#・ ❘ ❝ swarm of tadpoles. ❞ ─ out of character.

[herspawn]

HAAAAPPPPPYYY BIRTHDAY FRIEND!!!!!

Thank you friend! ❤️✨

[imagineitdearies]

Battle Log for Chapter 37/38 of Perfect Slaughter!

**Warning! Spoilers for ch37 and 38 ahead!**

If you guys haven't noticed yet what a total nerd I am, this will make it abundantly clear. I showed Cazador's monster stats a couple months ago that I homebrewed/crossed from BG3 and our classic D&D vampire, but I hope you didn't think I stopped there. If you like battle logs and getting into the nitty gritty of D&D mechanics, please enjoy this breakdown below the cut!

First, if you want to reach peak nerd about it with me, take a look at all the details for our main three! (*Note: I did mix Astarion and Tyrus's BG3 stats with a vampire spawn's ability scores, considering it's canon that Astarion lost a lot of things like strength and healing ability after being tadpoled)

Monster Stats: Cazador Szarr

Tyrus Aman'del's Character Sheet

Astarion Ancunin's Character Sheet

Or otherwise, as you look over the battle log, just keep in mind a few things:

"Legendary Actions" are special actions available to powerful monsters in 5e combat, such as vampires. Besides his normal actions, Cazador can take three legendary actions between turns, but only at the end of another creature’s turn.

Cazador has "Legendary Resistance" as well, which is simple but quite powerful: when he fails a saving throw, he can choose to succeed instead, three times per long rest.

At the top of each round, Cazador receives 10 temporary HP per ritual source.

Thanks to Magic Circle, all of Cazador's attacks are rolled with disadvantage.

In his diseased condition, Tyrus rolls with disadvantage on attacks and saving throws, and his movement speed is reduced by half.

Pre-Round

Cazador: 270 HP Tyrus: 100 HP Astarion: 115 HP Ghouls: 35 HP each (four) Skeletons: 27 HP each (thirteen) Chatterteeth: 74 HP Godey: 74 HP

Cazador steps onto trap and speaks the words to trigger it ("Ecce Dominus!") All at once: Glyph of Warding (7th level) - 43 fire damage (succeeded saving throw, only takes 21 damage) Glyph of Warding: Magic Circle Glyph of Warding: Silence Glyph of Warding: Sunbeam - 38 radiant damage *Cazador spends his first legendary resistance to succeed saving throw, only takes 19 damage) Glyph of Warding: Phantasmal Killer (7th level) - 49 psychic damage

Round 1

Cazador: 181 HP +70 temp HP Tyrus: 100 HP Astarion: 115 HP Ghouls: 35 HP each Skeletons: 27 HP each Chatterteeth: 74 HP Godey: 74 HP

Ritual Circle: 29 radiant damage on Cazador from Sunbeam ray Cazador: Two unarmed strikes, 5 bludgeoning damage on second hit *Takes 20 radiant damage at start of turn because of Sunbeam **Fails save for Phantasmal Killer again so spends his second legendary resistance to succeed it Tyrus: Dash to Astarion *Cazador Legendary Action at the end of his turn, Bite attack for 18 total damage on ghoul Astarion: Paralyzed Ghouls collective hits: 26 slashing damage on Cazador (resistant; takes 13) Skeletons: Dash into range of battle *Cazador Legendary Action, Move without opportunity attacks Godey: 13 slashing damage on Cazador (resistant; takes 6) Chatterteeth: Casts Eyebite: Frightened on Cazador

Round 2

Cazador: 183 HP +70 temp HP Tyrus: 100 HP Astarion: 115 HP Ghouls: three have 35 HP, one has 13 HP  Skeletons: 27 HP each Chatterteeth: 74 HP Godey: 74 HP

Ritual Circle: 30 radiant damage on Cazador from Sunbeam ray (succeeds saving throw; takes 15) Cazador: Calls three swarms of rats (arrive in 4 rounds) *Takes 20 radiant damage at start of turn because of Sunbeam Tyrus: Help action to rescue Astarion *Cazador Legendary Action, Vampiric Bat Swarm!! All take either 21 piercing damage or if they succeed the dex saving throw 10 piercing damage; Cazador heals 21 HP Astarion: Casts Expeditious Retreat and pulls Tyrus out of radius Ghouls collective hits: 21 slashing damage on Cazador(resistant; takes 10) Skeleton collective hits: 44 piercing damage on Cazador(resistant; takes 22) Godey: 16 slashing damage on Cazador (resistant; takes 8) *Cazador Legendary Action, fails to Bite Godey Chatterteeth: Casts Chill Touch for 13 necrotic damage on Cazador (resistant; takes 6), Cazador can't regain hit points until the start of her next turn

Round 3

Cazador: 193 HP +60 temp HP Tyrus: 79 HP Astarion: 105 HP Ghouls: three have 25 HP (one dead) Skeletons: ten have 17 HP, three have 6 HP Chatterteeth: 53 HP Godey: 64 HP

Ritual Circle: 23 radiant damage on Cazador from Sunbeam ray Cazador: One failed unarmed attack, one failed bite  *Takes 20 radiant damage at start of turn because of Sunbeam Tyrus: Removes the glyphs from the nearest spawn/ritual source *Regains 10 HP at the start of his turn due to vampiric regeneration Astarion: Removes the glyphs from another spawn/ritual source *Regains 10 HP at the start of his turn due to vampiric regeneration *Cazador Legendary Action, Vampiric Bat Swarm!! All take either 16 piercing damage or if they succeed the dex saving throw, 8 piercing damage; Cazador does not heal Ghouls collective hits: 14 slashing damage on Cazador (resistant; takes 7) *Cazador Legendary Action, fails to Bite a ghoul Skeleton collective hits: 34 piercing damage on Cazador (resistant; takes 17) Godey: 15 slashing damage on Cazador (resistant; takes 7) Chatterteeth: Casts Chill Touch for 21 necrotic damage on Cazador (resistant; takes 10), Cazador can't regain hit points until the start of her next turn

Round 4

Cazador: 169 HP +40 temp HP Tyrus: 73 HP Astarion: 107 HP Ghouls: four have 17 HP, one has 9 HP (one dead) Skeletons: three have 9 HP, seven have 1 HP (three dead) Chatterteeth: 45 HP Godey: 56 HP

Ritual Circle: 26 radiant damage on Cazador from Sunbeam ray Cazador: Two unarmed strikes, 5 bludgeoning damage on second hit *Takes 20 radiant damage at start of turn because of Sunbeam Tyrus: Removes the glyphs from another spawn/ritual source *Regains 10 HP at the start of his turn due to vampiric regeneration *Cazador Legendary Action, Vampiric Bat Swarm!! All take either 20 piercing damage or if they succeed the dex saving throw, 10 piercing damage; Cazador does not heal Astarion: Removes the glyphs from another spawn/ritual source *Regains 10 HP at the start of his turn due to vampiric regeneration *Cazador Legendary Action, Vampiric Bat Swarm!! All take either 10 piercing damage or if they succeed the dex saving throw, 5 piercing damage; Cazador does not heal Ghouls collective hits: 0 slashing damage Skeleton collective hits: (dead) Godey: 15 slashing damage on Cazador (resistant; takes 7) Chatterteeth: Casts Chill Touch (crit!) for 29 necrotic damage on Cazador (resistant; takes 14), Cazador can't regain hit points until the start of her next turn

Round 5

Cazador: 142 HP +20 temp HP Tyrus: 53 HP Astarion: 92 HP Ghouls: one has 2 HP (three dead) Skeletons: (all dead) Chatterteeth: 25 HP Godey: 36 HP

Ritual Circle: 21 radiant damage on Cazador from Sunbeam ray (succeeds saving throw; takes 10) Cazador: Hits magic circle barrier for 0 damage *Takes 20 radiant damage at start of turn because of Sunbeam Tyrus: Removes the glyphs from another spawn/ritual source *Regains 10 HP at the start of his turn due to vampiric regeneration *Bonus action takes a healing potion at Astarion’s insistence (13 HP) *Cazador Legendary Action, Vampiric Bat Swarm!! All take either 18 piercing damage or if they succeed the dex saving throw, 9 piercing damage; Cazador does not heal Astarion: Removes the last glyphs from another spawn/ritual source *Regains 10 HP at the start of his turn due to vampiric regeneration Ghouls collective hits: 8 slashing damage (resistant; takes 4) *Cazador Legendary Action, Bites last ghoul for a total 14 damage Godey: Fails to hit Chatterteeth: Fails to hit with Chill Touch

Round 6

Cazador: 128 HP + 10 temp HP Tyrus: 57 HP Astarion: 92 HP Chatterteeth: 25 HP Godey: 36 HP

Ritual Circle: 24 radiant damage on Cazador from Sunbeam ray Cazador: Hits magic circle barrier for 0 damage *Takes 20 radiant damage at start of turn because of Sunbeam Rat swarm 1: Fail to bite Chatterteeth Rat swarm 2: Fail to bite Astarion Rat swarm 3: Bite Tyrus for 8 piercing damage Tyrus: Casts Message and speaks to Chatterteeth *Regains 10 HP at the start of his turn due to vampiric regeneration *Cazador Legendary Action, Vampiric Bat Swarm!! All take either 18 piercing damage or if they succeed the dex saving throw, 9 piercing damage; Cazador heals 18 HP Astarion: Kills rat swarm 3 with 31 total damage, bonus action Bite for 7 HP healing *Regains 10 HP at the start of his turn due to vampiric regeneration *Cazador Legendary Action, Vampiric Bat Swarm!! All take either 6 piercing damage or if they succeed the dex saving throw, 3 piercing damage; Cazador heals 6 HP Godey: 12 slashing damage on Cazador (resistant; takes 6)  Chatterteeth: Casts Chill Touch for 17 necrotic damage on Cazador (resistant, takes 8), Cazador can't regain hit points until the start of her next turn

Round 7

Cazador: 104 HP Rat swarm: two have 24 HP (one dead) Tyrus: 42 HP Astarion: 81 HP Chatterteeth: 1 HP Godey: 36 HP

Ritual Circle: 24 radiant damage from Sunbeam ray Cazador: Arcana Check to find Sunbeam rune in the ritual circle *Takes 20 radiant damage at start of turn because of Sunbeam Rat swarm 1: Fail to bite Chatterteeth Rat swarm 2: Fail to bite Astarion Tyrus: Reanimates all thirteen skeletons with Animate Dead, 7th level *Regains 10 HP at the start of his turn due to vampiric regeneration *Cazador Legendary Action, Vampiric Bat Swarm!! All take either 14 piercing damage or if they succeed the dex saving throw, 7 piercing damage; Cazador does not heal Astarion: Kills rat swarm 2 with 28 total damage *Regains 10 HP at the start of his turn due to vampiric regeneration Skeleton collective hits: 33 piercing damage (resistant; takes 16)*Cazador Legendary Action, Vampiric Bat Swarm!! All take either 21 piercing damage or if they succeed the dex saving throw, 10 piercing damage; Cazador does not heal Godey: 0 slashing damage Chatterteeth: (dead)

Round 8

Cazador: 44 HP Rat swarm: one has 24 HP (two dead) Tyrus: 14 HP Skeletons: four have 10 HP, two have 3 HP (six dead) Astarion: 74 HP Godey: 36 HP

Ritual Circle: 22 radiant damage on Cazador from Sunbeam ray Cazador: Successfully finds Sunbeam rune in the ritual circle and removes it *Takes 20 radiant damage at start of turn because of Sunbeam Rat swarm 1: Bite Astarion for 3 piercing damage Tyrus: Reanimates six skeletons with Animate Dead, 4th level *Cazador Legendary Action, Vampiric Bat Swarm!! All take either 14 piercing damage or if they succeed the dex saving throw, 7 piercing damage; Cazador heals 14 HP (Three skeletons go down, Tyrus goes unconscious and gets thrown off the edge of the platform) Astarion: Grabs Tyrus's hands before he's too out of reach, lifts him back up from the platform *Regains 10 HP at the start of his turn due to vampiric regeneration Skeleton collective hits: 33 piercing damage on Cazador(resistant; takes 16) *Cazador drops to 0 hit points, which activates Misty Escape to his coffin

Bonus Round

Astarion: Throws Cazador out of coffin Tyrus: Uses class feature "Command Undead" on Cazador(see Tyrus character sheet or necromancy subclass for details) *Cazador fails the saving throw, but spends his last legendary resistance to succeed) --after a bit of angsty dialogue and commands-- Tyrus: Uses class feature "Command Undead" on Astarion *Astarion does not resist/chooses to automatic fail on saving throw Astarion: Slashy slashy dagger dagger!!! (All it took was 1 point of damage, Cazador had not healed yet) Tyrus & Astarion: Hug 🩵🩵🩵

[blackjackkent]

The Hellraisers - Chapter 1

Pairing: Karlach/Male Custom Tav, Tav & Wyll, Karlach & Wyll Characters: OC Male Tav (Hector Carlisle), Karlach, Wyll Rating: E (Fic), T (Chapter) Warnings: None Descriptors: Post-Game, Action/Adventure/Romance, Eventual Happy Ending Chapter Word Count: 4.5k Chapter Setting: Avernus, immediately after the end of BG3 Summary: Hector Carlisle, a Selunite monk turned adventuring warrior, follows his lover Karlach and his friend Wyll into the depths of hell after the fall of the Netherbrain. Together, they take on an even greater foe - Zariel, the Archdevil of Avernus. The Hells won't know what hit them. Chapter Summary: Hector, Karlach, and Wyll arrive in the Hells after a panicked flight from Baldur's Gate - and the weight of what they've decided to do starts to sink in.

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------------------------------

Hector Carlisle’s journals of the Absolutist crisis provide one of the most comprehensive summaries available to modern historians of the events leading up to what is now called the High Hall Shattering. There is not a single day for which Carlisle does not account in detail between Alturiak 10 1492 DR (when he first obtained pen and ink after the crash of the nautiloid which kidnapped him) and Uktar 24 (the night before the Netherbrain’s public attack on Baldur’s Gate’s Upper City). However, after the defeat of the Netherbrain, his own records of his activities abruptly become much more intermittent and rather staccato in nature, lacking the level of detail common to his so-called “Tadpole Chronicles.”

There are multiple theories regarding this sharp change in Carlisle’s record-keeping tendencies. Some of these theories incline towards the conspiratorial - suggesting that the monk’s disappearance into Avernus was associated with some sort of nefarious activity which he was unwilling to commit to paper. Some even go so far as to accuse him of sacrilegious behavior, though this is rendered unlikely by records of both Carlisle’s own Selunite convictions and opinions from all who knew him.

A far more probable explanation is that Carlisle’s thorough record-keeping in his pre-Shattering travels emerged from a sense of obligation. As a monk at the Silverlight Monastery, he had primarily occupied himself with transcription and scholarship of historical texts, and his training placed considerable emphasis on self-reliance and emotional reserve. As such, he considered his own journals to be necessary documentation in the same vein, and he prided himself on impartial and factual chronicling. 

His departure to Avernus with Wyll Ravengard and Karlach Cliffgate would ultimately prove no less impactful to the world at large. However, it is clear that he considered it a far more personal endeavor, as evidenced by the remarkably succinct entry from Uktar 25 1492, his first entry after his departure from the Material Plane:

Uktar 25 1492

She’s alive. She’s going to live. Thank the gods.

~ Excerpt from “Raising Hell: A History of Zariel’s Fall” by Harlow et. al., Blackstaff Academy Press

-----

"Hec, look out! On your left!"

Hector dodges to the side just in time to avoid the imp diving towards him; its claws skim the side of his head and score a painful line along his temple. Pivoting onto his heel, he spins, bringing his right fist around to slam heavily into the imp's thick torso. The evil little creature’s spine snaps and it screeches with pain. He takes no satisfaction in it, but watches with blank exhaustion as the imp falls to the rust-red dirt and is still. 

"Nice one!" Wyll calls. He withdraws his rapier from the body of another imp and points past Hector’s shoulder. "Looks like another wave coming in - off to the west." Hector follows his gaze and groans; sure enough, another band of the imps is closing in on them, surging over the horizon like a swarm of bees.

It’s been like this ever since they arrived. They’ve had no chance to orient themselves, no time to get a foothold after their panicked flight from the Material Plane. Avernus rose up to meet them like a body driving out an infection; the first wave of defenders appeared within minutes, closing on this raw strip of hellish wasteland to which they brought Karlach to save her life.

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[ladyofsilverr]

Title: The Sword and The Spear Characters: OC - Dame Thetia/Spear of the Moonmaiden, Dame Aylin/Sword of the Moonmaiden, Isobel (briefly/mentioned), OC - Sylvia (briefly/mentioned) Warnings: Spoilers for Act II Word Count: 1461 words Summary: This is my headcanon telling of events of what happens after the group reconvenes following Moonrise Towers. Please keep in mind I have not written anything in quite some time, so forgive me if stuff in here repeats or doesn't entirely make sense.

The battle was finally over. What had been hours of fighting was now over in what felt like mere moments, as the brains of the Ketheric Thorm were now plastered under the armored boot of the illustrious Dame Aylin. Introductions were made between the newly acquainted allies, of whom were sure to be very helpful in the current mission to free the tadpoles swarming around in everyone’s heads. But for Thetia, there was a completely different battle she was about to face. That of seeing her sister again, for it had been a century since she had last spoke face to face with her. Was she truly prepared to see her, especially when she looked like this? The thought made her entire body go rigid, but regardless of the outcome she needed to do this. She had to see her sister once again, for this reunion was something she had begged and pleaded for more than anything.

As she pressed forward, she heard the sounds of a faint conversation echo in the now empty and blood wrenched halls. Her black metal boots slowly came to a halt as she waited and listened to what was transpiring.

“I have more to thank you for than I knew. And we have much to discuss. Perhaps we could join you in your camp later?”  the voice said aloud. She recognized the voice all too well, the mate of her sister, Isobel. Thetia remembered the first time she walked into the Last Light Inn, and saw the look of surprise on Isobel’s face when they first met each other after so long. For a moment, Isobel had thought that Thetia was her Aylin. Then came the immediate realization and dread that followed, a reaction to her haunting appearance she had become unfortunately accustomed to.

Nevertheless, Thetia tried to muster up what little courage she had left, and stepped around the corner into the main hall where she spotted the group. She saw Sylvia, Isobel, and immediately, the sight of her sister. Dame Aylin, the notorious Sword of the Moonmaiden, standing in her glorious fashion. She noticed her helmet was off, no doubt in shock at the revelation that her mate was alive and well.

It took only a few moments before Aylin's eyes met hers, and while her mind was screaming for her to run away her body forced her to push forward. Tension filled the air like a gust of sharp wind, as Aylin’s eyes averted for a moment before looking back at Thetia.

“Pardon my intrusion but if you all would be so kind, I would ask that me and my sister speak with one another. Alone.” she asked them all, a hint of impatience and nervousness spread throughout her words. Everyone seemingly reading the room and their intentions, nodded as they made a swift exit out of the hall. Aylin looked to Isobel, a silent and disheartened expression appearing on her face. She kissed her before Isobel drifted off to join the others.

The two stood there for a moment, each not knowing what to say. The last time they had seen each other had been during a heated argument, one that led both of them down their unfortunate paths. Thetia remembers it all like it happened yesterday, but... to have seen her sister in the Shadowfell in such a broken state filled her body and mind with an anger like nothing ever felt before. “It appears I have been blessed with three gifts this day. It is but a glorious sight to see you again after so very long, sister of mine.” Aylin spoke softly.

Thetia stared at her Aylin's face, as if trying to analyze every word that was spoken from her lips. And while deep down inside her she still held confusion and anger, part of her was so so happy to see her again after so long. “It is a blessing to see you too, sister of mine.” Thetia responded in kind. Her eyes looked away from her sister, closing as if trying to make sure this was anything but a dream. She heard the armored clanging of boots getting closer to her as her eyes popped open. Thetia’s intuition quickly caused her to bounce back defensively, as if she thought Aylin was about to attack her. When in actuality, her sister's arms were wide open with the intent of embracing her. 

