I like my men fictional

"I hope you die screaming" were the last words Astarion said to his companions. He never imagined they'd come true.

Six months later, drowning in guilt and armed with a stolen Wish spell, he tries to bring them back. Instead, he wakes up at his own funeral in a world he doesn't recognise where everyone he lost is alive, and the woman he loved and abandoned is calling him "partner."

You were acting………weird. 

And not your usual, endearing brand of weird. 

No, something was definitely off. And Astarion couldn’t put his finger on it. 

Ever since your romp in the Temple of Shar - a temple that turned out to be a lot more significant to your journey than either of you had originally thought, apologies to Shadowheart - the two of you had been closer than ever. 

“Fangs is in love!” Karlach had lovingly pulled you two into a humongous hug immediately after Dammon had cooled her engine. 

“Put me DOWN!” Astarion had all but shouted, causing a few Harpers in the area to turn and stare. “You’re going to squeeze me to death!”

You laughed, reaching your hand out to interlace your fingers with his. “You’ve died in worse ways, my love.”

“Yes, yes, will you ever let me be dramatic for the sake of it?” he asked, his face full of nothing but affection. 

“This is disgusting," Lae’zel had rolled her eyes and walked off to compare sword sizes with a shaking Harper. 

“I, for one, am pleased to see our rogue vampire’s heart thawing from the devotion of our fearless leader,” Gale grinned.

Shadowheart crossed her arms. “Yes, but next time, do try not to anger the goddess of pain and suffering whom I’ve pledged my life to.”

Astarion tsked. “Next time, pledge your life to a goddess of giggles and fun times.”

“That sounds rather pleasant, actually,” Wyll chuckled. 

You nodded in agreement, kissing Astarion on the cheek for good measure. 

When you pulled away, your eyes conveyed to him all the love and admiration you could muster without saying a word. I love you. I will never leave you. You are my everything. 

He’d sighed happily and squeezed your hand, following you and the others into the Last Light Inn. 

That was about three weeks ago. 

In the time since, you’d managed to navigate the Shadow-Cursed Lands while saving every worthless soul who bothered to beg for help: a spooky young boy, another spooky young boy whose portal into another realm was a lot more trouble than it was worth, and the spunky young Arabella, who, Astarion had to admit, had drawn one of the shortest straws he’d ever come across when she lost her parents while stuck in a land shrouded in darkness and far from home. He’d been happy to see Withers take her under his wing, and Astarion would occasionally sneak the girl berries when he’d come back from his nightly hunts - the ones that didn’t involve your delicious throat.

In the weeks your party spent traversing the bitter cold and oppressing darkness, Astarion’s love for you did nothing but grow. He’d watched as you affectionately held Arabella’s hand on particularly hard nights. Wrapped his arm around your waist as you walked along precarious, gnarled bridges. Even made heart eyes at you as you drank Ketheric Throm’s disgusting “son” under the table. 

He’d made love to you slowly and with intense passion on the night you’d allowed him to make his own choice in front of the vile blood trader at Moonrise. Her blood had reeked of foul magic and it only served to make him crave yours more. He’d taken you over and over that night, thanking you in words and kisses and ecstasy filled thrusts from his hips. 

Together with your companions, you’d managed to free the Night Song, defeat Ketheric Thorm, and bring light back to the Shadowlands after ages spent in darkness. 

Not too shabby for a band of misfits thrown together by a couple of brainworms. 

Now, however, Astarion could sense something was off. 

Your hand was cold in his when he grabbed it while following closely behind Wyll and Karlach through the dirt roads of Rivington, headed for Baldur’s Gate.

“Are you alright, darling?” he asked lowly, not wanting to draw the attention of your traveling companions. 

“What?” you asked sharply, pulling your hand from his and wrapping your arms around yourself. 

“Is something the matter?” Astarion asked, stepping in front of you and forcing you to halt. “If I did something-”

“Oh please,” you rolled your eyes, though the usual affection in the gesture was gone. “It’s nothing, dearest. Sometimes I merely want to be left alone.”

“Right,” Astarion said quietly as you resumed walking to keep up with the others. 

Had he upset you somehow? You were never this cold unless he’d been an ass to you, and he could usually keep track of when he’d done something to warrant your ire. But this sudden shift in mood felt completely out of the ordinary. 

Last night when he’d tried to cradle you in his arms to sleep, you’d rolled out of his reach and stared up at the top of the tent. When he’d gone to kiss you this morning, you’d turned your head to receive a kiss on the cheek. And when he asked you how you’d slept, you’d called Yenna, your newest ward at camp, a whiney brat who’d kept you up all night with her incessant chattering to her cat. 

This wasn’t like you at all.

And Astarion was going to get to the bottom of it. 

A colorful sign drew his attention as he caught up with you.

Oh, he was going to regret this.

“Darling,” he said in his sultriest tone, “you won’t believe what I’ve just seen.”

“If it was that dead rat in the road a few meters back, I already saw it,” Karlach said over her shoulder.

“Yuck,” Astarion scowled. “I’ve had enough rats for a lifetime, thank you very much.”

Wyll chuckled. “And what is it that you saw, Astarion?”

The vampire took a deep breath, preparing for your inevitable overreaction and excitement. “Oh nothing, just an advertisement for a traveling circus.”

“Are you shitting me?!” Karlach halted in her tracks and beamed back at Astarion. “I’ve always wanted to go to a circus!”

“You’ve never been?” Wyll asked. 

“No, never got the chance before Gortash sold me to Zariel.”

“Well, we must rectify that!” Wyll grinned. “I always enjoyed the circus as a young boy in the Gate.”

“Ugh,” you sighed. “Aren’t we supposed to be getting more supplies while the others set up camp?”

“Oh, come on, Soldier!” Karlach exclaimed. “You love entertainment! This’ll be a fun reward for defeating Ketheric!”

You shrugged and Astarion couldn’t help but notice your heartrate pick up at the mention of Ketheric’s name. 

“They might even have face paint!” Karlach clasped her hands together and set off in the direction Astarion pointed out. 

“Wait for us, Karlach!” Wyll laughed and jogged after the tiefling.

“We don’t have to go,” Astarion said, watching your reaction closely. 

You sighed heavily and plastered a smile to your face. “No, that sounds like a lovely idea. Let’s go.” You took his hand rather loosely and followed after Karlach and Wyll. 

Upon reaching the entrance, Wyll read the circus’ advertisement aloud. “The Circus of the Last Days has returned.”

“Spooky,” Karlach laughed.

“See dryads, djinn, and Dribbles the clown, back with a new act.”

“Hear that, darling?” Astarion said, squeezing your hand. “They even have a wretched clown.”

“So?” you asked.

“‘So?!’” Karlach asked, exasperated. “Aren’t you the queen of joking around? Clowns are practically your family!”

You pursed your lips and narrowed your eyes. “If you say so.”

An elf with sweptback red hair and a brightly colored green tunic stepped forward as your party approached. “Hello, hello and welcome to the Circus of the Last Days - the finest extraplanar circus there is!”

Wyll laughed. “I’ve never heard of an extraplanar circus.”

The elf smiled. “We travel from plane to plane, thrilling all blessed to see us! From tempestuous djinni to belligerent redcaps - you’ll find them all here.”

Karlach squeaked in excitement, shaking your shoulder roughly. You stepped to the side, removing yourself from her touch. 

“But enough of this,” the elf continued, “this circus is a place of joy and distraction! So come inside and forget your worries.”

“Gladly,” Karlach said, stepping forward towards the gated entrance. 

“One moment, dear patron,” the elf held out an arm to stop Karlach in her tracks. “Benji just has to check if you’re a vicious murderer.” 

“Benji?” Astarion asked. 

Suddenly, a blood-covered ghoul wearing a green and yellow jester’s collar stepped out from behind another patron.

“Gods below!” Astarion exclaimed, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards him. 

“Relax,” you hissed, “it’s just a lovely, er, I mean, disgusting ghoul.”

“Exactly!” Astarion said, looking at you in disbelief.

The ghoul inhaled deeply. “Huh?!” He inhaled again. And again. “Brain juice smells like PISS and IRON. NO. LIKE.”

“Oh come on!” Karlach groaned. “That’s not our fault!”

The elf furrowed his brows. “That’s a first. Usually I’d allow you in, but in these times I can take no chances.” He crossed his arms and raised his chin. “Move along. No circus for you.”

The ghoul continued sniffing, his nostrils flaring when they landed on you. He inhaled deeply and screamed. “BLOOD!” he wailed, delighted. “TASTY BLOOD! SO DELICIOUS!” The ghoul laughed maniacally, throwing his head back and causing a few curious patrons to turn and walk the other direction.

“That’s odd,” Wyll chuckled, clearly uneasy, “you’d think the beast would say such a thing about Astarion.”

“Curious,” Astarion agreed, too distracted to argue. He watched your mouth twitch upwards at the corner, your eyes never leaving Benji’s laughing form. 

“Off with you, now,” the circus employee repeated, thrusting his arms forward and shooing your little party away. 

“Hold on,” you said, your voice stern. 

The elf raised an eyebrow. 

You brushed past Astarion and got a little too close to the man blocking your path. You leaned forward and brought your mouth to his ear. “I will make you smell of dead meat. Move.”

You’d intended to keep your voice down, but Astarion’s keen sense of hearing caught every word. A chill ran down his spine.

Something was deeply wrong.

The elf at the entrance went pale. “U-uh…” he stuttered, “f-forgive me!” He looked around at you and your party as you stepped back to resume your spot at Astarion’s side. “I must have, eh, misspoken!”

“No worries, mate!” Karlach beamed, bouncing from foot to foot as she sensed your luck changing. 

“Welcome to the Circus of the Last Days!” The elf’s voice pitched upwards in a false showing of joy, masking a discomfort that was obvious to Astarion. “Have fun! And be sure to catch the star of our show, Dribbles the Clown!” 

The elf and Benji stepped aside, making way for the four of you to pass through the gates and into the circus beyond. 

“Hear that, Soldier?” Karlach nudged your side excitedly. “A clown! We should see if he’s half as fun as you are.”

“Highly doubtful,” Wyll grinned, looking around the grounds and taking in the different sights. He pointed to a tent straight ahead. “Look, Karlach! Face paint!”

“WHERE?!” Karlach shouted before sprinting ahead and chatting with a carnie wrapped in bandages. 

“I’ll get her,” Wyll laughed. “Meet you both at the clown’s show?”

“I guess,” you said, looking around uncomfortably at the different tents and patrons. 

