"How dare she speak to me like that! Who does she think she is, ordering me around like some errant child?!"
Astarion's blood boiled as he stormed down the winding path, his boots grinding against the gravel in sharp, punctuated steps. The underdark's damp, alien air pressed against him like a suffocating cloak, thick with the earthy scent of decay and distant fungal blooms.
A poorly placed kick sent a bulbous mushroom tumbling. When it struck a nearby stalagmite, it burst in a puff of spores. Astarion froze mid-step, instinctively drawing his hand to his face as he scrutinized the dispersing cloud. Was it poisonous? Explosive? His lips curled in disdain as he retreated a few steps, the cloying scent of mildew invading his senses.
Ridiculous place, he thought, brushing invisible dust from his trousers. Even the fungi conspired to humiliate him.
This world was suffocating, its endless twilight and grotesque flora gnawing at the edges of his patience ever since Halsin had led the party down into it's depths.
The absence of sunlight left him jittery, his skin aching for its long-lost caress, and the paltry offerings of subterranean prey were a far cry from the sweet vitality of surface blood. He resented the Underdark for what it was: a realm of constant hunger and danger, too much like the gilded prison of Cazador's estate.
Their recent company - a Myconid colony that reeked of decay and sanctimony - had provided no solace. The fungal creatures had given them permission to camp on the outskirts of their territory, but their constant, passive scrutiny rankled him.
And then there was Ishta.
She infuriated him. Her serene confidence, her reckless altruism - it set his teeth on edge. What kind of fool threw themselves into danger for every passing stranger?
He clenched his fists, his sharp nails pressing against his palms in an attempt to ground himself. But his anger wasn't solely about her audacity. It was the maddening calm with which she risked herself, time and again, as if her life were expendable. And worse - much worse - was the way it churned his insides, how every reckless choice she made sent his stomach plummeting into some unseen abyss.
The day's absurdity still rankled. They'd nearly all been blown to pieces rescuing a mushroom forager, another one of Ishta's bleeding-heart endeavors. He'd snapped at her afterward, frustrated and shaken, but it hadn't mattered. She'd only smiled, a serene acceptance in her eyes that made him feel unsteady.
Her calm voice echoed in his mind, a ghost of their earlier confrontation. "No one leaves the camp alone," she'd said, the steel beneath her softness a direct challenge to his independence. She'd caught him sneaking off, her presence like a blade in the dark, and her reprimand about the dangers of this unfamiliar world had hit harder than he cared to admit.
Astarion kicked at another fungus - this one mercifully inert - and cursed under his breath. "I've taken enough orders from Cazador to last an eternity," he spat, his voice rising as though she could hear him even now. "I didn't escape that cursed life just to be shackled to some self-righteous bitch with a hero complex!"
He'd tried to argue, naturally. His hunting was his own business, and he wasn't some helpless waif in need of her constant oversight. But no, she'd insisted, even offering to accompany him as if he were incapable of fending for himself. He couldn't stand it - the way her proximity clouded his mind, made him forget himself. He hated it. He hated her. He hated how utterly untrue that last thought was.
Astarion's steps slowed as he caught a new scent in the damp, stale air. His nostrils flared, the tang of blood and musk unmistakable. He froze, his predatory instincts sharpening instantly. A Minotaur. He'd recognize that stench anywhere - raw and bestial, strength made flesh. His fingers brushed the hilt of his sabre, his irritation momentarily eclipsed by a rush of adrenaline.
The memory of their last battle with such a creature surfaced. The ruins outside the hidden underground portion of the Selunite temple, where they'd fought three of these hulking beasts and barely emerged unscathed.
A slow, feral smile curved his lips. Perhaps this was the distraction he needed - a chance to remind himself of his own strength, his independence. He crept forward, his footfalls silent against the damp earth.
The anger still simmered within him, but now it was edged with anticipation. The hunt would clear his mind, if only for a while. And if not… well, at least the Minotaur would make a better outlet for his frustration than another defenseless mushroom.
After several minutes, Astarion found himself in a strange alien landscape. Towering mushroom trees dominated his vision, their enormous caps spreading out like natural umbrellas, casting intricate shadows on the ground below.
Their stalks, thick and gnarled, twisted upwards, their surfaces covered in luminescent fungi that pulsed with a soft, bluish light. Some of these mushroom trees reached up hundreds of feet, their tops disappearing into the darkness above, while others formed natural archways and tunnels, their glowing tendrils draping down like ethereal curtains.
It was amongst these towering structures that Astarion picked up a trail, leading further into the depths of a stone forest made from twisting limestone stalagmites and basalt pillars.