“You… You wish to embrace me? Even though I… look like this?” she asked questioningly, although it came out more like an accusation. Aylin’s arms fell to her side for a moment, a look of confusion now replaced her previously somber one. “Do pray tell why you think I wouldn't do so after so long? Your visage may be altered as is mine, but you are no less my sister than you were once before. And you always will be so.” she said, tears now forming her at the edges of her eyes as she finished. Before Thetia could form up any kind of response, arms adorned in armor of silver wrapped around the outer parts of her neck as she was pulled into her sister's embrace. This feeling, the warmth and comfort that came with such a simple gesture was a sensation she never thought she would ever experience again from her. While Aylin was known to be quite boastful and often sometimes egotistical, many people rarely got to see the side of her that she kept only for those most important to her. To be able to have such trust, is to hold a bond unlike any other.

Overwhelmed with a variety of emotions, before too long tears began to also stream down Thetia’s face as she returned the embrace with haste, clinging to her as if she would fade away if she let go. 

“I held so much confusion and hate for you… I thought that you had abandoned me… forgotten about me. Shar, she showed me terrible visions of you and mother, all of them I feared I didn't wish but feared to be true.” Thetia muttered. Her voice was full of regret and shame as she rested her head on Aylin's shoulder plate. Aylin pulled away from their shared embrace, “Whatever lies that horrible witch told you, I can assure you it is quite far from the truth.” she quickly responded, trying her best to alleviate her worries.

“Before Ketheric Thorm had me imprisoned, I was stricken with regret for your loss at my side. I feared the worst, given how our conversation turned all too heated before your untimely disappearance. I traveled as far as my wings could carry me in search of you, only to find nothing. Were I not taken against my will, I would’ve searched every crevice that our mothers moon illuminated to find you.” she reassured her. “But then, the death of my darling Isobel came. I mourned her loss deeply and prayed to our Lady of Silver that you had not suffered the same fate. But Ketheric’s pain could be touched by no aid, no boundary. He turned to wretched Shar, the Lady of Loss herself, for relief. And like you she whispered into his ear, poisoning his mind.” Anger and hostility were etched into each word she spoke that had any involvement with the now deceased man, and for good reason. “With my search for you still ongoing and my grief on full display, he and his loathsome advisor Balthazar lured me into the Shadowfell, claiming they’d found someone in need of my aid. There they trapped me in their infernal cage.” “I was killed, murdered, made dead, over and over again by Justiciars of every make and kind. I was reborn, for as you know it is in both of our natures. Ketheric fed upon my immortality all the while. My only source of comfort was the dream that one day this nightmare would be over and I’d get to bear witness to both your most joyous smiles once more. And now… now that both you and Isobel are within my grasp, I am filled with a sense of exhilaration unlike any I have ever felt.” Placing a hand gently on Thetia's cheek, Aylin’s lips curled into the most softest smile as she nudged her forehead to Thetia’s. The two did not move, her actions speaking a thousands words of love and happiness that the bond they shared was slowly coming back together.

“I’m so.. so sorry for what he did to you. I shouldn’t have ever left you, for I have yearned for nothing but to know the truth and see you again. Without you, I feel as if I've lost that which is an extension of myself. But know this, now that we are together nobody will ever threaten the great Dame Aylin and Dame Thetia, Daughters of the Moonmaiden herself, ever… again.” she said boldly, a promise strung into each word as if they were etched in stone and forged in steel.

“Then come now, sister of mine. My mate most high, my darling Isobel, is safe and well. Safe and well and returned to my embrace. Let us fight side by side as we once did and together, we will set this fair land free of tyranny and murder.” she said exhilaratingly.

A sense of pride washed over Thetia, as a part of her heart that had long since been empty and lost was now returned to her. Of all creation, Aylin had been the one thing she treasured most. The one person she entrusted with her life, and the same returned to her. Now that the two sisters were together and reunited once more, there was no stopping the indomitable force that was the Sword and Spear of The Moonmaiden.

[littlemourningstarr]

Sweet Blood

The Shadow Cursed lands are just as vile as Halsin had warned- made only worse by the fact that Sekh'met has been watching the party fall apart, piece by piece. Lae'zel, forsaken by her Queen, Gale, abandoned by his Goddess. One more tragedy may be enough to push the drow over his limit. That tragedy comes in the form of the tieflings, who have found refuse at Last Light- yet so many are gone, taken to Moonrise. Lives that Sekh feels weigh directly on his shoulders. Lives he needs to save, at any cost. Good thing for him, he's not alone.

Read below or on AO3!

Pairing: Astarion x Transmasc tav

Part of the Eternally Yours series!

Tags: Transmasc tav, canon-typical violence, blood drinking, love confessions, fluff, there's actually no smut here, how is coffee not more centric to these characters

Sekh felt a headache, blooming behind his eyes. If watching Lae’zel have hear heart shattered by Vlaakith hadn’t been enough, knowing that Gale’s fucking goddess was asking him to kill himself would have been, to have his ribs caving in, piercing his heart.

His companions didn’t deserve this.

And now, here they were, in the damned Shadow Cursed lands, all feeling the effects of the hungry shadows- finally finding light, only to be greeted with vines constricting so tightly around Sekh’s legs, he swore he was going to lose feeling quickly.

Sekh gritted his teeth, staring at the older elf in front of him- Jaheira. “We saved your Harpers,” he nearly spat, the anger roiling in him.

This wasn’t fair. Nothing ever had been, but when fair had only been in relation to himself, well- Sekh didn’t much care then. But he swore he was losing his mind, seeing everyone around him broken to pieces.

He hadn’t had anyone aside from Syl, since his parents’ death. Over fifty years of loneliness- it had left him weak, in watching anyone he might care about hurt.

“And this is the thanks we get?” He yelled, clutching his fists. Behind him, his party was tense- no one moved, they were far outnumbered, but Sekh didn’t think it mattered. If they wanted to tear everyone here limb from bloody limb and burn the inn to the ground, they could.

Magic coursed through him. He pulled at his bond with Syl, his left hand crackling with her shadows. His right went cold as death, the necrotic magic in his blood pushing to the surface with bruising force. 

“Stand down, True Soul.” Jaheira spoke through her own gritted teeth, still clutching the bottle with the Mind Flayer tadpole trapped within. It was wriggling, calling to the one in Sekh’s head, which squirmed back excitedly.

He wanted to gouge his eyes out and just remove the fucking thing himself.

At the thought he felt Syl pulling at his mind, her voices swarming in his head, but he shut her out- something he hadn’t done in a long, long time. His shoulders pulled back, and he heard Astarion yell his name, as if in warning.

Sekh only stopped, because a very familiar little tiefling was suddenly rushing between him and Jaheira. “Stop!” Mol held her arms out, back to Sekh as if she had nothing to fear from him.

He swallowed thickly, felt sweat trickle down his spine. He hadn’t realized his vision had narrowed, that he had been focused on Jaheira’s chest, aiming to blast Syl’s shadows directly through her heart. Aiming to kill, in an instant.

“He saved us, they all did. Back at the Grove.” Jaheira’s eyes snapped from Sekh to the party behind him. She relaxed, just a tick. “Saved some of my friends too- one from Harpies, and one from a mean snake.”

She glanced back at Sekh, grinning in her sweet yet conniving way.

“I’d basically trust him with my life.”

“How can this be?” Jaheira seemed torn, and Sekh took a breath, trying to steady his heartbeat. Trying not to focus on how quickly he’d been ready to dispatch her to the hells. “He should be under the cult’s control.”

“It’s this.” Sekh glanced behind him, to Shadowheart, who strode forward, producing the artifact. He tried hard not to focus on the uneasy looks the party was giving him.

Instead, he recanted to Jaheira quickly what the artifact had done for them- blocking out the Absolute’s voice, someone within claiming to be protecting them.

Shadowheart walked closer to Jaheira, and the elf held out the bottle with the tadpole. The wretched thing thrashed, seemed to bloat, before it ruptured, a sickening little screech barely contained in the glass. Jaheira recoiled, slightly. As the parasite died, Sekh admitted why they’d come-

To dethrone the Absolute. To destroy these parasites. To gain their freedom.

“Congratulations,” she said, as the vines finally receded from their hold on Sekh’s legs. He stumbled, his legs partially numb- was thankful when Wyll stepped forward and braced his arm. “You’ve earned the benefit of the doubt. Come inside, we should talk.”

She turned her back- a larger sign of trust than Sekh had expected- and headed for the inn. Around him, Sekh could feel the party relaxing, the Harpers who had been poised to lunge should Jaheira give the order, quickly turning to other business.

“You alright?” Shadowheart asked, taking a step closer to Sekh.

He nodded. “Just can’t feel my legs completely.”

She frowned. “No. Not that.” She tucked the artifact away. “You snapped.” She snapped her fingers, in emphasis. 

“I’m tired,” Sekh admitted, the headache full fledged now. “We’ve been through a lot. This just… pushed me.” Her frown deepened, but she said nothing else, and Sekh was glad for it. He wasn’t sure he had felt a gut wrenching anger like that in all his life-

Well, there was the day that Gnoll Matrirach had thrown Astarion off a fucking cliff, and he’d acted in sheer rage, choking her with his magic. But that had been deserved. This situation? It would have been solved with a level head.

The party dispersed slightly. Karlach caught sight of Dammon and was off, running to the small forge he had. Sekh was glad for that- they had found another hunk of Infernal Iron along their journeys, and he was hoping the tiefling might have thought of another way to help stabilize Karlach.

The Inn was decent sized, Sekh realized as they stepped inside. He caught sight of the tiefling children rushing about, and felt a genuine smile reaching his lips. They’d made it this far. He was glad.

He’d been worried about them.

And if they were here, perhaps-

“Come, we have much to discuss.”

Jaheira’s voice broke his thoughts. Sekh saw her over at a table, a map spread out before her. He glanced at his party- noticed he’d lost Halsin and Wyll now, they two disappearing through a door off to the right. Sekh moved to head for her, felt Astarion suddenly moving up beside him, a hand finding the small of his back.

Sekh wanted to sag into him. His skull ached so fiercely, the exhaustion thrumming harder than his pulse.

“You alright?” the vampire asked, so quietly Sekh could barely hear him. He nodded- knew there wasn’t time to explain that he couldn’t stomach the sheer torment he was watching everyone go through. That their personal hells felt like they were burning him alive, and he didn’t know how to help. That the helplessness was possibly the worst feeling he’d had, in countless years.

“Have a drink,” Jaheira said, when they reached her. She gestured towards a glass of wine, holding her own cup. Sekh picked the glass up, as Jaheira toasted, “To your health.” He held it close to his lips- it smelled wrong, a hint of a salty bitterness. But he didn’t think it would harm him.

He drank a mouthful with Jaheira. He felt Astarion nearly press into his shoulder, trying to be close, and knew the vampire didn’t approve of the recklessness. But Sekh knew they needed this woman to trust them- and he had royalally fucked that, only minutes before.

“Tell me, is the parasite changing you?”

Sekh set the cup down. “It’s trying to change us all,” he admitted, “but we’re resisting.”

“And you’re sure you’ll continue to?” She didn’t need to add a threat to the question, it hung in the air. Stop resisting and be put down. Honestly, Sekh had no desire to be a Minderflayer- he knew none of them did- so he welcomed death if it came to that. If his body began to decay and his soul withered.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Jaheira leaned her hands on the table, her demeanor relaxing further. “You’re exactly what we’ve needed. A True Soul outside of the cult’s clutches. Someone who can get close to the man that cursed this place, that has been leading the cult.”

A man, Sekh quickly learned, named Ketharic Thorm. Jaheira recounted how she had killed him once, about the battle that had taken place within these lands before they were cursed. And it seemed, Sekh realized, that Shadowheart’s presumption that the shadow magic came from Shar was right.

He heard Syl growl, within his mind. No love lost for the Goddess of Loss, he knew. No love lost for any of the gods, truly.

“We cannot get close enough to Moonrise,” Jaheira added, “but you? They would never know. We know True Souls recognize their own- but I doubt they could tell you were not under the Absolute’s thrall.”

“These shadows are thick.” Gale, who had been far too quiet- not that Sekh could blame him. The man’s mind had to be a tumultuous mess.

His question didn’t need to be voiced. How would they even get close?

“You’re not our only glimmer of hope. Head upstairs and meet Isobel- she can give you a blessing that will be enough for you to walk amongst the thinner shadows.”

Well, better than nothing. Sekh nodded, and it seemed that was that. Conversation done.

Jaheira was quite good at keeping things to the point.

Sekh moved away from the table, heading for a familiar face. Alfira, the tiefling bard, was sitting, shoulders hunched. He said her name, a few steps away, and she glanced over her shoulder, before standing up so forcefully she nearly toppled the bench she had been sitting on.

“It’s you! You’re here!” She rushed over, grasped Sekh’s biceps, before embracing him. Taken aback, Sekh froze for a moment, before he returned the hug in kind.

“What happened? Where is everyone?”

Alfira tensed, pressed her forehead to Sekh’s shoulder. And quietly, in a voice that was barely keeping from shattering, she told him about the shadows, about Zevlor, about losing so many.

About Rolan, protecting the children, and Cal and Lia being taken.

Sekh glanced across the inn, found the wizard in question hunched over the bar. “He said he stayed because of you,” Alfira managed, straightening up and wiping at her eyes. Sekh realized there were tear stains already on her cheeks- how long had she been crying? “How do you do it? How do you keep going?”

Sekh bit his lip. “I… don’t have a good answer,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just not ready to die yet.” Alfira nodded, just once, and Sekh reached out, squeezed her shoulder. “I’m going to Moonrise. I’ll find them, I’ll find all of them, and I’ll bring them back.”

And suddenly the light seemed back in her eyes- albeit, dimmer than Sekh remembered at the party. “If anyone can, it’s you.” She reached up, squeezed the hand on her shoulder, before turning, settling back down. Sekh decided to leave her to her thoughts, eyes now focused across the inn.

He headed for Rolan, stopped a few steps away. The tiefling lifted his head, and when he saw it was Sekh, his fiery eyes narrowed. “Oh, it’s you.” The words stung, venom laced, personal. Sekh didn’t exactly blame the man. “If you’re here to save the day again, you’re a little late this time.”

“Sounds like you didn’t need me,” Sekh offered, tipping his head down slightly, wanting to catch Rolan’s stare. “I heard what happened. You saved the kids.”

“Oh sod off,” Rolan spat. “I’m only here because you helped me and my family. I was ready to cut and run back at the Grove, but you had other ideas. Cal and Lia were taken in by your crap- you convinced them to play hero, and now they’re gone.”

Rolan’s voice was a rumble, yet so close to shattering it made Sekh’s stomach ache. And he wanted to argue that staying had been the right thing to do, and Cal and Lia had seen it that way- but that wasn’t what the wizard needed to hear.

Sekh wasn’t sure what he did need to hear. Frankly, he was beginning to think he didn’t know what anyone needed, with the way everyone around him was quickly falling apart. That hurt down in the very core of his being.

“I’m going to Moonrise,” he said, daring to take a step closer. “I’ll find them. I’ll save them. I’ll bring them back.”

“They’re my responsibility,” he spat. “You go save the world, or your own ass- or whatever it is that you do. I’ll fix this.” Rolan paused, before he added, “you’re done enough.”

Sekh felt his gut sinking. He hadn’t even realized that they had caused a bit of a scene, until he felt Astarion brushing up to him, hand sliding along his arm.

“Everything alright, darling?” His voice was low, eyes sharp, pointed at Rolan. The tiefling downed the wine in his tankard, before he set it down and leveled his own hellish stare at Astarion.

“Oh, lovely, one of your attack dogs.” Astarion bared his fangs at that. “Fuck off, all of you. Just leave me be.” Astarion looked quite ready to punch him- and Sekh didn’t want to see that. He grasped the vampire’s arm, gently pulling him away. Astarion resisted for only a moment, before he followed.

“Just let me rough him up a little,” he said, “pretty please?” He fluttered those white eyelashes, and for a moment, Sekh felt just a little lighter.

“You’re trying to make me feel better,” he mused, and Astarion scoffed.

“Oh nonsense. I haven’t got the time to worry about feelings.” A bold faced lie- and Sekh realized he recognized that. “But,” Astarion added, clearing his throat, “perhaps I do prefer when you smile.”

Sekh did- it was small, weak, but real. Things were falling apart, but maybe not everything. They just needed to soldier on. He’d fix this. He’d fix everything.

Wasn’t that what one did, when you cared about the people around you? You fixed their problems?

Sekh assumed it was- and before he could further that train of thought, nearly tripped over something. Astarion grabbed his arm to steady him, and Sekh looked down, noticed a hairless cat glowering up at him.

“Oh dear,” Astarion said, “what a… plump little thing.” Sekh crouched down, held his hand out for the cat to sniff his fingers. It did indeed seem like it had been well fed- rolls and wrinkles of pink skin. It gave his fingers a sniff, before it reared back, hissing loudly.

And Astarion laughed.

“Well,” he said, as Sekh straightened up, the cat scuttering away quickly, “at least you purr for me.” Sekh turned, pressed his hand flat to Astarion’s chest, went to shove him playfully- but the vampire covered it, gave it a squeeze. Sekh felt a familiar fluttering, in his chest- and a sudden, desperate ache to kiss Astarion. Even if just the barest of touches, to his cheek.

But was that crossing a line? Sekh still didn’t know, didn’t know where the lines were- and what they meant. And he hadn’t mustered the guts to broach that with Astarion.

So he held off, giving the elf another small smile, before pulling his hand back. Astarion’s fingers held his hand for just a moment, before releasing him.

Stepping back felt wrong, but Sekh did it anyway.

*

“Is there anything else we should know?” Sekh asked, body tingling from the blessing Isobel had just bestowed on the group. It was wild, to have everyone crammed into her small quarters. Shadowheart was frowning deeply, to the point that the lines in her face threatened Astarion’s charming smile lines.

Isobel seemed ready to continue, when her head jerked up. “Do you hear that?”

Sekh didn’t- at first. But then this rush of wind, and the doorway to Isobel’s quarters were quite literally kicked in, a large man filling the space. He grinned, rolled his neck as the decaying wings at his back folded in.

Sekh could smell his fetid scent from where he stood.

“Marcus,” Isobel said, eyes wide. The drow quirked a brow- she knew him? But before he could ask, there was a sudden voice, in his head- slightly garbled.

True Soul. My orders are to take her alive.

Sekh gritted his teeth. He hated having someone else in his head- Syl was one thing, but there simply wasn’t room for more. He could feel her bristling, through their connection- feeling the invasion in his mind.

“Touch her,” Sekh said, fingers flexing, knowing this was not going to end peacefully. “And I’ll flay you alive.”

The man chuckled. “You disobey the orders of our god? A shame, True Soul, that her blessing was wasted on you.” He reared back, and suddenly he roared, like a beast. Sekh jerked back, the sound inhuman- and then the quick beating of large wings.

Ghastly, winged ghouls charged in from every opening before the man had even finished his call. And, yeah, peace was not about to happen.

Sekh drew his shortsword, gripping it tightly, as he felt a back press to his. Wyll, his rapier in hand, free hand already blazing with Mizora’s gifted power. The drow grinned, drew his own shadows forward.

There was no need to instruct, no need for anyone to bark orders. The group dispersed towards the noises- Karlach and Lae’zel jumping from the second floor to take on the ghouls attempting to cut through the Harpers below. A roar to the right- and Sekh saw a flash of fur, and then a huge bear jerking a ghoul down, teeth firmly embedded in its thigh.

Sekh shot his magic towards another, as it tried to dive in towards Halsin. He could feel the heat from Wyll’s hellish magic, firing around them. It was chaos within seconds. But Sekh had to admit, it was thrilling chaos, at least.

Sekh managed to block a ghoul’s snapping jaws with his sword, watching it reel back as it bit into the blade, cut its mouth open. “Dolor!” he yelled, shadows leaving him to lurch themselves around the ghoul, forcing it back a few steps-

Directly into Astarion’s waiting daggers. The rogue twisted them, before pulling them free, light on his feet as he hopped to avoid the falling ghoul and spun, daggers sinking directly into the gut of another that had made its way up behind him. If there was time, Sekh could simply watch in awe as the vampire moved. Astarion was as beautiful as he was lethal.

Sekh glanced around, trying to find Marcus in the mess. While the ghouls were annoying and needed to be dealt with, he was the real threat. They would be near mindless without him. He dodged a clawed hand, blindly firing Syl’s magic at the ghoul.

It took a moment, the noise of the room a chaotic roar, but he found Marcus, grabbing one of Isobel’s arms and grinning with yellowed teeth. Sekh watched her say something, before radiant light struck him in his eyes, forcing him to stumble back.