“See you then!” Wyll said, jogging to catch up with Karlach.

Astarion watched you carefully. “Alright, darling?”

“Hmm?” you hummed, half-listening. 

Astarion narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“Ugh,” you groaned. “Nothing is wrong,” you said, turning to Astarion and plastering a fake smile on your face. “Just tired.”

“We can go back to camp,” Astarion suggested. “It’s been a long few days of travel.”

“Very thoughtful of you, dear, but I’m fine. Really.” 

Astarion was far from convinced, but knew better than to push you with so many strangers around. He’d learned you preferred private conversations when something was bothering you. It appeared he would have to wait until you were ready to talk.

As the two of you walked through the booths, a familiar song made Astarion’s ear perk up.

“Hear that, darling?” he asked, grabbing your hand and making you flinch ever so slightly. 

“I don’t hear much of anything except shouting children and obnoxious carnies,” you tilted your head, attempting to listen for whatever Astarion had in mind. 

“No, my love. It’s Bard Dance.”

Not far off, a group of circus-goers was gathered around a band of performers, each playing a part of the song you played so often around camp.

“So?” you asked.

“So?!” Astarion asked incredulously. “You’ve got a lute on your back and play that song nearly as much as you talk! Don’t you want to join them?”

“Since when do you care for music?” You narrowed your eyes at the vampire. 

“Since the love of my life finds it so endearing,” he said, meeting your eyes and refusing to look away. 

You sniffed and looked down your nose at him. “‘Love,’ you say?”

“Yes,” Astarion crossed his arms. “It was kind of a big deal for me when I confessed that to you. Don’t you remember?”

“Of course I do,” you answered a little too quickly. “Who could forget something that…” you searched your mind for the right word. “Romantic,” you settled on, sounding insincere. 

You walked ahead, leaving Astarion to watch you go. He shook his head, bringing himself back into the present and swiftly caught up with you. 

The two of you continued on, meandering in silence, barring an interaction with a stone mephit whose wife nearly insisted on sculpting Astarion’s naked form. 

“Maybe next time,” he declined gently. 

“Who would want something like that?” you asked quietly as you departed. 

Astarion smirked. “Don’t want a stone depiction of me in all my naked glory, beloved? Not even on those lonely nights where I’m torn away with other responsibilities?”

You scowled quickly before relaxing your features, but Astarion clocked it regardless. “Maybe at the next circus.”

Astarion sighed. “Not even going to point out that I don’t have other responsibilities?”

“I don’t need to know what you’re up to all the time,” you said, examining trinkets on a table watched closely by a kobold in a top hat. 

“Oh, oh!” The kobold said joyously upon seeing your interest in his wares. “Hungry little hobgoblin. Want a treato?” 

You looked down at the kobold, crossing your arms. “Cute.”

“I has lots of treatos!” The kobold continued. “And magics. And junks I finds.”

Astarion held up a snowglobe depicting Neverwinter, then quickly shoved it back onto the table when the bottom popped off, making it look like he’d never touched it in the first place. 

“Don’t worry,” the kobold said, gesturing to his treasures, “I only takes junks from dead people. I is nice.”

“Darling,” Astarion said, touching your shoulder lightly, “I think I hear the clown’s show up ahead. We should meet back up with Karlach and Wyll.”

“How often do you loot corpses?” you asked the kobold with genuine interest. 

His tail wagged excitedly. “Oh, lots of times! The beasts ate a kiddo the other day-”

“Exciting,” you breathed. 

“-and I got some good stuffs.” He looked pleased with himself before adding, “Uh, I… I mean… Circus is safe, do not a-worry. Yes.”

“I’m sure it is,” you grinned, looking at Astarion over your shoulder. “Guess we better see the clown or whatever.” You started walking in the direction of unmistakable clown-ish music.

“Don’t sound too excited,” Astarion muttered, following after you.

You barely batted an eye as you passed cages full of Displacer Beasts and some sort of large lizard. 

“Care to look at the animals, darling?” Astarion asked, pausing to watch the agitated Displacer Beast prowl around her cage. 

“And smell their disgusting droppings? I’ll pass,” you held your nose, walking by their cages quickly and into the crowd of people gathered around the stage where a clown and a dog were playing catch. 

“Soldier!” Karlach called, waving you and Astarion over to her. Her face was freshly painted to look like a red and black harlequin, and in her arms was a large wheel of cheese.

“Hungry?” Astarion asked, lifting a brow.

Karlach pointed at the wheel. “Oh, this? This is Wyll.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Karlach laughed. “Oh, it was hilarious, Fangs! Wyll pissed off a Djinn for claiming that his Wheel of Fortune or whatever was rigged! Bloody thing was, of course, but the Djinn got so mad, he turned Wyll into a snack.” She leaned forward conspiratorially, “As if he wasn’t already, am I right?”

When neither of you laughed, her face fell. “Yeesh, tough crowd. Wyll should be fine, thanks for asking.” She turned to watch the clown on stage, clearly annoyed that neither of you seemed as excited as she was about Wyll’s misfortune. “If he doesn’t turn back soon, I’m sure our resident wizard will have a cure.”

“Shame,” you said. “It’s nice having a fraction of peace for once.”

“Ouch,” Karlach said quietly, not looking at you. “A Wyll of cheese! Come on, guys!”

Astarion ignored her and turned to you. “Darling,” his tone went harsh as he attempted to confront your attitude. It was then that the clown on stage raised his voice and addressed the crowd. 

“Buddy the dog is my very best friend!” he bellowed, grinning. “Do you know why?”

“Why?” A patron shouted back, pleased to be included in the performance. 

“Because with him,” the clown started, “anything is paw-sible! Wa-hey!"

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Oh gods.”

Astarion looked at you, clapping his hands to try and lift your spirits. “Oh good, puns! Because clowns aren’t enough of a horror already.”

“I’ll say,” you agreed. 

“No, love,” he turned to face you, “you’re supposed to disagree with me! You love terrible jokes!”

“Like hells I do,” you scowled, crossing your arms. “Jokes are supposed to make you laugh.”

“Jokes like these usually do,” Karlach agreed. 

“Guess I’m just not in the mood today,” you shrugged.

Karlach exchanged a look with Astarion as if to say “what’s with her?” Astarion made a face in return, wordlessly responding with, “that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“Did you hear,” Dribbles, Astarion remembered, continued, “about the scarecrow who lost a fight?”

“Ugh,” you groaned, a little too loudly. “What a corny joke.”

“I know,” Dribbles agreed, clearly having heard you, “I’m a-maize-ing. Wa-hey!”

“Terrible,” you grumbled.

“Everything okay, Soldier?” Karlach asked quietly. 

Before you could answer, Dribbles addressed the crowd yet again. “Thank you to the loudmouth for volunteering for my next trick!”

Astarion and Karlach turned to look at you. You stared, unblinking, at the clown.

“Now,” he said, holding a hand up to his brow to scan the crowd, “where, oh, where are you?” His voice lowered before his eyes fell directly upon you.

You gave the clown a flirtatious wave, making Astarion furrow his brow and look between you and Dribbles. 

“Sorry, darling, do you know the clown?” 

“Oh, hardly,” you said, patting Astarion’s arm. “You see one clown, you’ve seen them all.”

“You,” Dribbles pointed at you. “My special assistant. Come on up.” He motioned for you to join him on stage. 

You turned your body ever so slightly to Astarion, your eyes never leaving Dribbles’. “You love the spotlight, don’t you, Astarion? Here’s your big chance.”

“What?!” Astarion exclaimed, shocked you would suggest such a thing. “No,” he huffed, “don’t you dare. This isn’t funny.”

“Ooof,” Dribbles doubled over, dramatically clutching at his chest, “my heart! Your enthusiasm is… too much!”

“Aw, get up there Fangs!” Karlach clapped Astarion on the shoulder, causing him to scoot forward towards the stage.

“Now, up, up - double sharp!” Dribbles exclaimed. “Or poor Buddy will think you don’t like him.” Dribbles gestured to the snarling dog while shooting Astarion a false pout.

“Go on, Astarion,” you drawled, daring him to deny you this.

“Will this make you happy, darling?” he asked, voice low.

“The happiest,” you nearly hissed.

Astarion furrowed his brow again, then schooled his features into one of his charming smiles. “Of course,” he shouted to the crowd at large,” “what fun!” Before he stepped forward to approach the stage, he leaned back and muttered to you, “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“I’d like to see you try… lover,” you whispered back, sending another chill down Astarion’s spine. He looked at you for a moment before Karlach pushed him forward again. 

“Go on, then!” she said, hoisting Wyll-cheese higher into her arms.

“I’m going!” Astarion said, taking his sweet time on his way to the stage. Meanwhile, fellow circus-goers clapped and cheered for the brave volunteer. 

“Now,” Dribbles said once Astarion stood stiffly next to him in front of the crowd, “you’re very special. As special as can be! Does anyone know why?”

“Why?” shouted a little girl in the front row.

“You’re special, my friend, because I have a message - just for you!” 

“Uh huh,” Astarion looked from you in the crowd to Dribbles on stage. He placed his hands on his hips. “And what would that be?”

Dribbles smirked and leaned in close. “Praise the Absolute.”

Before Astarion had time to understand what was going on, the dog charged him, tackling him to the ground. 

From the crowd, you let out a wicked laugh that you quickly covered with your hand.

“Astarion!” Karlach yelled, setting Wyll-cheese down and rushing the stage. “Come on, Soldier!”

“Right behind you!” you shouted, your voice panicked, but your physical movement did not match your tone. You walked casually towards the stage, weaving leisurely through the crowd of screaming patrons. 

“Unhand me, you mangy beast!” Astarion sliced his daggers through the torso of the dog, sending him rearing back and allowing the rogue to get back on his feet. 

“So eager to bleed?” Dribbles taunted, flashing his own morningstar at Astarion. 

“Not particularly, no,” Astarion said, retrieving his daggers out of the dog and licking the blood from the blades. “I’d much rather see you bleed.”

“Save some violence for me!” Karlach yelled, bringing her warhammer down on Dribbles from behind and causing him to wail out in pain. 

Dribbles growled, sounding anything but human. “How dare you make a mockery of my show!”

“You brought me on stage and attacked me!” Astarion shouted, his voice squeaking in disbelief. Here he was, trying to cheer up the love of his life from the weirdest mood he’d ever witnessed, and now he was being attacked by a killer clown!

