“But a fight would be more fun,” she decided. While the raiders continued their bickering, Rose signaled the party to move in.

The small group outside was wiped out before they could warn the rest of the raiders within. Rose picked the lock to the massive doors while Shadowheart shot down a hanging pillar. It shattered the ground, breaking into a room below the stone. Lae’zel descended into the room with Gale behind her. The other three slipped through the doors and made quick work of the bandits who tried to investigate the commotion. When quiet fell around them, the group investigated their surroundings. Gale lit the torches and candles that lined the walls, making it easier to see what they were dealing with. Lae’zel continued the role she previously took on by looting the bodies of the bandits for anything valuable. The rest of the group used their time to look through the other rooms. Rose wanted to see what the bandits had stashed away in the room they dropped a pillar through.It was likely they used that room to rest in, considering the beds that lined the walls-- but there was always a chance that someone had something valuable stashed away. 

‘Rags. Rotted food. Disheveled clothes. Nothing.’  

With a tired sigh, she closed the wardrobe door. Sudden movement caught the edge of her vision. Instinctively, she wielded her blade to attack, pivoting to face her would-be assailant. Yellow eyes stared her down with murderous intent. Their blade was gripped like a pro, ready to strike. Every little move, right down to her breathing, matched exactly-- Hells, it was a mirror . Moments away from attacking her literal reflection, Rose ran a hand down her face and stowed her weapon. But once the ridiculousness of the moment subsided, she approached the vanity. Somewhere along losing her memories, she couldn't exactly remember her own face. The sense of familiarity brought about comfort. She ran her fingers through her dark purple hair so it looked less wild and more neatly draped over her shoulders. Scars crossed her face and neck, with no memory on how they got there, but somehow she knew they were newer. On her neck, an ornate design of a blooming rose was drawn into her skin. Perhaps she was right about her name. It was the best guess she had, might as well run with it. She only turned away when she heard the door creak open behind her, the pale elf crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway. Rose quickly adjusted her face from concentration, to that of feigned surprise. The elf’s smirk grew, as if he had caught her off guard. 

"I love adoring my reflection as much as the next person," Astarion teased from the doorway. "but I doubt Lae'zel will be as understanding if we take our sweet time."

"How could I resist, when I look this good?" She remarked with a smirk, dramatically flipping her hair behind her shoulder, "This room seems to be clear, by the way."

"Oh good, made sure there weren't any traps in the mirror?"

"Exactly!" She nudged him playfully as she slipped past him, "You're welcome."

It wasn’t long before Shadowheart had found a lever that opened the crypt’s entrance, allowing them to descend further and find themselves in an atrium of sorts. This was it! She knew the crypt’s treasures would not come easily to them, so the rest of the afternoon was spent cautiously investigating each door, tomb, and tile. Astarion was a good second set of eyes, helping to point out traps that needed disarming and tombs that were protected with more than a simple lid. The only trap they did not fully anticipate was one that animated the dead to fight them. Thankfully, Shadowheart had enough energy to handle most of them. Whatever lied in the secret tomb, must had been what those raiders were searching for.

Rose cautiously approached the sarcophagu, carefully scanning the room for any hidden wire or plate. When all seemed clear, she reached for the lid. Before her hand could make contact, it slipped open and a skeleton floated out. Everyone reached for their weapons, preparing for another fight. The skeletal figure, who wore gold upon his face, assessed the group before him but made no move to attack. His eyes stopped on Rose, examining. Her eyes narrowed threateningly. But, somewhere in the pit of her caution, she felt a sort of...familiarity towards the stranger. Though, not a comforting sense. Something about him stoked a fire within her, a desire to thrust a dagger into the golden circle on his brow. 

"So he has spoken," he began, casually strolling up to her, "and so thou standeth before me. Right, as always. What a curious way to awaken." 

The others looked to Rose. Just as uncertain about the potential threat as she was.

 "Now, I have a question for thee," the undead continued. Rose fought back the urge to throw him into his tomb and rip his bony limbs from their sockets, "What is the worth of a single mortal's life?"

"That's one hell of a question," she growled.

This had to be a test of sorts, right? One last riddle before even more riches could be revealed to them? For a moment she considered an answer that the figure would want to hear, something noble like 'all mortals are priceless' or other such nonsense. But to her, a mortal's life felt nothing more than a plaything for her to enjoy until it broke. This answer didn’t sit well with her either-- in fact, she was a bit taken aback by it. Her brows furrowed. The feeling of disgust she was becoming well acquainted with came up again. Seems like she was conflicted about what her heart and mind wanted. Even more conflicted about which one she thought was the real her. He stared at her patiently, expectantly.

"I don't know," she finally answered, "I think it..." She paused, slowly coming into agreement with her answer as she spoke it, "That would depend on how each mortal lives. Their deeds and what consequences those bear."

He hummed with understanding, but of what she couldn’t tell. Just as abruptly as he appeared, he introduced himself as Withers and left the room without a care for Rose’s threatening stance. She heard him muttering about seeing the state of this place and would meet with us at their camp later. Seeing as they would make camp in the crypt tonight, she expected to be seeing more Withers soon.

The collapsed wall gave them access to running water in the subterranean crypt. The whole party was thankful for a chance to wash the blood and grime off them after their day. Not too far from the collapsed wall, they saw a ladder leading up to a hatch. It was perfect for the few who were creeped out enough by their skeletal ward to desire sleeping under the stars.  Thankfully, the raiders left enough bedrolls and basic camping supplies for them to take. Gale took charge of the camp’s dinner arrangements, making a meal of the fish that Lae’zel gathered along the coast.

