#× THRD 001. ┊ apal/astarion ancunin & breina﹙THE MURDER OF ALFIRA THE BARD﹚

[deathswcrn]

"I sure fuckin' hope you know how fey work," she told him sullenly, realising that the only thing that was going to keep Astarion out of the hut was burning the damned thing down before he got there. And she didn't want to do anything that would threaten his pact of silence - not until she knew more about her own condition, her own latent lust for blood that she had no control over.

But she wasn't going to make that worse by going inside the hut of a hag, waiting for the witch to twitch her finger and make her kill her new allies, or talk her into something she had no real way to back down from. And she certainly wasn't going to let him sneak in either, not when this would give her the only opportunity to keep an eye on him.

"We need you, Astarion," she told him firmly. "If you... damn it, if you get caught by a hag, I will kill her with my bare hands just for the opportunity to kill you too for bein' so stupid." Allowing him the chance to speak with Ethel whilst posting herself outside like a guardswoman was as close to approving of Astarion as she could bring herself. She knew if she went in with him, she'd pick a fight, and whatever Astarion wanted to talk to her about must be important for him to risk it, too.

So she looked at Gale, and said with her mouth, "Watch his back for me. And for fuck's sake, knock him 'round the head with your staff if he's an idiot." But with the privacy of the tadpole connection, fully aware Astarion might feel it but confident he wouldn't be able to stop her or eavesdrop, she asked Gale, "Lend me your eyes whilst you're in there." She was relieved to feel a wave of silent affirmation back across the connection.

Because if she had to, she would burn the hut down to protect them. And it wouldn't hurt for Ethel to know that she was being watched by someone willing to do that, too.

Quite obviously the woman was a hag. No question about it with the amount of latent magic surrounding her lair. The trickster creatures that originated from the Feywilds always fascinated him. Delighted him even. So Breina’s fear threw him off kilter from some giddy child-like joy in him. Even dangerous, the power was quite tempting especially for a man who had no power for so long.

Oh. Of course Breina still thought he was seeking out a way to remove the parasite. Oh no, no, no. He intended to keep his wriggling friend for as long as possible. What he sought was a permanent solution to keeping the pesky creature dormant. And him blissfully free of tentacles. “We haven’t agreed to anything yet. I know how fey work, dear. Keep our names to ourselves, and don’t sign any contracts or give verbal agreements until the terms are clear.”

But he knew fear when he saw it. Understood enough that she likely had either run across the fey in her prior travels or heard about them in grim dark fairytales told to children. What he saw was an opportunity for power. Power to be free of Cazador completely. “I’ve a proposal of my own. You can wait here whilst I speak to our lovely aunt. Trust me I won’t be selling what’s left of my soul any time soon.”

The two of them really weren’t going to get much intervention from either Gale or Lae’zel. Lae’zel would much rather be searching for the creche. Gale was easily persuaded by pragmatism than anything else. Finally, he was he who spoke. “I can go with Astarion, but any lead dubious nature or not we should follow.”

[deathswcrn]

Power. It shouldn't have surprised Breina that this was about power. In the end, she only agreed to come because it was not power she wanted used against her, but her eyes were fixed the entire time they travelled back down into the swamp with Astarion's back firmly in her gaze and her fingers wrapped around her axe, ready to pull it free and bury it in an enemy at a second's notice.

They seemed to cross a threshold, and the hairs on the back of Breina's neck stood on end. It was the kind of sensation that a predator experienced seeing another predator: a warning that there was another creature here, something hungry, and that creature would fight as hard as you to survive if cornered. Because all both of you knew was blood and war.

"This is stupid. This is so stupid," she said, still not able to see through the illusions herself, but knowing that Astarion would have no reason to lie - rather, he would have every reason to downplay the danger. "Redcaps are fey. Hags are fey. This is fey territory. Are we really, really so desperate that the fey are our only option?"

She knew her look to Astarion, a pleading look, would go unanswered. But she tried anyway. She stood herself in front of him, fixed him with a wide-eyed expression of fear, shook her head and said, "Astarion, please, think this through. Maybe she can fix us. Maybe she can dig the tadpole out of our skulls. But if she's a hag, then the price ain't gonna be worth it. Fuck, if she's a hag, she might have a blast misinterpretin' our words, and then we'll have a tadpole AND a hag stuck in our brains."

With a deep breath, she implored him one last time. "Let's go. Let's just go bully Kagha."

Astarion thrived on meeting the monsters and degenerates of the world. Even if it oft left him in a more difficult situation. “Because she was fun. Nothing like the druids or tieflings we came across.” Truly that was what mattered to him. He harbored no love of the valiant or heroic archetype. What good had they done him? It was the monstrous mindflayers that ultimately liberated him from his plight.

“Even if she is a witch, witches have objects of power. Power we can use to our advantage.” And there it was. Laid out before Breina of his fascination with it all. If he— they accumulated power what would they have to fear from anyone? The Gur had awoken a latent fear in him over Cazador. One he had almost put to the back of his so far away and out from under his thumb.

Others surely would come for him. Not to mention the plethora of villains they are undoubtedly going to encounter in this search for a cure. Well, he didn’t want a cure. He wanted control, but nobody needed to know that. Either way he prepared himself and set off with Breina and the others to meet this Ethel.

The swamp awaited them in all its petty, easy to see through illusions. From the overly green pastels into something murky and sinister. Oh this Ethel was a witch… or. “Oh no, this is no mere witch. The Red Caps? The illusions? Oh dear sweet old lady is a hag.” He conjectured. Astarion was no stranger to monsters after all.

“We should still see what she has to say on our wiggling friends.”

[deathswcrn]

Breina was thankful that Lae'zel did not press them too hard about their intellect devourer story; whilst Breina did not suspect that Lae'zel would take umbridge with their slaughter of the Gur hunter, she did not exactly want Astarion's background to be brought to everyone's attention, lest Astarion spill what she did to Alfira. It was a strange oath she had bound herself to. Already, the terms chafed.