“Soldier, where are you?!” Karlach called out, looking for you in the crowd as she missed hitting Dribbles again. 

“Right here!” you said, joining the fray and taking your lute from your back, holding it like a club.

“DON’T!” Astarion bellowed. “You promised not to break this one!”

“Did I?” You held the pink-tinted lute at arm’s length and observed it. “I suppose it is rather pretty.” Regardless, you resumed holding it like a club. “Pity.”

You reared back to hit Dribbles with a devastating blow, but Karlach caught the instrument and wrenched it away from you. 

“What is with you?” she asked, tossing the lute across the stage where it came to a stop just at the edge of the structure. 

“Fine,” you hissed. “Teeth and claws it is.”

Astarion dodged a blow from the clown and could have sworn he saw your nails elongate on command. Blinking, he sidestepped Buddy and sank a dagger into his back. “Darling!” he yelled above the roar of circus goers screaming. “Is there something you’re not telling us?!”

With a wild look on your face, you slashed at Dribbles’ face, causing him to shriek in pain, and revealing white skin beneath. “What a wretched excuse you are,” you said to the clown.

“‘Excuse?’” Karlach echoed, slamming her warhammer into the dog as it ran at her, Astarion’s dagger still protruding from his back. 

Astarion, meanwhile, was staring at Dribbles’ face, which had peeled back to reveal a monster beneath, before slowly morphing back.

“Shapechanger,” Astarion breathed. He roared in rage, charging you and pulling his discarded dagger from Buddy’s back. He tackled you to the ground, holding both daggers to your throat. 

You smirked up at him.

“WHO ARE YOU?!” His daggers pressed into your skin threateningly.

“Astarion!” Karlach shouted, swinging her axe at Dribbles again, who dodged her attack and instead hit her brutally with his cartoonishly large hammer. She fell to the ground in pain.

“Astarion!” you mocked Karlach, your voice evolving into a dark laugh that Astarion had never heard from you.

“Enough,” Astarion dug his daggers deeper, drawing blood. As soon as the scent hit the air, he knew with certainty this wasn’t you. “Where is she?” he seethed.

“My love, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you smiled sweetly, blinking your eyes at him.

“You are NOT my bard,” he dug his knees into “your” hips. 

“Ouch, lover, you wound me.”

“Somebody want to tell me what’s going on?” Karlach shouted, throwing Buddy off the stage, where he attempted to get up, but fell back onto the ground unceremoniously.

“Buddy!” Dribbles shouted. 

“Train. Your. DOG!” Karlach yelled, hitting her axe once more into Dribbles who fell to the ground and didn’t get back up. She blew hair out of her face before joining Astarion over your prone body. “What’s up with Soldier?”

“This isn’t her,” Astarion growled. “I won’t ask again,” he addressed the you that wasn’t you, “tell me where she is!”

“Aw,” the shapechanger cooed, tilting what still appeared to be your head to the side, causing Astarion’s dagger to press deeper into your throat and draw more blood, but the monster didn’t seem to mind. “This is really quite pathetic.”

Suddenly, the changeling’s neck snapped and Karlach shrieked. Astarion remained completely still, staring in disbelief. 

Before either of them could mourn whatever just happened, “your” neck snapped back into place and the shapechanger’s body transformed into one Astarion had seen once before in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. 

Pale white skin. Paler eyes. Armor as red as blood.

This was one of the Dead Three’s chosen. 

Karlach jumped back. “Oh, what the FUCK?!”

The woman laughed. “Hello,” she said nonchalantly.

Astarion leaned forward, baring his teeth.

Orin, Astarion recalled, tsked. “Put those fangs away, boy.”

He snarled in retaliation.

“Your lover is perfectly fine. I’ve made sure of it.”

Karlach went to pull her axe out of Dribbles’ back and shrieked. Dribbles was no longer Dribbles, but instead a long, white corpse. 

“Pity, that,” Orin said as Karlach removed her axe and instead brought it over Orin’s head. “I thought Dribbles would have been more difficult for you lot. But he made for a hell of a distraction, I suppose.”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Karlach growled, "you're the one pinned to the ground.”

Orin laughed. “I’m allowing you to pin me to the ground.” Suddenly her hand twitched, twisting a ring on her finger. She disappeared momentarily, only to appear standing a few feet away down the stage. 

Astarion scrambled to his feet, throwing a dagger at Orin, who disappeared and reappeared a few feet off. 

“Come now,” she smiled. “Let’s talk.”

“Unless you’re going to tell us where Soldier is, you can fuck right off,” Karlach raised her axe menacingly. 

“Oh,” Orin raised her eyebrows excitedly, “I like you! I bet you’re incredibly powerful.”

Karlach took a step back. “I-”

“Big biceps… a killer backhand… one could really enjoy their time in your body,” Orin reached slowly towards Karlach’s forearm, but Astarion pulled the tiefling out of her way. They couldn’t risk whatever shapeshifting magic Orin had prepped without consulting Gale or Jaheira first. For all Astarion knew, a single touch could render someone’s likeness as Orin’s newest transformation. 

“Stay back,” Astarion warned, brandishing his blades and baring his fangs. 

Orin tsked and brought a hand to her chin, shaking her head sadly. “That’s not very nice. When I’ve treated your friend like a guest of honor in my home at the Temple of Bhaal.”

Astarion lunged forward with a shout, drawing blood from Orin’s cheek with his dagger.

“Naughty, naughty," Orin smirked, licking the viscous liquid from her own face. “I can make her pay for that.”

“Don’t!” Karlach exclaimed, grabbing Astarion by both biceps and pulling him back. “Let’s be smart about this, Fangs.”

“She has the bard!” he spat in response. 

“And we’ll get her back,” Karlach said through gritted teeth, “but we have to play this bitch’s game.”

Orin giggled, clearly enjoying this sidebar. 

“Fine,” Astarion growled, wrenching his arms free. “What do you want?”

Orin pouted in faux innocence. “What do I want? This has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the Murder Lord’s demands.”

“And what would those be?” Karlach asked, trying to hide the frustration in her voice. 

Orin placed her hands on her hips, her long braid swaying behind her back. “Truth is, your bard is quite the prize. The leader of your little… band of misfits. The one responsible for returning light to the Shadow-Cursed Lands. But the Murder Lord demands an even better offering. Something new, sticky sweet and delicious. He wants you.”

“Me?” Astarion asked.

“All of you,” Orin said giddily. “Ketheric’s killers! Turned the corpse-lover to carrion when you took his Netherstone.” 

Astarion and Karlach narrowed their eyes, remembering the stone you now kept hidden away in your tent. Hopefully Orin didn’t have her hands on it.

The shapeshifter continued, “Oh, but he was a dull kill. No blood to spill, no guts to rip - a desecrated husk, all dust and hollow.” Her voice grew sultry as she said, “You must be sharpened before you set your edge against my skin.”

“In your dreams, lady,” Karlach huffed.

“And it looks like I got lucky,” Astarion smirked, nodding to the cut on her cheek he’d left there moments earlier. 

“A mistake that shall not be repeated,” Orin chuckled. “If you wish for me to return your bard to you, I ask not but for a simple exchange.”

“‘Simple,’ doesn’t seem likely to be in your vocabulary,” Astarion rolled his eyes. 

“Bring me the tyrant Gortash’s Netherstone.”

Karlach visibly recoiled at the name. “And why should we do that?”

“If I were to bring the Murder Lord the Crown of Karsus,” Orin began to giggle uncontrollably, “then I shall be my father’s favorite once and for all and rule by his side forevermore.”

“Sounds bad,” Karlach stated flatly. 

“Oh, but think of it!” Orin exclaimed. “Once you bring me the other stones, we shall slice and shred each other! The survivor claims the stones. What’s left of the other is Bhaal’s.” 

“You’re insane,” Astarion growled again, his patience wearing thin.

Orin scowled at him. “Agree, and I will bring my assassins to heel. They watch you always, longing to spray the crimson from your veins.”

“Or?” Astarion’s hands twitched around his daggers. 

“Refuse,” Orin said, “and you’ll learn what happens to those who defy Bhaal’s doctrine. So will your friend.”

Astarion’s eyes grew dark with untapped rage. “So help me gods, lay a hand on her and I will make your beloved God of Murder look like a saint.”

Orin tsked again. “Silly, silly little slaughter hound. My assassins will not let you. If you hunt me, then they hunt you. The Murder Lord will not be denied. Neither will I.” She winked just as Astarion lunged for her, and she disappeared into the afternoon haze.

Standing a few feet off was Wyll, noticeably less cheese shaped. 