He was too far to get close enough before the man recovered. “Shadowheart!” he yelled, the cleric the closest. She whipped around at the noise, took not even half a second to understand, then rushed  the stumbling Marcus, delivering a swift kick to his gut. He stumbled again, and she dropped her shield, held her mace with both hands and lifted it high, bringing it down with crushing force, directly into his head.

Sekh swore he could hear his skull crunch.

Marcus crumpled, and Sekh moved, spearing his shortsword into a ghoul that was making directly for Shadowheart. He lowered his shoulder and forced it back with his weight, felt claws digging into his arm as he did so. There was blood everywhere, and he didn’t have the time to stop and wonder if any of it was his own.

Shadowheart brought her mace down a second time, and Marcus completely stilled, his head caved open, leaking blood and brain matter on the floor. Shadowheart kicked him for good measure, before turning her attention to Isobel.

Knowing the Selunite cleric was in good hands, Sekh turned, trying to take in the mess around. It was long minutes before the rest of the ghouls fell- and by then, the air stank of blood and brimstone.

They were left sweating and panting, by the end, bloodied and unsure from what. Sekh could tell from the noise below that Karlach, Lae’zel, and eventually Gale had kept control. Sekh glanced around his party, as he heard footsteps rushing towards the room, Jaheira bursting in a moment later and hurrying to Isobel.

“Alright?” Sekh asked, as Astarion flicked his blades, blood flinging off them. The vampire licked his lips, then grimaced.

“Oh that is awful,” he said, “gods they taste rotten.” He tucked his daggers away, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand- then groaning as he only smeared more blood. Sekh rolled his eyes, reaching out and grasping Astarion’s chin in his hand.

“Hold still,” he said, wiping the blood off Astarion’s mouth with his sleeve. “I’m not surprised they taste awful. Now, my question- are you alright?”

“I suppose so, darling,” Astairon said, rather softly. Sekh let go of him, rolled his own shoulders, grimaced as his arm stung. His sleeve was shredded- which had made cleaning Astarion up easy- but it also showed the gnarly gouges one of the ghouls had left in his arm.

His sword arm, of course. Blasted fucking things.

Astarion reached for Sekh’s arm, lifted it, examined the wound. “I’ll live,” Sekh said, noticing that Astarion’s brow creased with concern. “Shadowheart will fix me up. I’ve had worse.”

The vampire clicked his tongue, but released Sekh’s arm. Seemed he knew there was no point in arguing. Sekh was glad for it. There were other things to focus on-

Namely, how quickly they could get to Moonrise. It seemed the cultists might be feeling dire for Isobel, and Sekh didn’t like them coming for the one beacon of light in these cursed lands.

*

Sekh let himself back into the inn, hours later. The bodies of the ghouls had been dragged away, left to pile as a part of the barricade. A statement.

He and the party had been cleaned up. Shadowheart had mended his arm, and Isobel had wrapped it in bandages and one of Jaheira’s ointments, promising he’d be fine by morning. Sekh was glad for it- even with Syl and his own magic, he didn’t relish the idea of his sword arm being weak.

Also, he found the ointment smelled quite like dirt, and wouldn’t have wanted to slather it on more than once.

Everything seemed to be calming down for the night. The party was settled in a makeshift camp just beyond Dammon’s forge. The tiefling, bless him, was working on another upgrade for Karlach, which had been the one bit of good news they received.

The sudden, fragile calm, gave Sekh a moment to dwell again on the tieflings at Moonrise- and the guilt he felt, for not being here for them. And the personal guilt, sparked from Rolan’s words. He wanted to find him, just to ensure he hadn’t drunk himself into a stupor- to try and get him to believe that Sekh would bring Cal and Lia home. He’d bring all of them home, or die trying.

He felt he owed them that.

He found there was no one by the bar, however. Or really downstairs at all, except for a few Harpers clanging about. He headed up the stairs, the old wood creaking heavily beneath his footsteps. He wasn’t sure where everyone found room to bed down here, but he’d check all the rooms if he needed to.

Luckily, he didn’t. He paused at a door, heard a familiar voice, and cleared his throat. “Alfira?” A moment later and the door was flung open, the bard rushing out, pulling the door shut tightly behind her, blocking the other tieflings crowded in the room.

“Thank the gods,” she said, her voice hushed, “I was going to come look for you. It’s Rolan.” Sekh went to speak, but before he could, Alfira continued. “The kids said they saw him by the barricade, walking towards the shadows with a torch. I… I think he went after Cal and Lia.”

Sekh felt his muscles going tight. The wizard wouldn’t survive a damn minute in those shadows alone. At least Sekh had Isobel’s blessing- just a torch would barely keep the shadows at bay.

And if it went out…

“I’ll bring him back.” 

Before Alfira could say more Sekh was turning, bolting down the stairs. He had his sword holstered at his hip, he could head directly into the shadows without stopping-

“Where are you going?”

Sekh paused, outside the inn now, skidding in the perpetually damp soil. Astarion was sitting on the edge of what was once a fountain, or well, Sekh wasn’t exactly sure- playing with one of his daggers as if he was bored.

“Because it looks like you’re about to run head first into the shadows alone- and that would be very, very stupid.” Astarion hopped up, stowing the blade and moving over to Sekh quickly, eyes narrowing. The boredom faded away to…

Annoyance?

“So please tell me this is not what it looks like.” Astarion gestured to Sekh, and Sekh folded his arms. He could lie, but it felt pointless. Astarion would know.

And Sekh honestly didn’t want to lie to the vampire, about anything.

“It’s what it looks like.”

“Oh what in the bloody hells Sekh-”

“Rolan is out there.” Sekh cut in and Astarion clamped his mouth shut, frowning. For a moment, neither said anything, before Astarion gestured for Sekh to continue.

“And?”

“And…what?”

Astarion scoffed. “And what does it matter? So the wizard has run off to an early death- that seems to be his problem, darling, not yours.”

Sekh frowned, brows furrowing. “Astarion, he’ll die.”

“And, again- what does it matter?” Astarion took a step closer, enough that Sekh could smell the oil he liked to dab on his wrists, behind his ears- bergamot, rosemary. Enlivening. “Seems it was his decision- albeit a very, very stupid one.”

“He’s only here because of me.” Sekh felt his shoulders sagging a little. “Dammit, his brother and sister are at Moonrise because I told them to stay at the Grove. If he dies, if they die, it's on my shoulders.”

Astarion’s frown softened, just a little. Oh, he was still annoyed, Sekh could tell- but the vampire still reached up, tipped Sekh’s chin up. “You’re not going to bear the weight of their lives on your shoulders.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” Sekh admitted. “Isn’t that what you do, when you care about someone? When you’re close to someone? Don’t you do that for…friends?”

It felt like the stupidest question Sekh could ask, because he should know. But for so long, it had just been he and Syl. There hadn’t been anyone else to care about. And he liked the siblings- the three of them made him feel a bit lighter. He would have spent the whole evening of the party with them, if he hadn’t had the courage to approach Astarion…

Astarion, who pointedly did not answer him. Astarion, who seemed just as lost as to the answer as well. After a moment he dropped his hand, heaving an overly dramatic sigh. Without a word he turned, walking towards the barricade. Sekh stared for a moment, before the vampire paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“Well? Are you coming or not? Because I’m not rescuing your wizard on your behalf.”

*

Even with Selune’s blessing, Sekh felt positively cold as death, in these shadows. Last Light had long since faded behind he and Astarion, as they moved along what might have once been a path, overgrown with monstrous roots. It felt deathly silent, except the occasional clicking or hiss, as if the shadows were living.

Syl was swarming inside Sekh’s mind, her emotions reeling, to the point his head was aching again.

“How bloody far could he have gone?” Astarion asked, voice hushed. It felt like they needed to be silent. He paused when Sekh didn’t answer- and honestly, Sekh hadn’t even heard him. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to ask Syl to calm down a little.

When he opened his eyes, Astarion was there, peering close. Sekh jerked back, breath rushing out. “Gods dammit, you didn’t make a sound.”

Astarion smiled. “I’m a vampire, darling, of course I didn’t.” He reached out, cold fingers brushing Sekh’s hand away from his head. The touch was as cold as the shadows, but welcome at least.

“It’s nothing,” Sekh admitted, “Syl is just… lively.” The vampire clicked his tongue, but dropped his hand, following a step behind Sekh when the drow continued on. Sekh had to admit this felt almost hopeless, now- they were so far from the Inn, and maybe Rolan had gone in a completely different direction? Maybe he’d veered off somewhere and they’d missed it?

Maybe the shadows had taken him, bones and all.

It was some time later, when Sekh knew, in his gut, he couldn’t drag Astarion further- they hadn’t rested after the attack on the Inn, the vampire hadn’t fed he was sure, and gods, the shadows were getting so thick he was sure that, blessing or not, they’d be swallowed up-

When they saw a light. Faint, flickering, and the sound of a strained voice, repeating an incantation.

Sekh didn’t think. He sprang into a run, feet pounding against the dirt. Astarion was faster, passing him as Rolan came into view, the tiefling holding a dying torch with one hand, the other directing his spells at the shadows that were swarming him.

There were so, so many.

“Rolan!” Sekh yelled. The wizard jerked his head up, stared at them with shocked, wide eyes- and Astarion was taking a running leap, drawing his daggers and snarling at the shadows, as he plunged them into the nearest abomination.

It shrieked. It was corporeal enough that blades could hurt. That worked to their advantage.

Sekh drew his shortsword, stabbing it into another shadow. His arm ached something fierce from the wound one of the ghouls had inflicted earlier, but he gritted his teeth and ignored it.

He fell into a rhythm, with Astarion, cutting closer and closer to Rolan. He wasn’t sure how effective Syl’s magic would be on these, so he focused on the blade instead. The shadows gave far easier than flesh, but freeing his blade was difficult- almost as if the shadows wanted to devour it, and then him.

“This is going to take hours,” Astarion panted, ducking down to avoid one of the shadows grabbing him.

He wasn’t wrong. They just kept coming- Sekh swore they cut down one, and three replaced it, snarling and shrieking. They sounded ravenous, starving.

Sekh dropped down as he heard Rolan’s voice, and a moment later a bolt of flame burst where he had been, overtaking one of the shadows. Sekh reached out, stabbed into the now blazing abyss, grimacing as it burned his hand. There wasn’t time to stop and check the wound, however.

He stood up, turning, taking the last few steps to Rolan. “Are you alright?” he asked, before he heard Astarion yelling his name. He grabbed Rolan’s arm, jerking them to the side, just as a shadow came flying at them, and kept going out into the dark abyss around them.

“No time for pleasantries!” Astarion shouted, head swiveling between three shadows closing in on him. “I think we need to leave. Now.”

He was most definitely not wrong.

“We can’t get past them,” Rolan pointed out. There was sweat on his brow, along his hairline. His eyes looked exhausted. Sekh wondered how long these things had had him cornered.

“Darling,” Astarion said, backing up towards he and Rolan, his voice strained. Sekh followed his voice, and the three had turned to six shadows, beginning to close in. Gods below. There were more, slowly leaking from the inky dark around them. It seemed they were endless.

Sekh felt a sharp pain in his skull and grimaced, reaching up and grasping at his head. There was screaming in his mind- screaming he knew well.

And as much as he didn’t want to terrify the two men with him, it seemed he wasn’t going to have another choice.

“Astarion, get back!” He yelled, before he tossed his head back and screamed “Sylthek’vin!”

The vampire jerked back a few steps, putting distance between he and the shadows, as Sekh heard the booming echo of the air tearing open. A moment later there was an ear shattering laugh, twin voices, and then she was there, a shadow blacker than the cursed horrors, but radiating heat like fire.

She lunged, and Sekh heard Rolan breath in terror, “What in all the hells is that?”

“Explanations later,” Sekh said, sheathing his sword. “If we get an opening we run.” He flexed his hands, watched as Syl grabbed a shadow in one of her long fingered hands, lifting it into the air with her and grinning with her oh so many needle-fine teeth.

And then the shadows of her belly began to twist.

Sekh watched in awe, as her second mouth appeared, the shadows of her gut seeming to rip apart. Rows and rows of the same needle-like teeth traveled up the seam created in her body, as the maw opened wide, and she swallowed the shadow into herself.

“Oh gods,” Rolan breathed, and Astarion cocked his head, looking fascinated.

“Well. Now that’s a sight.”

Yes, it truly was- but Sekh shook his head. “We have to go,” he said, as Syl grabbed another, laughing eagerly, hauntingly as she crammed it into her belly-maw, the shadow screeching at an unholy note. Without hesitation Astarion leapt into a run, shoulder down, charging into the shadows first. Sekh grabbed Rolan by the arm and jerked him forward, yelling “go!” as the wizard stumbled, but then followed after Astarion.

Sekh ran behind them, dodging a frantically clawing arm. He could feel Syl’s eyes, watching them go, and a glance back caught her stare, her startling smile.

And then those thousand star voids were back on the shadows, and she was back to her fun.

*

By the time they reached Last Light, all three were panting, nearly dizzy from running. Sekh’s legs ached, and he swore with each step he would be on the ground, having to drag himself forward, crawl pathetically towards the light.

But it didn’t matter. They were alive.

The Harpers on guard gave them shocked looks and a wide berth, and Sekh was fine with that. They paused outside, Astarion collapsing back against the would be fountain, sucking in desperate mouthfuls of air.

And he didn’t even need to breathe.

“Never again,” he managed, voice a bit rough. “Next time you want to play hero, darling, you are on your own.”

It was a very poor attempt at a lie.

Still, Sekh didn’t call him on it- he just needed to sit down-

“Gods damn it all, I can do nothing right!” Rolan tossed the now extinguished torch on the ground, kicking it so it rolled a few paces away. “Not a damned thing!”

“What were you even doing out there?” Astarion asked, not looking amused in the slightest by the wizard’s outburst. Sekh sucked in a breath, clenched his fists and forced himself to stay upright. The movement hurt, his burnt hand stinging, his reopened wound a throbbing ache.

“Saving Cal and Lia!” The Wizard reached up, tugged at his hair. It was in disarray, falling from its knot from the sheer amount of running they had just done. “But instead I end up cornered by shadow fiends and in need of rescue. From you,” Rolan pointed his stare directly at Sekh, eyes worse than hellfire, “of all bloody people.”

“Well, should we have left you to die?” Astarion pushed himself up, took the two steps to get into Rolan’s space, pushed up on his toes to be directly in his face. 

“Stop,” Sekh said, leaning back against the rock structure- not of his own action, but because his legs were truly beginning to give out. “Both of you.”

Astarion’s lip twitched, but he took a single step back. Rolan relaxed his shoulders just a tick.

“I failed Cal and Lia- again,” he said, the anger fading from his voice. He simply sounded defeated now. “When they needed me most.”

Sekh went to push off the fountain and stumbled. Astarion turned quickly, reached out and braced his arms. Sekh winced as Astarion gripped at his reopened wound, thw drow’s weight pushing against him. The elf glanced at his arm, took in the fresh blood seeping through his bandages, the dry, cracked skin along his hand, fissured by raw skin-

He frowned. Deeply.

“I don’t give a shit who you failed,” Astarion said, glancing back at Rolan. “Now get inside.” He jerked his head towards the inn, before he bowed his head closer to Sekh. “Darling? Can you walk?”

Sekh nodded, slowly straightening up. “Just… still catching my breath.” Sekh forced a pained smile. “It’s nothing.”

A click of his tongue was all Astarion needed to show he didn’t believe that.

The elf glanced over his shoulder, and Rolan was still there, watching them. “What? We saved your ass, now kindly fuck off.”

Perhaps the vampire was a bit angrier than Sekh originally thought.

Rolan hesitated, before he took a step closer. Astarion tensed, and the wizard paused. “Let’s just get patched up,” he offered, eyes darting to the blood now seeping around Astarion’s fingers. The elf paused, looked as if he might tell Rolan to fuck off for a second time-

But Sekh nodded. “Please,” he said, glancing over at Astarion. The anger in those eyes softened, and Astarion released him, let Sekh straighten up. He walked close enough to touch, as they followed Rolan inside, the inn feeling like a slumbering ghost, with how quiet it was.

They walked back to the bar, and Sekh hoisted himself up onto a stool, wanting to pitch forward, leaning his forehead against the cool, smooth wood. Gods was he tired.

He didn’t have time to be tired.

Astarion pulled his gloves off, tossing them on the bar, before he grabbed at Sekh’s arm, shoved the sleeve of his robe up. He had bled through the bandages earlier wrapped around his arm.

The vampire clicked his tongue again in annoyance- a tell Sekh was noticing that he was sure Astarion was unaware of. “You’re going to get yourself killed,” he said, “or maimed, if you’re lucky enough.”

“Let’s just rewrap it,” Sekh offered, “I’ll talk to Shadowheart in the morning.” Sekh was sure she would have a very disapproving look, but he was sure she could patch him up. At least enough to function. Again.

Sekh went to remove the bandages himself but Astarion batted his hand away, nimble fingers doing it himself. His skin was chilled more than usual, but each touch felt nice, to Sekh. Eased the pain, just a bit.

He closed his eyes, bowed his head a little. His bones ached with exhaustion, and he just wanted a single moment to bask in the comfort he found in Astarion, in all the things that shouldn’t be comforting.

“What are you thinking?” the vampire asked, voice hushed, barely a whisper at all. Sekh slit his eyes open, looked up through thick ginger lashes as Astarion piled the bloodied bandages on the bar.

“That I like how cold you are.” Astarion paused, one brow quirked, looking at Sekh as if the drow had just sprouted an extra head- or three. “What?”

“I would expect that to be off putting,” Astarion admitted, fingers dancing along Sekh’s arm- just missing each tear in his skin, but making the stinging skin calm with his coolness.

“Maybe if it was someone else,” Sekh admitted, as Astarion’s fingers reached his wrist, then moved delicately over burnt skin. “But it’s just a part of you- and I rather like who you are.”

Astarion’s touched paused, his eyes darting up to Sekh’s. Sekh couldn’t exactly explain the sudden burst of honesty- sure, he could blame fatigue and injuries-

But the truth? It was easy to be honest with Astarion.

The vampire parted his lips, as if he was about to speak- but was cut off when fresh bandages were set on the bar, accompanied by Rolan’s voice, “We should get that rewrapped.”

Sekh hadn’t even realized the tiefling had left- hells, he’d forgotten everything and everyone existed, outside of Astarion, for a brief moment. A sweet moment that was gone, Sekh knew, as Astarion pulled back.

Rolan gently grasped Sekh’s arm, turning it to examine the wounds. He frowned, brow creasing- and it was a charming look, Sekh had to admit.

“Playing doctor?” Astarion asked, tone teasing. Sekh glanced at him, but Astarion only smiled- and somehow, it was so sweet that it could have made Sekh pleasantly ill.

“We could wake Isobel,” Rolan offered, eyes glancing down at Sekh’s burnt hand, “more for your hand than your arm.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll be fine until morning.” The tiefling’s frown grew, and he glanced at Astarion. They seemed to share, for a moment, a silent understanding and frustration- and Sekh wanted to laugh. “We can do this Rolan- go get some rest. You don’t need to be around me.”

Rolan gave a grunted hmph, before he released Sekh’s arm, reaching for a jar he had set on the bar as well. Sekh frowned, must have made a little noise, because Rolan glanced at him as he lifted it up.

“... It smells like dirt,” Sekh admitted, and Astarion snorted a very undignified laugh.

“Oh heavens forbid,” he teased, motioning with two fingers for Rolan to bring the jar to him. “Precious little babe will just have to tolerate it.” Astarion swiped his fingers in the cream, before carefully smearing it along one of the large gashes on Sekh’s arm. Sekh winced a little, but the pain was dulled, again, by Astarion’s cool skin. Astarion scooped more on his fingers, pausing before touching the next gash, adding, “But you are right. It smells like gravedirt.”

“Thank you!” Sekh beamed, felt at least like he wasn’t going crazy, and oh, Astarion smiled back. It made Sekh’s belly flutter with those burning moths again, alive and yet dying in a panicked ecstasy.

“Huh.” Rolan folded his arms, as Astarion continued to coat Sekh’s wounds carefully. The drow glanced at him, a silent what in his look. “Just can’t believe I didn’t notice until now.”

“Notice what?” Astarion asked, moving to Sekh’s hand. The drow grimaced, his hand aching far worse than his arm.

