediately drawn to the object in her hands - a book, its cover dark and ominous, adorned with a twisted visage. Recognition flickered in his mind, followed by a surge of eagerness. The Thayan tome.

Ishta's expression was serious, her gaze steady as she held the book out to him. "I'm not comfortable with messing around with this," she said, her voice firm, though there was a hint of reluctance in her tone. "But you seemed eager to get your hands on it when we found it."

Astarion reached for the tome, his fingers brushing against the cool, clammy-feeling leather. But as he grasped it, Ishta didn't immediately let go. Her grip remained firm, and she looked at him with a penetrating gaze that sent a shiver down his spine.

"Don't make me regret this," she warned, her voice low and serious.

Astarion swallowed, the gravity of her words sinking in. For a moment, he saw the depth of her trust in him, a trust he wasn't sure he deserved. He nodded, his usual smirk replaced by a rare expression of sincerity. "I won't," he promised, faintly surprised to realise he meant it.

Ishta hesitated for just a second longer before releasing the book into his hands. Astarion gazed down at it, excitement bubbling up within him. The possibilities this artifact held - power, knowledge, secrets - were all within his grasp now.

As he marveled at the tome, he noticed Shadowheart walking by out of the corner of his eye. On impulse, Astarion's lips curled into a mischievous grin, and before he could stop himself, he quipped a little too loudly, "Is this my reward for our wonderful night together?"

Shadowheart paused mid-step, her eyes flicking between Astarion and Ishta with a mixture of curiosity and judgment, before she carried on walking. Astarion felt the immediate sting of regret as he caught the look on Ishta's face - her jaw was set, her eyes narrowed, her entire stance radiating a cold anger.

Astarion's heart thudded painfully against his ribs. Oh, shit... this is it. She's really going to kill me this time.

Ishta took a step closer, her body tense, and he braced himself, half-expecting a fist to connect with his jaw. Instead, she stopped, inhaling sharply through her nose, and exhaled slowly. A muscle in her cheek twitched, but the tension began to ebb from her shoulders as she consciously unclenched her fists.

"Call it whatever you want," she said, her voice calm but still carrying an edge.

Astarion let out a small sigh of relief, his heart still pounding in his chest. He watched as Ishta turned away, his mind racing to think of something to say to salvage the situation.

Ishta paused mid-step and glanced back over her shoulder, her face softening, her eyes searching his for a moment. "Last night was... nice," she admitted, her voice quieter.

Astarion blinked in surprise, the tension draining from him in an instant. He stared at her for a heartbeat, then a slow grin spread across his face as he recalled the sound of her snoring. "It was certainly different," he agreed, unable to keep the amusement from his tone. Then, a flicker of hope sparked within him, and he added, "Perhaps we could... talk... like that again sometime?"

Ishta's expression remained unreadable, her eyes searching his face as if trying to gauge his sincerity. After a long, tense moment, she finally nodded, though her response was hesitant. "Maybe," she said slowly, as if testing the word on her tongue. Then, she shifted the subject abruptly. "In the meantime, how do you fancy joining me, Karlach, and Halsin on a Hag hunt?"

Astarion's smile widened, relief flooding through him at the change in topic. "A Hag hunt, you say? How could I possibly refuse such an intriguing offer?" he replied, his usual charm slipping back into place, though there was a genuine note of excitement in his voice.

Ishta's lips quirked up in a small, knowing smile, and without another word, she turned and began walking towards the edge of the camp. Astarion quickly stashed the tome in his tent and grabbed his crossbows, chasing after her eagerly and falling into step beside the others as they exited the grove together.

Gale stood at the edge of the camp, wrapped in a dressing gown, sipping his coffee with deliberate slowness as he eyed the motley crew before him. Four figures, bedraggled and coated in mud, blood, and substances he preferred not to speculate on, stood before him like a band of outlaws fresh from a battlefield - or a particularly messy tavern brawl.

Ishta, standing at the front, looked as though she'd taken a swim through a bog, her hair matted with a viscous green slime that dripped steadily onto her shoulders. Beside her, Astarion was completely covered in blood, a macabre grin splitting his face from ear to ear. They both wore expressions that could only be described as insufferably pleased with themselves, like children who had gotten away with something particularly naughty.

Gale's gaze moved to Karlach, who was similarly coated, though her mud had baked into a crusty shell over her armor. Ishta tapped on it curiously, and the resulting sound was sharp, like knocking against a ceramic plate.

With a tolerant sigh, Gale took another sip of his coffee before raising an eyebrow at Astarion. His tone was mild, but the glint in his eyes suggested genuine interest - or maybe just mild exasperation. "Is there a particular reason you are drenched in blood, Astarion, or is this just normal for Vampires?"

Astarion lifted his chin, running a hand casually through his blood-streaked hair as he flashed Gale a wicked smile. "Drenched? Oh no, not usually. That would be as gauche as pouring gravy over oneself..." He paused for effect, arching a brow with mock thoughtfulness. "Though I suppose there are some who might be into that."