Curiously, he followed a beaten-down path and smiled in satisfaction when he spied the tell-tale hoofprints of his intended quarry. The tracks were fresh, and following them led him to a cliff face that loomed imposingly in the gloom, a vertical wall of stone that seemed insurmountable, its smooth expanse broken only by the occasional ledge.
Scanning his eyes along the bottom of it, Astarion's eyes gleamed when he noticed a cave entrance; a yawning, shadowy maw that seemed to beckon with an air of mystery, its depths obscured by the darkness within. Slowly and deliberately slinking towards it, he paused a moment and crouched in the shadows outside the cave mouth, listening intently. Upon hearing nothing alarming, he stealthily crept inside.
Moving cautiously through a winding tunnel, Astarion soon found himself in a small cavern. Despite its size, the cavern had an almost magical quality. The walls were adorned with patches of luminescent fungi, casting a gentle, ethereal glow that illuminated the space in shades of soft yellow and orange. This natural light revealed intricate patterns and textures in the rock, where time and nature had etched their stories.
One wall was pockmarked with hundreds of tiny holes, from which glowing insects occasionally emerged and flew around to feed on miniscule white flowers that grew in the cracks and crevices of the caverns ceiling. The ground beneath his feet was damp and covered in patches of moss, potentially hazardous terrain if he needed to move quickly.
He kept a wary eye out for any signs of movement, his senses heightened, every sound and shadow a potential threat. His Vampiric eyes could pierce the darkness, but the oppressive weight of this new and strange subterranean world always felt like a tangible force pressing down on him.
Suddenly, a deep, rumbling growl echoed through the cavern, freezing Astarion in his tracks. He turned slowly, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sabre, his heart pounding in his chest. From the shadows emerged a hulking figure - a Minotaur, its massive frame filling the tunnel entrance it stood in, horns gleaming menacingly in the dim light.
The beast roared, the sound reverberating through the cavern, and charged with terrifying speed seemingly impossible from a creature of this size. Astarion barely had time to react, diving to the side as the Minotaur's enormous axe cleaved the air where he had just been standing. He rolled to his feet, both sabre and dagger ready, his eyes locked onto the monsters enraged gaze.
The Minotaur swung its axe again, and Astarion darted forward, slashing at the beast's exposed flank. The blade bit into flesh, drawing a bellow of pain and fury from the creature. But the Minotaur was relentless, its massive arm lashing out and catching Astarion with a backhanded blow that sent him crashing into a cavern wall.
Stars exploded in Astarion's vision as he struggled to regain his footing. The Minotaur advanced, its hooves thundering against the stone floor, the axe raised for a killing blow. With a desperate lunge, Astarion rolled beneath the swinging blade, coming up behind the beast and driving his dagger into its back. Grunting, it spun around and swiped at Astarion with its massive hand, catching him across the chest and sending him sprawling once more.
Pain surged through Astarion's body, but he forced himself to his feet, his breaths ragged and shallow. He couldn't afford to let this brute overpower him. He had to outmanoeuvre it, use his speed and agility to his advantage. As the Minotaur charged again, Astarion leaped to the side, his sabre flashing out to slice at the creature's legs. It stumbled for a moment, its momentum carrying it forward and causing it to crash into the pockmarked wall.
The impact sent a shudder through the cavern, and a cloud of glowing insects swarmed out from their burrows and over the Minotaur, causing it to shake it's head in irritation. Astarion seized the opportunity, launching himself at the distracted Minotaur and driving his dagger into its neck. It bellowed in pain but swatted him away like he was nothing more than one of the insects, sending him crashing yet again into hard stone.
"Just die already!" Astarion snarled as he launched himself at the beast once more, the red haze of bloodlust falling over his eyes.
This time, when the Minotaur charged, Astarion was ready. He nimbly sidestepped the gleaming horns and plunged his dagger into the creature's eye all the way up to the hilt as its head swept past him. The roar of pain the Minotaur let out swiftly turned into a moaning wheeze as its massive bulk swayed and then collapsed to the ground.
Astarion stood over the fallen body, his chest heaving and his eyes dancing. Bathed in the light of the insect swarm and feeling a flush of victory, he threw back his head and laughed in relief and triumph. Ha! Too dangerous out here indeed. He wished Ishta could have been here to see him - he would have loved nothing more than to crow over her and show off his kill.
"You see that, Ishta? I did this without your help, you infuriating little wretch!" he yelled out into the dark, to no one in particular.