Rolan stared at the vampire as if he was insane, then only shook his head. “Nevermind. Here, let me do this.” He lifted the bandages, and Astarion moved to Sekh’s other side, so the tiefling could wrap his wounds. His touch was shockingly delicate, yet precise. The bandage was tight, once he was done, but not uncomfortable. Sekh moved his arm and hand, found it didn’t shift and cause much friction.

“You’re good at this,” he pointed out, as Rolan leaned against the bar, the exhaustion seeping into his face.

“I’ve patched Lia up enough to do it in my sleep.” He paused, then, in a softer voice, “Tell me you meant it when you said you’d bring her and Cal back to me.”

“I swear it,” Sekh said, “Rolan, on my life. If they’re alive, I will bring them back. And the other tieflings too.” Rolan nodded, once, silent acceptance, as Astarion leaned against Sekh’s good arm.

“I hate feeling helpless,” the tiefling admitted, “I should have been able to rescue them myself. If I’m this useless I’m not worth my apprenticeship.”

“No one was getting through those shadows alone,” Sekh pointed out.

“You might have. What… what was that thing that you summoned?”

Sekh gave a nervous smile- but Astarion broke in to answer, “Oh, that was Syl.” Casual, as if everyone should simply know who Sekh’s patron was and not be shocked in any way by her unsettling appearance.

“And that helps me none,” Rolan pointed out.

“My patron,” Sekh offered, “I didn’t summon her- she’s been quite lively since we got into these wretched shadows. I just finally let her through.” He cleared his throat, adding in an almost nervous tone, “I know she’s not… easy to look at, but I swear she is harmless.”

“Oh darling she is not harmless,” Astarion pointed out, “but she is quite friendly. That mouth was new…” Astarion tapped his own chin, as if he was contemplating Syl’s appearance. “Does she have a taste for actual flesh?”

Sekh sighed, hung his head. “Astarion.”

“I’m curious!” Sekh only shook his head, not offering an answer, and the elf gave a pout. Sekh wanted to kiss it away, in that moment- but, well, Rolan was right there. And again, he wasn’t sure where a line could be drawn.

“She has a taste for everything,” was all he offered, and Astarion grinned. Sekh was sure he hadn’t heard the end of this- that Astarion would want to know all about Syl’s tastes- when something dawned on him. “You haven’t fed,” Sekh realized, and Astarion shrugged a shoulder almost limply.

“Not much out here, my sweet. I’ll just have to wait until I can get my teeth into a cultist or two.” Astarion flashed a smile, full fang, and Sekh felt Rolan lean a bit closer, press against his shoulder to get a look at Astarion’s teeth.

“You’re a vampire,” he mused, quietly. “But, how? You were in the sun.”

“I’m full of surprises,” Astarion purred, as Sekh rolled up the sleeve of his uninjured arm, offering his wrist to Astarion.

“Here, at least take something from me.” The thought of that hunger gnawing at Astarion, relentlessly, made Sekh sick. And what was a little more lost blood for him?

But Astarion frowned, pushed his arm away. “No. You’re in no condition…”

“I’m not letting you starve, Starshine.” Astarion shivered, those pretty eyes going just a little wide, but he held fast, refusing to take Sekh’s wrist. Sekh was ready to argue, when Rolan suddenly asked,

“What about me?” Both men glanced at Rolan, who looked almost… nervous. “Look, you both… rescued me.” Sekh could tell, admitting it stung deep. “Perhaps I owe you.”

Astarion inclined his head, studying Rolan for a moment. Then he moved around Sekh, slowly, movements fluid and cat-like as he slid between them, lifted Rolan’s arm and examined his wrist. “Just a taste,” Astarion said, glancing up at the tiefling. “I promise.”

Rolan nodded, and Sekh watched as Astarion lowered his head, bared those glorious fangs, and then sunk them deep into Rolan’s wrist. The wizard hissed, but didn’t pull away. Astarion held his arm firm, a shiver rolling through him as he got a taste.

Without thought Sekh reached out, stroked Astarion’s hair with his injured hand. He could feel the vampire relaxing with each second- and noticed that Rolan was relaxing after that initial bite as well. Sekh knew well what he was feeling- Astarion’s fangs no longer in his skin, his tongue pushing against the wounds, but letting Rolan’s pulse do the work of bleeding into his waiting mouth.

Sekh reached out with his other hand, tucked some of Rolan’s loose hair back behind his ear. “Okay?” he asked, and Rolan glanced at him, eyes almost glossy, this precious little flush rising on his freckled cheeks. Sekh moved his fingers higher, brushed them along one of Rolan’s horns. He felt the tiefling tremble, heard Astarion make a little noise. 

The vampire lifted his head, sucking in an unneeded breath. Sekh pulled his touch from Rolan, turned to Astarion, tipped his chin up and studied those red eyes. Clearer than they had been, moments before.

Sekh moved his hand from Astarion’s hair, swiped his thumb along Astarion’s bloody lips. “Better?” he asked, as Astarion opened his mouth, sucked at Sekh’s thumb, unwilling to let a single drop of blood go to waste. The elf nodded, and Sekh smiled. “Good.” He turned his attention to Rolan, who was watching them, lips slightly parted, still flushed. “Thank you for trusting him,” Sekh whispered.

Rolan licked his lips, nodded- seemed at a loss for words. Sekh reached for his arm, glanced at the two small puncture wounds. Blood had welled up, but they didn’t seem to be bleeding much otherwise.

“Let me wrap this for you,” Sekh offered, “you might be a little sore for a few hours, but it will pass.” Sekh reached for the bandages, as Astarion took over holding Rolan’s wrist, lifting it more and dragging his tongue along the wounds, taking a final taste. Rolan let out a single, shaky breath, and Sekh caught Astarion’s eyes flicking up to him, this heat in the stare.

Sekh bandaged Rolan’s wrist, careful to keep his touch light. Once he was done, Rolan took it, cradled it to his chest. He looked shocked, confused, tired.

They were all tired.

It was wordless, the acknowledgement that they needed rest. Sekh murmured to Rolan that he had better still be here come morning- whatever sort of morning the Shadowlands offered- then he and Astarion left him, both feeling the day and now night weighing heavy on their bones.

They were within their camp, when Sekh finally asked, “What did he taste like?”

Because he was curious. Astarion had drunk from their enemies, but as far as Sekh was aware, he was still the only willing participant in Astarion’s feedings.

They paused, and Astarion smiled. “Jealous, darling?” Sekh shook his head. Truly, he wasn’t- and should he be? He had no claim over Astarion-

Gods, as much as he wanted to.

Yet he had been there, he’d felt as connected to Astarion in that moment as he did when the vampire fed from him. 

Astarion hummed, seemed to be thinking. “He had almost a spice to him, like mulled wine.” Astarion licked his lips, and Sekh couldn’t help himself- he stepped closer, got his hands on the vampire’s waist, and pecked the corner of his mouth. It was soft, quick- but when Sekh went to pull back, Astarion turned, took his mouth in a proper kiss. His hands found Sekh’s back, pulled him closer, tongue flicking at his lips, before pushing past them, giving Sekh a taste of Rolan’s blood.

Sekh made a pleased little noise, and Astarion pulled back, smile all honest charm.

“Don’t worry,” he offered, eyes flicking to Sekh’s lips, before rising to meet his stare, “your’s is still my favorite. Sugared just enough to make me feel like I’m indulging in something sinful.” One hand slid between them, tipped Sekh’s chin, as Astarion whispered, “my little sweet blood,” before kissing him softly, one final time.

*

It was almost laughable, when Sekh realized just how close they had been to Moonrise. Why, Rolan very well might have made it there himself if he’d just kept running.

Staring across the walkway to the large steps, Sekh felt small, almost insignificant. Like the fortress housed some sort of ancient beast that could swallow him whole.

He could feel the anxious energy off his companions, as well. Astarion, Shadowheart, and Lae’zel- and gods, did he wish they were all here- but that would have drawn too much attention. Karlach, Wyll, and Gale had gone off in the opposite direction, once they had found the entrance to Moonrise. They wouldn’t be far, but this land was decaying so quickly that they all agreed, there had to be more that must be done other than take down Ketheric.

Sekh took a breath, flexed his hands- his burn healed, thanks to Isobel, his arm bandaged beneath his robe but barely aching now. And then he squared his shoulders and walked. The others fell in step, passing a few cultists, and then pausing at the steps, as a guard held his hand out.

Sekh’s feet had barely settled when he felt the pull on his tadpole. The thing squirmed happily at being reunited with others of its kin.

“Ah, True Soul,” the guard said, smiling. “What news?”

Oh shit. Sekh folded his arms, cocked his hip, attempted to look aloof. “Not much worth telling. What of inside?”

The guard’s smile grew. “See for yourself. Disciple Z’rell is inside, she will want to see you.” The guard placed a fist to his chest. “In Her name.”

“In Her name.” Sekh moved past them, his companions following inside. The fortress- castle- whatever it once was was huge, the ceiling so high inside that Sekh imagined they could nearly fit a Sussar tree within.

“We best not keep this Z’rell waiting,” Astarion whispered, and Sekh nodded. He took note of the guards stationed about, a few Goblins off to the left, and what looked more like pilgrims, to the right. Lae’zel stepped up to his side, eyes scanning the room as well.

And then, in a hushed whisper, she offered, “We could down all of them in three minutes.”

Sekh wanted to laugh. “That’s a bit optimistic.”

Lae’zel flashed a feral smile, charming, gorgeous even, and added, “I’m in the mood for blood.”

He imagined she was. The pent up rage at Vlaakith had to be near brimming inside her.

They paused at another set of stairs, and the guards motioned them on. They ascended, paused within, a group of Goblins standing before a well built half orc woman, a step above them on a dias.

“We did as we was told, general! We followed every order!” One of the goblins was pleading.

“The facts suggest otherwise.” The woman’s voice was a bellow, seemed to cause the room to hush. Sekh felt goosebumps rising on his flesh. In his mind, Syl purred, intrigued by her presence.

“You were ordered to retrieve the artifact- you failed to do so.”

“Us? No, no- it was Minthara!” Sekh fought the urge to bare his teeth. Minthara was long dead, at the Goblin camp. And these wretches must have been a part of the atrocities meant for the Grove.

“Enough!” Sekh suddenly felt dizzy, a wave of energy wracking his mind, urging his tadpole into subserviency. He bit his tongue, fighting off the control, felt his companions stirring around him as well. 

“You failed to retrieve the artifact. You failed to protect your True Soul. You do not deserve to live.” The Goblins gawked, and Sekh held his tongue.

No, they didn’t deserve to live- but it wasn’t because of their failures. It was for what they had done, had wanted to do, to the Grove. He felt his anger sparking again, the same anger that had been broiling in his gut yesterday, felt nearly uncontrollable over the atrocities they were all living through.

“We are too close to the ending- and the new beginning.” Sekh’s eyes flicked to the voice, and he realized a man was settled back in what appeared to be a throne of sorts, legs spread, seeming unamused yet unbothered. He stood up, slowly, hulking in stature, and Sekh knew, without being told.

Ketheric.

“We can coddle failure no longer.” He paused next to Z’rell, and without glancing at her, said, “Kill them. Quickly.” His eyes scanned the room, then paused when they fell on Sekh. The drow swore those eyes were cracking his skull open, sifting invisible fingers through the folds of his brian, digging. “Or better yet, let our newest arrival decide.”

As he spoke, one of the Goblins screamed, shoving at the guards and grabbing his weapon. She hefted it into Ketheric, the blade digging into his chest and neck. The moment it broke armor Z’rell seemed to panic, saying something about her being a nonbeliever.

Sekh didn’t catch it. He was too busy staring as Ketheric pulled the weapon from his body and dropped it on the ground.

“Try. Again.” His voice boomed with cool, calculated rage. Amusement. And in horror, Sekh watched the Goblin lift the weapon and sink it deeper into his flesh.

Ketheric didn’t even flinch.

He pulled it free, tossed it aside, and fisted his hands, bringing them down into the Goblin’s skull. She crashed to the ground with bone crunching force, and he stilled her writhing with a final stomp of his heavy boot. The crack of her skull echoed in the now silent room.

After a final glance at the room, Ketheric turned, unbothered by his wound as he made his way out, brushing past Z’rell. She bowed her head in feared respect, before turning her attention to Sekh.

“You heard the General. Their fate is yours to decide- here in the seat of the Absolute’s power, your authority over them is complete. Report to me upstairs when you’re done” Z’rell gave the Goblins a disgusted look, before turning away well, leaving with enough force to usher in a storm.

Sekh glanced at the Goblins, cowering, and took a step towards them. He felt the others moving, and held out his arm, signaling them to pause. “You’re free to go,” he said, drawing his blade, “all you have to do is kill me.”

“Sekh,” Shadowheart whispered, but he ignored her warning.

“I won’t even use my magic,” he offered, turning his blade in the flickering torch light of the room. “Two against one.”

The Goblins glanced at each other, then wasted no time, rushing him. Sekh kept his word, didn’t pull at Syl’s shadows or muster up the necrotic magic that flowed through him- he simply stabbed the first one that reached him, his blade slicing clean into her mouth and out the back of her skull.

The other Goblin faltered, and Sekh kicked the first off his sword, left her sprawled and bleeding on the ground. He flicked his sword, blood splattering off it, then stalked towards the other.

“You deserve this to take longer,” he sneered, and gods it felt so good to be angry. “But lucky for you, I don’t have time for that.” He grasped his short sword with both hands, arched back, and brought the blade clean through the Goblin’s neck. A moment later and the Goblin’s severed head thunked on the floor, rolling a few paces away, as his body slumped, bleeding out profusely on the floor.

Sekh turned, could feel his companions watching him, their eyes boring into him with a fascinated sort of heat. He walked over, shoulders squared, and glanced at Lae’zel.

“I promise the next batch is all yours.” She smiled.

“You do amuse me, ra’stil.” She glanced at the two bodies. “And perhaps impress. Slightly.”

Sekh smiled. He’d take the compliment gladly. They were rare enough to come by.

“That was…” Astarion paused, eyes flicking along Sekh’s face- and then he reached out, gripped the drow’s chin and held him still, his tongue lapping up along his cheek, where blood had splattered. Astarion gave a little growl, before breathing in his ear, “arousing.”

And oh, the rage in Sekh was quickly replaced by another heat, a different fire that made his pulse race.

“I can hear your pulse from here,” Astarion whispered, before he pulled back, grinning wickedly. Sekh licked his lips, fought down the urge to reach for the vampire, to tangle his fingers in his hair and bite at his lips.

Not the time nor the place, he knew.

Shadowheart was pinching the bridge of her nose, shaking her head at the three of them. “The company I keep,” she muttered, before sighing. “Best find that Z’rell again.” She paused, and then quieter, added, “Jaheira was right then. Seems Ketheric is something altogether unnatural.”

*

They found Z’rell up the winding stairs, flanked by a very large Ogre.

For a brief moment, Sekh flashed back to interrupting a half ogre in the making, and gods, that felt like lifetimes ago. He wanted to laugh- but it felt wholly unholy to laugh in a place like Moonrise.

“Excellent timing, True Soul.” Sekh paused, realizing this woman had clocked him the moment he’d entered the room. Seemed not a detail got past the disciple.

They would have to be smart with this one.

“The Goblins- tell me how they suffered. No-” she paused, smiling an excited, ugly sort of smile. “Better yet- show me.”

Sekh felt a sudden ache, in his skull- not unlike the pressure to obey earlier, but this time there was no command, just a presence. Fingers once again parting his mind, shifting through the folds, invading. The phantom touches were quick, excited.

And when the memories were found, Sekh swore it was like a hot, putrid tongue, lapping them up greedily.

She nearly purred. “I see you like to handle underlings physically?” She smirked, a flicker in her eyes, darting over Sekh. He could feel her mind pulling his clothes away, undressing him with amusement.

It made his skin crawl.

Still, he fought down the bile in his throat, as she said, “So do I. And to do it all by yourself.” Another flick of those eyes. Sekh’s fingers twitched.

“Sounds like being your underling would be quite… enjoyable.” He inclined his head slightly, folded his arms, tried to mirror her flirtatious tone.

He didn’t need to see behind him to know Astarion was glaring. The man’s eyes were like bloody fire, and he knew the vampire well enough that the moment Z’rell had looked at him hungrily, he’d begun to plan exactly how he’d make her scream.

Honestly? It made Sekh rather giddy.

“So long as you don’t bore me.” She stepped closer, one, two paces- close enough that she could reach out and touch with ease. “Now, let’s see what else is in that delicious mind of yours.”

Sekh felt the vile invasion again, probing further into his mind. Syl bristled, feeling another presence. Sekh couldn’t spare a thought to hush her, reassure her- in a panicked moment he realized that Z’rell couldn’t see most of his thoughts, or she could see the inn, the survivors.

Without thought, Sekh distracted himself, focused on the first thing that came to mind- Astarion. Astarion with his fangs in Sekh’s neck, hands roaming over him desperately, pushing his bare thighs apart because he couldn’t wait once he had his teeth in Sekh.

Astarion pinning him to the ground, making him arch, scream his name until his throat was raw. And oh, the way Astarion tasted with Sekh’s own blood still fresh on his tongue.

“My my,” Z’rell chuckled, eyes opening, glancing at Astarion now. “Your lust for the neck pricker is delicious. I’d like to take a bite out of him myself.” That same leering stare roved over Astarion, and Sekh moved quickly, physically putting himself between Z’rell and Astarion.

“I don’t share,” he said, voice low, pulling from his chest. Z’rell chuckled again.

“Oh what a shame. Perhaps when you tire of him.” She waved her hand. “No matter. You’ll find soon enough you have no thoughts of him, only the Absolute. I’ve already stood in her presence, it was bliss. She gave me everything I wanted.”

There was an opportunity here- the chance to see what Z’rell was made of. What threat she might truly pose. Voice falling a bit husky, Sekh said, “Show me the power she gave you.”

And, oh, it worked by the way Z’rell’s eyes lit like fire. As if she was positively burning to show off the power she held.

“Why not? What’s the point in power if you don’t get to have a little fun?” She lifted her hands, light suddenly sparking between them, like thin, precious little threads. “She gave me the power to cut the thread of life with a thought.” The threads snapped, and Z’rell pressed her hands together, as the Ogre behind her crumpled to the floor, stone dead before the crash of her weight could reverberate within the room. “But I can caress, as well as cut.” Her words were honeyed but putrid, like she could devour Sekh within a single bite. “So stay on my good side, little one.”

Sekh bit his tongue, kept quiet, only gave a curt nod. Oh she was going to be fun to kill. 

“And the best way to do that is to serve General Thorm. I have a mission for you.” Sekh could hear the dream visitor suddenly speaking in his mind, but he tried to tune them out. His connection with Syl went taut, and oh he knew how his patron loathed this strange figure in the prism, and their sudden intrusions into Sekh’s mind.

His mind belonged to the two of them, and intruders were not appreciated.

“There is a relic that General Thorm requires. He sent his most trusted advisor, disciple Balthazar, to retrieve it.” She said his name as if it was flavored with putrid rot. No love lost among the Truest of Souls, it seemed. “The relic is beneath the Thorm family mausoleum- that is where you will find Balthazar. We have lost contact with him… most unfortunate.” It didn’t sound unfortunate. “Go, aid him, and bring the relic home.” Sekh gave a single nod, and Z’rell added, “The shadows are deep and hungry- you will need a moon lantern to keep them at bay. Take one from Blathazar’s quarters.”

She paused, nodding towards a set of doors across the spacious room, the open hall.

“Return once you are done, and seek me out. Perhaps we can… discuss what desires you wish to voice to the Absolute.”

Z’rell waved her hand, a sudden dismissal, and Sekh was all too eager to leave. He turned, ushering his party away, across the hall into what looked to once have been a study. Massive bookcases lined the walls, old spines, some decorated in languages Sekh had never even seen, crammed onto every shelf.

The door shut behind them, and he exhaled, letting himself relax.

“Bloody disgusting thing,” Astarion muttered, as Shadowheart moved past them, examining the books quickly. Lae’zel looked at him, face stoic but eyes quizzical, and the vampire huffed. “She was two seconds from asking Sekh to bed on the damned floor.”

“Her taste in partners made it easy to deceive her,” Lae’zel pointed out, reaching out and placing a firm hand on Sekh’s shoulders. “He did well to play to it.”