“What was that?”

~~~

The flames in the fireplace of the Elfsong’s suite popped leisurely, not at all aware that Astarion’s world was crumbling around him. The vampire stared at the fiery tendrils, unblinking, ready to burst into flames himself. On a whim, he reached for a potted plant nearby and thrust its contents into the fire, extinguishing the heat source and plunging most of the space into darkness.

Lae’zel shrieked in frustration. “Why have you done that?”

“Astarion,” Shadowheart sighed, casting an easy Dancing Lights, “you have to calm down.”

Her words infuriated him. “You know what I think?” he asked, not giving anyone the courtesy of waiting for an answer. “I think we need to find the fucking Temple of Bhaal and save-” his voice caught in his throat, and he cleared it behind his hand before swatting at one of Shadowheart’s lights.

“Patience, cub,” Jaheira said, approaching the fireplace slowly and casting Druidcraft, reigniting the fire within. “I have my finest Harpers gathering intel about its location.”

“No offense, Jeheira,” Astarion said, brushing past her, “but I don’t trust anyone to rescue her except myself.” After a beat, “And maybe Lae’zel.”

Lae’zel let out a huff of agreement and returned to polishing her breastplate.

“According to these tomes,” Gale said from the table, multiple old books spread open before him, “Bhaal’s Temple should be located somewhere beneath the city. Though it seems no one has ever lived to tell the tale. Fitting.”

“You mean, in the sewers?” Wyll asked, peering over Gale’s shoulder.

Astarion grabbed his daggers off the table and headed for the door. 

Halsin blocked his path, puffing out his chest to make himself look larger. “Careful,” he warned.

Astarion crouched, ready to attack. “Move, Halsin.”

“Astarion,” came Karlach’s voice from behind them. 

“Don’t, Astarion, me!” He stood up taller, turning to address the group. “It would seem that I’m the only one in a rush to do something here!”

“Don’t say that,” Shadowheart stood up quickly, a scowl plastered on her face. “We are all worried about her. And we’re trying to form a solid plan to rescue her. But you must also remember that she can hold her own against tough opponents.”

Astarion slumped a bit. “While I have no doubt that she can handle herself, Orin’s whole thing is-” he waved his hands through the air, as if trying to think of a tactful way to put things, “-murder! I’m sure she has methods of torture, the likes of which none of us can even imagine.” Quieter, he added: “Not even me.”

“She’s alive and well, Astarion,” Wyll said gently. “Orin wants something from us, she won’t dispose of her biggest bargaining chip on a whim.”

Astarion brushed a hand through his hair, exasperated. “You didn’t see the look in Orin’s eyes! She wants a battle to the death! What does she care if the bard lives, if she has a death wish anyway?!”

“Calm yourself, Astarion,” Jaheira soothed. “We will find her.”

“Wrong,” Astarion said, turning to leave again. “I will find her.”

“No,” Halsin said, blocking the vampire’s path again. 

“Must you be so large?!” Astarion whined, knocking his forehead into Halsin’s chest. 

“Come on, Fangs,” Karlach said, approaching Astarion slowly with her hands up in surrender, “we’ve had a particularly long day, why don’t we rest a bit?”

“Karlach’s right,” Gale agreed. “Orin can’t expect us to retrieve Gortash’s Netherstone in the course of one afternoon. I’m sure our friend is perfectly fine for the night. You, Karlach, and Wyll should rest, and the rest of us will work tirelessly to form a plan.”

Halsin nodded, placing his hands on Astarion’s shoulders and making him flinch. “You may rest well, knowing that we are here to help.”

“This is ridiculous,” Astarion crossed his arms. “How can you expect me to rest when the love of my life is out there being tortured?”

“Um… hi,” Yenna spoke up from her place near the fire. Astarion jumped, forgetting she was even there. “If it helps, the nice bard told me to be brave.”

The party stared at her for a moment. 

“What do you mean?” Astarion asked after a moment.

“Well, there was one night where I thought I was having a nightmare… but now I'm not so sure.”

Lae’zel sighed. “And what is it that you dreamt about, whelp?”

“Um… we were at the Rivington camp, and there was a very spooky lady looming over my bed.”

“How spooky are we talking?” Karlach asked, crossing her arms. 

Yenna stared down at her clasped hands. “She um… had white eyes and white hair and a red dress.”

“Orin,” Wyll nodded, receiving hums of agreement from the others. 

“And you didn’t tell us any of this?!” Astarion nearly spat, moving to approach Yenna, but Halsin held him back.

“She thought it was a dream, Astarion,” Jaheira reminded him. She turned back to Yenna. “Tell us more,” she gestured with her hands for Yenna to continue. 

“The spooky lady told me not to make a sound, but Grub hissed and suddenly the bard was there, telling the spooky lady to leave me alone. Then, um, the spooky lady got even more spooky and said that the nice bard would be an even better prize. They um, kinda fought a little, before a bunch of hooded guys came and grabbed the bard.”

“WHAT?!” Astarion bellowed.

“Hush,” Jaheira scolded.

“And then the nice bard lady told me to be brave and that everything would be okay.”

“AND?!” Astarion pulled against Halsin, trying to break free from his grasp.

“And then the spooky lady said something weird and I immediately fell back asleep. But when I woke up, the nice bard was still at camp, so I thought it was just a dream.”

“She must have already impersonated our friend,” Gale hypothesized.

“How long ago was this?” Jaheira asked gently. 

Yenna bent down to pet Grub, who weaved between her legs. “Um… maybe two nights ago?”

The party breathed a collective sigh of relief. 

“Oh thank gods,” Karlach said.

“I’m sure she’s holding her own as we speak,” Shadowheart said.

Astarion looked around in disbelief. “Do you hear yourselves? She’s been gone for two days and you’re relieved? Where’s your sense of panic?”

“In the grand scheme of things, two days gives us a pretty clear path to follow,” Halsin offered. “Any longer and we might lose the trail.”

“She’s still been gone for two whole days and none of us noticed!” Astarion stared at him frantically. “I didn’t notice.”

“Any of us could have made that mistake,” Wyll said.

“Well yes, of course you lot would have, but I’m me!” Astarion successfully shoved his way out of Halsin’s grasp. “I’m leaving.”

“And going where?” Shadowheart snapped. 

“What do you care?” Astarion snapped, gathering his belongings from the bed he claimed. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” Lae’zel rolled her eyes. 

“ME?!” Astarion scoffed loudly. “How can you all just SIT HERE and let Orin get away with this?!”

The others fell silent and exchanged looks. 

“I’m going to find her. You can either come with me, or stay here on your asses and continue to be incredibly unhelpful.”

“I’m sorry,” Yenna said quietly. “I should have said something sooner.”

“Not your fault, cub,” Jaheira placed her hand comfortingly on the child’s shoulder before rising and turning to face Astarion. “You’re going to the sewers.”

It wasn’t a question.

Astarion adjusted a buckle on his armor without looking back at her. “I’m well acquainted with that part of the city, yes.”

Jeheira sighed deeply and placed her hands on her hips. “Fine.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes. “‘Fine,’ what?”

“Go save the bard.”

The vampire puffed up with pride. “I will. But I don’t need your permission.”

Jaheira rolled her eyes then turned to the others. “Who’s going with him?”

Astarion scoffed. “This is not a babysitting mission, no one better get in my way.”

Karlach immediately stepped forward. “I’m in.”

“You’ll be in need of my sword,” Lae’zel nodded. “With me attached to it.”

“I think a better question,” Shadowheart said, “is who’s staying behind?”

~~~~~

“Got any three’s?” Fustian asked, rearranging the cards in her hands. 

Hivune observed his own deck. “Naw,” he shook his head. “Go fish.”

You chuckled. “Big mistake, Fustian. Got any three’s?”

“How do you keep doing that?!” Death’s Head of Bhaal looked at you in wonder and handed you the card. 

“Remember to listen to your opponent,” you said, taking the card and setting it down with your other matches. 

“Genius,” Fustian nodded.

You angled your body towards Hivune. “Got any sevens?”

“Fish!” Hivune said, pleased with himself. 

You sighed, slumping forward in defeat. “Mind passing me a card?” You attempted to extend your hand forward, but they remained chained to the dais you currently found yourself on. 

It hadn’t taken long upon arrival in the Temple of Bhaal to figure out that these chains, whatever they were made of, not only inhibited your movements, but somehow prevented you from using your magic. After briefly fiddling with the metal and admitting to yourself that you were not strong enough to rip what appeared to be iron chains out of a marble dais, you recalibrated your plans.

After Orin and her goons had taken you from the camp in Rivington, she’d been flitting in and out of the temple briefly every now and then, threatening your life multiple times and insisting that you had no hope of surviving. She’d even done so once or twice while wearing your face, in an effort to show off her brilliant imitation of you. You’d cower in fear, shed a tear for good measure, and then turn up the charm on your captors once she left again, a sly smirk upon her lips.

“Yeah, there’s no way they think that’s me,” you’d assured yourself, positive that Orin would fail at her sad attempt at impersonating you. 

Although now it had been nearly two full days. 

Sure, it had been almost laughably easy to win over the two guards assigned to watch you, Fustian and Hivune, with a bit of music and merriment, but they were more afraid of Orin than you were, and talking them into letting you go had been futile. Especially since the big boss was the literal God of Murder. So you couldn’t really blame them. 

But, had your friends really not noticed your absence? Or sudden interest in all things bloody?

You’d like to think you were more whimsical than that.

A little less psychotic, hopefully. 

One thing you knew for sure was that Astarion would sense something was off. Orin would slip up - respond incorrectly to an inside joke, refuse a kiss, attack Astarion if he attempted to suck her blood…

That would probably be hilarious.

Or incredibly hot, once Astarion realized it wasn’t you and craved spilling blood. 

In a vengeful way. 

Not a sexy way. 

Although…

FOCUS! 

Fustian adjusted her posture, startled. “She’s on her way.”

Hivune stood, throwing his hand of cards across the floor and shoving what was left of the draw pile into his mouth.

“What-” you started, but suddenly Orin burst into the room in a cloud of red ash.

A Reaper of Bhaal from the level above the dais raised his voice and began to announce: “Her most vile excellency, the blood wench of the Gate, harbinger of death, mutilation and despair, daughter of shadows and violence, soaked in misery-”

“ENOUGH!” Orin roared, her face the angriest you’d ever seen it.

And she was headed right for you.

“You!” Her hot breath fanned out across your face.

“Hello,” you smiled, not sure how to react.

Her eyes narrowed. “Why must you be so…”

“Loud?” Fustian supplied.

“Weak?!” Another Reaper from the top of the stairs called.

“Kngd uhf pweshnt wonf oo ge doo nuh huh?” asked Hivune.

Orin turned to look at him. 

He spat the crumpled playing cards out of his mouth.

“New form of torture we’re working on,” Fustian explained.

Hivune cleared his throat. “I said, ‘Kind of pleasant once you get to know her?’”

There was a beat of silence before he sighed and said “I’ll see myself off to the blood pits.”

“Yeah, off to the blood pits with you,” Fustian nodded.

“Make sure you really inhale the blood,” Orin said, turning back to you as Hivune gave a thumbs up. 

Orin lowered her voice, bringing her face close to yours and really examining you for what felt like the first time. “Why are you so damned… silly?”

You blinked. “What?”

Orin threw her hands up in the air. “I mean! I’m a bloody Changling! Disguising myself is what I do best! And yet!” She paced around the dais, exasperated. “And yet, your little band of misfits sniffed me out practically overnight! And I know you can’t use magic with those shackles on, so there’s no way you could have sent them a warning, which means that I…” she inhaled shakily, pausing and turning to look at you, defeated. “...failed.”

Fustian stepped forward. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, my lady, you’re a wonderful impersonator. Why, it took me a whole month to figure out you’d killed and overtaken me own mum last Feast of the Moon.”

“Some of my finest work,” Orin sighed wistfully. “Unfortunately, this one,” she pointed at you over her shoulder, “seems to have charmed those pathetic freaks, despite only having known them for a short time. One of them even claims to love her.” Orin stuck out her tongue in disgust. 

You felt your cheeks grow warm at her vague mention of Astarion. Imagining him declaring his love for you to the Chosen of the God of Murder was one of the sweeter things you could think of him doing to the Chosen of the God of Murder. 

Orin went on. “Vicious? I can do. Indifferent? Tragic? Normal? All personalities I can mimic to perfection. But, goofy? Childish? Seriously, do you have a thing for clowns or something?”