The others coming back did fill her with a great deal of relief - they could manage, in teams of four, it seemed. That meant that her plan to split them up, to double what they could achieve and keep troublemakers apart, would work. It meant, with luck, their group cohesion had time to bloom.

Even better was the news about Kagha. It filled Breina with a sense of triumph to know that they had some way of getting the stubborn, ruthless druid to go back on her word, to threaten her into giving the Tieflings a moment of reprive.

Of course, Astarion was filled with delight at the prospect of returning to the swamp. "What exactly do you think will happen when we go there?" she asked, genuinely agog at the idea Astarion might want to meet Ethel. "She's definitely a witch. Probably a lot more dangerous than she lets on. I just wanna know, besides makin' sure she's not gonna be trouble for us, what you think you're gonna find in that teahouse of hers?"

“He didn’t keep us exactly under house arrest.” The truth, however, he wasn’t prepared to discuss with her just yet. Better to let Breina trust him a bit more before springing that tidbit of information on her concerning his ill-fated liaisons with the citizens of Baldur’s Gate. All of those poor souls he led haplessly to Cazador’s dinner plate. “I was stolen off the streets while conducting an errand of his.”

“Oh trust me, any acquaintance of Cazador’s deserves exactly what is coming to them. Kill on sight is the best approach.” He trailed behind listening intently to her explanation. The Githyanki would be curious. The return trip gave him precious time to clean the blood from his face. Arouse less suspicion from their little friends. He preferred to keep it that way. Vampires were not well loved among the general populace.

Lae’zel approached them once she realized the blood on them. While their story dubious at best, she was sensible in realizing some people or creatures warranted a slaughter. Left the pair of them well enough alone.

Just as the groups were to switch, the adventuring party returned with the results of their quest in the wilderness. Kagha had been very, very naughty. Her connection with the Shadow Druids revealed in a note left carelessly on an island.

“So with that little mystery solved, can we visit that delightful old woman, Ethel?” Astarion sounded far, far too thrilled at the prospect of meeting her.

[deathswcrn]

Her heart found the pit of her stomach as Astarion described Cazador. She figured he must have had a sire - it wasn't like two vampires who loved each other very much could have a wild night of fun and expect a baby vampire to be born nine months later, and he did have the scars on his neck to prove it. But like the mating rituals of Flumphs, she hadn't put any thought into the specifics of how a vampire perpetuated themselves.

She knelt down beside Gandral, patting him down to see if he had any valuables that were worth keeping hold of. His pocket had a little coin, but nothing much else. She tossed it to Astarion - the Gur was his problem. He deserved to be compensated.

"I'm guessin' the nautiloid snatched you up from out of his arms? How did it get you, if you were stuck with your sire?" It wasn't a mean-spirited question, and from her knitted brow and lips pressed firm together, her confusion was evident. She just wanted to understand - understand his enemies, so they could not surprise them, even if Breina's own enemies had the advantage of amnesia. She shook her head - they could have this conversation on the way back.

"So this shit was working for a slaver," she said with some finality, getting back to her feet. Her brain, the little dark urge inside it, was thinking of all the ways to punish a vampire like Cazador for his slavery - a particularly morbid image of jamming the fangs ripped from his jaw into his eyes tempted her. "Thank you for soothing my guilt about killing him. Now let's get back before Lae'zel starts asking questions. And if she asks: rogue intellect devourers. Gone now, but enough to out-number one of us alone."

Better to keep their story straight by deciding it beforehand.

A tensing of muscle as the inquiry claim. His euphoria rescinded back like a bird fallen from the sky. The sinking and twisting feeling latched onto his gut. He had inadvertently mentioned him. His tormentor. The source of all his pain and nightmares that gripped him in the night. The bastard’s whose bite marks he bore on his neck. The lineage of Szarr vampires that powered the curse keeping him suspended in a state of living death.

Features narrowed into something ugly and twisted even before the words came out. “My master. My sire if you like.” Astarion motioned vaguely to the right side of his neck. “He turned me into what I am. And kept me as his slave for over two hundred years. Until our wiggling friend and the mindflayers decided otherwise.”

Much of the details he clearly kept in omission. So much hidden behind the words he didn’t say. The pain he felt over the incident. “That’s what your little fantasy novels don’t tell you about vampires. You are made into their spawn first. Their obedient slaves. In theory, you sup of your sire’s blood and are made free. But no vampire does that.” Those keen eyes of his locked onto the Gur dead as the bastard was and drained of all vitality.

“Cazador would want me back. The Gur is just a message. A pointed one at that. Here I had hoped he'd think me lost for good. I should have known better.” The rogue laughter briefly, but bitterly. “Of course he will send more, darling. Our advantage is he doesn’t know what direction I’ve gone. Let’s just keep an eye open to the shadows in case more of his people come for me, shall we?”

[deathswcrn]

Gandrel was outmatched, and he hadn't even known it - two extremely seasoned hunters, both eager and trained killers, who both knew exactly how to subdue and slaughter without much fuss or sound? He stood not a cat's chance in the Hells to escape Breina's arms and Astarion's blade. He tried, he fought, body undulating as he tried to wriggle free, but with his brain losing oxygen and the blade piercing his heart and lungs, it was no competition. Astarion's fangs in his shoulders simply sealed the deal.

Breina let Gandrel go when she felt him go limp in her arms, the life drained out of him by Astarion's knives and fangs. The hunter slumped to the ground, a heap of muscle and loose limbs that fought her attempt to put him down gracefully. The cognitive dissonance around death resurfaced to bother her: how little she cared about Gandrel's death, and how much that worried her partnered with her unconscious deaths, was giving her a fierce headache on top of all her other problems, and she didn't care for it in the slightest. At least the Gur's death sated Astarion's thirst - it was possible he wouldn't even need to find her to drink tonight.