Kneeling down to enjoy the fruits of his labour, Astarion suddenly became aware of a faint trembling in the ground around him. A low rumble reached his ears, and he looked up from the Minotaur's neck. That doesn't sound good, he thought nervously, just as the rumble increased into a deafening roar.
The Minotaur's impact into the insect burrows had triggered a collapse. Rocks and debris began to rain down from the ceiling, and Astarion's eyes widened in horror as he realized the entire cavern was shaking. He leapt to his feet and sprinted forward, trying to escape the falling debris, but it was too late. A massive boulder crashed down in front of him, blocking his path, and another struck him from behind, driving him to the ground.
He tried to scramble to his feet, but the rocks kept coming, a relentless cascade of stone and earth burying him. He cried out in fear, but his cries were cut short when something impacted his head and he fell backwards as the light around him faded into an all-enveloping black.
When Astarion opened his eyes again, the darkness was overwhelming. For a moment, it felt as though he was drowning in an abyss, the air thick and suffocating around him.
He coughed, the taste of earth filling his mouth - gritty, dry, and choking. Shifting slightly, he winced as sharp, searing pain shot through both his legs, now pinned beneath something unbearably heavy. His eyes strained to adapt to the dim light despite his innate ability to see even in pitch blackness, but it didn't take long for him to understand why.
He was lying on his back, encased in a prison of rocks and fallen rubble. Directly above him, mere inches from his face, loomed the dark grey shape of a stone ceiling.
Reaching up with trembling hands, he touched the cold, unyielding surface, an icy chill settling deep in his heart. The stone felt merciless and final, like the touch of death itself.
"No," he whispered, the word barely escaping his lips, filled with dread and disbelief. Moving his hands to each side, Astarion began to feel his immediate surroundings, his fingers tracing over the rough, hard surfaces.
Everywhere his hands reached, they encountered walls of stone and dirt, a claustrophobic confirmation of his dire situation. The chill in his heart spread like ice crystals through his veins, the full reality striking him like a dagger to the chest. He had been buried alive.
Panic surged within him, rising like an unstoppable tide, as haunting visions of his previous entombment flashed before his eyes. The walls of his earthy prison seemed to close in, the darkness growing thicker, almost tangible.
Frantically, he began to twist and squirm, desperate to free his legs. Each movement sent waves of excruciating pain through his body, but he couldn't stop. The instinct to survive overpowered everything else. Sweat mingled with the dirt on his face, stinging his eyes, but he barely noticed. His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, each one a fight against the crushing terror threatening to consume him.
In a moment of pure desperation, Astarion cried out into the oppressive darkness, "Help! Please, is anyone out there?"
His voice echoed back to him, swallowed by the silence and the deafening drumbeat of his own heart. The hollow void around him seemed to mock his pleas. Just like the last time, there was no one around to save him.
His thoughts turned inward, a spiral of fear and helplessness. Reaching up again, he began to claw at the rock above him, each stroke growing more frantic as his fingers scraped against the jagged stone. Memories of the callous laughter of Cazador filled his mind, the Vampire Lord's voice dripping with malice as Astarion had begged for mercy. He could hear that mocking laughter now, echoing through his imagination, a cruel reminder of his past torment.
The tomb that had been his punishment for disobeying his master now seemed to blend with this new prison, the lines between past and present blurring. His fingers, raw and bloody, continued to claw at the unyielding stone, each desperate attempt to escape only deepening his sense of hopelessness.
"No - No - NO!"
The final word was a scream, raw, primal, and full of endless despair. Closing his eyes, Astarion started to sob and curse, striking out with his fists against the hard stone, slamming his upper body from side to side, ignoring the pain as sharp pieces of rubble dug into his flesh. Each blow against the unyielding rock sent jolts of agony through his battered body, but he didn't care. He had to break free, had to escape this suffocating tomb.
Several minutes passed as he continued to writhe and throw himself around before he eventually lay still, panting and shaking in exhaustion. He was trapped, alone in the darkness, with only the echoes of his own misery for company.
But then, amidst the crushing despair, a single thought pierced through the darkness.
Ishta.
The memory of her face, her bright, golden eyes filled with determination, flickered like a beacon in his mind. Ishta, the one person who had shown him true kindness, who had believed in him when no one else did. She was out there, somewhere, and she would be looking for him when he didn't return.
The thought brought with it a surge of hope. All he needed to do was be patient and calmly wait for her to come and find him. That's what she did - she helped people.
Then a small voice whispered in his mind, Why would she want to come and find you?
The last time Astarion had seen Ishta, he had scornfully dismissed her concerns that it was too dangerous for him to go out alone and angrily sworn at her when she had ordered him to stay in camp.