Ishta cut in, still grinning, "Turns out Redcaps explode in a fountain of blood when you set them on fire." She tried to wipe some of the slime off her face, only to smear it further across her cheek.

"My bad." Karlach raised her hand sheepishly, though her eyes still sparkled with the thrill of the fight.

Halsin, standing a little to the side and looking marginally better off than the rest, attempted to bring some sense of order to the chaotic scene. "I enlisted their help in clearing out a threat to my grove - a Hag who had been masquerading as a potion seller right under my nose," he explained, his voice carrying annoyance.

Astarion, unable to resist, leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "So, we decided to pay her a little social call. She wasn't exactly thrilled. Didn't she mention something about ripping our spines out through our arseholes?"

Ishta tapped her chin, her eyes gleaming. "Yes, and sucking the marrow from our bones, if I recall correctly."

Astarion's grin widened, flashing his fangs. "So, naturally, we killed her."

Karlach nodded enthusiastically, "And rescued a pregnant woman called Mayrina. Hag was gonna eat her baby."

Gale's eyes widened, and he lowered his coffee down slowly. "I see..." His voice was carefully neutral, but his fingers tightened around the handle of the mug as if bracing for the next bit of madness.

Ishta's smile faded into a grimace. "Not that Mayrina was particularly grateful. She made a deal with the Hag to have her husband resurrected in exchange for the baby."

Gale's face drained of color. "She what?!"

Ishta nodded vigorously, her face a mix of incredulity and disgust. "I know, I had that same look on my face too, didn't I, Karlach?"

Karlach snorted, shaking her head. "It was a bit hard to tell by that point. Can't imagine how you even managed to see after getting hit with that slime bomb."

Ishta shrugged, unbothered by the sticky residue still clinging to her skin. "Anyway, long story short. We killed the Hag, freed some of her victims, battled a few Redcaps, and sent Mayrina on her way with her husband."

Gale blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he processed the information. "You... managed to resurrect the husband?"

Ishta and Astarion exchanged a glance, the corners of their mouths twitching with barely concealed amusement.

Astarion, his voice laced with sly innocence, responded, "In a manner of speaking."

Ishta couldn't suppress a smirk as she explained, "Astarion found a wand in the Hag's laboratory and used it on the corpse."

Astarion put on a show of protest, though his tone was far from convincing. "I was trying to do something nice for the poor girl!"

Ishta rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's Hag magic. You knew damn well it wouldn't be that simple."

Karlach, sensing Gale's growing confusion, added, "The wand brought him back as a ghoul."

Astarion shrugged, an impish smile playing on his lips. "Well, at least the happy couple were reunited. I think we did rather a good job today."

Ishta nodded in agreement. "All things considered, yes. I think we did."

A moment of silence fell over the group, the weight of the day's events settling in. Gale, who had been silently processing the bizarre tale, took another slow sip of his coffee, his expression unreadable.

After a long, contemplative moment, he spoke, his voice flat and utterly devoid of inflection. "I think... I'm going to go back to bed."

Without another word, Gale turned on his heel, coffee mug still in hand, and made his way back to his tent, leaving the rest of them standing in the aftermath of their adventure, still grinning, still alive, and still utterly ridiculous.

Ishta walked slowly, her bare feet sinking into the cool earth, the lingering dampness from the river clinging to her skin. The fresh scent of water and wild herbs still clung to her hair, her bath having finally washed away the stench of Hag slime that had seemed almost impossible to remove. Her muscles ached pleasantly, a reminder of the morning's exertions, but her mind felt clearer, lighter.

The forest around her was alive with the quiet sounds of insects and birds enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun, and the rustle of leaves as small creatures scurried through the underbrush.

As she neared the camp, she noticed a faint purple light flickering through the trees. It caught her attention immediately, and she slowed her pace, her senses sharpening. Peering through the foliage, she saw Astarion standing in a small clearing, the Thayan tome open in his hands. The pale purple light swirled around the pages like a living thing, casting eerie shadows on the ground.

Ishta's brow furrowed in concern. Astarion seemed unusually focused, his head tilted slightly as if he were listening intently to something only he could hear. She watched as his lips moved, forming words she couldn't quite catch at first. Her heart quickened with a sense of unease and she moved closer, careful not to make a sound, her steps barely disturbing the leaves beneath her feet.

"Come on, come on," Astarion's voice was taut with frustration. "What are you hiding? Can you summon the dead? Bring them back? Can you - ugh, can you shut up and let me read?"

Ishta took a cautious step closer, her instincts telling her that something was wrong. The way Astarion was speaking, the tension in his voice - it wasn't like him. She had seen him confident, arrogant, even desperate, but this was different.

Then, suddenly, Astarion's expression twisted into one of anger and alarm. His voice rose, sharp and edged with fear. "No, I won't kill them!"

A beat passed, and then, more thoughtfully, he added, "Well, maybe Gale..."

Ishta felt her heart skip, a nervous chuckle almost escaping her lips despite herself. But the levity was short-lived. Astarion's tone turned fierce, his voice trembling between fear and defiance. "I can't. I won't. Now - stop!"