With the hunter set on the ground, she turned to Astarion, watching him reeling in euphoria. At least one of them was having fun. "Alright," she said, closing the hunter's eyes with her thumb and forefinger so he could rest in death. "You know everything there is to know about me. It's about time I got some answers back."

The first question was obvious. "Who's Cazador?" she asked, crossing her arms defensively over her chest as she climbed back to her feet. "...and what's he got to do with this? Why would he hire Gur to hunt you down? And, more importantly, are we gonna find more Gur trailing after us because of this?"

Breina spoke and he circled; slow and calculating. Appeared no more than a lackadaisical need of a man caught in a bout of ennui. In truth, Astarion positioned himself. There were so many ways to hurt someone. He couldn’t decide on a singular one. No better opportunity presented itself than when Gandrel concentrated completely onto her. Dagger slid from its sheath silently. He bartered his time watched as the hunter fell completely for their trap.

Perhaps he enjoyed this too much despite the not so insignificant amount of fear he harbored.

Her cry like the snap of a bowstring when all the coiled tension within him released. The blade found its home safely nestled between the hunter’s ribs. “Shhh. Shhh..” He murmured like the caress of a devilish lover. A release of relief all at once to see the man squirm before Astarion delivered another blow to his shoulder with his fangs. It wasn’t ideal, but he was hungry. What better way to subdue a Gur? Their tribe had been a catalyst for his suffering. Part of the reason for his curse.

This prize he didn’t relent until the blood stopped seeping from the wound. The light faded from Gandrel’s eyes. He released with a show of his bloodied fangs. The crimson fluid ran in twin rivets from the corners of his lips. And on his features could been the euphoria of a feed well had.

Dagger returned to its rightful place with a flourish. An immensely satisfied vampire. “He had it coming.” He announced with his usual flair. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Cazador hired him to look for me. No other reason for the bastard to be searching out here.”

[deathswcrn]

The moment they were out of Lae'zel's range of hearing and sight, she swatted at Astarion with the back of her hand. "Would you untwist your drawers? I said I'd help and I will. I just don't want Lae'zel following us and sticking her nose where it ain't wanted. If she thinks it's nothing, she won't bother."

She followed him south out of the village, down a winding trail that ended within the sunlit swamp on the edge of the Chionthar. Breina could not see past the illusion - it was a strangely peaceful place, dappled sunlight falling across water teeming with frogs, duckweed and reeds.

But it was spoiled by one thing. Even Breina could smell what had caught Astarion's nose before they arrived, brought from somewhere nearby on the downwind. It smelt like carrion, and not the fresh kind. Sickly sweet, metallic, sharp. Corpse-smell. "And you knew that was a monster hunter?" she asked, bewildered by how sharp Astarion's senses must have been to tell the difference.

But then they came out of the treeline close to where Ethel pointed out her teahouse on the map, and the figure of a member of the Gur came into view. She was quiet as he and Astarion traded words - right up until his name fell from the hunter's lips. Well. Now she had questions. But an oath was an oath - the Gur had to die.

"Sorry, I haven't run into anyone goin' by that name," she said, shrugging apologetically. "That mix really makes monsters fuck off? These woods are full of 'em and my friend and I have a long road back. I don't suppose you could share the secret with me?" Her smile was suitably charming, not flirtatious, but warm. Gandrel seemed disarmed - disarmed enough to make the mistake of letting Breina within arms reach.

A lifetime of muscle memory kicked in, unbeknownst to her, from years of hunting on Baldur's Gate's streets for the next unlucky soul to drag into the bowels of the Temple of Bhaal for ritual execution. A gentle touch on the Gur's arm to guide his attention away from the vampire as she asked about the tincture causing the smell, turning into the brutal yank that brought his neck below the line of her chest. She locked her elbow around his neck and pressed tightly in a headlock, the flesh of her arm cutting off the supply of blood to his brain. One of Gandrel's arms was trapped in her grip behind his back - the other scratched against the leather of her bracer for purchase, trying to wrestle free, but he was panicking too much to get a good grip.

"Astarion!"

A casual roll of his eyes at her attempts to be witty. “Oh yes, and next time you need a lock picked don’t come looking for me.” Though he always took his ‘rogue fee’ when he did. Benefits of being the one with deft fingers and keen hearing. His steps retraced back to where he first caught a whiff of the scent. Likely he’d smell it before she did. Pungent as it was, his senses usually picked up on odors before many of his companions. Though, he mostly said naught on it unless it was particularly foul.

This scent, however, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut about when they came across it. “Ugh. This again. Whoever it is, they are a professional. I only know of a few people who willingly make themselves smell that rancid.” Down the trail they followed until spotting their quarry from the distance. A broad shouldered and long haired man with a look about him that sent Astarion’s eyes widening. A primal fear in him he’d little time to stifle.

Gandrel turned when he heard the pair of them coming. A friendly smile on his face, and a large crossbow hefted onto his back. “Well met. I apologize for the smell. It keeps most monsters away. You can’t be too careful out in the wilderness like this. Are you two traveling alone? I’d be careful out here. I’m hunting dangerous game in the area.”

“Kobolds? A dragon?” Astarion appeared none too thrilled muttering about ‘fucking Gur’ under his breath. He held no love of them. Only hatred and loathing for what they did to him. “A particularly large goblin?”

“Nothing like that. I’m actually hunting for a vampire spawn who goes by the name Astarion.”

The vampire in question traded a pointed look with Breina. A look he hoped to convey: Distract him.

[deathswcrn]

"A problem?" She asked, letting the charcoal fall from her fingers. Great. Was this her life now? A series of problems that would give her not a moment of rest? Was she due to die a gibbering fool, too exhasted and stressed to string a sentence together, much less liberate them from their tadpoles? What an unpleasant death, Breina thought.

Astarion's news brought her mood back to reality. A monster hunter. Ah. Yes - should they catch wind of Astarion, that would be the end of his vampire spawn secret, and the end of his secret meant the end of her murderous little secret too. Unfortunately for her, Astarion had every right to drag her into this mess. A shame - she rather liked the idea of collapsing into a heap until Karlach and the others returned from the swamps.