He remembered the look on her face when he had snarled and spat out that he didn't need anyone's help, that he was only traveling with her group out of sheer convenience. That if she insisted on stopping every five minutes to rush off and risk her life to save every gods-damned fool who bleated for help, then he would be better off finding a cure on his own.
Astarion laughed bitterly at the irony - now he was the fool bleating for help. Except this time he feared he may have finally pushed the limits of Ishta's tolerance with his constant complaining and disapproval of the way she did things. What if she truly believed he meant to strike out on his own? Would she even be surprised when he didn't return to camp the following morning?
A new wave of panic washed over him at the thought that she might just decide to carry on with the others to the Grymforge and then into the Shadowlands, without him. He would be trapped down here, starving in the dark - entombed for all eternity.
Astarion began frantically pawing at the rock above him again, scraping his hands and fingers till they started to drip blood onto his face. The warm, crimson droplets mingled with the tears that were streaming from his eyes as he lay sobbing uncontrollably.
His heart ached with a raw, unrelenting pain, each beat a reminder of his desperation and isolation. The oppressive weight of the earth around him felt like a grave, a final resting place that he was doomed to inhabit forever.
A whispered prayer fell from his lips and echoed out in the darkness.
"Ishta…please…help me."
Ishta paced back and forth while six pairs of eyes occasionally watched her by the faint glow of the evening campfire. Astarion still hadn't returned after he'd stormed out of camp several hours ago, and his continued absence was starting to worry her slightly. More than just slightly if she was being honest.
"Sit down and enjoy the meal, I'm sure he just lost track of time while out hunting," Shadowheart called out.
Ishta glanced over at her companions, who were seated around the crackling fire. The light from the flames illuminated their faces, casting a warm, inviting glow on each of their features, weary from the day's travel but softened by the camaraderie of shared stories and laughter.
The small grotto they had set up camp in, just outside of the boundaries of the Myconid colony, was a welcome haven from the gloomy and slightly sinister atmosphere of the surrounding landscape. The walls of the grotto were adorned with bioluminescent fungi and plants that provided a soft, comforting spectrum of colours. The air was cool and damp, carrying the earthy scent of moss, and the faint, metallic tang of mineral-rich water trickling from unseen springs.
Ishta sighed heavily and walked over to sit on a flat rock beside Karlach, careful not to get too close to the Tiefling's faintly glowing body. She accepted a plate of roasted meat and some unidentifiable vegetable from Gale, who assured her it was perfectly edible. She began to eat absent-mindedly, her thoughts far away.
"Shadowheart is right," Wyll spoke up, breaking the silence. "You know how he is when he gets on the trail of something interesting. Like a bloodhound… emphasis on the blood part."
Ishta managed a faint smile, the weight of worry evident on her face. "I know. I'm the same when I'm tracking down a target or scouting," she admitted, her voice tinged with concern. "But Astarion has a tendency to be reckless, especially when he's riled up. Maybe I went too far by ordering him to stay in camp? I know he hates feeling like he's being controlled."
"Hey, don't beat yourself up about that, soldier," Karlach said softly, her tone friendly and warm. "You were just looking out for him. The Underdark is different and way more dangerous than anywhere else he's been so far. He was being unreasonable, and you made a judgment call. It's not your fault if he's a stubborn little shit."
Ishta laughed, a brief, genuine sound, and grinned at Karlach. "I know, I know. He can be a pain in the ass sometimes—"
Shadowheart scoffed derisively, "Only sometimes?"
Shaking her head good-naturedly at the Cleric's jab, Ishta sighed again, this time with a touch of amusement. "He has plenty of good moments too - though maybe I see more of them than you guys do," she reflected, glancing thoughtfully at her companions.
"Well, you do tend take him with you a lot on your scouting expeditions," Gale observed, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I expect he's less… flamboyant when it's just the two of you alone together." There was a slight trace of jealousy in his voice that Ishta didn't fail to pick up on.
"That's only because he knows I'm likely to punch him in the gut if he starts flirting with me or acting like a prissy toff while I'm trying to focus," Ishta grinned. Her smile faded as she lowered her head, her expression turning pensive. "It's just, I feel like he's been in a permanently bad mood ever since the crèche. He's been short-tempered and more sarcastic than usual, and I don't know why."
"Don't you?"
The question came from Halsin's direction, his deep voice carrying a gentle note of curiosity. Ishta looked up at him with some confusion. "Should I?"
Halsin and Karlach exchanged a meaningful look that Ishta couldn't quite interpret. Karlach's usually playful tone turned serious. "Ishta, you died when that Sun Lance went off. Astarion was the one who triggered it with those sticky fingers of his, but you're the one who paid the price. I don't think he's really gotten over that yet."