Astarion huffed, but didn’t say another word- simply turned and stalked further into the room. Sekh let him go- knew there wasn’t anything he could say in that moment. He hadn’t loved it either, but it had helped.

Lae’zel was the first to the back of the room, opening another door and then pausing, a disgusted click of her tongue cutting through the silence that had fallen over the room. “Atrocious.”

The rest hurried over, peering past her, before Astarion ducked under her arm, walking into Balthazar’s quarters. The room reeked of stale blood, and Sekh could see body parts on nearly every surface. He wanted to gag.

Shadowheart did. “Shar preserve me.” Lae’zel gave her a look that screamed really, she couldn’t handle a bit of gore? But Sekh understood. This wasn’t a massacre, that might have been easier.

This was experimentation, with no regard for the subjects.

Astarion reached up, covered his nose. “It smells rotten,” he admitted, and Sekh couldn’t even fathom how strong it had to be for him. How had someone lived in here? “Let’s be quick, before one of us is sick.”

“That would improve the smell,” Shadowheart said, walking into the room regardless. Sekh filed in as well, glancing about. He headed for one of the tables, pushing aside a severed arm, the blood at its stump congealed and sticky. There were vials all over the table, tubes connected with smaller tubes- he’d seen plenty of things like this, in his childhood. His father leaving a mess of half drafted potions along his work desk.

He lifted one of the vials, daring to sniff it. The liquid inside was viscous, but sickly sweet, with a hint of rot. He tried to sort through what it could stem from, perhaps tongue of madness?

“Don’t you dare drink that,” Shadowheart said, walking up behind him. Sekh glanced back at her.

“I don’t have a death wish,” he teased, turning away from the table, “just curious what is in this.” He gave the vial a little swirl. Shadowheart took it, shrugged a shoulder, and then upended it, pouring the contents onto a small stained rug on the floor. The fabric blackened almost instantly, decaying before their eyes.

“Nothing good,” was all she said, setting the now empty vial down and walking away. And… okay, Sekh couldn’t argue that.

“What is this?” Sekh turned, found Lae’zel holding up a large staff, a lantern hanging from the curved edge. “Is this the… moon lantern Z’rell mentioned.”

“Must be.” Sekh walked over, reaching up to touch the lantern itself. It hummed with magic, and a familiar sort of feeling, in the air.

Fey.

And then, a small voice, “Oh my, oh yes! Please sir please, do release me from this mess!”

“It’s talking?” Lae’zel asked, as Shadowheart and Astarion crowded around them. Sekh unlatched the lantern, opening the small door, and a bolt of vibrant light shot out, nearly bouncing in the air before them.

“Freedom!” A little voice shrieked- and, gods, it was a pixie. Sekh had never seen one, only ever read about them.

Syl was bemused, active and watching through his blackened eye. The scent of another fey had drawn her.

“Were you lighting the lantern?” Sekh asked, and the splotch of pink nodded, her wild air floating round her as if she was suspended in water.

“Oh yes indeed, the lantern lights from the most malicious seed! When I hurt, it burns so bright.” She twirled around, gave a sigh at having the ability to stretch.

“Guess we won’t be using the lantern to get anywhere near the mausoleum,” Shadowheart said, and the pixie cocked her tiny head.

“You need a light in the dark? For freeing me, I can grant you a light so stark!” She flicked her wrists, and Sekh felt something warm brush against his face, like the faintest dust. “Consider it thanks for what you’ve done. Now off with you and off with me, before freedom is undone!”

She zipped away in the air, gone within the blink of an eye, leaving the four to stare at the empty space she had once taken up.

“An honest to gods pixie,” Astarion breathed, as Shadowheart glanced down, examined her hands.

“I think it blessed us,” she mused, “ but I don’t feel different.” Sekh shrugged a shoulder- he didn’t either. And while he knew fey were tricksters, he was inclined to believe the little thing.

*

The group made their way back down to the main floor of Moonrise. Sekh hadn’t yet seen any sort of prison- he presumed it would need to be beneath the fortress, but he hadn’t seen a stairwell yet either.

“This door?” Shadowheart asked, pointing towards one they hadn’t tried yet. The pilgrims and guards in the main hall didn’t seem bothered by their exploration- if anything, they were being quite ignored, which was a blessing.

Sekh shrugged a shoulder, and Shadowheart pushed it open, holding it for him as they all stepped through. The room they entered was spacious, walls stacked with crates, a few tables set off to the side.

And a woman, standing in front of one, muttering to herself. The door shut behind them and she turned, red eyes flickering over the group quickly, taking them all in.

And then a very practiced smile.

“Araj Oblodra,” she offered, voice airy, haunting. “Trader in blood and the sanguineous arts. It is a pleasure to stand before a True Soul.” She paused as the party neared, stopping themselves only a few paces away. “And your pale companion,” she added, eyes roving slowly over Astarion. After a moment, she glanced back at Sekh. “I’d like to offer my services, if you’re willing?”

Her family name sounded familiar, somewhere in the back of Sekh’s mind. He’d never been good with the aristocracy of drow culture, but he’d learned some as a child- as all children did. Frankly, he’d just never cared much.

As his mother had said, countless times- nothing but needy worms begging for a spider’s tit.

Oh gods it always made his father laugh.

He pushed the memories aside, deciding it didn’t matter much what family she was from. “Sanguineous arts?” he asked.

“The art of blood,” she said, sighing whimsically. “I’d like your blood, if you’re willing- that of a True Soul must be exquisite. With just a drop I’d brew you a most potent potion, bringing out the best qualities in your blood.” She paused, then added, “and that would be many, for a fellow child of Lolth.”

Sekh ground his teeth together. He had never had love for the Spider Queen or what she evoked in his people.

“The rest, I’d keep for myself. I promise, it’s just a little prick.”

Sekh considered it- they needed every advantage they could get, and it wasn’t as if he was unused to bleeding. But something about her was off, and he hadn’t forgotten the way she’d greeted- or looked at- Astarion.

“What do you want with my companion?” Sekh asked, choosing to change the subject. Araj turned her gaze to Astarion, eyes sparkling in almost awe at him.

“He’s a vampire, no? Or,” she took a step closer, “One of their spawn, at least.”

Astarion chuckled, “Oh, don’t worry, we’re all friends under the Absolute. I won’t bite.”

Her smile grew. “Oh, I’d prefer if you did. I assume he belongs to you?” She turned her attention back to Sekh.

Belongs? Astarion didn’t belong to anyone- he wasn’t a pet, wasn’t something to be owned and kept to parade around.

“Excuse me? He doesn’t belong to anyone,” Sekh remarked, frowning. “He’s his own person.”

Sekh didn’t see the way Astarion glimpsed at him.

Araj laughed, head tipped back. “Oh I’m sure he believes that.” Sekh’s frown deepened. “Do you have a name, spawn?”

“Astarion- but hold on.” Astarion lifted his hands, as if to wall her off from even touching him.

“Good.” She took another step closer, so close Sekh could smell the potions on her, a dizzying mix of bitters and sweets and organic horrors. “Now, Astarion-”

The way she said his name alone made Sekh’s gut twist, ache. He felt his muscles tensing- wanted to wrap his hand around her throat and choke her so she could never utter it again.

“-I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a little girl.”

“I’m sorry,” Astarion shook his head, looked at her in disbelief. “You want to be bitten?”

It wasn’t that crazy of a concept, at least to Sekh. After all, he happily accepted every bite from Astarion. No, it wasn’t the actual request, it was how it was being asked. Ordered.

As if Astarion never had a choice. As if someone would choose for him, his thoughts be damned.

“To feel your life’s blood slipping away? To dance on the edge between life and death?” Another sigh, dream like. “Yes, I want it.” She turned her attention from Astarion back to Sekh, as if he were Astarion’s keeper. “I’ll even compensate you. A potion of legendary power- unlike anything you’ve ever seen. It’s not for sale, but-” she glanced back at Astarion now, “it’s yours, if you bite me.”

“I will have to decline,” Astarion said quickly- very quickly.

Araj looked taken aback. “Excuse me? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity- and you’re squandering it.”

“I gave you my answer!” Astarion’s voice was slightly choked, as if the words were foreign on his tongue, hard to form.

Sighing, Araj turned back to Sekh. “Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?”

“He said no.” Sekh moved between Araj and Astarion, positioning himself very close to her. “There’s nothing more to discuss.” She scowled, and Sekh reached out, gripped his chin, forced her to stare into his eyes. “You’ll respect his decision, or I’ll show just why I’m blessed as a True Soul.”

He released her chin, forcefully, and she gritted her teeth. Sekh felt the shadows along his face moving, and pulled slightly at Syl’s shadows, just to give them more life. Araj watched, before she took a step back. She mumbled pity, before turning away, going back to her work.

Sekh turned back to the group. “We’re done here,” he said, moving swiftly through them, heading for the door. He had the urge to hit something, and as much as Araj would be a lovely target, he wanted to keep that rage channeled to their purpose.

They needed to find the tieflings.

*

It took a bit more hunting, but eventually they found the stairs that led down to the dungeons. Sekh had let Shadowheart ask some of the other cultists the questions, feeling he might be too abrasive if he asked.

He was just pissed, reeling over Araj’s treatment of Astarion. And worse, the vampire had been near silent since. Sekh couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and as desperately as he wanted to know, this wasn’t the time or place to pry, to ask. He’d have to wait- and waiting felt like it was going to kill him.

He’d never claimed to be patient.

They nodded to a few of the guards as they descended, noting the number of cells lining the circular room. The first few were empty, but Sekh could see occupants, a few cells in. Occupants he recognized.

He tried not to run, kept his walk calm and pointed, pausing at the cell where Cal and Lia were right at the bars. Lia was scowling, a hellfire look in her eyes. “What? Come to preach about your precious Absolute-”

She paused, recognition dawning.

“Gods above,” she breathed, and Sekh smiled, couldn’t help it.

“Hi stranger,” he offered, “We’re here to bust you out.” Lia grabbed at the bars, Cal leaning into her shoulder.

“The others?” he asked quietly.

“Safe,” Sekh said, and then added, “your brother too.”

“Gods I knew he was too stubborn to die.” Lia’s voice dropped lower, quieter. “The Gnomes a few cells down were planning something. Maybe they can make it easier.”

Sekh reached up, covered her hand on the bars, as he heard commotion behind him, Shadowheart’s voice speaking with a guard. “Stay ready,” he said, squeezing her hand, before he turned, chin high, to face a guard.

“You are not to speak with the prisoners,” the man said, throaty and annoyed. “Warden’s orders.”

“I speak with whoever I wish.” Sekh folded his arms, lifted his chin higher. “I’m blessed to be a True Soul. They would be so lucky as to have my attention.”

The man growled, before he turned his head, spit on the ground. “Filthy fucking drow,” he muttered, shoving past Sekh, his shoulder pushing Sekh enough that he was forced to take a step back. “Take it up with the warden!”

The man continued his patrol, and Sekh rolled his neck, taking a single, deep breath. He was used to being called filthy- in fact, that was one of the far nicer insults he got as a drow- but even here, where it seemed the drow were respected at first glance?

And, again- he damned Lolth for all she had ever done to his people.

“The warden may be a good place to start,” Shadowheart said, breaking his thoughts. “They would have keys, wouldn’t they?” Sekh nodded, and when Shadowheart began walking towards a pathway to the larger, closed-off center of the room, he followed a step behind- falling in step with Astarion.

Astarion, who glanced at him and just…stared. Stared as if he was seeing Sekh for the first time.

“Are you alright?” Sekh asked, concerned, but he never got an answer. Astarion turned those hellfire eyes away, and they were stepping onto the pathway to the warden. 

They needed to focus. They needed a plan.

Sekh was fairly sure the only plan any of them had was kill first and don’t bother with questions.

The warden was a tiefling woman with firm shoulders and a dour face. She didn’t seem shocked to have anyone walking into what could be her office per say, but she didn’t look pleased either.

She eyed Sekh, as Shadowheart shut the door. “Hmm, you spark of the familiar. Do I know you, True Soul?” She paused, before shaking her head slightly. “No, perhaps not. Your face is rather bland.”

Sekh bit back a laugh. Bland was the last word that he had ever expected to hear regarding his face. Unsettling? Sure. But bland?

She waved him off. “Regardless- I am the Warden, I assume you have something important you need if you’re here to bother me. I’m quite busy.”

She didn’t look busy. There was a bottle of wine open on a desk across the room.

“I would have expected the Warden to have a more exciting face herself,” Sekh offered, and heard Shadowheart snort a laugh behind him, muffling it quickly by covering her mouth.

The Warden frowned. “I answer directly to Disciple Balthazar himself. You would do well to show some respect, drow.”

Sekh sighed. “Oh, to the hells with this.” He glanced at Lae’zel. “I said the next one was yours.”

The githyanki didn’t hesitate. She grinned, drawing her sword and charging at the warden before the tiefling could react. She skewered the sword right through her gut, then planted her boot firmly on the woman’s chest and shoved, forcing her off the sword, falling to her knees. The Warden clutched at her stomach, looked ready to shout- but Lae’zel never gave her the opportunity.

Her sword shoved through the tiefling’s mouth, and the warden was dead before she could properly choke on her own blood.

“Thank you,” Lae’zel said, freeing her sword and turning to Sekh, “perhaps the next we can share.”

“Oh bloody hells, what have you two done?” Shadowheart looked exasperated, glancing from Lae’zel, to the dead warden, to Sekh, who had given her the kill order. “So much for a stealth rescue.”

“We open the cells and clear a path,” Lae’zel offered, “unless you have a better plan?”

Shadowheart was silent. Truth be told, Sekh knew there had never been a plan. Just to find the tieflings, get as much information as possible, and get out. They didn’t need safe passage back into Moonrise, after all. The next time they returned, it would be for Ketheric’s head.

Shadowheart pointed to the wall, where a number of heavy levers were built in. “I imagine those open the cells.” She sighed. “I take it we’ll be flipping them all and then getting our hands dirty.”

Sekh nodded. Lae’zel didn’t argue, and he glanced at Astarion, expecting some sort of sass or excitement- but the elf was still silent. He was just looking at Sekh again.

Sekh told himself again, this wasn’t the time. He’d find Astarion after the chaos, he’d figure this out. It had to wait.

He didn’t want it to.

��Lae’zel, outside to brace for the guards. I’m coming with you- Shadowheart, twenty seconds and then flip them. Astarion,” Sekh paused, just saying the man’s name feeling like he was opening a floodgate. He forced himself on, “Middle ground. Cover Shadowheart in case any guards come for her- but then we need you.” The vampire nodded- and it was enough acknowledgement. Sekh turned and followed Lae’zel out, counting in his head. He paused halfway to the tieflings’ cell, as Lae’zel continued, to put herself between them and any guards that could round the corner.

And, right on time, there was a round of clicks, and then the old metal was creaking, groaning as the gates opened slowly. The tieflings were out before the gate was fully open, followed by a group of deep gnomes, right next to Sekh. They looked at him, unbelieving, and he forced a quick smile.

“Hope you can run fast,” he said, “whatever you hear, don’t stop.” They nodded- the leader sporting a cocky smirk, and then the sound of Lae’zels sword clanging against metal birthed chaos.

Guards rounded the corner, and Sekh drew his sword, sending a blast of shadows towards one. He heard footsteps behind him and whipped around, sword poised- but Astarion was faster, leaping onto the guard that was charging at Sekh. He stabbed a dagger into his belly, then used it as support as he tore into his throat with his teeth.

Fighting with all his assets.

Sekh turned again, running towards Lae’zel. It felt like chaos, the tieflings dodging hits, Sekh and Lae’zel trying to intercept them all, while Astarion and Shadowheart kept their backs safe. Sekh even saw Lia deliver a rather solid punch to a guard’s face, before she grabbed at his short sword, stabbing him in the chest with it.

“Hold onto that!” Sekh yelled over the din, and she only grinned. He turned his attention back to Lae’zel, as she cut down another guard, blood spraying across her armor, speckling her hair.

And then, as the body crumpled to the floor- silence. Sekh relaxed slightly, as Lae’zel took a few steps ahead of the group.

“Clear,” she yelled, and Sekh ushered the tieflings and gnomes forward. They couldn’t leave out the stairs that the companions had entered through- there was no way they were fighting their way out of Moonrise through the front door.

But there was a set of large doors to the left- and if Sekh had calculated correctly, they must open up to the bordering water- and hopefully, docks.

He pointed, and Astarion moved up to the doors, grabbing one. Shadowheart grabbed the other, and after a silent nod between them, they shouldered the heavy wood open. Lae’zel burst out first- and gods, it was good she did, before another guard let loose an arrow that she just managed to duck under.

Anyone else, it would have been embedded in their eye.

Lae’zel ran for the archer, while the tieflings and gnomes flooded out. Sekh glanced around, noting more guards than they expected. They must have just missed something happening on the docks, to their misfortune.

They couldn’t risk the tieflings and gnomes being here, if more guards came- and it seemed like they were trying to raise the alarm. They’d never fight their way out with civilians.

Sekh scanned the area, paused when he noticed an uneven outstretch of rock, close to the fortress’s edge. The gap was small, jumpable.

It led directly into the shadows.

Sekh turned to Shadowheart and Astarion. “I need you both to guide them through the shadows,” he said quickly. “There’s a jut of rock, just over there- it’s jumpable. They can make it.”

“You want us to leave?” Astarion finally spoke, eyes boring into Sekh.

“They won’t make it back to Last Light alone. And we can’t risk the cultists following. Lae’zel and I can handle them.” He paused, then added, “they will die if you don’t guide them. The shadows will devour them.”

And it was true. Shadowheart had Shar’s adoration and the pixie’s blessing- the shadows wouldn’t touch her. But one wasn’t enough, not for a group this size. With Astarion there, there might be enough magic to shield them long enough to get back to Last Light.

Shadowheart nodded, mouth set in a firm line. She understood, without hearing the details. Sekh was ever grateful for it.

“I am not leaving you,” Astarion said, even as Shadowheart grabbed his arm, pulling him away as the tieflings and gnomes made for the makeshift escape route. “Sekh’met.”

“Go!” Sekh turned then, clutched his sword tightly, and ran to meet Lae’zel. He didn’t look back. He trusted Shadowheart would make sure Astarion went with her.

He trusted that Astarion would go, because it was the right thing to do- and even if the vampire liked to act as if he didn’t care for anyone but himself- even if he’d complained about saving the tieflings the first time around- Sekh knew it was at least partially a lie.

Plus, it was what Sekh wanted. He hoped Astarion would honor that.

Sekh braced himself next to Lae’zel, dodging another flying arrow. “Are they safe?” she asked, and he nodded. She grinned something fierce and wicked. “Good. Let’s have some fun, ra’sil.”

Oh, he wouldn’t argue that. At least if they died, they’d die free of the damn rage they both were harboring, like a festering ache in their guts.

*

When they stumbled into Last Light next, it was bloodied but alive. Sekh was pleased that most of the blood wasn’t theirs at least. Mostly thanks to Lae’zel if he was honest- she had moved like a gods damnned storm, cutting down cultists as if her sword was simply cutting through air.

Sekh didn’t need to ask her if each cultist, in her mind, embodied Vlaakith and all the years, devotion, pain Lae’zel had given to her. He hoped it had been cathartic, even if it didn’t solve her dilemma, or make the hurt simply dissipate.

He knew it had been quite nice to cut loose, to pull on Syl’s power without restraint. Each death felt like retribution, for just a moment of agony his companions, his friends, his new family were feeling.

The Harpers at the barricade rushed them, ushering them in, wanting more details about Moonrise, about what they had seen, and oh what damage had they caused?

“The others,” Sekh asked, as Lae’zel broke down how she had cut through a cultist’s spine while cutting the air flow of another’s off with her boot to a few eager cultists.

“Inside,” the Harper confirmed, and Sekh felt his chest nearly bursting. “It’s been chaotic since their return- you should go inside. I believe your… companions may be only minutes from attempting a rescue for you two.”

“Rescue?” Lae’zel asked, as the younger Harpers stared at her in awe, adoration- and a good dose of fear. “Tsk’va, we are not hatchlings in need of aid.” Sekh laughed, before he grasped her hand.

“We’d better hurry before we have to rescue them,” he said, pulling her towards the Inn. Lae’zel positively beamed over the prospect.