"No rest for the wicked, I guess," she kvetched, knowing that her lack of sleep and all the heavy lifting was going to come back to bite her later. Nevertheless, Breina was no oathbreaker, and she promised him she'd help. She turned to Lae'zel, lying through her teeth, pretending she wasn't more eager to crawl into her bedroll than go monster hunter slaying. "Stay put, would you? Astarion's gettin' jumpy about somethin' nearby and I'm gonna prove to him it's nothin'."

Lae'zel muttered something in githyanki that Breina didn't understand, but her supposed lassez-faire attitude towards Astarion's hunter had the intended affect - the githyanki had no desire to traipse after them and uncover their secret when there was no real expectation of the danger panning out. She gestured for him to lead the way, hooking her axe back into the loop on her belt and tucking her journal into her backpack as she got to her feet.

"Alright, Astarion. show me the big bad monster."

Back breaking labor sounded like an awful lot of work Astarion would rather avoid. He should be appreciated for his contribution! He doubted his companions could subside off of days old potatoes for long. Or he conjectured as such. So long had it been since he sampled the food of mortals he forgot all about its intricacies. Past the walls and into the forests the rogue ventured on the search of prey. He’d scout all right. So long as the task suited him. Scouting as he hunted for a select prey item.

Astarion had his preferences now as he cataloged a few of the various animals. Stag and doe were favorites of his outside of sentient creatures. Extra blood wouldn’t hurt even if Breina offered her neck to him tonight. The hunger knew no true placation. Now he had the freedom to partake whenever he could, he would.

A stag among a herd of does presented itself. His bow notched and sticking to the shadows the vampire hunted. Excitement. Anticipation stirred within.

He doesn’t drain the creature completely dry. Just enough to sate himself for now. A slice of his dagger across the bite marks to cover his tracks. Blood, glorious blood cleaned from his lips and chin. As he hauled the kill back, his keen senses noted it. Acrid and offending to the nose, but faint. A hunter of a different variety passed through here sending a shockwave of fear lancing up his spine.

A monster hunter.

His pace quickened returning to the stronghold Lae’zel and Breina made of the village. His kill left in Lae’zel’s capable hands to skin. He found the wayward paladin bent over her book. Were his mind not to preoccupied with the danger clawing at their doorstep, Astarion may have possessed questions. “You and I have a problem that needs to be taken care of. I took care of yours, now you will aid me in taking care of mine.”

His tone bartered little argument. Eyes lifted to ensure their Githyanki companion otherwise preoccupied and incapable of overhearing. “A monster hunter, not our monster hunter, mind you prowls out there. I don’t think you require further elaboration on what they do to my kind.”

[deathswcrn]

Whilst the idea of the heavy lifting being left to her and Lae'zel made Breina's already exhausted brain scream, she could didn't have it in her to fight him - and honestly, they could use someone to scout a bit further around. She suspected an ulterior motive, but she was too tired out by thinking of a way to solve their problems with her elegent dog watch rotation and the previous sleepless night. "Alright, be useful by scouting about. Stick close to camp, be careful, and come straight back if you run into trouble," was all she said as a goodbye.

She and Lae'zel set to barracading as many entrances to the village as they could. There was a broken wall that no-one would be able to fix - they settled on that as their chosen entry point, and shut up everywhere else. One gate, after much hefting and swearing, closed up entirely and could be sealed with the bar designed to do so. Everything else resisted them - they slogged through the mud, dragging ancient and rusted carts, planks, and boxes to shore up half-broken doors they prized from the blacksmithy wall with a chisel.

By the time anyone returned, a fire had been started, a functional cart had been stacked with every piece of food and firewood they could find or already owned, and every muscle in Breina's body ached for rest. She was one single knot of exhausted muscle, completely burned out and desperate to take a break. So she did so, as Lae'zel tended the fire and began roasting potatoes in the coals. Her fingers itched towards the charcoal and journal she picked up earlier, so she let that be her resting activity.

Astarion returned to Breina half-way through completing a sketch of a face she couldn't place. The drawing seemed to be of a woman - dark-lipped, dark-rimmed white eyes, blond and braided hair. The image felt like it was something just out of reach of Breina's grasp. that she'd drawn it because her mind was telling her something, but refusing to elaborate. She knew this woman. She knew this woman sickened her. She didn't know why.

So instead of trying to answer any questions, she snapped the pages shut and turned her face up to Astarion, exhausted. "Well? What happened?"

Among the gathering over the grand plan the group of them at least gave their undivided attention. Their numbers unequal with the motley group of them, but her plan had merit. As far as Astarion could tell. Unless the group sent out to fight became outnumbered. A point Gale raised as his own concern. One quickly shot down by Lae’zel.

“If you can’t slay your foes, wizard, you should be put down.” A harsh, but fair assessment by their Githyanki companion from where the rogue stood. They best hope he was always among their number when a chest or door needing some convincing to reveal their secrets. The rest of them were so dreadfully terrible at it.

By the end of Breina’s speech, there seemed to be consensus among the group on this plan. The most sensible out of anything they had practiced thus far. Even if the Gith rolled her eyes at the thought of ‘democracy’. The rest would brow beat her in line if they must. But Lae’zel could despite all appearances be reasonable. The rest were amenable without much more convincing. The two troublemakers separated enough for now to keep the peace.

Astarion felt more comfortable away from the monster hunter among them. Wyll was just the nauseating hero type that would slay someone like him, if he knew. But what vampire walked so effortlessly in the sun? Astarion was little more than an elf with a dental abnormality.

“All right, soldier. But who’s going out first?” Karlach questioned as she shuffled excitedly on her feet. Always the most energetic among them.

Torn between his need to laze about as he wanted and the curiosity to see that lovely demented old woman they happened upon. But Ethel would still be there waiting for them in her cottage or whatever domicile she called ‘home’. “Would you look at that? Karlach has so graciously volunteered her lovely little group to strike out first into the world.”