“Why?” you asked, perking up. “Was there a clown?”

Orin waved a noncommittal hand through the air. “The circus is in town and one of my assassins blew his cover as their clown.”

“YOU GUYS WENT-” You cleared your throat. “A circus, you say?”

“This is what I’m talking about!” Orin pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re a freak.”

You scoffed. “You pledged your life to the God of Murder!”

“I don’t like your friends!”

“I don’t like your temple!”

“You…… look like you did local theater performances growing up!”

You gasped. “So do you!”

“ENOUGH!” Orin bellowed again. 

“My lady,” Fustian said, holding up her index finger to try and get the Chosen of Bhaal’s attention. “If- If I may, when were you found out?”

Orin groaned and looked up at the sculpture of Bhaal’s head that loomed over the temple. “A few hours ago.”

You furrowed your brow. “So… where were you all this time?”

“Murdering,” Orin said flatly, shaking out her hair, which you now noticed was covered in flecks of blood. Not that that was anything new. “Helps me to calm down.”

Your heart picked up its pace. “Who did you murder?”

Orin rolled her eyes. “Relax, child. None of your motley crew. I need them to retrieve Gortash’s Netherstone for me. Instead, I murdered a few horse trainers at that blasted circus. They were whipping the poor dears.” When you stared at her for a moment, she crossed her arms. “Oh, please. I may be insane, but I’m not a total monster. Except for, of course, when I am.” She lifted the back of her hand to her mouth and laughed wildly. 

“Your blood-soaked excellency,” a Reaper descended the stairs from above, gathering the skirts of his robes in a dainty fashion, “I fear we don’t have long before those heathens locate the Temple in search of our captive.”

“Pish posh,” Orin said dismissively. “I gave them clear instructions to steal Gortash’s Netherstone before they attempted anything foolish. Otherwise my assassins will be hot on their heels.”

“That’s just it, milady,” the Reaper said, “I’ve been informed by our assassins that multiple humanoids have been discovered lurking around the sewers.” He looked around like he was listening to someone speaking in his ear. “Along with a mud wizard.”

Orin looked to you, and you shook your head. “Not one of ours.” You thought for a moment, then amended: “Yeah, no, they wouldn’t add someone new without me. I don’t think. Unless Gale is trying something new.”

“No,” the Reaper clarified, “this guy is apparently doing his own thing.”

“Oh,” you said, raising your eyebrows, “well, there you go.”

Orin groaned loudly. “So they want a fight, do they? Can’t go letting them trounce around my sewers without any consequences.”

From out of thin air, she conjured her spindly red dagger holding her own Netherstone.

And plunged it into your side.

~~~~~

Astarion scuttled through the shadows, avoiding torchlight and remaining light on his feet as he bounded between upturned slabs of stone littering the path ahead. He held up his hand, motioning for the others to halt abruptly. 

“Ilmater’s arse,” Karlach whisper-shouted, nearly barreling into the vampire. “There’s gotta be a better signal than that, I swear I’ve still got mud in my eyes.”

“Chk,” Lae’zel shook her head, “we’ve been traveling aimlessly for what has surely been hours.”

After Jaheira and Halsin had agreed to stay behind at the Elfsong, partially to look after Yenna, and partially to intercept Orin if she decided to infiltrate camp again, Astarion, Karlach, Gale, Shadowheart, Wyll, and Lae’zel had prepped themselves for an encounter with a very bloodthirsty, very insane shapeshifter. Astarion had led them all to a manhole hidden away in a secluded alley and ushered them deep into the sewers, accompanied by what little intel the Harpers could provide before the party set off on their mission. 

“Patience,” Wyll said softly, “I trust Astarion’s sense of direction down here.”

“Yes,” Shadowheard said, a lilt of sarcasm in her voice, “why are you so well acquainted with the sewers, Astarion?” 

Astarion rolled his eyes, just as Gale piped up. “I’m not so sure how well acquainted he actually is, given that he led us right into the clutches of a… mud wizard?”

“I bet you were clamoring to join that tract of study at Blackstaff, eh, Gale?” Wyll elbowed the wizard, who had been covered in a comical amount of mud, rendering his signature purple a grainy, murky brown. 

“Ha,” Gale said humorlessly. “Not quite.”

“Would you all shut up?” Astarion hissed, looking over his shoulder at all of them. “I am perfectly capable of tracking down the bard,” he said, lifting his chin pompously. “There are always ruffians sneaking around down here. Be happy it was mud this time instead of acid.”

“Have experience with that?” Karlach asked with a smirk. 

Astarion shuttered. “Unfortunately my time under Cazador’s control led to a lot of less than desirable encounters in these sewers.”

Shadowheart looked at him sympathetically before asking, “And you somehow never stumbled across the Temple of Bhaal?”

“Listen,” Astarion sighed, “when you smell an indecent amount of foul blood in the sewers, you make it a point to avoid that area.”

Lae’zel raised a brow. “But blood is one of your favorite liquids.”

“True,” Astarion nodded, “but as someone who was taught to get the job done without argument, it didn’t leave much room for investigation. Especially when it seemed like more trouble than simply keeping your head down.”

“What a sad life you have led,” Lae’zel said, sounding the most empathetic anyone had ever heard her. Which wasn’t saying much. 

“Ugh,” Astarion groaned. “Yes, boo hoo, it’s all very tragic, but the point is that I do know my way around and am pretty sure the temple is just up ahead.”

“How sure?” Gale asked flatly, making it a point to brush some dried mud from his robes. 

Astarion rolled his eyes again and cautiously stepped out into a clearing up ahead. He halted almost immediately upon seeing a sigil painted in blood on the floor, very obviously in tribute to Bhaal. He looked to his right and saw a large door sandwiched between two hanging brassieres. He cocked his hip to the side and turned back to the group, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. “Well, well, well. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a Temple to Bhaal.”

“How can you be sure?” Lae’zel asked. 

“Um? Hellooooo?” Astarion gestured grandly towards the sigil on the floor and two corpses hanging overhead. “What’s the alternative? A subterranean flower shop?”

“Oh, that would be nice!” Karlach mused.

Gale cautiously approached the door, a hand positioned under his chin, deep in thought. He reached out a hand and pushed.

Nothing.

“Bugger,” he muttered. “Thought that might work.”

“Doorbell, maybe?” Karlach offered. Shadowheart tilted her head to the side in question. “I dunno! Maybe they get deliveries.”

“Two corpses, coming right up,” Wyll joked, gesturing to the hanging corpse above. He and Karlach descended into giggles.

“Be serious,” Astarion scoffed, approaching the door and removing Thieves’ Tools from his pack. 

“Be serious,” Karlach mimicked.

Astarion paused and turned to her, a threat of murder in his gaze.

Karlach held up her hands. “Just trying to keep things light while Soldier isn’t around.”

“Yes, well…” Astarion didn’t bother finishing the thought and instead returned his attention to inspecting the door for any sort of locking mechanism. Apart from the jagged crack running down the front of the door signifying how it opened, there didn’t appear to be any way to open it, besides maybe brute strength. 

As his hands approached the door, a sudden rush of ancient voices filled his mind. He looked back up at the door to see if anything had changed. If he had to guess, the voices’ whispers seemed to signify that the door was ripe with old, deathly magic. 

But it just looked like a big dumb stone door to him.

Normally, he’d take his time - search for traps, perhaps find a hidden switch in an adjacent chamber, make someone else do the work… but this time, it was you behind the door.  

And nothing was going to keep him from getting to you.

Abruptly, he stuck his tools into the crack of the stone and began to fiddle with the tiny opening.

“Pardon me,” the door said, somewhat aghast. “You shall not enter like that.”

“A-apologies,” Astarion sputtered. He had not expected the door to speak, let alone protest.

The door cleared her throat, if that was even possible. “New vessels brimming with blood darken Bhaal’s door - to baptise his dais most holy.”

“You all can hear that, right?” Astarion asked over his shoulder, but kept his eyes on the door.

“Yes,” the others answered unanimously.

“Good.”

“Do you have proof of your faith to our lord?” The door asked. 

Lae’zel narrowed her eyes. “How can we prove ourselves?”

“You must bear proof of the Dread Lord’s favor… or pay His toll in blood.”

Astarion banged his fist on the door. “Great, we have to kill ourselves.”

Shadowheart huffed out a laugh. “We do not have to kill ourselves, Astarion.”

“Yes, the door is merely testing us,” Gale nodded. “If everyone was required to kill themselves, Bhaal wouldn’t have any followers. So let’s think for a moment.”

Wyll’s eyes fell on the corpses hanging over the bloody sigil. “Oh, I see,” he muttered. 

“What?” Astarion perked up.

Wyll walked forward and crouched down, observing the sigil more closely. “Working as the Blade has led me down some interesting roads with interesting people.” He looked around at the group. “Current company included.”

“Thanks,” Karlach swished her tail gleefully.

“Anyway, I’ve seen a sigil like this before when facing followers of Bhaal. It craves blood.”

“We all crave blood,” Astarion copied Wyll’s tone. “Some of us more than others. But what good will that do? And what kind of blood?”

“It would be incredibly convenient if vampire blood was required,” Lae’zel offered, annoyed.

“I-” Astarion shut his mouth and pouted. 

“It’s the key,” Wyll continued. He took out his crossbow and aimed it at one of the corpses hanging above. “And the kind of blood doesn’t matter. No sacrifice needed on our part.” 

With that, Wyll released a bolt, hitting the corpse and causing some blood to spray on the sigil, along with the group as a whole.

“Ugh, really?” Gale groaned, wiping blood droplets from his face. 

“Welcome, merciless killers,” the door said, immediately opening without delay. “Walk in blood.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘merciless,’” Wyll muttered. “These guys were already dead.”

“Aw, take the compliment,” Shadowheart teased, playfully punching his arm. 

“Out of my way!” Astarion exclaimed, pushing past the others and running through the open door. He halted immediately when he came upon a rundown merchant stand. To his left, a path ran down deeper into what appeared to be a ruined city. 

“No,” he muttered. “No, no, no!”

“What is it?” Shadowheart asked, jogging after him.

Astarion picked up a stone and threw it down the path angrily. “She’s not here!”

“‘Not here?’” Lae’zel growled, surveying the area. 

“This is certainly unlike any temple I’ve been in,” Gale remarked, beginning to walk down the path, past rotting corpses and towards the city. 

“That’s because this isn’t a temple,” Shadowheart confirmed. 

“Oh, is it not?!” Astarion asked, his tone biting. 

“Ease up, Fangs,” Karlach said, stepping in front of the vampire. “We’ll find her. She’s probably further-”

“She should be here,” he nearly whined, but the party could tell that it was a thinly veiled attempt at hiding a breakdown. 

“She’s here,” Gale assured.

Wyll nodded. “Orin doesn’t realize who she’s messing with.”

“A mistake that will soon be rectified,” La’ezel lunged into a fighting stance.

“And think of all the fuckers you’ll get to drain dry on your way to her,” Karlach bared her own fangs, suddenly looking rather terrifying. 

“Let’s keep going,” Shadowheart said gently, nodding her head for them to keep moving forward. “Does anyone need more healing? This could get very ugly, very quickly.”

Astarion tried his hardest to mask a wayward sniffle with a cough. “You all are willing to murder for me… just so that I can have the chance to lead a happy life with my beloved?”

Lae’zel wrinkled her nose. “Definitely not.”

“You forget how much we love Soldier,” Karlach said, clapping Astarion on the back. “But we like you too.” She winked. 

“Up for debate,” Gale teased. 

“Yes, well…” Astarion brushed his hands through his hair before smoothly unsheathing his daggers. “Prove yourselves useful in this and I may admit to liking you too.” His lips quirked up in a slanted smile before he tilted his nose up and sniffed the air. “Oh gods, her blood!” He took off down the path ahead of everyone else. 

“What about her blood?” Wyll called, sprinting after him as he weaved around a corner.

“I smell it! She’s hurt, she’s bleeding, she’s- ARGH!” Astarion wheezed in agony.

“Astarion!” the others shouted as they caught up.

They found him crumpled against a stone, an arrow in his shoulder. He motioned for them to stop where they were - at the top of a large staircase. 

“Remember those assassins Orin warned us about?” he asked. 

The party nodded.

“Found them.” He pointed to where shadowy, cloaked assassins lay hidden atop buildings, waiting for the party to make a move.

“Ready, everyone?” Shadowheart whispered after sending a healing spell Astarion’s way. 

They all nodded, readying their words and weapons.

“GO!”