The moment they walked in the chaos erupted further. The gnomes and tieflings were all about, Harpers rushing around, to and from Jaheira- and their companions looking ready to bring hellfire down on the fortress.

Shadowheart saw them first. She dropped her mace, running over so fast she nearly tripped over her own boots. She threw both her arms around them, pulling Sekh slightly off balance and Lae’zel so far off balance that the githyanki fell completely into Shadowheart’s hold.

“Hi,” Sekh managed, feeling choked. Lae’zel was squirming, trying to push away from Shadowheart- but her hold was iron.

“I hate you both,” Shadowheaet said- and Sekh smiled. Yeah, he loved her too.

He did, didn’t he? Loved her, Lae’zel- all of them. That’s what the rage was, building in him, at their agony? It was beyond caring- it was bone deep, rooted in his marrow now.

Shadowheart let them go, ushering them further inside. Lae’zel was swallowed up quickly, which gave Sekh time to move further into the inn, towards the back.

He found Astarion there, paler than usual, looking like he was going to vibrate out of his skin. His fingers were twitching, and Sekh was sure there were more knives strapped to his body than he had ever seen.

“You’re alive!” It was Lia who saw him first. She grinned, reaching out and grabbing his arm, pulling him into the circle. Rolan and Astarion turned at her voice, both staring burning holes into Sekh.

“Gods,” Rolan breathed, shoulders relaxing. “The way Shadowheart and Astarion told it, we assumed you dead under an army of cultists.”

“It… wasn’t that many,” Sekh said, even as he looked at Astarion. Astarion, looking at him with large, soft eyes, this look of awe and disbelief about him. As if he couldn’t believe Sekh was standing there, in front of him. Whole. Alive.

“Oh it was,” Lia said, “I do remember trying to count as I was running for my life. Which, by the way- thank you.” She reached up, cupped Sekh’s cheeks and forced him to look at her, tearing his gaze away from Astarion, before she leaned in, smacking a playful kiss right on his mouth.

Sekh nearly laughed into it, as she pulled back. And then Cal was laughing as well, placing one on his cheek. It made the drow feel giddy, inside.

“Enough, both of you,” Rolan said, walking over and trying to pry his siblings away from Sekh. “Let the man breathe.” Lia held tighter, and Cal even hooked an arm around Sekh’s waist, daring Rolan to remove them himself.

Sekh felt like he was spinning, drowning in the affection- but as much as he wanted to wade in it for an eternity, he needed-

Astarion. The man slipped past Rolan, and the moment he did Cal and Lia released Sekh. Without question.

“You’re alive,” Astarion whispered, and Sekh flashed a soft, affectionate smile.

“Of course I am.” Sekh inclined his head slightly, reached out with one hand, brushed it along Astarion’s side, over the buckles of the drow armor he’d been wearing since the Underdark. It was fitting on him- and Sekh should probably tell him, one of these days.

He meant to jest that he couldn’t leave Astarion to have all of the fun bringing down the cult without him. That he couldn’t leave this mess of a party without supervision- even if he himself was sure he needed supervision more than some of them-

But what he said was, “I wouldn’t leave you.”

And he knew it was what he meant.

Astarion moved closer, and Sekh wasn’t sure if the man was going to sob, or scream, or kiss him- but he never found out, as Gale was suddenly breaking them up, slapping Sekh on the back and saying he wanted to hear all of the riveting details from he and Lae’zel.

Sekh loved the wizard, but gods did he have the worst timing.

*

It felt like half the night- or what felt like night, perhaps- was over by the time Sekh was able to strip of his bloodied robes and clean up. Camp was buzzing with energy despite that everyone needed rest, and Sekh presumed they would be running on adrenaline, come morning when they set off to find the Thorm family museum.

As exhausted as he was, though, Sekh wasn’t going to get any rest until he spoke with Astarion. The vampire’s demeanor at Moonrise- and after- just hadn’t been right. For him to be silent, something had to be wrong.

“Sekh’met.” Sekh turned at the sound of his name, Astarion standing outside his own tent, looking wholly- uncomfortable. “Can we talk?”

Sekh walked over, noticed the almost nervous tick to the vampire’s movements, the near sadness to his eyes. “Are you alright?”

Astarion sighed, “Oh, I’m perfectly awful.” Alarmed, Sekh moved to speak, but Astarion continued. “I… wanted to thank you.” Sekh pinched his lips shut, confused now. For what? What had he done? His confusion must have been evident, because Astarion added, “For what you said, while I was in front of that vile drow.” Astarion paused, closed his eyes for a moment, seemed to be composing himself. “I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing- it never mattered.”

Sekh swore there was something cracking, fissuring along Astarion then- in his eyes, in his voice, in his very being. 

“You could have asked me to do the same- to throw myself at her, what I wanted be damned.” Astarion paused, and then, in a voice that was soft, small, awe struck and broken, added, “But you didn’t. And I’m grateful.”

Sekh stepped closer, wanting to envelope Astarion then, take him into his arms and shield him. Damn the world for everything it had ever done to him that he was grateful for being allowed to say no. “I don’t want you to ever do anything you don’t want to,” Sekh said, “you make your own choices now.”

Astarion gave a sad, little smile. “It’s a novel concept, I’ll admit. And… a little intimidating. It would have been so easy to bite her. A moment of disgust, to force myself through,” he was swaying with his words, now, unable to be still, “And then I could have carried on, just as before.”

Sekh frowned. His body ached, radiating from his chest, the spaces between his ribs where he desperately wanted to tuck this man away. “That would have been wrong, Astarion.” Sekh swallowed then, thickly, hating that he had to ask- “Was that what it was, with me?”

Astarion’s eyes went wide, and he lifted his hand, as if he wanted to reach out, touch Sekh- but then it dropped. As if he simply couldn’t. “No. You were…” Astarion sighed. “I needed protection, no one trusts a vampire- and with very good reason. I needed someone on my side- and, well,” Astarion smiled, and it was honest, “seducing you was easy, frankly.”

Sekh bit back a chuckle, but he knew Astarion heard it. True, he hadn’t made it hard on the vampire at all.

“So imagine how stupid I felt when I…started to genuinely feel something for you.” The drow felt his heart rate suddenly rise, the organ beating frantically in its cage, wanting to claw its way up his throat. He felt a tremble, in his fingertips, and had to fist his hands to steady them. “Trust me, I wasn’t thrilled. My nice, little plan… fell apart.” Astarion sighed again, closed his eyes for just a moment. And when they next opened, when they looked at Sekh-

Gods, there was so much there. So much fear, at being stark open, exposed and vulnerable. As if a single breath would be all it took to fully break Astarion, all over again.

“Astarion,” Sekh said, his voice catching. “I care about you.”

I am wholly, selfishly, fatally in love with you.

The vampire swallowed a lump in his throat, his voice a raspy whisper. “Really?” He sounded desperate to believe it- but terrified to, as well.

Sekh stepped closer, reached out for Astarion. He slid his arms around him, grasped at his back, and held tight. For a moment, Astarion was rigid, tense, before he melted against the drow, his arms winding around Sekh, hands clutching at the back of his shirt. Astarion dipped his head, pressed his face into Sekh’s neck, and Sekh rocked gently, squeezing him tighter.

He wanted to pull the man into him, into his sinew and bone, protect him, home him.

Sekh turned his head, kissed Astarion’s curls, felt the elf tremble in his hold. And in all these years, these centuries- Sekh wondered if anyone truly had held him, for just the sake of his comfort.

Did he even remember what that was like?

Sekh leaned back a little, and Astarion gripped his shirt tighter. “Don’t,” he whispered, his voice so raw, shattered, “please.” Sekh kissed his curls again.

“I’ll hold you until the sun burns out, Starshine.” Astarion trembled again, and Sekh squeezed tighter, for a moment. “And even then, I won’t stop.”

Astarion pressed tighter to his neck, drank in the scent of his skin, the heat. And Sekh, he found calmness in the cool touch, the way Astarion could quell a fire in him, as much as he could stoke one.

Slowly, the vampire loosened his hold, and Sekh leaned back, watching Astarion lift his eyes, those soft eyes moving to meet his stare. “You,” Astarion whispered, his voice breaking, “you are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Sekh smiled softly, felt Astarion’s hand seek out his own. Sekh took it, tangled their fingers together, rubbed his thumb along Astarion’s cool skin.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” Astarion admitted, “I… I don’t know how to do this.” Sekh squeezed his hand, and Astarion’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles. “I don’t know what comes next. But this?” This time Astarion squeezed his hand, moved closer, head inclined, a breath away from a kiss, “This is nice.”

Sekh leaned in, pressed his lips not to the vampire’s own, but the bridge of his nose. Astarion made a pained sound, in the back of his throat, and Sekh’s free hand found the curve of his waist, held him there. “Whatever comes next,” Sekh offered, “I’ll be there.”

The words he’d spoken to Astarion earlier echoed in his skull, and Sekh closed his eyes, adding,

“I would never leave you, Starshine.”

*

They retreated to Sekh’s tent, in an attempt to get some rest before the figurative dawn broke. Sekh had been more than happy to have the vampire crawl into his bed roll with him, curl up into the crook of his arm, cheek laying on his bare chest. Softly, Sekh danced his fingers along Astaron’s back, could just feel the ridges of his scars through his shirt.

Sekh’s mind was still reeling, heart thudding loudly in his chest. A part of him was sure he was dreaming, that he must have died at Moonrise, and the gods were both gentle and cruel enough to give him this facade of bliss.

“Your heart is pounding,” Astarion mused, not lifting his head. He was lazily tracing his fingers along Sekh’s belly, beneath their blanket. Neither of them seemed to be able to stop touching, as softly as possible.

Sekh smiled, didn’t lift his head. “Just wondering if I died at Moonrise.” Astarion scoffed, pressed his mouth in a lazy kiss against Sekh’s chest. “If you’re even real.”

“I assure you, darling, I am quite real.” Astarion pushed himself up slightly, moved his mouth to Sekh’s neck, dragged his fangs against Sekh’s pulse. Sekh tipped his head back further, eyes falling shut as a soft moan escaped him, the promise of Astarion’s fangs always able to bring his entire body to life.

Astarion paused then, and Sekh opened his eyes when he felt the vampire leave him, sit up. He looked nervous, hands suddenly knitting together in his lap, fingers tapping against each other. Sekh sat up himself, pushed his now free hair away from his face. “Astarion?”

“I think,” he offered, “that I… I don’t know how to say this.” He sighed, reached up, raked a nervous hand through his curls. They were slowly beginning to fall into his face. “I don’t want you to think of me, in terms of sex.” Sekh inclined his head, and Astarion was quick to add, “at least, not right now. I think I need some time…”

Sekh smiled then, reached out for the hand messing with the elf’s hair. He tangled their fingers together, pulled it to his mouth and kissed Astarion’s knuckles. “Astarion,” he said again, softly, affectionately, “You can have eternity if you need it.”

The elf’s eyes were wide, large, soft, before he smiled. “Darling, eternity would kill me.” He shifted closer. “I wanted you, you know. Every time. Even if this started as some simple little plan- you were still, are still…” Astarion licked his lips, swallowed, seemed almost unsure how to speak. “I think you push me to madness.” Sekh kissed the elf’s knuckles again, and Astarion’s eyelids fluttered.

“You tell me what is okay, and what isn’t,” Sekh whispered, turning Astarion’s hand, kissing his wrist. He dragged his fingertips along the veins in his arm, pressed his mouth next to the crook of his elbow, the overly soft skin there. Astarion’s breath caught.

Sekh released his arm, got on his knees and cupped Astarion’s face, stroked his cheeks with his thumbs.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, and Astarion’s eyes seemed to be starbursts, sparking embers.

“How could I say no?” he asked, and Sekh dragged a thumb along his lower lip.

“Easily,” he pointed out, “you just say no. That’s it.” Astarion shook his head gently.

“I don’t want to say no,” he admitted, and Sekh leaned in, placed a very gentle kiss to his lips. It was brief, but it left Astarion smiling softly.

“Again,” he whispered, and Sekh laughed, pressing a smiling kiss to his lips. Astarion reached out, got his arms around Sekh’s neck, pushed his weight against him until they were tumbling back down to the bedroll. Sekh was laughing, breathy, as the vampire kissed him eagerly yet innocently, pecks and quick slides of his mouth over and over and over again.

“Astarion,” Sekh chuckled, as the vampire got the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jawline. The vampire grinned, kissed his neck, the hollow of his throat. Sekh positively grinned, rolling them over, pinning the elf beneath him. He pressed little butterfly kisses along his jaw, felt Astarion squirming beneath him-

And then laughing. Honest to the gods laughter that seemed to rip up from his belly, as he tipped his head back. Sekh only grinned further, his cheeks aching, as he kissed Astarion’s cheeks, before gently gripping the flesh between his teeth, giving a very sorry attempt at a playful growl.

“You are utterly ridiculous,” Astarion managed, the laughter nearly causing tears to brim at the corners of his eyes.

“Oh, I am well aware.” Sekh sat up, stradling Astarion, as he reached out, toyed with his hair. “Your hair is cute like this.”

Astarion huffed, seemed to pout, as Sekh brushed some of it away from one of his eyes.

“And you’re cute when you pretend to be mad,” he added. Astarion rolled his eyes.

“Darling, a vampire shouldn’t be… cute.” He said the word as if he wanted it to taste disgusting on his tongue, but it was possibly the saddest attempt at a lie Sekh had ever seen from the man. He was enjoying this. “We are beautiful and eternally young. Terror inducing yet heart stopping.”

“Mhm.” Sekh reached out, traced a line along his cheek. “Doesn’t change the fact that you are in fact cute. The creases by your eyes when you smile, the lines along your lips, the way your hair curls around your ears…” Astarion huffed, louder, overly dramatic- but his cheeks were flushed, ever so slightly. He hadn’t fed nearly enough as of late to get a full blush, but Sekh’s heart still soared over the bit of color.

He slid his fingers towards one of Astarion’s ears, thumb rubbing up along it.

“Your ears are precious when you blush,” Sekh added, before Astarion gasped, his hips bucking slightly against Sekh’s weight.

Sekh paused, pulled his hand back- he hadn’t meant to- he didn’t think that was a spot that might arouse the elf-

“Sorry,” Sekh said, “I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t- don’t apologize,” Astarion managed, taking a breath and calming himself. He bit his lip, fangs pushing against the soft skin. “You can…” he paused, cleared his throat, added in a whisper, “tease me.” Sekh quirked a brow, and Astarion hastily added, “Just don’t expect-”

“For it to lead somewhere?” Sekh asked. “Astarion, I don’t expect anything from you. But…” he reached back out, stroked along Astarion’s ear, watched the vampire bite his lip again. “I won’t say no to seeing you squirm a little- so long as that is what you want.”

“Wicked thing,” Astarion breathed, as Sekh stroked along his ear one last time, before climbing off him, wrapping himself around the vampire as he tried to tug the blanket back over them.

Sekh wouldn’t deny the accusation. “Now, if we don’t try and get some rest,” the drow said, “we’ll end up getting ourselves killed come morning.” He pressed a kiss to the back of Astarion’s neck, and the vampires covered his hand, on Astarion’s belly, squeezing. “Can you rest like this?”

Sekh knew he could fall into his trance like this- but he also knew it wasn’t as easy for all elves.

“I think so,” Astarion admitted, and Sekh could feel him relaxing in his arms. “Even if I can’t,” he added, quieter, “don’t you dare move.”

Sekh smiled, and held Astarion tighter.

*

Sekh roused from his trance as he heard commotion outside- the sounds of camp coming to life. He sighed, nestled himself into Astarion’s hair, breathed him in as the vampire shifted in his hold. Neither had moved much- but Sekh was sure they had been lucky to get about three hours of rest, if that.

It was worth it.

“Astarion,” he whispered, and the elf made a displeased little noise, shifting about. Sekh kissed the back of his neck softly. “I know you can hear me.”

“I am choosing to not hear you,” Astarion muttered, “I may not look like I need my beauty rest, but I do.”

Sekh chuckled, sitting up, and Astarion flopped onto his back, looking up at him in tired displeasure that he would dare move. If it had been up to Sekh, he wouldn’t- but there was a shadow curse to lift, an immortal elf to slay-

And, well, still some very unwelcome parasites in their heads.

The drow stood up, pulling his shirt on, as Astarion sat up, rubbed at one of his eyes. Sekh hunted down the elf’s pants, the two sleeping oppositely half undressed- which was almost comical to Sekh. When Astarion didn’t move, Sekh tossed them onto him, so they landed along his shoulder and chest.

Astarion bared his teeth, showing his fangs- but with his eyes still soft and heavy from sleep, and his hair falling over his forehead, into his eyes in loose, lazy curls- well, he was anything but intimidating.

“Terrifying,” Sekh said, tucking the front of his shirt into his pants.

“And don’t you ever forget, darling,” Astarion said, ignoring the thick sarcasm in Sekh’s voice. He stood up, attempting to dress, as Sekh left the tent, giving the vampire a little more space. Camp was alive, most of their companions half in their armor at least.

Sekh sighed, felt like he needed something to wake him up. Gale walked by with a small mug- much smaller than the tankards that had been out around the bar- and Sekh rushed over, following the scent of nuts and bitterness.

“Please tell me there is coffee,” he said, almost bouncing at the prospect. Gale turned, seemed to have a cheery good morning on his lips- but paused, frowning at the dark circles under Sekh’s eyes.

“By Mystra’s mantel, did you rest at all?” he asked. Sekh started to say yes, he had, even if a little- but then Astarion was bursting from his tent, looking around and actively calling his name as if it was a war crime that Sekh had stepped away for a minute.

Gale followed the voice, before he turned to Sekh, quirking a brow. His little smirk said more than words ever could.

And for once, it wasn’t what the wizard was thinking.

Before Sekh could correct him, Astarion stalked over, sliding his arms around Sekh’s waist and resting his chin directly on his shoulder. Gale bit back a laugh. “Astarion, you look just as exhausted as our fearless leader, here.” Gale sipped his coffee, and Sekh realized he would in fact take on a horde of undead for just a touch of caffeine.

That had been one of the worst things about this whole ordeal- aside, of course, of the risk of turning into a Mind Flayer- the lack of coffee. It seemed not everyone felt it was a necessity.

“Jealous?” Astarion asked, voice dropping low, and that had Gale flushing a little. Before the wizard could speak though, Karlach yelled from across camp-

“Does this mean we can stop pretending we don’t know?” Sekh jerked his head up, looked over at her- and Shadowheart was standing next to her, the biggest grin on her face.

Oh.

Astarion hummed, before he let go of Sekh, grabbed him by the waist and spun him around. Sekh stumbled a little- but Astarion held him tight, pulling him in and kissing him with enough force to steal his breath.

Well, then. That was the answer, Sekh supposed.

Karlach cheered, as Gale muttered something about it being too early for this, before he left. Sekh barely noticed though, his eyelids fluttering as he reached up, clutched at Astarion’s shirt, returned the kiss in kind. When the vampire pulled back, Sekh chased him, managed to drag the kiss out for another moment or two.

“Secret’s out, pet,” Astarion teased, and Sekh only smiled.

Good. He had no desire to ever hide that this man had chosen him for even a moment of his attention and affection.

*

Sekh was very pleased that it seemed the Harpers- and the Flaming Fists that remained- were as interested in coffee as a normal person should be. And while it was not nearly sweet enough, he almost didn’t care, letting the bitter liquid scald his throat as he sat back at the bar, attempting to wake up properly. He had precious little time before Jaheira would require his attention- they had to plan. Who was going to look for the relic- who was going to brace to move on Moonrise-

“Well you look awful.” Sekh turned, and Lia was grinning at him. She walked over, resting her arms on his shoulders playfully. Cal was a step back, both looking like they had slept like the dead and were alive again.

Sekh imagined sleeping at Moonrise hadn’t been comfortable.

“Leave him be Lia,” Rolan said, as he descended the stairs across the room and caught sight of them. Lia huffed, but pushed off Sekh.

“Fine, fine- keep him all to yourself Rolan.” The other tiefling flushed, a rather cute rouge creeping up along his freckled cheeks. “Where is your pretty half?” Lia asked. “He needs a proper thank you for all he did in making sure those shadows didn’t eat us alive.”

Sekh paused, mug half way to his mouth. He actually didn’t know where Astarion had gone. They’d come in together, and then Jaheira had blessed Sekh with coffee, and he’d been distracted-

As if being summoned, Astarion appeared, arms full-

With the resident cat?