The glow around the book seemed to intensify, the purple light growing more vibrant, swirling faster as if it was alive, wrapping around Astarion like ethereal chains. He struggled against it, his movements becoming more frantic as he tried to break free from whatever hold the tome had over him.

"Let. Me. Go!" he snarled through gritted teeth, slamming the book shut with a force that echoed in the quiet clearing. He stood there for a moment, panting slightly, his body trembling from the effort, before he slowly looked up and realized he wasn't alone. His eyes met Ishta's, and for a moment, he looked guilty, like a child caught stealing sweets. Then, with a strained smile, he raised his hand in a half-hearted wave.

"Ah... Hello," he greeted, trying and failing to sound casual, his voice still a little shaky.

Ishta couldn't help but smile at his clumsy attempt to appear nonchalant. She had never seen him look so awkward before, there was something almost... adorably silly about him in that moment. She decided to approach the situation with a bit of humor.

"Good book?" she asked, her tone laced with just a hint of sarcasm as she raised an eyebrow.

Astarion let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand as he tried to regain his usual composure. "A unique read, certainly," he replied, the tension in his voice easing slightly. "However, it would seem this book reads you more than you read it."

Ishta's smile faded as she caught the seriousness in his words. "What do you mean?"

Astarion's expression turned grave. "I mean it plays with your mind," he explained, his voice steady but tinged with frustration. "There are secrets here, but the book has spirits guarding it. They fight you every step of the way. I got deep into the pages before they drove me out. Almost drove me mad, really. Now every time I open it, the voices surge back into my mind. I can't reason with them - they exist solely to protect that book."

Alarm prickled at Ishta's senses. "Then stop reading the bloody thing!" she urged, her voice sharper than she'd intended.

Astarion's expression hardened, his grip tightening on the book. "No! There's something in here - I know it. Someone went through a lot of trouble to protect this tome. It has to be something more than a book of cantrips."

Ishta searched his face, trying to understand the desperation that drove him. "What are you hoping to find in there, anyway?" she asked, her voice softening with concern.

His eyes glinted with determination, a fierce, almost desperate light. "It's a book of necromancy, full of secrets about controlling the dead, returning them to life, and who knows what else. Whatever's in here might give me an edge over Cazador. Or free me from him entirely. Although..." He paused, his frustration growing again. "I can't make any progress as long as those spirits remember their mission. It seems to be all they know."

Ishta bit her lip, her mind racing as she considered his words. She could see the drive in his eyes, the determination to break free from the chains of his past, but there was a risk here that she couldn't ignore. She was starting to regret her decision to give him the tome. It hadn't even crossed her mind that it would be magically protected, assuming that the locking gem was the only barrier to uncovering it's secrets.

"I wouldn't pin all my hopes on that thing if I were you," she cautioned. "Thayan necromancers aren't exactly known for relinquishing control of their creations. You're just as likely to wind up bound to something else."

Astarion seemed to mull that over, his gaze flicking to the book and then back to her. "I hadn't thought of that..." he admitted, his tone more subdued. Then, a hint of his usual mischief returned as he smirked. "Still, if nothing else, maybe I can beat Cazador to death with it."

Ishta couldn't help but laugh, the tension between them finally breaking. "It's certainly heavy enough for that," she quipped, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'll hold him while you hit?"

Astarion grinned, the dark humor easing some of the weight on his shoulders. "Deal," he agreed, his voice lighter. "I think I'll give this one a break for now." He set the Thayan tome down on a nearby rock, his hands lingering on its cover for a moment longer than necessary, before straightening up and facing Ishta.

She noticed his fists tighten, and could see the conflict written all over his face, the subtle twitch of his jaw as if he was trying to force himself to speak. His eyes flicked away, avoiding her gaze, as though the ground might hold the answers he needed.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost hesitant, as if he were forcing the words out against his better judgment. "While you're here, there's something you might be able to... help me with."

Ishta noted the way he struggled with the word "help," like it tasted bitter on his tongue. She waited, giving him space to find his footing. He took a steadying breath, eyes still averted.

"I've been trying to trace the scars on my back with my fingers, trying to read them by touch," he continued, sounding frustrated with himself, "but I can't. They might as well be written in Rashemi."

He hesitated, looking at her as if hoping she'd take the hint, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. His discomfort was palpable, but Ishta could sense the plea behind his words.

"So... I was wondering if maybe - perhaps - you might be able to..." His voice trailed off, and he seemed to shrink into himself, as if the very act of asking for help was more painful than any physical injury.

Ishta decided to spare him the need to ask outright. "Hold on a moment, wait here," she said quickly and turned, sprinting back toward the camp.

As she made her way to her tent, she could feel a sense of urgency rising within her. She ducked inside, rummaging through her belongings with swift, precise movements, scattering papers across the ground in her haste. When she finally found what she was looking for, she grabbed it, nearly tearing the paper in her grip, and dashed back toward Astarion.