"Withers brought me back in time, so I don't see why he's still upset about it," Ishta said, waving her hand dismissively. "I told Astarion it was all good, that I forgave him for being an insufferable kleptomaniac. Besides, Shadowheart got a nice new shiny Morningstar out of it, and we managed to stop most of the crèche from being destroyed. In the end, there wasn't that much of a price to pay - except my pride," she chuckled, though her laughter sounded hollow even to her own ears.
Halsin and Karlach exchanged another look, their expressions unreadable, causing even Shadowheart and Gale to shift uncomfortably. Ishta, sensing the tension and growing more frustrated by the second, finally voiced her confusion. "Okay, what am I missing here?" she wondered aloud, her tone laced with irritation.
Karlach's eyes softened as she looked at Ishta, her concern palpable. "Your death hit us all pretty hard," she began, her voice gentle but edged with lingering pain. "I know you were only dead for, like, half an hour before we got back to camp, but Astarion blamed himself the whole time. You should have seen the look on his face while we waited for Withers to finish the spell. I thought he was gonna strangle the guy for taking so long over it." She chuckled at the memory, a faint smile playing on her lips, though her eyes still held a shadow of that day's events.
Slowly, the pieces fell into place in Ishta's mind. She groaned aloud, a mix of realization and exasperation. "He's been angry at himself this whole time, hasn't he? And taking out his anger on us," she added with a rueful smile, the weight of the revelation settling on her.
Halsin hesitated, his thoughtful expression deepening the lines on his forehead. Finally, he nodded, his voice measured and gentle. "That would be part of it, yes," he affirmed, each word carefully chosen to ease her understanding without adding to her burden.
Ishta detected something in Halsin's tone that both piqued her interest and reignited her irritation. There was clearly more he wanted to say, but was avoiding. She felt a surge of impatience, her frustration bubbling up.
Setting her half-eaten meal aside, Ishta stood up and looked Halsin in the eye, her gaze unwavering. "Walk with me," she said firmly, her voice brooking no argument. She nodded towards the grotto entrance, the unspoken command clear.
Halsin bowed his head in acknowledgment and rose to follow Ishta. His huge frame towered over hers as they walked side by side away from the rest of the group.
The sound of their footsteps echoed softly as they meandered through the grotto, the ambient light casting dancing shadows on the walls. As they approached the path leading out to the Myconid colony, Ishta glanced at Halsin, her frustration simmering beneath the surface. She sighed deeply before demanding, "All right, out with it. What are you so reluctant to say in front of the others?"
Halsin chuckled softly, a fondness in his gaze that did little to ease her irritation. "This may only be my personal opinion," he began, his eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and sincerity, "but I believe Astarion is not just angry at himself for endangering your life, but at you for risking - and losing - your life to save the crèche. An anger that a few of the others share, I might add. The anger born from fear, fear of losing someone they have come to care about."
Ishta was silent as she digested Halsin's words, her mind racing as she absentmindedly tugged at her hair and bit her lip slightly.
When Halsin spoke again, his tone was gentle. "I believe that Astarion has attached himself to you. The… affliction you both share may have something to do with it, but I suspect it has more to do with the patience and compassion you have shown him. These are the qualities I have always greatly admired in you, Ishta, for as long as I've known you. I'm sure I speak for the others when I say that it is these qualities that have endeared you to them too… except for Lae'zel perhaps," he added, a hint of humor in his eyes.
Ishta felt her cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. "I don't treat him any differently than the rest of you," she mumbled, her voice barely audible, her eyes cast downward.
Halsin smiled at her discomfort, his eyes warm and understanding. "And that may be the very reason for his attachment to you. It is precisely because you treat him with equal kindness and respect - you don't look down on him or condemn him for his nature. Given Astarion's past experiences… well, take it from someone who knows, experiencing true empathy and kindness after knowing nothing but selfishness and cruelty for so long can be as refreshing as spring wine after a barren winter, and just as intoxicating."
"You make him sound like he's a lost puppy or something, grateful for a scrap of meat," Ishta frowned, her irritation resurfacing, not entirely sure why the image it conjured upset and angered her.
"Yet is that not what you all are?" Halsin asked gently, his voice filled with quiet wisdom. "Lost strays and waifs, from all walks of life, each with your own unique pasts? You have gathered them together and protect them like a mother wolf protects her cubs. It may be that some of your cubs have more scars than others, and thus cling to you more closely."