Everything was settled. Karlach, Wyll, Gale, and Shadowheart struck out first towards the marshlands for clue concerning Kagha and the Grove. For all they knew the goblin camp, too, would lie in that direction. The base of operations decidedly much less lively with part of them departed.

The only task that appealed to him for those remaining behind was the gathering of food stocks. He could after all hunt. Predatory instincts of a vampire a boon for once. He hooked his bow on the catch at his back intending to search around the village. He approached Breina before setting off in full. “Let’s be realistic none of us want me ruining my nails by setting up camp. I’ll take a stroll. See what I can find.”

[deathswcrn]

As she set up her own campsite, on a shelted section of terrace above the apothecary so she had a good view of the village and down towards the bog and the Chionthar, Breina watched a small fishing boat sail by. She wished that they had the comradarie of sailors, but they did not. They were too disorganised. But, the sight did give her inspiration, a thin hope that - should they agree, and she suspected she'd have enough agreement to enact it - that she could convince them they should act like pirates, voting and sharing their opinions. And even better, it led her to her next conclusion - how to make the most use of their very limited time to stop their ceremorphosis, in a way that might make everyone happy, and keep those who would rather fight each other than the enemy apart. A compromise.

She raided the apothecary for a mostly empty journal and sketched out her idea, the feel of the charcoal in her fingers more natural than anything in the world. When Astarion found her, thoughts of the dark urge and the sickness of the blood had left her head. She had hope, and she was mentally vibrating in anticipation of progress.

"I feel better," she said, grinning at him. "I have a plan."

She called them all together and set out her plan. She conceded to Lae'zel that they were too vulnerable to be resting on their laurels - every hour they were not making progress was an hour more the tadpoles could fester in their skulls. She conceded to the complaint that they couldn't run on fumes and adrenaline forever, and that even if Lae'zel liked to play the invincible Githyanki, even she would run up against a limit. And she conceded that a mistake was made by resting last night - the mistake being that no-one had been on watch. Finally, she conceded that they needed a way to work together, but hadn't really agreed on a way to come to a conclusion they all agreed on.

"There's getting to be too many of us to do anythin' sneaky anyway," she said. "So this is my proposal. We're gonna do dog watches, like sailors. We'll split into two teams - at any one time, one team will be out in the wild doin' things like scouting, fighting, collecting resources, moving this ship along - whatever it is we need to be doin'. Second team will be on maintainance, of our stuff and ourselves. Restin', eatin', making potions. And one person will be put on watch whilst folk sleep - they'll get rotated out every time we switch over who's restin' and who's fightin'. So we're always rested, and always making progress, yeah?"

She showed the schedule she had drawn on her journal of who would be doing what and when. The day had been split into chunks, with each chunk being buffered by 'handover time'. She'd even thought about who was in each team - Wyll and Karlach together, given their synergy. Shadowheart and Lae'zel, kept tactfully apart. Astarion with her, so she had her secrets held close. Gale was down to take first watch.

"That bit," she explained, pointing to handover time, which was roughly an hour between each shift, "is when we discuss what needs to be done next in the expedition and maintainance teams, and sort out our infightin'. And it is, I swear upon any God listenin', democratic time. If we're bickerin', we vote. And if you want to stay in this group and fight for your brain with us, you accept the vote whether you like it or not, 'cause we have got to work together somehow."

She slammed down her charcoal. "Are we good with that, or not?"

Strangers forced together under unusual circumstances. At least Karlach, Wyll, and Gale seemed amenable enough to the concept of camaraderie. The other three? Not nearly so much. At least Astarion could count himself as more surface level friendly and chatty than Shadowheart who remained as closed off as when she was first collected.

Curious Breina who ripped a bard apart just a night past found herself sickened at the sight of blood. No. Something rattled in his skull that wasn’t the tadpole. Something amiss. For people afflicted with squeamishness ruthless killers did not oft make. She mentioned amnesia and a lost sense of time. A troublesome thought began to form. Were the divine smites more than that? Had they triggered something else in her? He knew all about the mind’s ability to flee while the body carried on without.

With her past a mystery who was to say Breina hadn’t been one of those poor soul trapped in the asylums ran by ne'er-do-well clerics. Hm. A thought to dissect for another time.

“See? Now can we all just find our wretched little corners to sleep in.” He waited not for their replies. He had a spot already picked out on the second floor remnants of an apothecary. In the room even resided an old, rotted out bed. One he had no intention of using considering how long the village appeared abandoned. He staked his claim by rolling out a few of his effects across an area near a dresser. The others could fight among one another all they liked.

Sufficiently satisfied the area screamed ‘owned by Astarion’, he returned to the fold to seek out Breina. The others in various states of setting up camp and taking over this smelly hovel. “Feeling better? I loathe to think of what would occur to this little group of miscreants without your word to bring us all to heel.”

Around them the others were taking up their own little pieces of the village. Some in the aforementioned tavern, but others like Lae’zel staked out prime watch locations. Already he eyed Wyll patrolling the outer reaches for any goblin stranglers.

[deathswcrn]

"I'm sorry, you want to see Ethel?" Breina stared at him, agog. "Astarion, you worry me sometimes. She's definitely slow-roasting children alive or something. She has a goddamn fucking teahouse. No-one in their right might has a teahouse in a bog."

At least the crossing over the river was uneventful, unmarred by hags or goblins or illithids. But what happened next, Breina would later realise was an extension of the same urge that killed Alfira. The goblins insulted her, threatened to fill her with arrows, and with an overwhelming throbbing headache and the taste of bile in her mouth, Breina lost consciousness again. When she came to, the pounding in her head reducing to a mild ache and the goblins were dead. The scent of blood clung to her, metallic and salty, and so her first stop was to the village well to rinse her mouth out and wash the blood from her hands.