When Ishta reached the clearing again, she slowed, taking in the sight of him sitting on a boulder, his arms wrapped around himself, head bowed low. He looked... defeated. She realized she'd left him there with no explanation, and her heart sank a little. As she approached, he glanced up, his face carefully neutral, though she caught a flicker of hurt in his eyes.

She offered him a small smile and held out a folded sheet of paper. "I wasn't sure if you'd ever want to see them," she said, her voice tinged with apology. "But I did this just in case."

Astarion took the paper with a curious expression, unfolding it slowly. His eyes widened when he saw the charcoal drawing - symbols, dark and sharp, sketched across the page in careful detail.

"Is this...?" he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, his fingers tracing the lines.

Ishta nodded, watching his face closely. "Yes, the infernal runes on your back. I couldn't stop thinking about them after our conversation the other day, so I drew them, thinking I could get them translated. I didn't want to do it without your permission, though... but I didn't know how to bring it up again."

Astarion stared at the paper, his eyes moving over the symbols, his hands trembling slightly as he held it. "What in the hells... What did he do to me?" he muttered, a mix of anger and confusion coloring his tone.

Ishta moved closer, sitting down beside him on the boulder, her shoulder brushing his lightly. She looked at the drawing too, her brow furrowing in thought. "Do you have any idea what it says?"

Astarion shook his head, his voice taut with frustration. "I have absolutely no idea. But it's no poem."

He was quiet for a moment, then whispered, almost to himself, "Two centuries carrying this, and I can finally see it."

Ishta glanced sideways at him, her heart tightening at the pain in his voice. "Did you ever see Cazador write in Infernal before?" she asked gently.

Astarion shook his head again. "No. I might've missed it, but I doubt it. Cazador was only figuratively hellish - there were never any devils hanging about the crypt. Whatever he's left carved in my flesh, it's a mystery to me.

Ishta stood up, an idea forming in her head. "Maybe Karlach can read it?"

Astarion's reaction was immediate, his hand shooting out to grab her arm. "No! No, let's keep this between ourselves. At least until we know what it means." His grip was tight, and she felt the tremor in his fingers before he glanced at his hand and quickly released her.

"When Cazador first carved this on me, I didn't fight back," he confessed, his voice barely more than a whisper, his eyes fixed on the drawing. "I couldn't. I just... knelt there as it happened to me."

Ishta sat back down, her movements calm and careful. She didn't say anything, just waited, her presence a quiet reassurance.

Astarion continued, his tone shifting to something firmer, more determined. "But now that I'm free, now that I have a choice, I'll do whatever it takes to fight back. I'll pay any price to undo what he did to me."

His fingers clenched around the paper, almost tearing it, and Ishta could see the fierce determination in his eyes, mingling with fear and anger. He seemed to come back to the present all at once, his eyes focusing on her, and he released the paper with a shuddering breath.

"Thank you, by the way," he said, his tone softer now. "This is... well, it's something."

Ishta gave a small shrug, trying to lighten the mood. "Don't mention it."

Astarion's lips quirked into a wry smile, the hint of his usual mischief returning. "Given the subject matter, I probably won't."

Ishta chuckled softly, the sound like a small crack in the tension that had been coiling around them. For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, their shoulders almost brushing as they both absorbed this newfound knowledge. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, the soft rustling of leaves and the distant chirp of birds the only sounds in the otherwise still afternoon.

Suddenly, the peace was shattered by a booming voice that tore through the quiet like a clap of thunder.

"ISHTA! THERE'S A DOG HERE TO SEE YOU!"

Both Ishta and Astarion nearly jumped out of their skins, their hands flying to their weapons on instinct. Ishta's heart pounded in her chest, and she shot a quick look at Astarion, who had paled even more than usual.

"Dear gods!" he gasped, placing a hand over his heart as if trying to steady it. "Is it possible for a Vampire to have a heart attack? Because I think I just had one."

Ishta grinned, the shock already fading into amusement. "Karlach's got a good set of lungs on her, that's for sure," she replied, still catching her breath.

Astarion raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical as the rest of Karlach's words registered. "Did she say dog?"

Ishta's eyes lit up with recognition, and without another word, she got to her feet and began making her way back to the camp. Astarion, not wanting to be left behind, quickly snatched up the Thayan tome and followed, muttering to himself about "blasted interruptions".

As they neared the camp, the sight that greeted them was almost comical. Karlach, Halsin, and a few others were gathered in a loose circle around a large, white, long-haired dog, who was wagging his tail enthusiastically. The dog's coat was matted with dirt and leaves, but his eyes were bright and full of life.

Karlach was practically bouncing on her heels as she spotted Ishta approaching. "Halsin said the dog said, that you said he could join our camp?"

Ishta knelt down beside the dog, her face softening into a warm smile. "Hello, Scratch," she greeted, her voice gentle as she reached out to ruffle his fur. The dog eagerly licked her hand in response, his tail wagging even faster. "I'm glad you decided to join us after all."