Despite herself, Ishta laughed, the tension easing from her shoulders. "Karlach has to be the biggest and most energetic pup I've ever seen," she remarked, a genuine smile lighting up her face.
"Indeed she is, and as fearsome a protector as you," Halsin agreed, his eyes sparkling with shared amusement.
Ishta smiled warmly up at the gentle giant before her, and placed her hand on his arm, her voice filled with a mixture of admiration and wistful melancholy. "I've missed your wisdom, old friend. You always see things in a way that I can't."
Halsin softly placed his hand on Ishta's shoulder, his touch gentle yet reassuring. "No, you see the same things I do. You just lack the experience to interpret what you see, which comes from spending time with people. You have lived most of your life in solitude, always on the move, always chasing after your prey in whatever form it takes. You strive to help the world whilst at the same time keeping it at arm's length."
He tilted his head, his voice taking on a probing and slightly reproving tone. "Would I be wrong if I were to guess this is the longest span of time that you have spent with a group or individual in the past century?"
Ishta frowned and looked away, her shoulders tensing for a moment before she relaxed and admitted, "No, you wouldn't be wrong. I've led soldiers into battle and joined adventurers on expeditions, but I never really hung around them for long. I never formed any kind of close bond with anyone… aside from you, anyway."
She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, a playful glint returning to her gaze. "But that doesn't count because you were a bear half the time. I still haven't forgiven you for not letting on you were in Wild Shape for all those months." She grinned, poking him in the ribs.
Halsin's laugh was rich and deep as he humorously flinched away from her prodding. The sound resonated through the high rocky spires and pillars, mingling with the rustling leaves of alien-looking plants and the distant calls of unknown creatures.
"It was an honour to be your Ranger's Companion, and I enjoyed my time with you a great deal. It seemed only fair, considering you lost your previous companion while fighting with me against those Orc hunters." His eyes sparkled with mirth, and for a moment, the weight of their conversation lifted, replaced by the warmth of shared memories.
Ishta's expression softened as she allowed herself to reminisce. "Those were tough times," she admitted, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "But having you by my side made it bearable - pun fully intended, by the way. You were more than just a companion. You were my friend. Even more so when you revealed what you really were… at least after the shock had worn off."
Halsin smiled and reached out to place a hand on her shoulder again, his touch gentle yet reassuring. "Whether you and Astarion realize it or not, you have formed a similar bond. One that perhaps runs a little deeper than that which you enjoy with the others in your company. I have noticed how relaxed and unguarded he is around you, compared to how he behaves around the rest of your companions. The pair of you are alike in many ways," he observed with a smile, his eyes studying her intently.
Ishta scowled and crossed her arms defensively, the sudden shift in her posture betraying her irritation. "You mean us bloodsuckers stick together?" she snapped, her eyes flashing angrily, a storm brewing in their depths.
Halsin shook his head, his expression patient and understanding. "That is not what I meant, Ishta, and you know it. You share a similar history - both victims of immeasurable cruelty. You have learned to keep the world at a distance, while still holding onto a sense of curiosity and a desire to discover the new and exciting things it can offer you."
His expression turned wry as he added, "And you both share a wild and devious streak when it comes to following rules. To look at the two of you sometimes, I would think you truly were siblings, childishly urging each other on to cause some new kind of mischief."
As Halsin spoke, Ishta's defensive stance gradually relaxed. Listening to his words, her face softened into a sheepish smile. She felt a stab of guilt for snapping at him, realizing that his observations came from a place of genuine care.
With a playful smile, she cocked her head at him. "Will I be as wise as you, Papa Bear, when I grow up?" Her tone was mischievous, but there was an undercurrent of earnestness in her question, her eyes searching his for reassurance.
Halsin chuckled tolerantly at the nickname she had given him when he had been her companion. "Wisdom comes with experience and reflection, Ishta. You've already come a long way, and I have no doubt that you will continue to grow and learn. Just remember to stay true to the light in your heart, and accept the shadows that come along with it, just as you have accepted the shadows that lay in all of us."
His voice was warm and encouraging, his words a balm to her restless spirit. They also added to the resolve in her mind about a decision she had been mulling over.
"If he's not back by morning - or whatever passes for morning down here - then I'm going out to look for him. I don't care how long it takes, or how pissed he is at me, I'm not leaving him behind," Ishta declared, her eyes flashing with determination.
Moving silently through the twisted spires and stems of the mushroom forest, her steps light and purposeful, Ishta hunted for Astarion. Her sharp eyes scanned the rocky terrain, seeking any signs of a trail. The various bioluminescent flora cast an eerie glow, illuminating her path with a ghostly light.