Get it together, Rivlin, she told herself, falling back on what she suspected was a life-long habit of calling people by their last names. You can't keep passing out and murdering people.

It was Gale who noticed her clutching at the edge of the well as the group fell into bickering yet again. "Are you alright?" he asked, gesturing her face. "You look rather ... peaked."

"Fine," she mouthed, watching Astarion try to corral them, her gut telling her the elven vampire was keeping a close eye on her. Spitting another mouthful of water on the ground to clean up the taste in her mouth, she straightened up and rejoined the rest of the group. "Smell of blood makes me sick, apparently."

"I don't think anyone enjoys the smell of gore, for what it's worth." Gale's reassurances were cut off when Astarion turned to her and demanded she act as peacekeeper - which she did with a sharp sigh of irritation. As if her mood today wasn't bad enough.

"He's not wrong," she snapped. "Walls and houses and even a tavern over there with a good roof. It's defensible. We'll set up here. If we're lucky, there will be supplies that didn't get picked off, too. Now get it the fuck together before the goblins kill us mid-argument." There was certainly enough room in the group for a sense of camradarie to grow - if they gave it a chance. No-one seemed willing to, however.

“Oh, can we please stop by and see charming Ethel? She was such a treat.” Astarion practically giddy at the prospect. The demented and deranged were a kind he knew. The kind he flourished around. They made him appear so very, very sane in comparison. Deeper than that likely. One spent so long in the company of monsters that it became more a comfort than a red hued flag to be heeded.

His belongings packed into the bag of holding swiped from one of the more uppity members of the druid grove. Their camp wizard had already brought one of his own he permitted the rest of the camp to share, but Astarion was not the sharing sort. Not anymore. Still he stuffed the bag into the backpack that carried items of his more immediate need. Arrows, potions, and the tools of the thieving trade.

A bow he found while investigating the bodies of slain goblins over his back. Daggers sheathed at his sides. All too soon they departed placing distance between them and the bard’s final resting place. With luck the river had carried her, far, far down stream.

What they happened upon, eventually, was an abandoned village with a few goblin sentries on duty. Nothing their fully armed party couldn’t take care of. Astarion had taken quite quickly to his bow. Hidden behind one of the buildings and peeking out to lend his aid in the form of arrows.

The blood scent of their dying foes awoke the hunger in him. Clenched teeth and the promise of a stake stayed his hand. A monster hunter and cleric within their ranks boded not well for his chances should they ever deduce his true nature. All of that blood once again gone to waste.

Blood he could have, but his want to live to the next day prevented it so. Chains just as binding as his former master’s. So as their fight came to an end, he remained back and away from the others. The distance needed so he wouldn’t outright stare at the crimson spilled and sinking away into the dirt.

“As invigorating as our victory was, we do have a veritable cache of supplies on our hands. I say we search. Conduct our new little camp here.” What an abandoned village hoped to offer, he wasn’t sure. But surely the wrenched little goblin beasts left something of value. Once more the group started to squabble amongst themselves. Whether to linger or continue forth toward the marshlands. Upon closer inspection could be seen not far from their current vantage point.

A sigh of his irritation at the godsdamn inability of this group to reach a consensus, the rogue turned to Breina. “Well, they listen to you well enough.” He pointed out.

[deathswcrn]

Though an agreement came that their camp should move, no-one could agree where they were to go next. That was fine, expected even - but what was unexpected was that everyone seemed to look to her for guidance, for a tie-breaker on the bickering. She knew staying out of their infighting was a bad idea - now she looked like a detached party.

"We go south," she said as she packed her meagre camping supplies away like they personally offended her, every move made with more force than strictly necessary. "We need to get through the goblins and we need somewhere safer to stay whilst we find a way to Halsin and fuck up the goblin leaders, so we don't get picked off in the night like Alfira. Inside the Grove is better than here, but we're not going to be able to do that whilst Kagha is in charge and acting like a massive bitch. So we go south, find out what she's hiding in her letter, and use it to make her back the fuck off."

Besides, Ethel was that direction, and the old woman creeped Breina out - something niggled at the back of her mind that she was a bigger threat than she let on. She was too kindly, too eager to help. The goblins were a known quantity - Ethel was not, and Breina was not approaching the goblin camp with a threat at her back. With those assurances in place, Breina would feel more comfortable approaching the goblin camp itself.

She stood to her full height and slung her pack over her shoulders, using the main pole for her lean-to as a walking stick, ready for battle and still in a foul mood. "I'm ready to go when everyone else is."

An interesting development considering her reaction the first time he was caught. The lines between said something different than the words spewed from her lips. There was a lack of trust there, but she was in denial. At least from where he stood. A thing which to work on since he desired an advocate. Though she promised to keep his condition a secret, secrets had their own little way of making themselves known. He took no chances when his well-being was at stake. To endear himself so completely at least one of them would prevent the stake.

“Awake it is. I’ll come to you when the others are asleep.” The prospect excited him. A night where he would not have to scamper off into the forest to find something that tasted not entirely wretched. At her beckoning, he followed. Their little group awaited the verdict of the sweet bard’s disappearance. They appeared so very concerned over someone he saw as a burden. Their situation already precarious enough already without a tag-along. Who knows what Alfira would have done when she found out they had tadpoles nestled in their skulls?

“Dammit.” Came the curse from Shadowheart. The frown tugged at her expression. A somber one came over some of the group. “All the more reason we go after those bloody things.”

Not that he’d relish the smell, but a little killing was just what Breina ordered. And maybe when the others weren’t looking he could drain one of the creatures dry. Nobody would miss a goblin. “As so very sad as her death is, need I remind everyone we have a ticking bomb in our heads, hm? I’d rather keep this handsome face of mine sans any tentacles.”

A low mumble of conversation and head nodding overcame the group. Lae’zel the most vocal that they should move on. Leaving this campsite behind meant Breina’s dirty deeds be left to nature to consume. When they made camp next, it would be far closer to the goblin camp.