Astarion folded his arms, eyeing the dog with a mix of wariness and disdain. "Scratch? Oh no... no, no, no. We are not adopting strays. You already have that loathsome Raven of yours. Adding more pets is just asking for trouble."

Karlach shot him a playful glare. "But it's a pup! A doggo. Man's best friend. Argh, I wish I could pet him! Astarion, pet him for me."

Astarion recoiled slightly, as if the very idea was offensive. "What? Absolutely not."

Karlach turned her hopeful eyes to Ishta. "Ishta, pet him for me."

Ishta couldn't help but laugh at Karlach's enthusiasm. "I'm already on it," she replied, her fingers weaving through Scratch's thick white fur.

"I found him the other day beside his... fallen master," she explained, her tone turning somber for a moment. "He wouldn't leave him at the time, but I offered him a spot by the fire if he needed a place to call home for a while."

Karlach's grin widened, her joy almost childlike. "Yes! He stays. End of discussion." She turned a mock-serious glare on Astarion. "That means you too, Fangs... oh, and no snacking on him."

Astarion rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice as he replied, "Perish the thought..."

Ishta couldn't help but smile at the exchange, the light-heartedness of it a welcome relief. As the group began to disperse, she knelt down beside Scratch, placing a hand gently on his head, feeling the warmth and life beneath his fur. She focused, letting her thoughts flow out in a calm, soothing rhythm, reaching for that delicate thread that connected her mind to the dog's.

"Welcome, boy. I'm glad you decided to join us. I'm so sorry about your master."

Scratch's voice came to her mind, soft and sincere, like a familiar warmth on a cold day. "Master, friend... I stayed with him until... until I knew he was gone. I'll never forget him, but I'm glad to have met you."

Ishta's heart clenched at his simple, honest words. "So am I, Scratch. So am I." She paused for a moment, considering, before glancing up and spotting Astarion moving toward his tent, the Thayan tome cradled in his hands, his expression already distant as he prepared to lose himself in whatever dark secrets lay within its pages.

"I have a job for you, Scratch."

The dog's ears perked up, tail thumping against the ground in anticipation. "A job? I can do that. What is it?"

Ishta's gaze followed Astarion, her eyes softening with a mix of concern and determination. "You see that elf over there?" she directed gently. "I want you to try and make friends with him."

Scratch's head tilted slightly, his bright eyes focused on Astarion. "Does he not have any friends?"

Ishta's smile faltered for a second, and she sighed. "He does, but I don't think he realizes that yet." Her eyes flicked back to Astarion, who was now settling down, his fingers tracing the edges of the tome almost absently, his face lost in thought. "He might pretend to not to like you at first, but keep being nice to him. Be patient. I think he needs a friend like you more than he knows."

Scratch gave a little bark of agreement, his tail wagging faster. "I will. You can count on me!"

Ishta ruffled his fur, her smile widening. "Good boy," she murmured.

Astarion collapsed to the ground, his body convulsing as violent coughs racked his chest. He gasped for air, his throat seared by the black smoke that clung to his lungs. His vision swam with tears, and he beat his chest with desperate fists, trying to dislodge the thick fumes. For the life of him, he couldn't understand what had possessed him to rush into a burning building with Ishta. He was smarter than that. Or at least, he had been.

His mind whirled back to the moments leading up to this - how they had left the Emerald Grove just three days ago, heading towards the mountain pass, and stumbled upon a group of Zentharim mercenaries under attack by gnolls. Of course, being the gallant, righteous do-gooder she was, Ishta had insisted on helping them.

After saving their necks, one of the mercenaries had given them the location of their base of operations: the inn, Waukeen's Rest. It was supposed to be a simple detour for supplies, but when they arrived, the inn was engulfed in flames, with armoured soldiers scrambling to douse the inferno.

While the rest helped with controlling the fire, Ishta and Karlach hadn't hesitated for a second, rushing straight into the blaze to help the trapped civilians. And before Astarion had even considered how utterly foolish it was, he had gone in with them.

Between them, they'd managed to save several of the trapped residents, but the smoke had thickened, growing more noxious with each passing second as they tried to make their way back out.

And now here he was, choking, his lungs burning like the inferno they had just escaped. His only consolation was that Ishta looked to be in as much discomfort as he was, bent over with tears streaming down her soot-streaked face, hacking like a dying sheep.

Wyll's voice pulled him out of his misery. "I thought you said you didn't need to breathe?"

Wyll's confusion was almost comical, and Astarion couldn't help the bitter laugh that tore itself from his throat, though it came out more like a strangled cough.

Astarion straightened up, still wheezing, his lungs clawing for fresh air. His face flushed with irritation as he snapped, "Of course I bloody breathe!" His voice was hoarse, raspy. "Even a godsdamned tree breathes, you gullible imbecile." He inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh air, his chest rising and falling with each gulp.

"It just won't kill him if he stops breathing," Ishta croaked, holding her throat and swallowing furiously. She straightened up and faced Wyll, her voice steadier as she explained. "Vampires can hold their breath for an impressively long time, but eventually they will pass out. But instead of dying, they go into - I suppose you could call it a form of hibernation, until they wake up again."