“I heard pretty half,” he said, sliding up to Sekh and leaning his lower back against the bar. The cat seemed shockingly content, considering how it had acted towards Sekh previously.

Lia smiled and the cat must have known something was amiss, as he squirmed free of Astarion’s hold, choosing to sit on the bar and watch with large, rapt eyes as Lia threw her arms around Astarion, smacking a kiss on his cheek.

“We never got to thank you properly,” she said. Sekh set his mug down, was ready to gently guide the well meaning tiefling off Astarion- but the elf smiled, leaned his head against hers.

“Proper thank you kisses,” he teased, “are on the mouth, darling.”

Lia waved him off, glancing at Sekh. “I see why you like him. He thinks he’s smooth.” Astarion tutted, and Sekh was relieved when Rolan ushered his siblings away, told them to leave the two be.

Sekh picked his mug back up, took another large drink, feeling his pulse slowly coming to life. When he set his mug back down, Astarion leaned in, gripped his chin and pecked his lips sweetly- before making an unamused face.

“That wretched brew is making you bitter,” he complained, absentmindedly reaching out to pet the cat.

“Sugar seems to be a luxury here,” Sekh pointed out, “I promise I’m normally very sweet.” He finished off the mug, before reaching his hand out towards the cat-

Who promptly hissed at him. Sekh sighed, dropped his hand, and Astarion chuckled. “He won’t leave me be,” Astarion added- and Sekh wondered if their camp had room for another animal, when this was all done. The way the cat seemed eager to be attached to Astarion, he wasn’t sure it’d even matter. Sekh only shook his head, finishing the rest of the coffee and setting the mug aside.

“Also,” Astarion said, still petting the cat, as Sekh noticed Rolan making his way back over, now free of his siblings. “You don’t need to remind me how sweet you are, sweet blood. Your taste is engrained in my memory.”

His eyes glanced at Sekh, and Sekh felt a fire roaring in his gut. He must have flushed, because Rolan paused once he was only a step away, before he glanced away, looking embarrassed, as if he had interrupted something. Sekh cleared his throat, as Astarion stopped showering the cat in affection, instead turning his attention to Rolan, the almost cheeriness that had been about him dissipating.

“I want to ask a favor of you,” the vampire said, looking directly as Rolan. Rolan quirked a brow, and Astarion cleared his throat. “It’s a delicate matter,” he  said, voice low, almost wavering. “But you read Infernal, correct?” Rolan nodded, and Astarion let out an unneeded breath. “I have these… scars, on my back. Would you read them?”

Sekh was silent- he knew he was the only one thus far to have seen the scars on Astarion’s back, and that asking Rolan to read them was opening up on a level he had yet to do with most.

Rolan looked like he had a plethora of questions- but Sekh was thankfully he asked none of them, and simply nodded. The drow didn’t think Astarion was in a state to attempt to explain Cazador again.

Astarion unticked his shirt, carefully pulling it off and balling it in his arms. He turned away from Rolan and Sekh, showing the canvas that was his back.

Rolan hummed, reached up to hold his chin, quite obviously contemplating. Sekh took a chance to study the scars again- and it didn’t matter that he had seen them before, that he’d felt them under his fingertips- it was still a sight to behold.

Wretched. Beautiful. Wicked.

Rolan reached out, carefully traced one of the symbols with his nail. Astarion gasped, body going tense, and Sekh rushed around him, reaching out to press his palm to one of Astarion’s cheeks. “I’m sorry,” Rolan offered, sounding almost sheepish.

Astarion cleared his throat. “It’s… quite alright. I was just unprepared.” He took a steadying breath. “You can touch them if you need to. I would… prefer it if you didn’t, though.”

Sekh watched Rolan nod, his hand falling away. And he wanted to kiss Astarion in that moment, for setting a boundary. Instead he just stroked his cheek once with his thumb, before pulling back.

“The text is incomplete,” Rolan finally said.

“Is it a poem?” Astarion asked, and yet Sekh could tell from the look in his eyes, he knew the answer.

“If it is, it’s not like any poem I’ve ever read. It reads like a contract.” Rolan traced one of the symbols, not touching Astarion’s skin but hovering above it. “This reads like a strip of a page within a book. This is ascension,” he traced again, even if Astarion couldn’t feel and Sekh couldn’t see. “I assume whoever carved this would be at the receiving end of that- but I can’t tell who the pact is with.”

Astarion’s shoulders sagged a little and he turned around, glanced up at the taller tiefling. “Thank you,” he offered, “this is… something.”

Rolan’s eyes softened, and Sekh watched him reach out, tip Astarion’s chin up. Sekh’s heartbeat quickened over the touch, as if he was giving it yet also receiving it. “I imagine you will figure it out- you lot seem impeccably good at always finding the answers.” Astarion looked up at him, and Sekh noticed those red eyes dancing-

Rolan pulled back, waving them off.

“You’d best go before Jaheira storms Moonrise, your hunt for this relic be damned.” The wizard slipped past them, moving away into the waking chaos that was all of the tieflings.

Sekh glanced at Astarion. “I didn’t expect you to ask Rolan about your scars.”

The vampire shrugged, before he pulled his shirt back on. “Someone needed to read them. Besides,” he paused, dipped his head down slightly, “you trust him.” Astarion reached for Sekh’s hand, took it, rubbed his thumb along his knuckles. “And I trust you, my sweet.”

Sekh squeezed Astarion’s hand, silently, endlessly thankful for that trust. He hadn’t been close enough to anyone to trust in this way since…

Ever. Not in all his adult life. The only one was Syl, and the pact made their relationship a bit different.

Sekh hoped that Astarion knew he trusted him, too. Endlessly. To the stars. At the core the man, Sekh knew Astarion was far better than the man would ever realize.

[deltaruminations]

i love putting deltarune characters in the most mundane Situations. toby fox gives us a brand new vibrant imaginative fantasy world every chapter and im like that rules but also holy shit the light world is a recognizable modern earth society? humans and monsters live together on the surface without significant political strife or prejudice? hell yeah im having characters take a bullet train to some unnamed hybrid of seattle and portland and dicking around Uwajimaya. i’m giving grillby a bun and on-trend mixology pop-ups. im pondering the potential frustrations of being the only person with blood in a tiny town full of magic-dust fucks and needing to buy goddamned tampons. im toiling deep in the dark shitpost mines contemplating crucial worldbuilding questions like "how often does rudy take his daughter(s) camping?" (at least once per season before dess disappeared, once or twice a year after that until… well, you know. gotta take it easy while the doctors run all those tests.) and "where do they go camping?" (varies, but the consistent annual spot is in the berry fields in the mountains two hours out of town. they usually go just before or after the peak of the season, when the crowds are thinner but there are just enough mountain blueberries ripe for the picking that they can harvest a ground coffee can’s worth over the week, griddling them into pancakes and snacking on them fresh while dipping their feet into the clear, cool lake at the center of the campsite. the picking isn’t quite as good in late summer, and the sun burns a little hotter, but the water is warmer and the mountain flies are too lazy to bite. go early, and the lake swarms with frisky damselflies and youth camp kids on canoes and, more than anything else, wriggling black clouds of tadpoles suckling at the shoreline for tiny flies and detritus and bumping indiscriminately into whatever young girl’s hooves happen to get in their way. when noelle was still fairly small, in her first early season, she screamed upon seeing them, sobbing profusely and refusing to join her sister and dad in the crawling water. it took them half the trip to coax her past them, dess bringing her palmfuls of the little things in various stages, rudy pointing out their tiny developing legs and eyes and saying, see, sweetheart? they’re just like little baby froggits. don’t tell me you’re afraid of froggit now, too! how am i s’posed to explain that to them at the next sunday service? and he tipped his head back and laughed as the girls giggled along in suit, sincere in their ease but secretly exchanging glances, aware of how noelle used to shiver and hide behind her parents’ legs upon seeing froggit at the socials after church, recognizing how she still to that day would startle at every sudden jolt from their otherwise friendly, bobbing calm, put off by their too-high hops, the too-fast snap of their tongue as they grabbed another donut from the box. in truth, maybe the tadpoles were easier to tolerate, moving predictably in linear swim, paddling little leggy fins, blowing kisses at the surface of the water and tickling her ankles with their… thin… wagging tails… she let any thoughts of resemblance to horrible, slippery mice scatter away like the frightened proto-froggits around her legs as she finally waded into the water, into her sister’s ecstatic embrace and the clatter of whoops and cheers bouncing across the surface of the lake from their dad, paddling in toward them, his voice betraying a slight break, maybe a choke, before he wrapped his arms around them both and held them close.) and most importantly "does the tv show jackass exist unchanged in this universe?" (yes)

[vspin]

For the ask game: 31 and 34 👀

BG3 Act 1 asks

31. Does your Character have new or old phobias or superstitions that affect their story? (31)

Oh, interesting question. When she was young, close to her 40th year and before she had been sent to clerical training, Tav’Lyn’s mother had used detect thoughts on her and heard what she considered blasphemous thoughts. As a punishment, lesson, and test of faith (her mother was the matron, and didn't want to send her Arach-Tinilith if she was weak of faith where she'd die & embarrass the house) she was thrown into a cave/room where she was swarmed by spiders: big and small. She’s not sure how long she had stayed down there. It’s a bad memory for her.

So, she definitely doesn’t like spiders/crawling sensations. Or people reading/intruding on her thoughts (lmao tadpoles!!)

She may have embraced life on the surface, but she still tends to stick to darker/shaded areas due to an ingrained superstition (200+ years) regarding the light. Maybe she’ll grow out of it but she’s only been on the surface a few years by the time of the game.

34. How did your Character resolve the situation with Nere and the gnomes? (34)

Tav saved the gnomes and killed Nere by persuading the mercenaries to turn on the Absolute cultists. It was an enemy of my enemy type of deal. She isn’t the type (anymore lol) to go in guns a blazing and kill everyone.

[devouringmadness]

"I can feel it moving again ... Why can't you?"

Name: Felicitas House of Origin redacted, Serf of House Baenre

Age: 112 years old (Age can depend on verse)

Race: Lolth-sworn Drow

Class: Bard/Warlock

Background: Charlatan

Character Concept Summary: The sole survivor of a massacre by a group of Lolth zealots, Felicitas' past is a mystery to her. All she knows is that any traces of her house of origin have been erased from Menzoberranzan's records and her family members had somehow sinned against the Spider Queen, which was why they had deserved to die.

Felicitas was adopted by a lesser house and re-educated in the ways of Lolth, and while she took to the religious practices, something in it never quite clicked for her. Eventually, as Felicitas began to express an interest in bard magic and the idea of a storyteller, inspired by Muriel, a travelling Duegar trader, House Baenre took her in as their serf and specifically as their court jester.

The entertainment and merriment of the members of the higher house became Felicitas' sole reason for existing. A fate, she fought against in any way but physical, having submission and obedience beaten into her. Her friendship with Muriel was frowned upon as Drow made no friends. Her disrespect for authority, shown in her choice to dye her hair a vibrant purple, equally earned her the House's disapproval. House Baenre was outraged at the idea that their jester serf dared to have any identity of her own.

Somehow, something deep inside Felicitas knew that she was far below the station, she should have been in - and this inkling was more than just a Drow's ambition whispering in her ear. As it turned out, her family had ties and debts to a strong, powerful creature, impossibly old and unable to fathom. And that creature was calling to Felicitas as it relentlessly searched for what it was owed.

Unfortunately, it found her when Felicitas was performing for a large gathering. The great hall, in which House Baenre held the show, suffered greatly under an earthquake of supernatural origin. The whole room collapsed and many drow were killed by falling rubble, including many important, higher house members.

Yet despite it all, Felicitas stayed completely unharmed, even as the world came undone around her. This miraculous survival made the few surviving drow believe that Felicitas must have something to do with this earthquake. Even though she pleaded her case, House Baenre gave her an ultimatum, a false choice: Either they would have her head or she would be forced to leave and never return. Felicitas chose the latter.

Of course, House Baenre could not let it get out that several of their highest-ranking members had died in an earthquake; and so they sent a swarm of assassins after Felicitas. She barely made it out of the Underdark. Heading to Baldur's Gate, body in pain and eyes burning from the unfamiliarity with the sun, Felicitas began to painfully rebuild her life from scratch as a street performer, trying to forget what had happened.

Unfortunately, when she was swiped by the nautiloid and had a tadpole implanted in her head, it did something she could not have accounted for. The experience awakened dormant warlock powers and the sickening feeling that the creature, which had caused the earthquake in Menzobarranzan was back out, looking for her. Outside of getting the worm out of her head, Felicitas has to figure out the secret of her family and just what caused them to all be sentenced to extinction...

[silvercrystalwhump]

New Home

Meet my Box Boy Kai. Thank you, @ashintheairlikesnow, for inspiring this character and just my writing in general. You are one of my idols in all things whump.

CW: selective mute character, implied child abuse, implied past violence, implied noncon, implied past noncon, self-depreciation, traumatized character, human trafficking/slavery, overall box boy universe content, homophobia,

-

Please don’t! I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I’ll behave. Please, I don’t want to! I don’t wanna- please!

650439, you opened your mouth and spoke, fucktoys don’t speak. Stay still!

-

Kai wakes up with a jolt. He sits alone, in a box shivering and cold, memories of the nightmare already receding into the depths of his mind. It has been four periods of sleep since the handlers aggressively shoved him in this tight box, only allowed out every so often. The air is stiff and still; it is almost choking. He reaches up and traces his finger around the three air holes in his box.

He’s scared

Then, with a lurch, his box moves. He yelps in surprise as it lands on the ground. The handler’s voices echo around him like vultures over a carcass. The sound of a door squeak open. His box lifts, and he curls into a ball; he hates when he moves because the handlers love to slam him around and laugh at his whines and cries.

A soft voice, calmer and more patient, speaks with one of the handlers. Nothing Kai could make out by all the shuffling about the others were doing. So, he tries to lean in and glean anything he could from that gentle voice, anything that could possibly tell him where he is or where he is going.

“Thank you sir,” one of the handlers says, loud enough for Kai to hear, “Remember the three month return period starts today.”

“I am aware.”

“Thank you, enjoy him.”

No response but the footsteps begin to fade. The heavy footfalls walk away, and soon only the sound of a pair of soft padding feet are discernible. Kai did not recognize the footsteps; they are not hard enough to be his primary handler but not light enough to be another pet. Who is this?

A drawer opens, and objects fumble around outside of the box. Light trickles through the holes in his crate. He does not dare peek out them again since last time, one of the handlers almost poked his eyes out with a pencil. Kai curls into a ball, shivering through the thin fabric of his bare-end clothes.

Something stabs through the top of the box, sending Kai scrambling back into a corner of the box. He trembles, fear eating at his eyelashes, and droplets of terror start to fall freely. Kai stays impossibly silent. I don’t wanna get hurt again, please. The blade rips through the top of the box and then down the sides. The tearing of reinforced cardboard is too loud; it echoes in his head lie firecrackers in trash cans.

A pale hand fulls away the front. Life spills into Kai’s box, and he covers his eyes quickly. Then, slowly, as he pulls his hands from his eyes, he sees someone sitting cross-legged on the floor. Kai recognizes him as the same man that his handlers tapped pictures of in the walls of his room, the same curly brown hair, the same silvery grey eyes, the same face. Everything is the same.

“Hey bud,” he says softly, “You alright?”

Kai watches him from the corner of his box. When he extends a hand towards Kai, he curls further back into his corner. Kai’s gaze locks onto the box cutter in the man’s off-hand. Fear coils around his neck.

He seems to notice the fear, and he tosses the blade away from him. Then, he speaks, with a soft and gentle voice, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Kai, watching with wide and fearful eyes, leans toward and sticks his head out of the box. Flynn, Kai thinks, That’s his name, that my owner’s name. Flynn keeps his hand extended toward Kai. The box boy rubs his head against Flynn’s hand. He looks at Flynn with less fear and more curiosity. Flynn has yet to hurt him. It’s only a matter of time.

-

Flynn gently guides Kai out of the box. He tries to stand and slowly as possible to not spook the little guy. Guilt, a swarm of tadpoles in the still pool of his mind, swims and circles around his thoughts. Flynn’s hand slips off Kai’s face as he stands. Kai continues to sit on the floor, watching him with wide eyes.

This is… this is wrong.

Flynn stares down at Kai, who is slowly coming to his surroundings. Wide dark eyes flitting about the living room, each taking it all in.

“Are you hungry?” Flynn asks.

No answer. Kai just looks up at Flynn with doe eyes. Flynn takes one sweep of Kai’s body and notices the chapped lips and gaunt face. Flynn just breaks on the inside. What did they do to make a person this… scattered.

Flynn turns for his room, scooping up the pamphlet and box cutter from the table. He tosses the box cutter back into the kitchen drawer with a clatter. Then, after filling a pot and setting it on the stove to boil, he opens the door to his room. Looking over his shoulder, Flynn sees Kai. He had not moved a muscle from where Flynn guided him.

“Kai,” he softly as he gestures his head towards his room.

Like a computer program, the input is given, and the output follows a heartbeat later. Kai stands to his feet and trots over to Flynn’s side. Flynn, with a pang of guilt in his chest, steps inside with Kai at his heels.

Before today, Flynn went out and purchased a mattress and blankets for Kai. He tried his hardest to give Kai his own little space. Also, he attempted to make Kai a little canopy; however, after he set it up, both Flynn and the fabric were ripped away from the wall and torn to bits.

I didn’t pay 30 fucking grand for you to just watch him while you fucking go around and turn some good man’s son into a fucking queer!

Flynn winces at the memory and tries to keep it hidden under his skin. “Here,” Flynn says, patting to the mattress, “This is yours.”

Kai looks at him, confusion draped across his face like light spots on a rose. He cocks his head to the side, and his eyes go to the little makeshift bed. Flynn pieces his lips in mild frustration.

“You sleep here, okay?”

Kai gives him a tiny nod and sits on the mattress. Once he sits, he looks back at Flynn with eyes that would look like they had no thought if Flynn hadn’t known better. Flynn stands up and steps towards the door. A weight pulls his shoulders down along with the ton and a half of stress from school and work, not including the two hours his Dad was home.

“I’m going to make some tortellini, do you want some?”

Doe-eyed Kai says nothing but just gives him an innocent little shake. Flynn gives him a small smile before walking into the kitchen to make them some food. Yet, even as he stirs the pasta around, he can’t stop thinking about Kai. What did they do to turn an entire person into just a complacent, empty-headed body? Bile rises in his throat; the concept of box boys always was off-putting but now, seeing one in person made him want to puke. Flynn keeps glancing into his room, and Kai simply won’t move.

He finishes boiling the pasta; thankfully, it was Friday, so his father wouldn’t be home until long after two in the morning. So, he only pours enough for him and Kai. Then, he steps into his room and hands Kai a bowl and fork. Kai, gingerly, takes it and simply holds it.

“That’s yours, you can eat it,” Flynn assures Kai as he takes a bite of his own pasta.

Kai looks at it, looks at Flynn, and starts to snarf the food into his mouth.

“Heyheyheyheyhey buddy, slow down!” Flynn stampers, “You’re gonna make yourself sick.”

Kai immediately stops eating and puts down the bowl. His gaze turns to the floor, and he looks both apologetic and terrified.

“Kai you can still eat just don’t inhale it. Eat just don’t eat so fast,” Flynn says as he hands Kai’s food back to him, “Nobody's gonna take your food.”

Kai, with shaking hands, takes food back and begins to eat at a regular pace.

Flynn smiles at him and says, “See it’s okay.”

Kai returns to smile for a fraction of a second. Flynn relaxes and leans back onto his bed, thinking about grades and work. His usual thoughts around this time. Everything seems okay right now. Pleasant, almost.

That’s when he hears the front door open.

[demifiendrsa]

Baldur's Gate III gameplay reveal. It will launch for PC via Early Access in 2020.

Opening Cinematic

screenshots

Overview

About

Developer: Larian Studios

Rating: 17 Mature, PEGI 18, etc.

Languages:

Audio: English

Text: TBD

Baldur’s Gate III is an entirely next-generation RPG taking place in the Forgotten Realms setting from Dungeons & Dragons and 20 years in the making. Return to the legendary city of Baldur’s Gate in a tale of fellowship and betrayal, sacrifice and survival and the lure of absolute power.