~~~~~

“So, wait, you don’t have any twos?” Orin looked at the cards in her hand, then over at Fustian. 

“Uh… sorry, no, milady.” 

“BLAST IT ALL,” Orin screeched, throwing the cards across the stone floor. 

“Good game,” Fustian said, hurrying to retrieve the scattered deck and placing it neatly on the dais next to where you were crumpled over in agony. “How are you holding up?” she whispered to you.

“Been better,” you groaned. Your shackled hands clutched tightly over the wound Orin had inflicted with her dagger. Luckily, while painful, the injury didn’t seem fatal. Sure, she was insane and hellbent on murdering, but Orin knew her way around a body, carefully avoiding stabbing you somewhere vital. In a weird way, she was upholding her side of the bargain - not killing you until your friends showed up for a proper fight to the death. 

“Any idea where my friends are?” you asked as quietly as possible.

Fustian shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything new to report. Last I heard, our assassins were preparing an attack.”

You exhaled through your nose and looked up at the skeletal carving of Bhaal overlooking the temple. “Good luck,” you murmured sarcastically, hoping the god was listening.

“That was a while ago, now,” Fustian added.

“Silence,” Orin rubbed her temples, pacing back and forth. “No fraternizing with the prisoner.”

“One thousand apologies, Your Bloodiness,” Fustian bowed deeply. “I was simply trying to instill fear and despair in her.”

“Good on you,” Orin nodded. She looked at you. “Scared?”

“Horrified,” you coughed.

Orin smirked, amused. “Don’t cough too hard, pest, lest you hurt yourself more. And we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?” She approached you, twirling her knife, still dripping with your blood.

“Noted,” you said, your eyes drifting up to where there seemed to be some commotion from the level above. 

A familiar voice rang out. “It’s a perfectly legitimate architectural feature!”

You stiffened, recognizing Gale’s voice instantly. You couldn’t imagine what he was talking about, but there was no doubting his distinct timbre. 

The only question was, could this be one of Orin’s shapeshifters? Perhaps they’d just returned from tearing your friends to shreds and had now taken over your wizard as some sort of practical joke. Or, perhaps Gale had been taken prisoner and was now fighting with the devotees about Bhaal’s sense of architecture. Or, and more likely, he was arguing with one of your companions who’d intentionally pushed his buttons. 

Regardless of what was actually happening, you took a deep inhale.

“Oh, woe is me!” you said loudly, hoping your friends were truly here and would follow the sound of your voice. “Here I am, HELPLESS! And at the whim of Orin, the wretched, vile, bloodiest Chosen of Bhaal!”

Orin preened. “You are rather helpless, aren’t you? Who would have thought one little stab wound would garner such pathetic terror from you-”

“WHAT?!” shouted Astarion, though he was nowhere to be seen.

You and Orin watched as the comical banging of metal against metal and people falling down on the level above gave way to your vampire at the top of the stairs with steam pouring out of his ears. His eyes immediately fell on you and he launched himself down the stairs, pushing Reapers and Bhaal Devotees off the platform and out of his way as he went.

“Astarion, wait!” Shadowheart called, before realizing she was too late and sighing heavily. The others caught up and followed after Astarion. “We could have formed a plan first,” Shadowheart said, drawing Selûne's Spear of Night from behind her back and using it to keep the remaining Reapers at a distance.

Orin growled and approached the dais where you still lay crumpled. When she saw the slight smile on your face at the approaching vampire, she withdrew her dagger and brandished it in front of your face. “Hush, hush. I hear footsteps trip-trapping on the Murder Lord’s stones.”

“I’m not trying to be quiet about it!” Astarion fumed, rushing to your side.

“Back!” Orin shouted, pointing the dagger at your throat. 

Astarion scowled and stepped back carefully. 

Orin returned to her speech. “You refused the Murder Lord’s command, and came crawling into his sanctum with the tyrant unpulped.”

“Gross,” Karlach murmured. “Believe me, we’ll get to that, if I have any say in it.”

Orin’s eyes remained trained on Astarion, whose own focus was zeroed in entirely on you.

“Aw,” she cooed, “did you think you could protect? Did you think you could save?”

“How dare you lay a finger on her,” Astarion spat. “I’ll kill you.”

Orin laughed. “That is good news, as only the blade can offer salvation.” With that, she pressed the dagger to your throat.

You let out a tiny gasp as a single drop of blood ran down your neck.

“Wait!” Astarion exclaimed. 

Orin looked at him expectantly. 

Astarion floundered for a second before saying, “You said Bhaal wanted us to fight. Surely he’ll reject this offering.” He gestured to you as if you weren’t the most important thing in his world. 

Orin removed the blade from your throat, causing you to inhale sharply. She got up and approached Astarion slowly. “You do not lie, underling. It is all of your blood I am destined to spill.” She looked around to your companions, all of whom were preparing for whatever move she made next. “Your death spits will stain these walls, little lambs.”

“Careful,” Wyll said, drawing his rapier and pointing it at the shapechanger. 

Orin tsked. “Your murders should have been exquisite. A crypt-born effigy to greet Bhaal’s bleeding dawn. And now it will be nothing.”

“My lady…” Fustian said, taking a step back hesitantly, realizing Orin was about to do something reckless. 

“Be ready for anything,” Lae’zel said, bending her knees and swinging her greatsword in front of her.

Orin chuckled. “Come to me, father.” 

Suddenly, the same bloody sigil your companions had seen at the entrance to the undercity appeared beneath her feet, creating a circle of death that glowed ominously.

“Set my flesh to your unholy purpose.”

The ground shook as Orin curled into herself, clutching her head and screaming before exploding in a cloud of blood. Standing in her place was a giant horned creature with jagged teeth and tusks, multiple limbs and a whipping tail.

Gale’s eyes followed the creature upwards to where it stood, about eight feet tall on its hind legs. “That’s not good.”

“Oh goodie, a nightmare creature beyond our comprehension, how original.” Astarion clapped his hands together sarcastically.

“That nightmare creature is the shapeshifter,” Lae’zel said, looking around as Reapers began to surround the party from every side. 

“Yes,” Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose, “we all saw that.”

Karlach laughed darkly and grabbed her halberd. “Let’s kill her.”

“You’ll have to go through us first,” one of the Reapers surrounding the area threatened.

Karlach shrugged. “Fine.” She threw her halberd, landing it directly in the side of the Reaper’s head, killing him instantly. 

As a result, all hell broke loose. Your friends ran at the Reapers and Orin, casting spells and swinging their weapons, while your enemies did the same.

Astarion, meanwhile, approached your side again. The monster that was Orin surged forward and blocked his path. 

Green magic shot from Wyll’s direction, accompanied by a low chant of “Dolor.” Orin went flying backwards, allowing Astarion to approach you again. He looked over his shoulder and gave Wyll a grateful look.

“Help her,” Wyll said, nodding towards you. “We can handle this.”

Astarion turned back to you. “Hello, darling.”

You smiled weakly. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

“With you bleeding out and in dire need of rescue? I’d have to agree. Though you do smell divine.”

You laughed softly. “I’m not bleeding out. It’s barely a scratch.”

“Let me see,” Astarion said, reaching for where your hands were clutching your side.

You curled in on yourself more, attempting to hide the severity of the wound.

“Let me see, love,” he repeated. “I want to help.”

Cautiously, you removed your hands, doing your best not to wince. 

“I saw that,” Astarion said, taking your hands in his and kissing your knuckles. “This won’t do either,” he said, waving one of your hands back and forth, causing the shackles around your wrists to clank and rattle. 

“Magic-proof,” you shrugged.

“Bastards.” Astarion slipped his bag from his shoulders and began to rummage through its contents. 

You craned your neck to see what he was looking for, and chuckled at the sight of how stuffed his bag was. “And you told me my bag was a mess.”

“I know where everything is,” he smirked, throwing your own words from so long ago back at you. 

“Dork,” you muttered. 

“I’ll leave you here,” he threatened half-heartedly. 

“No you won’t.”

“Never,” he surged forward and kissed your forehead before returning to his bag and pulling out a scroll. “Can you sit up for me, darling?”

You nodded and pulled yourself up with a bit of strain. Astarion helped to guide you as you went.

“Good girl,” he said softly, winking at you and shifting his gaze to the blood covering your armor. 

“I have bandages,” Fustian appeared from nowhere and flaunted a few cotton pads in Astarion’s face. 