She promptly doubled over coughing again, having used up all her clean air to speak. Halsin patted her on the back and silently handed her a small healing potion with a look of patient tolerance on his face.

"True Vampires can stay conscious far longer than Spawn," Astarion added acerbically. "In case you were wondering where the damn myth came from."

He shivered involuntarily, a chill running down his spine as a dark thought crept into his mind. "It makes the prospect of drowning especially terrifying."

Wyll's eyes widened as he took a deep, shaky breath. He reached for his shoulder, rubbing it absentmindedly as if trying to comfort himself. "I'm sure it does. I can only imagine the agony... And then to wake up just to drown all over again."

Astarion's haunted gaze met Wyll's, and for a moment, his usual bravado slipped away. "I don't have to imagine it," he said quietly, the words almost too soft to be heard over the crackling remains of the fire. "Cazador could be very... creative when he wanted to be."

The others turned to him, their expressions a mixture of shock and dismay. Even Karlach's usual boisterous energy had faltered as she stared at him, sympathy creasing her brow. Astarion hunched his shoulders, shrinking under their pity, his fingers twitching as if to ward off the weight of their concern. Pity was worse than anything. He didn't want it. Didn't need it.

But then he caught Ishta's gaze, and in her eyes, he saw something different. Not pity, but a burning cold rage. A promise. She clenched her jaw, her eyes steady and unwavering. She didn't say a word, but Astarion had the feeling that if Cazador were to suddenly appear in front of them, she would tear him limb from limb in a heartbeat.

He forced a small, tight smile, needing to break the tension, to divert the conversation away from the dark, vulnerable place he'd just revealed. "Anyway," he said, his voice lighter, though the effort of casualness felt like dragging himself through mud, "who was the finely dressed individual you were talking to earlier?"

Wyll seemed just as relieved by the change in subject, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Her name is Councillor Florrick," he explained, though a note of tension still lingered in his voice. "She's an aide to... my father. Duke Ravengard."

Astarion raised an eyebrow, his usual wit sliding back into place. "You're from nobility? I would never have guessed."

Wyll sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "The circumstance of my birth is no matter of pride, neither for me nor my father. But pride is no reason to refuse help to my own flesh and blood. Ishta," he turned to her, his voice gaining a sense of urgency, "Drow attacked this place and took my father prisoner. We need to find him."

Before Ishta could respond, Shadowheart approached, her usual calm and detached demeanor in place. "I've already questioned one of the dead Drow. They were planning to take him to Moonrise Towers."

Astarion let out a low, amused chuckle. "Well, that's a handy coincidence, isn't it?"

Ishta shot him a glare, her hand reaching out to rest on Wyll's shoulder. "Don't worry," she said, her voice steady and reassuring. "It's highly likely they intend to keep him alive. A tadpoled noble of Baldur's Gate is a valuable asset."

Wyll nodded, though his expression remained tense, worry etched across his features. "Then we know our mission. All roads converge at Moonrise Towers."

Astarion allowed himself a grim smile. "Indeed," he muttered, glancing up at the sky as if to mock the inevitability of it all. "All roads do seem to lead there, don't they?"

The sun had dipped below the horizon hours ago, leaving the camp bathed in the soft, flickering glow of torchlight, by the time Ishta returned from an unsuccessful hunt in the forest. The weight of the day still clung to her, but not unpleasantly. There was a quiet satisfaction in her exhaustion.

After helping the survivors from the fire at Waukeen's Rest, she and Karlach had ventured to the Zhentarim hideout. Between them, they had bartered skillfully, using humor and just the right amount of menace to secure, not only a cache of supplies and a few high-quality weapons, but the freedom of a kidnapped artist by the name of Oskar Fevras.

The man had looked bewildered, almost broken, by his ordeal, and it had taken every ounce of her patience not to draw her blades and deal with his captors then and there. Buying his freedom had been the only option, but the bitterness of the transaction still lingered on her tongue.

At least Karlach had been thrilled with their purchases. The towering Tiefling had quite literally glowed when she'd been handed her new crossbow, a heavy, beautifully crafted piece of work curiously named Harold. Ishta hadn't pressed for an explanation; after watching the sheer destructive force it unleashed, she decided it was best not to argue with the weapon's peculiar identity crisis.

Her thoughts scattered as she spotted Astarion reclining on a pile of mismatched cushions just outside his tent, his body draped casually like a lounging cat. A book was nestled in his hands and he seemed oblivious to the world around him, thoroughly engrossed in its pages. It wasn't the ominous Thayan tome, she noticed with relief. Instead, it appeared to be a more ordinary volume, one she had seen him perusing once or twice before.

His expression, usually one of smug amusement or well-crafted indifference, was relaxed - serene, even. Every now and then, his lips would twitch into a quiet smile, a genuine one, one that seemed utterly unguarded, free from the usual artifice and sarcasm. At other times, he would lean in closer to the book, his expression shifting from amused to intense, his lips moving slightly as if he were silently mouthing the words.