[deathswcrn]

"Why is everything we have in common bloodstained?" Breina asked, shaking her head, a thin smile on her pressed-together lips. It was not the worst thing to kill - she didn't quite know why she felt that way, but she certainly felt that if it came to it, she would happily kill the goblins. Breina Rivlin felt like she was a good person, but there were circumstances where cold-blooded murder wouldn't make her lose sleep.

Hmm. An interesting revelation. One for later.

"I'd rather be awake, if you don't mind," she added hastily. "Not that I don't trust you, just-" just that her heart leapt into her throat imagining her life-blood draining away. She was aware it was a fantasy for a certain amount of the populace - that for some people, it was the foundation of an entire library of terrible pulp erotica - but truth be told, she was not the target audience for those novels. It terrified her. She valued her autonomy too much, and letting a vampire sap her strength away and weaken her just raised her hackles something terrible. "I'll stay awake and wait for you."

And yet, she was going to lay down tonight and bear her throat - literally! - to Astarion anyway, because her grip on reality already felt tenuous enough, so what was one more insane idea?

She gestured for him to follow and trailed back to camp. The lie ended up being shockingly easy for her to tell. One look from Shadowheart, and Breina offered up the true feeling of grief in her heart on her face, and shook her head. "Goblins." She suspected it shouldn't have been so easy to lie, and there was something deeply wrong with her that she could pull it off. And so began her day-long black mood.

“Finally an idea of yours I can fully support. A bit of murder. A bit of chaos.” A contented type of sigh he released. This realm of violence he was familiar with. A return to old territory, but this time he was not the one on the receiving end. He could participate in the butchery. Release centuries of pent up frustration and watch as she reveled in it too. Running from one’s problems? Pretending they didn’t exist? A modus operandus to be certain.

In a lack of self reflection the vampire couldn’t acknowledge he had been doing the same. Running from his life back in the Gate and pretending none of it existed. He was lost to Cazador. He could continue to be lost. No thought had entered his mind quite yet to confront the bastard.

They dredged up their past encounter. A night where he thought to test the boundaries of the four tenants that bound him. Found they bound him no more. He was more sneaky now. Not prone to waking the camp when he went stalking about. When she offers so sweetly on the fulfillment of a bargain how could he decline? Behind the concealment of his sealed lips, his tongue unconsciously traced his fangs. Sentient creatures tasted so, so much better. Perhaps he’d start a catalogue of the various flavors as he sampled each. But everything… everything tasted better than a rat.

“Aren’t you generous?” The barest curve of his lips into a smile. “But don’t make promises you can not keep. We could all turn into mindflayers tomorrow. Best we enjoy ourselves while we can.” Even if their tadpoles were being suspiciously benign. For now. “I’ll come to you tonight when you’re asleep. If that is what you prefer. Or do you wish to be awake? I have no preference either way.”

He held her gaze forgetting about the reason they came out here originally. The cover up of the bard’s death. They would an alibi after all. They had remained out here long enough in his eyes to claim that they tried.

[deathswcrn]

Astarion stiffened ever so slightly at her initial mention of company, but she didn't think much of it. Astarion was jumpy. So? He caught her trying to hide a forgotten murder last night - he had every right to be afraid, and she hadn't given him much hope she had a handle on it. She had a gesture in mind - an olive branch of trust - but she didn't like the idea of it at all.

"I don't think his job is to do what I ask of him," she replied with a distinctive grouchiness in her voice. "How else would he have orders from someone else to keep me in the dark? I think Fel is supposed to make me behave." She definitely got the distinct feeling from Fel that she was under someone else's thumb before implantation of the tadpole, and she didn't like the idea she might be hunted by an unseen enemy. And Fel didn't listen to a word she had to say about her uncontrollable bloodlust disgusting her. He did say she strayed from the path without him - her gut told her she was not the serial murderer he and Astarion thought she was.

As for how she was going to prevent more untimely deaths? Her smile was richly sardonic as she replied, "Sate it. We have a camp full of goblins between us and the road to Baldur's Gate, so I'm going to sate it cutting us a path right through -" she chopped down with her hand to illustrate her point "- and hope that's enough to keep us safe. And then keep cutting until we find out who did this to us, and cut them down too, and then... well. Faerun has enough to keep me busy, I should think. Lots of folk that deserve to die." Keep moving, like a shark, don't stop for breath, and keep going until she got to the bottom of it.

But then, it was time to turn to the last thing she intended to discuss - her peace offering. She kicked off of the tree and reached her hand out to take her satchel and the cloak back from Astarion, fully intending to find a ditch to bury it in.

"Also, speaking of shared urges for blood... I was thinking. About this, and how much I'm asking you to trust me, and I'm not givin' much back in return. So. I'm still not happy about how you tried to do it at first... but... I changed my mind about feeding you. If you want some blood..." she took a deep, grounding breath and raised her chin, to look the taller elf directly in the eye, facing her fear as Astarion was likely facing his fear of death by her hand, "as much as the idea terrifies me, you can... we can try letting you drink from me tonight. I hope that's enough to show you I'm serious about making it through this. All of us. You included."

A brief moment his hackles raised. The camp infiltrated whilst caught in reverie. He feared. He feared greatly the return of his master to collect him. Whisk him away from this idle fantasy he embarked on. The dark always hid the monsters in its wake. If she was perceptive she’d note the way his shoulders bowed inwards and his back bent slightly. Quickly enough, she dispelled the worst of his terrors. Not Cazador, but an imp. A goblin. He relaxed by half returning to the haughty, pretentious air he wore ever so nicely.

“So— you have a butler. A rather useless one at that who didn’t bother staying around and tending to the chores?” He tsked. By now he leaned heavily against an old oak. Legs crossed at his ankles. He feigned interest in the state of his nails, appalling. He had a much needed investment in a file. They were all in various states of starting to point out into claws. An attribute their resident monster hunter would no doubt notate.