“BACK OFF!” Astarion bellowed, ripping a dagger out of its sheath and pointing it at the Death’s Head of Bhaal.

“Astarion!” you tried to hold him back, but your shackled hands prevented you from grasping him fully. Regardless, you felt his tension ease minutely and he paused before striking a killing blow. “This is Fustian. She’s been very kind to me.”

Astarion looked from you to Fustian. He sniffed and looked down his nose at her. “If she’s been so kind, care to tell me why you were stabbed?”

“Oh, I didn’t stab her,” Fustian clarified. “That would be Our Lady of Crimson.” She nodded her head over to where Orin currently had Lea’zel in her giant claw, but Lae’zel quickly freed her greatsword and swung it down into Orin’s hideous maw. The Slayer shrieked and Lae’zel whooped in victory, rolling backwards after being released and coming to stand back to back with Karlach. 

“Uh huh,” Astarion lifted an eyebrow. “And you just let her bleed?”

Fustian laughed a little. “Blood is kind of our whole thing.”

Astarion gave you a look as if to say “understandable.”

“It’s a great honor to bleed via the blade of Orin the Red.”

The vampire hummed, unimpressed. “I’m going to make her stop bleeding now.” He turned to you and unfurled the scroll still in his hand. 

“I have-”

“Bandages, I know.” Astarion turned to Fustian with a fake smile that scrunched his features. “I can handle this. Now, off with you. Ta ta.” He waved his hand towards the fray, motioning for Fustian to leave, and turned back to you.

You eyed Fustian and nodded minutely to let her know you’d be okay. 

She nodded in return and ran towards the stairs to the second level, narrowly avoiding a Fireball thrown by Gale that knocked a gaggle of Reapers off the side of the marble platform and into the endless abyss below. 

Astarion snapped his fingers in front of your face, adding a whistle for good measure. “Eyes on me, love.” His own eyes locked on yours, his expression open and vulnerable, as if seeing you for the first time in ages.

You felt your cheeks heat under the attention. 

“I’ve missed those eyes,” he said, almost dreamily. 

You smiled softly and reached for him, but the moment was ruined when your shackles limited your range of motion.

“Right,” Astarion said. “Let me heal you, and then I’ll free you.”

“Has my handsome rogue gone soft?” you teased. “You do healing magic now?”

Astarion smirked. “I am rather incredible, aren’t I?” He kissed your nose and turned towards the scroll. His voice took on an echoing quality when he said, “te curo,” and aqua healing magic transferred from his fingertips to the cut in your side. 

Immediately, your breathing improved and the dull ache of the wound disappeared completely. 

You sighed and slumped forward, a relieved smile on your face. “That’s much better, thank you.”

Astarion smiled back and kissed you feverishly all over your face and mouth. “Stop,” he said between kisses, “scaring. Me. My heart. Can’t take it!” He pulled back and chuckled at the mussed state of your hair. 

You blew a few strands out of your face, making him laugh more. “A little help?” You asked, holding out your wrists.

“Oh, yes!” Astarion rummaged through his backpack again.

“Not sure a spell will work,” you informed as he searched. “These things are cutting off my magic, so I’m not entirely sure a scroll will help here.”

“Pft,” Astarion scoffed. “Since when have I needed magic to pick a lock?” Triumphantly, he held up a fresh set of Thieves’ Tools.

You rolled your eyes playfully before shouting: “WATCH OUT!”

Orin, looking incredibly bloodied thanks to the work of your companions, was charging right at you. Astarion stood and met the creature’s impact with two stabs of his daggers. Orin shrieked in pain, stumbling backwards and falling down. 

The temple went silent as the Chosen of Bhaal laid still on the ground.

Your companions looked on with bated breath.

Suddenly, the effigy depicting the skull of Bhall adorning one of the walls of the Temple glowed to life. It let out a deathly scream, bathing Orin in a red light. 

You and your friends groaned in annoyance as the Slayer rose to her feet, seemingly refreshed.

“Bullshit!” Karlach yelled.

Gale leaned against his staff. “I’ve been hitting her with everything I’ve got!”

Lae’zel growled. “We all have!”

Shadowheart pivoted on her feet. “Just a little more, everyone!”

“Aye,” Wyll agreed. “To Avernus, where she belongs!”

You and Astarion watched, transfixed, as your party charged Orin and her remaining Reapers.

“Anyway,” Astarion said flatly, turning back to you. “Ready to be freed, my love?”

“Extremely,” you sighed and placed your hands on your lap to give Astarion the easiest angle to pick the lock. 

He set to work, fiddling with the Thieves’ Tools and narrowing his eyes in concentration. 

“So,” you said quietly, ignoring the sounds of the battle raging around you, “how long did it take you to realize something was off?”

“I knew immediately,” Astarion said, leaning his head forward to listen for the click of the lock.

You laughed. “Somehow, I don’t believe that.”

Astarion humphed and looked up at you briefly. “I truly wish I could say that I instantly knew something was off, but Orin is annoyingly good at what she does. It took until we were battling a clown that I knew for sure you’d been taken from me.”

You smiled sadly at him. You couldn’t blame him for falling for Orin’s tricks - she’d spent a lifetime honing her craft as a shapeshifting she-demon. You weren’t positive you’d be able to tell the difference if roles were reversed. You were just glad he eventually figured it out.

“Truthfully,” the vampire continued, “I could sense something was off when you, or, er, she, wouldn’t let me hold her while she slept.”

You scoffed. “Sleeping with another woman?”

“Ha ha,” Astarion laughed humorlessly. “It wasn’t my choice, I assure you. Blast this thing!” He removed the Thieves’ Tools from the lock and readjusted his hands to get a better angle. “Honestly, darling, I thought I’d annoyed you somehow and that you were simply giving me the cold shoulder.”

You laughed again. “Why would you think that? Did you do something to deserve my ire?”

“Hells if I knew!” Astarion said, a smile overtaking his features. “I’m a magnificent bastard, as I’ve said. I can’t keep track of all the idiocy that leaves my mouth.”

“So you admit you’re an idiot.”

“I do not and that was not what our discussion was about - got it!”

With a melodic click, the shackles popped open, freeing you completely. 

“Come here, my love,” Astarion gathered you in his arms and hugged you tightly to him, placing a kiss on your temple. “How poorly did they treat you?”

You nuzzled your nose into his neck, breathing in his sophisticated scent that you missed so much. “It wasn’t too bad. I taught a few goons how to play Go Fish.”

Astarion pulled back to give you a questioning look. When you didn’t shy away from his inspection, he laughed heartily. “Only you would somehow find a way to have fun while being held captive by a death cult.”

You grinned at him and shrugged. “I love to confuse the opponent.” 

“I think you’re just too kind for your own good.”

“I can be mean!”

An unimpressed look. “You can be mean?”

“I can be so mean!”

“Darling, while I have always admired your spunk, I don’t think anyone here would classify your particular brand of… whatever you are, as ‘mean.’”

“You’re just jealous of how easily I can win people over.”

“I am not.”

“You are!”

“Dearest, if I wanted more people to like me, I would have ditched our group of weirdos long ago.”

“Which reminds me; you guys went to the circus without me?”

Astarion bent forward, placing his head on your shoulder and groaning in defeat. “Please don’t make me go back once we’re out of here.”

“No, no, I would never,” you said, badly hiding the fact that you were absolutely planning to make him take you back once you were out of here. 

A bolt of red magic shot past the two of you, reminding you both that you were still very much in the middle of a battle.

“Oh!” Astarion perked up, remembering something. “I brought something for you.”

You held your hands to your heart. “A gift? My my, you shouldn’t have.”

“Relax,” he rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing new.”

From below the dais, Astarion conjured your lute.

You lit up instantly, taking the instrument and strumming a cheery tune. A bolt of lightning shot out of it and knocked out a nearby Reaper. 

“How I’ve missed you,” you sighed, rubbing your cheek against its neck. 

“Wow,” Astarion said, standing and holding out a hand to help you up. “I don’t think you’ve told me that at all today. Even when I so heroically came to save you.”

“Thank you, I missed you, and I love you,” you surged up onto your toes to kiss his cheek.

“Better,” he said.

“Wanna see me be mean?” You fiddled with tuning your lute.

“Always.”

“Excellent,” you snarled, planting your feet and strumming a haunting melody. 

Behind Orin, a purple glowing glyph appeared on the floor. 

With a nod to you, Shadowheart thrust her spear forward, causing the Once-Orin-Creature to falter and step backwards, her foot crossing into the glyph. 

A sudden, deafening crack split the air as lightning and thunder struck from above, ripping a piercing screech from Orin’s throat and sending the few remaining Reapers off the platform, never to be seen again. 

“There she is,” Astarion wrapped his arm around your waist. “My, you’re strong.” His hand squeezed your hip and he looked at you fondly. 

“Later,” you smirked, bumping your hip into his. “She’s still standing.”

“Oh, what the fuck?” Shocked, Astarion turned to look at the Slayer, who was hobbling over to slash at Shadowheart. “Do wonders never cease?” he remarked. 

Karlach groaned. “Why would you say that?”

The effigy of Bhaal glowed to life again, surrounding Orin in a red light. When it dissipated, she seemed ready to fight once more. 

“Astarion!” Lae’zel shouted, swinging her sword in anger.

“How was that my fault?!” Astarion shouted back.

Wyll lunged towards Orin and pushed her backwards with a green streak of Eldritch Blast. “You can’t just say ‘do wonders never cease’ when battling a foe. It invites them to prove you wrong.”

“Especially when you ask A GOD OF MURDER,” Gale swiped a hand through his hair and gestured to the Bhaal skull in the wall. 

“Haven’t you read any book?” you asked over your shoulder as you ran forward to join the fight properly. 

“Et tu, darling?” Astarion reached for his daggers and followed after you. “I merely asked a question!”

“Not a bright one,” Shadowheart muttered.

“Alright, enough jabs at Astarion, I’m sure he’s incredibly frazzled after the day he’s had.” You strummed another haunting tune, making Orin fly sideways as you hit her with a high level Shatter spell. 

Karlach laughed and plunged her warhammer into Orin’s shoulder. “Says the one who’s been captured for the last two days.”

“Yes, but Astarion is sensitive,” you said in a secretive tone, fully intending for Astarion to hear.

He took the bait. “Hey!” 

You looked at him with a smile and reached to squeeze his hand. “Let’s finish this.”

He observed your expression, taking in your features and a smile that was actually yours. He smiled back.

“Let’s.”