He looked... young.

Astarion always carried himself with the kind of guardedness that spoke of years - centuries - of survival, manipulation, and pain. But in this moment, he seemed almost boyish. Ishta felt an infinite sorrow twist in her heart at the rare glimpse of the person he might have been, before Cazador's cruelty had twisted his life into something unrecognizable.

Suddenly, Astarion's expression shifted, a spark of intrigue in his eyes as a thought seemed to take hold. He glanced up, his gaze flicking toward her tent. There was a furtiveness in his movements as he closed the book and glanced around the camp, ensuring no one was watching. Ishta's curiosity sharpened as she watched him rise to his feet, his movements fluid and graceful, like a shadow slipping through the night.

She followed him at a distance, her footsteps light and soundless on the soft earth. Astarion made his way to her tent, pausing just outside it. He knelt down beside the rack where her scimitars were carefully placed, his pale fingers hovering over the blades before he reached out to pick one up.

Ishta's breath caught as she watched him cautiously handle her weapons - mindful not to touch the Darksilver itself - his eyes closely examining the surface of each. His brows furrowed slightly, disappointment flickering across his face when he apparently didn't find whatever it was he was looking for. He let out a quiet sigh, almost imperceptible in the night air, as he returned the scimitars to their place and then rose, walking back to his tent.

Ishta's mind raced with questions. What had he been searching for? What did he expect to find in her weapons? She plucked a long stalk of grass from the ground, twirling it between her fingers as an idea formed. A mischievous grin tugged at her lips as she quietly followed him back to his tent, moving as silently as a shadow.

Slowly, she crept closer, her steps light as a whisper. Astarion, fully engrossed in his book once more, didn't notice her approach. She could see the way his eyes darted across the lines, the slight furrow in his brow as he absorbed the words. Without a sound, she reached out and flicked the stalk of grass over his ear.

Astarion's hand shot up, brushing the irritation away with a distracted flick, his eyes never leaving the page. Ishta stifled a laugh, her smile widening as she flicked the grass again, this time letting it dance lightly over the back of his neck. He swatted at it again, more forcefully this time, a small frown creasing his forehead as he muttered something under his breath.

But Ishta wasn't done. She flicked the grass once more, this time letting it trail down the side of his face. Astarion's patience finally snapped, and he cursed, swatting at the air with a sharp motion. "Damnable insect-"

He whipped around, ready to confront whatever was bothering him, and froze when he saw Ishta crouched there, grinning like a mischievous child caught in the act. For a moment, Astarion just stared at her, his eyes wide with surprise. Then his expression twisted into one of irritation as she lightly brushed the stalk of grass over his nose, her grin only growing wider.

"How old are you?" he demanded, his voice laced with exasperation as he glared at her.

Ishta rose and walked round to sit in front of him, still grinning. She crossed her legs and gave a nonchalant shrug. "One hundred eighty-seven, why?"

Astarion's eyes narrowed, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he responded, "I find that hard to believe. Clearly, Xindites mature at a much slower rate than other elves. I can think of no other explanation for your childish behavior."

Ishta chuckled softly. "It's a possibility," she said, her tone teasing. "We're encouraged to enjoy childhood for as long as possible, given that the first Xindites had none to speak of. My mother forbade me to pick up even a toy sword until I was at least fifteen."

Astarion raised an eyebrow, his irritation giving way to a curious smirk. "Why do I get the feeling you were a disobedient child?"

Ishta's grin turned sly, a spark dancing in her eyes. "Never to her face."

Astarion shook his head, clearly amused despite himself, and turned back to his book, though his attention seemed divided now. He cast her the occasional glance, as if expecting her to pull another trick. But something in his expression softened, the irritation ebbing away as he relaxed once more.

After a few moments, he looked up at her again. "Those scimitars of yours... do they have names?" he asked, his tone casual, though there was an edge of something deeper behind the question.

Ishta tilted her head, catching the subtle shift in his demeanor. "Names? You mean like dramatic titles to strike fear into my enemies?"

She saw the flicker of defensiveness in his eyes, and he quickly looked back down at the book, his voice dismissive. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."

Ishta studied him for a moment, noting the way he seemed to close off, retreating behind his usual walls. She softened her tone, leaning forward slightly. "What are you reading?"

"Nothing important," Astarion replied quickly, too quickly, his tone almost brushing her off.

Ishta's curiosity deepened, the way Astarion clutched that book like a lifeline piquing something within her. She couldn't resist pushing a little further. "I've never seen anyone quite so engrossed in 'nothing important,'" she remarked, her voice carrying a light, teasing note.

Astarion's eyes flicked up, a flash of irritation crossing his features. Before he could react further, Ishta reached out and, with a quick motion, playfully snatched the book from his hands. She held it just out of his reach, her grin widening. "Let me see..."

Astarion's reaction was immediate and intense. He rose and lunged for the book, a sharp, almost panicked edge to his voice. "Give it back now!" The words came out more forceful than either of them expected.