"Rest quickly," Lae'zel commanded, standing by the campfire circle, "we don't have time to idle about whole ghaik parasites reside in our skulls."

"At the rate you want us to go," Shadowheart rolled her eyes, "we'd succumb to exhaustion before any transformation could take place."

"Based on what I've read," Gale interjected after he passed cooked fish to the group, "if we were going to transform, it'd happen by now."

Rose listened to the conversation, nodding briefly to Gale as thanks for the meal. But his latest point gave her pause. She looked between the wizard and their illithid expert.

"Lae'zel?" Rose looked at her, expecting an answer. Lae'zel's face scrunched slightly, as if her scowl could also offer an inkling hesitation.

"...Yes," She finally admitted, "usually it starts with memory loss and fever."

"Well it would have been more than a fever by now!" Gale sounded eager to have enough expertise to contribute.

"Don't look so excited , Gale." Shadowheart teased. At this point, Astarion no longer sat quietly. He leaned towards the conversation with amusement written all over his face.

"If the wizard wants to give us a demonstration of our fates, we should let him," he added.

Much to Lae'zel's displeasure, banter and jokes resumed among the group. Rose listened quietly as she chewed through the fish dinner. While everyone distracted themselves over dinner, she pondered her memory loss. She clung to any straw she could find to convince herself that she was not already transforming, like maybe shcould  hit her head while she was stuck in her pod.

When the exhaustion of the day finally called people to their bedrolls, Rose and Astarion remained by the fire.

“Get some rest, Astarion.” Rose commented, “We’ll need to be fresh tomorrow.”

“I’m in no place to rest yet,” he scoffed, “Today has been a lot. I need some time to think things through, to process.” He watched her as she stoked the flames, letting the silence befall them for a few moments. 

She maintained the silence, determined to keep her sights fixated on anything but the man across from her. She caught him glancing at her during the rest of dinner, it made her uneasy. His crimson eyes could burn a hole into the top of her head.

“Rose,” he finally spoke. She didn't look up. “Didn’t you say you had gaps in your memories?”

“Did I?”

"Don't tell me you forgot that too," his tone was playful, but she was in no mood for games. She glared up at him, as if that would deter his prying, "Well, at least you remember how to fight, so no harm done I suppose?"

"Yeah. At least my instincts seem intact," she humored him, but softly to herself she added "for better or worse..."

"Yes I noticed, swift and soft-stepped. Maybe you were a thief in your past life?"

"And what about you?" With this segue, she tried to calm down and keep the mood light. When Astarion's face faltered, she wondered if she already failed her objective.

"What about me?" 

She eyed him carefully. She already asked the question, trying to shrug it off could make him stress more. She'd try to tread carefully.

"I only saw you casting cantrips," she circled her hand to mimic the motion of a somatic component, "you grabbed a blade, but hardly used it today. If you don't know how to fight, just say so and you can watch over camp while we travel."

Astarion's jaw dropped and his hand went right to his chest. Not anger, no. Offended? Yes, he was. Absolutely and dramatically so. 

"I am perfectly capable of defending myself, darling " he answered defensively, "I just didn't see the need to over exert myself over a bunch of bandits, is all."

Her eyes narrowed at him as she ran through the events of the day. For all his charm and confidence, she could tell he was holding something back.

"Okay, then I hope to see more the next time we get in a scuffle. But if there's anything you need to be more prepared in battle, just say the word." She offered sincerely. His mock offended expression did not relent, but he glanced away as if to consider it.

"'Say the word'-- just like that?" Astarion's also narrowed, cautiously. Rose nodded. "I--" he hesitated.

'I knew it.' She though smugly to herself. But she kept her face calm, feeling that a smirk would cause him to backpedal.

"Now that you mention it, there is something..." His eyes shifted across the ground, "I'm not like Gale. But I can pull on more powerful magic. It's just instead of a book I need, well, an instrument."

"An...instrument?" She repeated back slowly. Ah, that's right-- she remembered the view of a hand playing the violin in a crowded tavern. She remembered seeing callouses on his hands, but presumed it had more to do with his ability to disarm traps and pick locks, "You're a bard?"

"Ugh, no," Astarion's face twisted in disgust again, "bard sounds so amateur. I'm a musician. An artiste ."

"Of course, of course," she smirked, "an artiste. And what do you play?"

"Instruments with much more elegance than a lute, for starters.  While I'm skilled at the piano, it's hardly reasonable for travel. If I'm going to callous my fingers on strings, I'd prefer a Lyre, or Violin. But this grove we're going to-- knowing how druids are, I can get by with a flute."

"Lyre, Violin, or Flute." She nodded, before a lengthy yawn came up on her. "Got it."

“I’m still not quite ready to turn in yet,” Astarion regained his signature smirk, “You sleep, I’ll keep watch.”

Rose nodded with appreciation, and bid him a good night before she unfurled her bedroll in a dark corner. Like Astarion, she had a lot on her mind. Questions about who she was kept her awake. Tiny bits and pieces returned to her, but she still struggled to sort out where they were from. Violent yearnings became a common thread, overwhelming the other thoughts. Still, she tried to narrow down the possibilities. Being a human yielded little insight-- there were plenty of those to go about. Maybe Astarion was right about being a thief; she seemed to be a friend of daggers. She didn't feel satisfied with this answer either. Perhaps once they cure themselves of their tadpole problem, she'll remember who she was. 

Well, she could dream, at least.