Without a word, Astarion threw one of his daggers, landing it squarely in Orin’s eye. She cried out in pain and staggered towards him. 

“Ignis,” Shadowheart shouted, sending a Firebolt into her back. Orin recoiled and changed directions, shifting towards the cleric. 

“Don’t think so!” Karlach jumped atop the creature to remove her warhammer and slammed it back into her. Orin screamed and violently shook Karlach from her body, sending the tiefling flying towards the edge of the platform. 

Gale’s voice boomed before she could fall, “Non fit injura!” Feathery wisps surrounded Karlach, as Feather Fall overtook her body. 

“Thanks Gale!” she called out, hoisting herself from the edge of the platform and back onto solid ground. “I owe you one.”

Gale nodded and turned back to Orin. Before he could utter another spell, however, the slayer grabbed him and ripped her nails through his torso before tossing him aside. 

“GALE!” you ran to him, quickly strumming a Cure Wounds. 

“Hta'zith!” screeched Lae’zel, who landed a blow to Orin’s skull with her greatsword. “Try that again,” she growled to the creature, “I dare you.”

Orin screamed in a half blinded rage, pushing you all back with the force of the sound. She jumped forward, landing on top of Wyll, who wasn’t able to dodge her massive form. 

“Get off of him!” Karlach threw herself against Orin, wrenching her warhammer free again, and using it this time to cleave one of Orin’s four arms from her body. Blood splattered against Wyll’s face, but the action left him unharmed and able to escape. 

“Stand back, all,” Gale said through gritted teeth as you helped him sit up. 

Your companions took the hint and ran for the edges of the platform.

“Arde!” he shouted. A fireball manifested from above and landed directly on Orin who shrieked loudly in agonizing pain.

But when the smoke cleared, she was still standing. 

Albeit crispier. 

“What in the-?” Astarion asked, dumbfounded. 

Lured by his voice, Orin turned and charged towards the vampire. 

“No!” you fumbled with your lute, but couldn’t form a proper fret with your fingers covered in blood from the battle. 

Before the Slayer could reach him, Astarion threw another dagger, landing it in Orin’s other eye. The creature screamed, sounding almost human, and crouched forward, laying her claws on the stone floor. 

You scrambled to your feet, helping Gale up as you went. His wounds were healed, but he still seemed somewhat out of it. 

“Is that it?” he asked.

“Stay back!” Shadowheart warned, noticing Orin crawling towards you.

“Die, damn you!” Lae’zel hit her with her sword. 

A thwack! from Karlach’s hammer.

A slash! from Wyll’s dark magic. 

A hiss! from Shadowheart’s. 

A bonk! From Gale’s staff.

Despite it all, Orin still crawled towards you. 

Astarion joined your side. 

“Pitiful, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Rest now,” you said to Orin, finding the correct position for your hand on your lute’s neck. With a final strum and another high level Shatter, Orin ceased her movement, and a quiet fell over the temple. Her body dissolved into nothing more than blood and bone.

You’d robbed another god of his Chosen.

“Good riddance,” Astarion scoffed, bending to pick up his daggers that now clattered to the floor.

“Soldier!” Karlach yelled, running over and wrapping you in her arms. The others joined, with Lae’zel and Astarion standing a little ways off. 

“Thank the gods you’re okay,” Shadowheart sighed.

“Me?” you asked after Karlach released you. “You guys look terrible!”

“Thank you,” said Astarion. 

“I can’t imagine how exhausted you all must be. How many people did you fight to find me?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Wyll smiled.

Gale nodded. “What’s important is that you’re safe, and relatively unharmed.”

“I felled thirty-seven foes on our way to you and just now,” Lae’zel stated.

“Nicely done!” you raised your eyebrows and Lae’zel preened. 

“But I should very much like a bath,” she added.

“Great idea,” Shadowheart agreed, pointedly wiping blood from her shoulder. 

“A bath sounds heavenly,” you said. “Were you able to find another camp near water while I was gone?”

Astarion laughed loudly. “Oh, my love, you’ll be happy to know that we’ve found another camp with walls. This time with running water.”

“Oh thank gods,” you said, taking his hand and heading towards the stairs to exit.

But as you went to climb the steps back to the upper level of the temple, you caught the frightened and tentative looks of remaining Bhaal worshippers who hadn’t fled during the battle.

“What should we do about them?” Karlach asked quietly. 

Your eyes scanned the crowd and landed on Fustian. She gave you a slight nod.

You nodded back. 

“I think they’ll be okay,” you said.

Astarion groaned and rested his forehead on your shoulder. “It doesn’t matter if they’ll be okay, darling, will leaving them here cause trouble for us later?”

You smiled up at Fustian. “I don’t think so.”

Bhaal worshippers moved out of your way as you and your companions began climbing the stairs. 

“You don’t think so?” Astarion continued. 

“We’ve got bigger problems than a scattered Temple of Bhaal,” Shadowheart said, nodding to a worshipper who stepped aside. 

“Like Gortash,” Karlach growled. 

“And Karsus,” Gale added.

“And a certain vampire lord,” you said quietly, squeezing Astarion’s hand. 

His entire body tensed, but the warm look you gave him instantly put him at ease. 

“Alright then,” he said devilishly. “Let’s go hurt someone.”

~~~~~

Andromeda was nothing but smiles as she trotted into the center on that particular Friday. She was only popping by for a moment to sign up for the Paint and Sip event that night, but she was thinking about swinging by to say a quick hello to Dammon while she was there.

The lobby was vacant of anyone but a woman with pale blonde hair that was starting to grey in places and a stern look on her face.

“Hi! Can I help you with something?” Andromeda asked, scooting around the visitor’s station and set her bag on the chair. She wasn’t sure where Minsc had wandered off to, but she didn’t hear his booming, cheerful voice anywhere in the distance and the door to the office was open, showcasing that it was clearly empty.

“No, that is alright. I am looking for Minsc.” The woman had a thick, beautiful accent and her eyes had a kindness to them even though she looked rather grumpy.

“Ah, are you a friend of his?” Andromeda tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

The woman chuckled and shrugged. “He certainly seems to think so even though we’ve only spoken on the phone.”

“Well, I’m Andromeda. I’ll see if I can find him for you,” she said.

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Do you work here?”

Andromeda chuckled and nodded. “I volunteer here. It’s an off-day for me, but I’m not in a rush so I don’t mind looking for where he wandered off to.”

“Much appreciated.”

Slinging her bag back over her shoulder, Andromeda hurried up the stairs to see if Minsc was in one of the classrooms. Just as she was about to give up searching on that floor, sounds of Minsc’s voice could be heard coming from the usual room she and Astarion had their lessons in.

“Boo! You must stop that! Minsc must get back to work!”

Poking her head in the doorway, Andromeda giggled at the sight before her. Minsc was on his hands and knees, gaze locked under a small cart of music stands. “Everything okay in here?”

“Ah, beautiful sunflower! Boo is being a prankster and has escaped Minsc this morning and won’t come out of hiding!’

“It’s not a good day if Boo isn’t getting up to a little mischief,” Andromeda said with a smirk. Tiptoeing into the room, she crouched down next to the man.

“Would it be alright if I took over trying to coax him out?” she asked. “There’s someone downstairs who is here to see you.”

Rivington was bustling with more people than any of them had seen in one area in quite some time. They had all been quite the mix of emotions upon arrival, unable to believe they had actually made it. Baldur’s Gate was just within reach of their fingertips. It hardly felt real.

Yet it also didn’t feel like they really had any space to actually enjoy it.

Hoping the journey to the city would be calm and quiet for once, things took a rather unexpected turn during their stay at Wyrm’s Lookout. Not only had their camp been attacked by Gith warriors, it was revealed to them that not only had their “guardian” been a mind flayer the entire time, it was utilizing the power of one imprisoned Prince Orpheus to protect them from the power of the Absolute.

It had been a lot to take in.

Astarion was more than a little certain he had never seen Andromeda that angry in her life either. The moment the fighting with the Gith warriors was over, she turned her attention to the mind flayer and took a hard swing right at its glistening, purple head.

Surprisingly, it didn’t move out of her way.

After giving it quite a hard punch, Andromeda’s eyes had been filled with tears as she listened to the damn thing’s explanation as to why it had decided to take on the form of her dead lover. Astarion couldn’t read whether she was convinced or not, but once she took it all in, she agreed they should remain allies and her word left little room for any arguments.

Lae’zel tried to argue, of course, her entire allegiance suddenly pledged to this prince she had no idea was even still alive, and believed to be a traitor for her entire life. Astarion couldn’t be sure what the bard had said to the gith, but after a lengthy and private conversation, Lae’zel backed down, in her way, and agreed that they should continue without killing the mind flayer for the time being.

Upon their arrival to Rivington, Astarion had been hopeful it would be a nice, quiet jaunt into the city. However, that couldn’t be easy either.

At every turn, it seemed their attention was required.

Not only that, but after approaching the gates to get further into Rivington, there were Flaming Fists and a giant, mechanical soldier referred to as a Steel Watcher guarding the way through.

Astarion was confident they’d be able to sneak right on through without suspicion, but Andromeda’s face paled at the sight of so many guards. She looked a bit different than she did when she fled Baldur’s Gate five years prior, however, it didn’t stop the group from immediately recognizing her name on a wanted poster hanging up in Sword Coast Couriers.

Andromeda Greenleaf. Wanted for arson and the murder of Cicero Blackwood. 1,000 gold for whoever brought her in.

“So… your surname is Greenleaf,” Astarion said, quietly as the group was making their way back from the beach. It hadn’t been a leisurely visit to the sea. The moment Andromeda had seen all the guards just after finding the wanted poster, she fled down a path as far from them as she could get. However, it landed them smack-dab in the middle of a disagreement between the Thieves’ Guild and a bunch of thugs who said they were working for someone called the Stone Lord.

“It is,” Andromeda replied, keeping her eyes locked on the sandy path in front of them. The two were lagging behind the others just a little, but not overly far. “But you probably shouldn’t say so out loud. Unless you’re hoping to claim the bounty on my head.”

Astarion scoffed and waved his hand. “Please. And lose the one who adores me most in this group of weirdos? Not likely.” He was hoping the comment would earn a smile, but it didn’t.

She had been smiling less and less ever since the mind flayer colony and it was really starting to concern Astarion, not that he would admit it out loud. He thought things were getting better after their cozy night at Wyrm’s Lookout (before the gith and the mind flayer interruptions), but that was quite short-lived.