Ishta froze, the smile slipping from her face as she registered the raw urgency in his eyes. The air between them thickened, tension rippling like a taut bowstring. His hands, which had been relaxed only a moment ago, were now balled into tight fists at his sides.

The sudden change in him caught her completely off guard. She hadn't meant to touch a nerve, hadn't meant to stir whatever darkness lay behind those eyes. Her heart skipped a beat, and she immediately softened her posture, slowly extending the book back toward him, her movements deliberate and careful, as if trying not to spook a skittish animal.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice low and filled with genuine regret. "I didn't mean to-"

Astarion snatched the book back, but his grip was gentler now. The anger seemed to drain from him as quickly as it had flared, leaving behind something else - embarrassment, perhaps, or maybe shame. He glanced away, avoiding her gaze, his shoulders tensing as though he was curling into himself. "I didn't have many of my own possessions," he murmured, his voice almost lost beneath the crackle of the nearby fire. "And any I did have could be taken away at any point. Either by Cazador or my 'siblings.' So I apologize if I'm a little... possessive."

Ishta tilted her head slightly, her expression softening as she sensed the vulnerability in his words. "Siblings?" she asked gently, not wanting to push too hard but needing to understand. "You mean other spawn like you? How many of you were there?"

Astarion hesitated, his eyes flicking to her face for a moment, gauging her sincerity. His lips tightened, and for a second she thought he might retreat back into his usual defenses. But then he spoke, his voice carrying a bitterness that felt like a blade's edge. "Cazador sired seven spawn - me and my six 'brothers and sisters.' He always insisted we were a family... even when he was carving scars into our flesh. I was one of his first; some of the others came years later."

His voice trailed off, his gaze becoming distant, as if he were looking into a past that still held him in its cruel grasp. Ishta noticed the way his hands trembled slightly as they gripped the book, the knuckles white. She waited, sensing there was more he needed to say.

"He was a monster to us all," Astarion continued, his tone growing more bitter, the words like poison on his tongue. "But he did take special pleasure in my pain. Said my screams sounded sweetest." He let out a hollow, humorless chuckle, but there was no mirth in his eyes. "And now that I'm gone... I don't know. I pity the other six..."

Ishta watched as he spoke, seeing the way he was starting to withdraw into himself again, the lines of his face tightening, his eyes darkening. A part of her wanted to reach out, to say something comforting, but she knew better than to try to soothe a wound that deep with empty words.

Instead, she opted for a different approach, her voice a mixture of sadness and a touch of amusement. "I swear, nearly every conversation I have with you leaves me wanting to give you a hug..."

Astarion looked up at that, one eyebrow arching in surprise. His lips quirked into a half-smile, though there was a wary look in his eyes. "Oh?"

Ishta grinned, leaning back a bit, her expression teasing. "But then I remind myself that you'd probably stab me if I tried, so I think better of it."

A genuine smile broke through on Astarion's face, small but there, like a crack in a mask. "Most likely," he agreed.

He opened his book again, his eyes dropping back to the pages, though his focus seemed distant, distracted. Ishta, feeling the conversation winding down, started to rise, ready to leave him to his reading when she heard him mumble something under his breath. "Or I might not..."

She glanced at him, surprised by the quiet admission. He was still looking down, his eyes following the lines of text but not truly reading. After a moment, he hesitantly looked up, meeting her gaze. There was something in his eyes - an openness - that she hadn't seen before.

They stared at each other for a few heartbeats, neither of them speaking, the night sounds of the camp filling the silence between them. Then, as if suddenly aware of himself, Astarion shifted uncomfortably, his gaze breaking away. He cleared his throat, diving back into his book, though she could see his hands were twitching slightly.

Ishta's lips curled into a soft smile. She stood up, brushing off her trousers, feeling a warmth in her chest that hadn't been there moments before. As she turned to leave, she paused, looking back over her shoulder. "Tooth and Claw," she said casually.

Astarion's eyes flicked up, curiosity sparking in them. "Pardon?"

"My scimitars," Ishta explained, her smile widening. "I once read the phrase 'they fought with tooth and claw,' and I thought it would be funny to name any blades I owned that."

Astarion smirked, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he returned to his reading. "That's ridiculous."

Ishta shrugged, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "No more ridiculous than Icingdeath and Twinkle."

Astarion's head snapped up, his gaze locking onto hers, a mixture of suspicion and a faint trace of hope in his eyes.

"You're not the only admirer of Drizzt around here," she continued, winking. "There's a reason I chose to dual-wield scimitars and not short-swords."

For a moment, Astarion simply stared at her, and then, slowly, a genuine smile spread across his lips. He didn't say anything, just nodded, a silent acknowledgment of shared understanding. Ishta gave him a small, knowing smile, returning his nod before turning away, leaving him to his book and his thoughts.

Astarion's voice suddenly rang out behind her. "Oh, and tell that blasted dog to stop bringing me dead squirrels..."

Ishta nearly tripped as she burst out laughing, the sound echoing softly out into the peacful, starlit night.