Breina was a ritualistic serial murderer. How wonderful. Just when Astarion had begun to think she was the most normal of their little group. A paladin with a drinking problem, but no… showed him for making assumptions. What other set of complexes would be in the next person they recruited?

“And you just so happen to remember none of these little murderous rages of your past? How convenient. Takes all of the fun out of it. All of the guilt and none of the pleasure.” An urge also meant she had the inclination in her to do it again. Urges he understood all too well. His own tortured his every waking moment. A maw in the pit of his stomach that could never be filled. Oh it could be more quiet for a time, but never for long. Never.

“If there is anyone that can understand an impulse at the back of one’s mind—“ He briefly brought his hand over his stilled heart. “I do.”

“Whoever sought to rid themselves of you will surely come looking when they realize you aren’t dead or a mindflayer. The more important question, darling, is how do you intend not to unleash this murderous impulse of yours on the rest of us.”

[deathswcrn]

She closed her eyes as Astarion pried within the satchel, breath held as he pawed around inside and found - a cloak. Just a cloak. She let out her breath all at once, a quick, relieved sigh, and opened her eyes again to see Astarion's puzzled and cautious expression, with the fabric of the cloak between his fingers. "Look. The night I had last night, I was convinced that I'd hallucinated the whole thing. There might well have been a head in there, as sane as I felt. Trust me. I'm as glad as you are that it's a cloak."

She collapsed back against a tree, shoulders shrugged protectively, and bit down on her apple like she was trying to snap bone with her jaws. She spoke with the half-chewed pulp in her cheeks, lacking manners. "I didn't buy it. Last night after you went to trance, I took a walk around camp. And something approached me from the forest."

She described her meeting with Sceleritas in as exacting detail as she could remember as she ate the rest of the fruit - from the snake skeleton on his hat to the way his voice dripped with glee at mention of murder, and his mention of her as his vile mistress.

Point by point, she covered their conversation too - that she had apparently always struggled to 'conduct' herself without Fel; that he knew of her condition from someone else; that violence had apparently always been expected of her; that Alfira's death had drew him, and he admired the kill; that the cloak was her inheritence, earned from Alfira's death; that Scleritas considered her of 'fine breeding'; and finally, that he had been sworn to silence regarding her past from someone else, but that death always found her in the end.

"So the tadpole is innocent," she said softly. "That's what I can get from it. I don't remember killing Alfira, but everything he said suggested this is a... pre-tadpole thing. And that someone must had fed me to the nautiloid on purpose. Why else would my past be such a secret? I don't think I was supposed to survive it."

She tossed the apple core away. "But it all does explain the urges."

A brow raised towards his hairline. A second guess he silently gave to himself of getting caught in her mess. Her secrets. He wondered if the tadpole had truly started to chew through her grey matter effecting her behavior. He promised to stop that pretty, little heart of her should the transformation start. But she displayed no other symptoms. Most puzzling.

The satchel he took in hand. A normal thing with what? A cloak inside? “The way you carried on I half expected someone’s head inside.” He held the crimson colored finely put together fabric in his hands. The cloth of an expensive cut and the stitching crafted my a master artisan. “But a finely made cloak? Where have you been hiding all the coin that bought this?”

Doubt formed of how such a simple garment would fill in the gaps of her memory. He caught a whiff of something in the fabrics. It wrecked of death and decay. A very organic scent not easily forgot. Perhaps they was something to her prattling. Not a mere coincidence or her sanity fleeing her more than at first appearance. This precious treasure of information he kept to himself. For now. His vampiric senses granted him some boon at least. When one looked past the state of undeath draped over him.

“Out with then. What did you discover? Other than your nocturnal habit of murdering people?”

[deathswcrn]

Continued || @apalestar from @wolfsbarbarens

Breina kept her head down as she stalked far away enough from the camp for even the sharpest of ears not to hear them. Her pace was brutal - almost a run, which she knew made her look more anxious, but she didn't care. She was determined that until she got to the bottom of why she was drunken and murderous, that the others be left mostly in the dark.

"Waste of a good apple. I could have eaten that," she said, watching the half-bitten fruit roll off. But then she shook herself, unhooked the satchel from her shoulder, and held it out.

"Weird question, I know, but humour me with a reality check. This satchel - what's in it?" If she wasn't completely insane, her inheritance - the cloak Sceleritas gave her - would be nestled inside. And once she could be sure that Sceleritas Fel was real, then she could begin to evaluate what he'd told her properly. Of particular interest was the fact that he couldn't tell her about her past because someone didn't want her to know it. That implied that someone had stolen her memory on purpose, and whatever she remembered was a threat.

"If this has what I think it has inside, then last night wasn't a dream, and I know more about my amnesia and Alfira's murder."

The pungent odor of alcohol lingered on her like a trailing phantom. Try as she might Astarion was not fooled by her sober act as the others might be. The lure of drink acted as a crutch to her, it seemed. She delved into more often than any other; And he was no stranger to alcohol even if it did little for him. There was a certain comfort in the practice.

He remained stationery while the others searched or the ones that were interested did. It was what they came to expect of him. The air of an aristocrat he put on. Why should he pretend to care when he really didn’t? The bard was dead; not that they knew that. What did finding her matter when she put recently joined? “Or she realized how utterly in over her head she was and fled.” A plausible explanation. It was not as though any of them knew her that well after all. A song and dance routine a friend did not make.

Thrown apple captured in his hand. The message well received. “Very well.” Proceeded the rogue’s sigh. “If you insist, our dear leader. I shall accompany you.” He knew the apple was for show. Bit into it even as he followed her away. The taste immediately soured on his tongue turned to something akin to rot. He waited until they were far enough away to spit the mouthful out into a bush. “Ugh.” The offending fruit tossed into the forest.

His wrist laid limp on the hilt of one of his rapiers. Head canted to the side as he examined Breina. “A bit nervous, are we? We make a good play at searching for the bard. Claim we found evidence of her tracks leading away. Simple as that.” Why make the excuse overly complicated? More details lent itself to more questions.