She had set out after Karlach had relieved her at third watch, driven by the gnawing worry deep in her bones. It wasn't unusual for him to stay out late sometimes when he was hunting, but by her reckoning, Astarion had been absent from camp for nearly eight hours. He had stormed out mid-afternoon, and now it was well into the early hours of the morning.
Initially, Ishta had wondered if he had made good on his threat to leave the camp and strike out on his own, but all his belongings were still in his tent - all the little trinkets and luxuries he'd managed to beg, borrow, and mainly steal. She knew he wouldn't have left them behind if he could help it. No, something else must have kept him from returning, and that worried her even more.
Her keen senses soon picked up the subtle signs of his passage - disturbed patches of moss, a faint footprint in the soft earth, and a broken mushroom stalk. Each clue led her deeper into the unfamiliar terrain, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. The chill in the air seemed to seep into her bones, amplifying her anxiety.
She knew Astarion's pride and stubbornness well, but the Underdark was no place for anyone to wander alone, let alone someone who had only ever known the walls of a city for over two centuries.
As she rounded a bend, Ishta spotted a faint path leading towards a line of sheer cliffs. The sight of large hoofprints and the light impressions of Astarion's tracks made her breath catch in her throat, and she quickened her pace, following the trail with a growing sense of urgency. Surely he wouldn't have tried to hunt down a Minotaur on his own? Ishta shook her head as she already knew the answer to that - of course he would.
The trail led her into a cave, and Ishta drew her scimitars, mindful of what might be lurking inside. The cold steel felt reassuring in her hands. She carefully made her way down the winding tunnel, her footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls.
Emerging from the passageway, Ishta found herself in a small, open cavern bathed in an eerie, yellow glow. The air was filled with the soft hum of glowing insects, their wings creating a gentle, hypnotic melody. They looked agitated as if something had recently disturbed them, and Ishta's eyes darted around the cavern, seeking any sign of Astarion.
Her gaze was drawn to the far side of the cavern, where a series of massive boulders lay scattered, as if recently dislodged. Among the debris, she spotted a glimmer of something familiar - Astarion's dagger, partially buried under the rubble.
Sheathing her weapons, her heart skipped a beat as she rushed over and picked up the blade, noting the blood on it. She looked around frantically. All of Astarion's tracks led into this cave and to this pile of rubble and nowhere else.
Her hands trembling, Ishta knelt down and began to move the smaller rocks and debris. "Astarion!" she called out urgently, her voice echoing through the cavern. "Can you hear me?" There was no response, but she refused to give up.
Closing her eyes, she focused inward and searched for the connection she shared with her companions through the tadpoles they all carried.
The faintest echo of Astarion's mind reached her, and she could sense that he was somewhere nearby. Ishta breathed a sigh of relief - at least she knew he was still alive.
With renewed urgency, she began to dig through the rubble, her fingers scraping against the rough stone. Sweat mingled with the dust in the air on her face, her muscles straining with the effort as she slowly started to carve a path through the debris.
After what seemed like an eternity, her hand broke through into a hollow space and she reached her arm in and felt around. The tips of her fingers brushed against something soft, and her heart leapt as she recognized the feel of woven fabric and the give of flesh and muscle beneath her touch.
Pulling her arm back out, Ishta leaned forward and peered through the gap in the rocks. In the dim light, she could just make out the dark profile of someone lying amongst the rubble and felt a surge of elation when her eyes fell upon the familiar mop of silver hair.
"Astarion! I'm here. Don't worry, I'll get you out of here," she called out, her voice filled with relief.
Worryingly, Astarion didn't respond to her voice. He simply lay there, his eyes staring up at the stone slab above him, his breathing painfully slow and shallow.
"Astarion? Astarion! Look at me," she urged, her voice trembling with concern.
Slowly, he turned his head and looked in her direction, and Ishta felt her heart freeze as she looked into his vacant eyes, devoid of life or recognition. She realized that she was staring into the face of someone who had completely shut down.
With a deep dread in her stomach, Ishta attacked the piled stones and earth with renewed energy, using Astarion's dagger to prise and chip away at the small gap, trying to enlarge it so she could reach in further.
Soon there was an opening large enough to get her shoulders through, and she quickly unbuckled and removed her leather pauldrons, tossing them aside as she forced herself into the fissure.
Ignoring the pain as sharp pieces of stone cut into her arms through the material of her sleeves, she twisted and wriggled her way through the gap, straining to reach the practically catatonic man. Her hands closed around his shoulder, and she gently shook him, wary of any injuries he might have.
"Astarion, please, I need you to hear me," she urgently pleaded, reaching out and stroking his cheek. Her voice was filled with desperation, each word a prayer thrown into the abyss.
Her touch finally seemed to spark something in his eyes as they slowly focused on her, and his cracked lips opened slightly. The sound that came from them was barely more than a whisper, like a faint ghost of a breeze through dry leaves as he uttered her name.
"Ishta?"
Closing her eyes and breathing sharply at the weakness and pain in his voice, she gently reassured him. "I'm here. It's alright, everything will be alright now," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. She brushed a strand of hair from his face, her touch tender and comforting.
There was the sound of movement among the dirt and gravel, and Ishta saw his hand weakly lift from the ground and reach up to touch her face. His fingers felt slick and wet, and she could smell the heavy metallic scent of blood - his blood - on them. He looked as if he could hardly believe she was real, the hand on her face shaking.
"You came… you came looking for me," he whispered, his voice a fragile thread of disbelief.
Reaching up with her other hand, she laid it over his and nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. She choked back a sob as she felt his hand grip hers, as if he was seeking a lifeline in the overwhelming chaos. "Of course I did, you idiot. You're my friend. I would never leave you behind," she smiled softly at him.
The light in Astarion's eyes started to grow brighter as he fully roused himself, his movements tentative and strained. "My legs are trapped, I can't move them. Please, you have to get me out of here," he begged, his voice tinged with desperation and fear.
"Don't worry, I will. I just need to figure out a way to get all this debris off you without causing another landslide," Ishta assured him, though doubt gnawed at her heart, knowing the enormity of the task ahead.
She started to wriggle backward but halted when she realized Astarion wasn't letting go of her hand. He clung to it as if it were his only anchor to reality, his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that conveyed his profound fear of abandonment. He looked as if he were afraid she would vanish like the dawn mist at sunrise if he moved his gaze even a fraction.
"Astarion, I need you to let go of my hand. I have to get a proper look at this cave-in, and I can't do that while I'm under here with you," she said gently, her voice soothing but firm.
He looked at her hand, his grip tightening for a moment before he reluctantly released her, his fingers peeling away with a sticky sensation that made Ishta wince inwardly. She caught a glimpse of the mangled state of his hands, the blood and grime a testament to his struggles to escape. How long had he been down here, trapped and alone?
Backing out from underneath the rubble, Ishta stood and carefully picked her way over fallen rocks and crushed vegetation. Her eyes darted over the mound of debris, taking in every angle, every precariously balanced stone.
The majority of the rubble seemed to have narrowly missed Astarion, but the boulders immediately surrounding him made her stomach churn. She forced herself to breathe steadily, fighting back images of what could have happened if one of those massive stones had struck him directly.
Looking closely, he appeared to be trapped beneath a large, partially flat slice of granite, suspended precariously by a jumble of smaller rocks. Any wrong move could send the whole structure crashing down.
With a sinking heart, Ishta realized that freeing Astarion was beyond her strength alone. She needed the combined help of her companions back at camp - Karlach's and Halsin's muscles, maybe even Gale's magic. The thought of leaving him here, even for a moment, filled her with a deep sense of unease.
Kneeling back down by the gap in the rocks, she called out to him. "I can't free you by myself. I'm not strong enough to lift these rocks off you alone. I need Karlach, Halsin and the others to help me dig you out. I'll be back as quickly as I can, just hold on till then."
"What? No! Please, don't leave me alone here!"
The raw panic in Astarion's voice pierced her heart, sending waves of emotion crashing over her. She scrambled back through the fissure, her urgency driven by the sounds of his breathing turning into choking gasps.
His face was a mask of pure fear, his chest heaving with the rapid, shallow breaths that told Ishta he was hyperventilating. She hated to think how fast his heart was beating and prayed that there were no open wounds anywhere on his body.
Reaching out, Astarion clutched blindly at her arms, his grip frantic and desperate. An icy dread settled in Ishta's heart as she realized he was on the verge of a complete breakdown. His earlier state of emotional withdrawal and physical shutdown hinted at a fear much deeper than she had initially understood.
Taking his face between her hands, Ishta forced him to look at her, her gaze steady and unwavering. "Astarion, focus and listen to me. I. Am. Not. Leaving. You. Alone. I just need to go get help. I will be right back, I promise. You have to trust me."
She felt his breath hitch, his eyes searching hers for any sign of deceit. The intensity of his fear was palpable, a living thing that threatened to consume them both. Ishta's heart ached with the weight of his suffering, but she held her resolve. "I will come back for you, Astarion. I swear it. Just hold on a little longer."
"Please don't go…"