Dark powers are awakening inside you, drawn from a Mind Flayer parasite planted in your mind. Resist, and turn evil against itself. Or embrace corruption, and lay claim to the Forgotten Realms.

Key Features

A Truly Next-Generation Experience

The Most Authentic Dungeons & Dragons RPG Ever Created

Evolved Turn-Based Combat True to Dungeons & Dragons

Built using the new Divinity 4.0 engine with AAA production values.

Cinematic dialogs, all performance captured across 1.5 million words.

Unparalleled depth and replayability, whether in single player or multiplayer.

Expanded Attitude System to leave your mark on the world.

Dynamic Music that shifts in tone to the context of a battle, situation, and story.

Layered Crime system that holds you accountable for your actions and affects your reputation.

Four-player online multiplayer and split-screen couch co-op for two players.

Hundreds of locations true to the lore, spanning over 100 hours of gameplay.

Choose from 15 Dungeons & Dragons</em races and subraces, and eight classes with more to be announced.

Build relationships with your companions in your ever-evolving campsite.

Roll the dice to determine your fate in a story with countless permutations.

Speak with the dead to learn new facts and uncover secrets.

Switch to turn-based mode to solve puzzles or sneak up on characters.

Manipulate light and darkness for non-binary style stealth action.

The next generation of turn-based combat featuring hundreds of Dungeons & Dragons spells and actions.

Unlimited freedom to explore and experiment.

You are burdened with a great power devouring you from within. How far down the path of darkness will you let it take you? The fate of the Forgotten Realms is on your party’s shoulders. Will you carry it to salvation, or descend with it to hell?

We are in the Forgotten Realms, a land of many races and multiple divine beings. We know that the world is in turmoil: armies of evil (gnolls, orcs, duergar, goblins, drow, etc.) rampage along the Sword Coast, and refugees swarm to Baldur’s Gate.

Amid all this chaos, a new cult is on the rise: the cult of the Absolute. Seeking to overthrow the old order, its shadowy network is chipping away at the Forgotten Realms foundations. Baldur’s Gate itself will be the first to fall.

That is where we come in: the players. And we’re off to a very inauspicious start indeed…

Out of nowhere, we were kidnapped by mind flayers. A tadpole was put in our heads. We barely survived the crash landing of a nautiloid, and we find ourselves stranded in the middle of an inhospitable wilderness. We discover we have only a few days to get rid of the parasite inside, or we’ll become mind flayers ourselves.

As we desperately seek a cure, we discover the tadpole gives us godlike powers and we find ourselves on the centre stage of a complot hatched by none other than the Dead Three: the gods of Murder, Tyranny, and Death.

Our journey will not only take us back to the legendary city of Baldur’s Gate, but through and beyond the Forgotten Realms.

It is a journey of survival: ours, and all of the Forgotten Realms.

[moonlightreal]

Winx Club season 8/1

In which the Winx are back and younger than ever.

Welcome to season 8!  I love this show, I love everything about it... including the parts I don't like, because I can snark at them.  So warning: there will be some snark when I see something dumb.

About the new art style:

Why I don't like it:  The girls have gotten a little more samey-samey with the loss of their individually shaped features, and Tecna's eyes shifted from turquoise to blue.  I know that's a tiny thing, a slight eye color change but it's one more step towards them all looking the same.  It feels like by the time we get to season 20 they'll be six identical fairies!  Also the girls now look twelve.  There’s been no mention so far of them de-aging so it's just the art style change, but... ok most of y'all wouldn't care but I'm writing a fanfic that parallels the show and now I have to decide whether to de-age my characters or what!

Why I like it: They're sooooo cute! They look like Moondreamers or Lady Lovelylocks or some 80s dolls!  I love it!

I have a theory about why the style change.  This is only a guess since I don't know animation, but is it possible they're using a program with sort of mannequins, and they're now using the same bodies for both Regal Academy and Winx?  To save money maybe, since now the animators will only need to learn one style?  Is that even the way computer animation programs work? Animators, help me out here!

And yes, Musa and Flora are now basically Caucasian looking.  This is not cool.  I have acknowledged it and written to Rainbow about it but since there’s nothing else I can do I’m going to enjoy my show in spite of it.  That’s my response to the color change; your response is something you’ll have to decide for yourself.

1 Night of Shooting Stars

We open at Alfea where some minor fairies are watching shooting stars.  Familiar minor fairies!  It's not just the Winx who have a new look; the whole class has been ported over.  I'm really happy about this!  I was sure they'd just do a whole new background cast and we'd lose more continuity, but here are Evie and Lori, those two dark skinned and indigo haired girls, and other familiar faces.

The Winx are up on a sort of bridge over the courtyard-- Alfea has had slight upgrades for the new season and it looks great.  And so do the girls!  They're so detailed, the layered outfits and all their accessories are so fun.  Their necklaces sway when they move, even, props to the animators.

Bloom is delighted by the shooting stars but Musa’s not feellin’ it, she was hoping for musical inspiration but it isn’t coming.  Flora, Tec and Aisha join them and it turns out Musa wants to write the new song for the concert tomorrow!  Tecna conjures her “astroscope” so they can watch the stars, and starts to explain something but Aisha shuts her down. Kiko pops up on the other end of the astroscope and scares Musa when she looks through.  

Out comes Stella, for a selfie!

In the Italian, Stella says “Selfie time!” in English.  Heh.

But Musas’s glum face spoils the selfie.  Stella says there should be no problem since, “You have ME to inspire you!”

Kind of not a great intro for the girls, but now we leave them and cut to Twinkle being chased by star-eaters.  Which are cool, as villain minions go.  They look like dark purple puffs or blobs, I’m getting a very Original My Little Pony vibe from them.  A whole swarm of them are chasing tiny Twinkle through the rings surrounding planet Magix.  They merge into a giant blob that roars as Twinkle flees towards the planet below.

Musa’s spidey sense tingles!

The star-eaters display their power of splitting into tadpoles and joining together again.

The Winx are concerned: this star is coming down awfully close!  Twinkle zooms above their heads and crashes in the woods.

The girls arrive in the scene we saw in the trailer and are immediately charmed by the sleeping Twinkle. Stella identifies her as a Lumen, “a creature of pure light that lives inside stars.”  They take their find back to Alfea to take care of her.

But evil is watching them!  Or at least a turban-wearing lackey of evil with a bunch of star-eaters around him is.  Obscura says, “Oh no!  That Lumen managed to reach the Winx!” so he knows who the Winx are.

In the Winx common room Twinkle is still asleep and the girls and Faragonda admire her cuteness.  I think she’s got some kind of charm ability!    Stella gives us some more information, “She’s from Lumenia, the star that lights Solaria.”  and Faragonda says Lumens never leave their stars except for serious reasons.

The next morning—daylight shots of Alfea, great cg—Twinkle wakes up, gets scared of Kiko, there’s some chaos and room destruction, Twinkle flies around screaming until she bangs into Stella.  Stella introduces the Winx, “We’re fairies and this is our school.” and asks why Twinkle came.  But Twinkle can’t remember.

Tecna scans Twinkle and detects “a memory lapse.”  The Winx offer to help her remember but Aisha thinks scaring her is the way to go!  So they try to scare Twinkle, who just laughs.  Short slapstick scene.

Then Bloom gets a text: the boys are coming!  Their ship lands in the courtyard to a rockin’ beat.  The girls stand with little hearts around them, Stella twirling her hair.

The boys look so weird in this art style.  I will try and probably fail at not mentioning this every time they appear.

And oh heavens, Brandon still has a deep post-puberty voice in his 12-year-old body.  I think this may be the same voice actor from last season.  Voice weirdness aside, he brought Stella a big pile of presents.  These two are the best couple.

Helia is showing Flora a picture he did of “a rose from the planet Iris, but its beauty is nothing compared to yours.”  Wasn’t Iris where Diaspro’s from?  Flora blushes and it’s cute.

Sky and Bloom kind of twirl each other around and laugh, which is sweet.

Timmy and Tecna are already up in the dorm working on a Lumen amnesia curing device, which explodes. Twinkle bounces and chirps, “Again!  Again again!”  Ok she is a little bit adorable.

They get the memory viewer going and its screen shows Twinkle’s memories of being chased.  She freaks out and flies into the air glowing brightly.  Then the memory viewer overloads.

Cut to the courtyard, the girls ponder what they saw while Twinkle looks glum.  Kiko tries to cheer her up. Stella says that Lumens are peaceful creatures with no enemies, so the girls don’t know what was chasing her.  Poor Twinkle is very down, and Stella prescribes music to cheer her up.

Over at Red Fountain we’re in either the ship or a locker room.  The boys are tired out, they’ve been on a mission to the Omega dimension before the Winx called!  Points to the writers for remembering the names of places!  Also points for how the boys are powering-down their suits, it’s a neat little detail that they do this.

The boys talk about how they wish they could’ve helped the Lumen, then do some reminiscing!  They had a mission on the planet Hypsos where they beat a horde of space mutants and destroyed an opal dragon??  And apparently neither of these was as scary as the landing!  Timmy, who was the pilot, droops.  Then he blames Helia for not being able to read a star chart.  It looks like they’re about to fight when…

A Mysterious Figure arrives!  Wearing a kind of ship-captainish coat and purple neck scarf.  Codatorta said he could come back.  The boys are pleased, more pleased than most of the fandom is!

The mysterious figure is not Venomiya, so there should be no sabotage at the Winx Band concert we go to next.  More great cg Alfea.  Is there an official map anywhere, of what rooms are what?  There are some weird outbuildings and stuff. I’m not even sure if the bridge is new or if it’s just that the girls didn’t hang out there in previous seasons.  And did the wings attach differently before?  I can’t tell if the school has changed shape or not!  I think it has...

And there’s a blast from the past, it’s Knut the ogre, Alfea’s handyman!  He’s back after many seasons, helping set up the lights for the concert with Kiko’s help.

And here’s Grizelda, and the new art style has not been kind to her!  She looks younger and has a more WoW art style look, and I don’t like it!  And whaaaaaat happened to her voice?  She does the ‘I’m watching you’ thing at Knut.  she’s not very nice.  I mean, she’s not supposed to be nice, she’s supposed to be a scary lady so that’s good.

The concert is being held at the top of the steps in front of the main door to the school.  All the minor fairies hang out on the steps or in the courtyard to watch.  It is so nice to see the same minor fairies as before.  They’re super excited to see the Winx in their—freaking adorable—concert outfits.  The girls are all in brightly colored fake fur and music note themes, with streaks in their hair.  Bloom dedicates their first song to ‘Our new friend from far away.’  and Twinkle giggles with delight.

And then… concert transformation! The girls’ PURSES do magical girl henshin routines and transform, Bloom’s into a microphone, Stella and Flora get guitars, Musa has a keytar and Tec gets a three-piece piano while Aisha’s got drums. Ok, I love this.  I know, it’s gotta be a gimic to sell toys, but sparkly henshin instruments, it’s wonderful!

The song’s all right, it’s Winx pop just like every song in Winx and I don’t think the voice actresses are in any way professional singers, but it’s fun.  Miss F, Grizelda and Palladium are in the audience.  Twinkle loves the music. Knut seems to be trying to pick up on the minor fairies, but Grizelda shuts him down.

Then the concert is rudely interrupted by a portal opening and delivering a bunch of star-eaters!  Twinkle sees them and remembers what happened to her and flies for help!

Stella observes the sun-eaters don’t look too scary, but then they all pile together into one big one.  Oh no!  The minor fairies, unable to fight since the artists haven’t designed transformations for them, back away in fear.

Faragonda and the teachers—Wizgiz appears too—direct the minor fairies to take cover inside.  The Winx transform.  Butterflix time!

Twinkle is impressed.

The girls fight but the giant eater can portal in and out and break apart whenever it wants.  Only Stella’s sun power seems to have any effect!  Then they get an idea: Twinkle lit up with the memory viewer, maybe she can help here!  Stella gives her some power and little Twinkle is just so happy!  She lights up like a sun and the big eater breaks apart into little eaters that all look despondent and flee back through their portal.

Since Twinkle has remembered everything, now she can tell her story!  The girls and Grizelda for some reason meet with the headmistress in her office.

Twinkle is the messenger of Lumenia, on a mission from Queen Doranna(?) to the “most powerful fairies in the magic dimension.”  The stars are in danger!  The eaters are eating their light!  I do like that there’s a reason the Winx are going to be called to save the world again, that Doranna specifically requested them.  

Then there’s… Faragonda tells them this is a delicate mission and to be cautious.  Stella breaks in with, “caution is our middle name!  well, more of a nickname.” Heh.

Then Bloom has an anime moment, she goes to the window and puts her hand up to her reflection, with a serious expression.  Not the kind of moment we usually get in Winx, and I really like it.  “Tomorrow we leave for Lumenia, Queen Doranna can help us understand what’s going on.  This is a mission for the Winx!”

[dungeonhavoc]

One Froggy Night

I can’t remember her. I was traveling to give her this rose, but I’ve forgotten who she is. Can you help me?

This is an adventure for 1st level characters.

Background

Bathius was walking to his wife’s grave to deliver a rose on what would have been their 60th anniversary. His efforts were interrupted when he was killed by a band of giant frogs that have recently made a nearby crypt their home. The frogs then took his body to their crypt to feed the tadpoles in the spawning pool.

Bathius, due to his violent end, can’t remember who he was giving the rose or how he died.

Summary

The players encounter a sad ghost holding a rose, Bathius, who explain that he wants to find his true love but can’t remember who she is. Her face and name were in a locket in his jacket, but he can’t find his body anywhere. He explains that the last thing he remembers was passing through the old cemetery near the large oak tree before blacking our and waking a ghost.

When the characters approach the old oak tree they are attacked by giant frogs that leap out of a nearby crypt. There are some signs of a struggle and Bathias’s body being dragged into the crypt the frogs came from.

The characters will be inclined to explore the flooded crypt to find Bathius’s locket. After fighting more frogs, the matron toad, and the tadpoles eating Bathius’s body they can reclaim the locket.

Once the locket is returned to Bathius he realizes that his love is dead and that the rose was to commemorate what would have been their 60th anniversary. He thanks the characters and gives them the locket and his wedding ring as a reward. He then passes on to be with his wife.

The Crypt

Many areas of the crypt are flooded with 2 feet of water. That area is difficult terrain and if anyone falls unconscious in the area they immediately begin to suffocate.

Frogs of all stages are treated as having half cover and ignore the difficult terrain while in flooded areas. Characters with a swim speed can ignore this cover.

A) Family Crypt. A stone stairwell leads into this dark flooded chamber. There are 6 alcoves that house 6 tombs. A pair of giant frogs are resting on the tombs as if they were lily pads. They jump into the water at the first sign of conflict.

B) Tomb of the Matriarch. A small flight of stairs lead up to this large chamber. The back of it collapsed and leads to area C. A giant toad stands guard over her tadpoles here.

C) Nursery. This flooded pond is where the giant toad spawns. A swarm of tadpoles (statistics of a quipped swarm) are currently feeding on Bathius’s body. The locket is still in his coat pocket. The tadpoles think everything is food and attacks anything that enters the water.

[blackjackkent]

The Hellraisers - Chapter 1

Pairing: Karlach/Male Custom Tav, Tav & Wyll, Karlach & Wyll Characters: OC Male Tav (Hector Carlisle), Karlach, Wyll Rating: E (Fic), T (Chapter) Warnings: None Descriptors: Post-Game, Action/Adventure/Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, Chapter Word Count: 4.5k Chapter Setting: Avernus, immediately after the end of BG3 Summary: Hector Carlisle, a Selunite monk turned adventuring warrior, follows his lover Karlach and his friend Wyll into the depths of hell after the fall of the Netherbrain. Together, they take on an even greater foe - Zariel, the Archdevil of Avernus. The Hells won't know what hit them. Chapter Summary: Hector, Karlach, and Wyll arrive in the Hells after a panicked flight from Baldur's Gate - and the weight of what they've decided to do starts to sink in.

read on ao3 | send me fic requests!

------------------------------

Hector Carlisle’s journals of the Absolutist crisis provide one of the most comprehensive summaries available to modern historians of the events leading up to what is now called the High Hall Shattering. There is not a single day for which Carlisle does not account in detail between Alturiak 10 1492 DR (when he first obtained pen and ink after the crash of the nautiloid which kidnapped him) and Uktar 24 (the night before the Netherbrain’s public attack on Baldur’s Gate’s Upper City). However, after the defeat of the Netherbrain, his own records of his activities abruptly become much more intermittent and rather staccato in nature, lacking the level of detail common to his so-called “Tadpole Chronicles.”

There are multiple theories regarding this sharp change in Carlisle’s record-keeping tendencies. Some of these theories incline towards the conspiratorial - suggesting that the monk’s disappearance into Avernus was associated with some sort of nefarious activity which he was unwilling to commit to paper. Some even go so far as to accuse him of sacrilegious behavior, though this is rendered unlikely by records of both Carlisle’s own Selunite convictions and opinions from all who knew him.

A far more probable explanation is that Carlisle’s thorough record-keeping in his pre-Shattering travels emerged from a sense of obligation. As a monk at the Silverlight Monastery, he had primarily occupied himself with transcription and scholarship of historical texts, and his training placed considerable emphasis on self-reliance and emotional reserve. As such, he considered his own journals to be necessary documentation in the same vein, and he prided himself on impartial and factual chronicling. 

His departure to Avernus with Wyll Ravengard and Karlach Cliffgate would ultimately prove no less impactful to the world at large. However, it is clear that he considered it a far more personal endeavor, as evidenced by the remarkably succinct entry from Uktar 25 1492, his first entry after his departure from the Material Plane:

Uktar 25 1492 She’s alive. She’s going to live. Thank the gods.

~ Excerpt from “Raising Hell: A History of Zariel’s Fall” by Harlow et. al., Blackstaff Academy Press

-----

"Hec, look out! On your left!"

Hector dodges to the side just in time to avoid the imp diving towards him; its claws skim the side of his head and score a painful line along his temple. Pivoting onto his heel, he spins, bringing his right fist around to slam heavily into the imp's thick torso. The evil little creature’s spine snaps and it screeches with pain. He takes no satisfaction in it, but watches with blank exhaustion as the imp falls to the rust-red dirt and is still. 

"Nice one!" Wyll calls. He withdraws his rapier from the body of another imp and points past Hector’s shoulder. "Looks like another wave coming in - off to the west." Hector follows his gaze and groans; sure enough, another band of the imps is closing in on them, surging over the horizon like a swarm of bees.

It’s been like this ever since they arrived. They’ve had no chance to orient themselves, no time to get a foothold after their panicked flight from the Material Plane. Avernus rose up to meet them like a body driving out an infection; the first wave of defenders appeared within minutes, closing on this raw strip of hellish wasteland to which they brought Karlach to save her life.

Read More on AO3

[tastydregs]

Living robots evolve to procreate in "astounding" scientific breakthrough

Scientists behind the world's first living robots have learned that these xenobots can reproduce and generate offspring, in a discovery that they say could help to explain the origin of life on Earth.

The programmable organisms were originally created last year by researchers from the University of Vermont, Tufts University and Harvard's Wyss Institute using stem cells sourced from embryos of the African clawed frog.

By combining these cells into different AI-optimised configurations, the scientists were able to create bots that perform different functions from walking and swimming to working together in a swarm, with their shape dictating their basic behaviour.

Parent xenobots (left) can create new spherical baby xenobots (right)

Now, a peer-reviewed study published in scientific journal PNAS, has revealed that when formed into the right shape – one reminiscent of 80s video game character Pac-Man – the bots are also able to "spontaneously self-replicate".

This is possible via a method called kinematic replication, which sees the parent xenobots gather up tiny frog stem cells in a petri dish using their V-shaped "mouthes", bundling them together into larger cell clusters that eventually become new baby xenobots.

This sort of replication has so far only been observed on a molecular level, never in any other animal, plant, organism or cell.

The parent xenobots are shaped like the video game character Pac-Man

"This is profound," said Michael Levin, director of the Allen Discovery Center at Tufts University and co-leader of the new research.

"These cells have the genome of a frog but, freed from becoming tadpoles, they use their collective intelligence, a plasticity, to do something astounding."

An evolutionary algorithm determined the Pac-Man shape to be the most efficient at helping the living robots to replicate, with each spawning up to five generations of descendants.

But so far, no matter what shape the parent xenobots take, they are only able to produce spherical offspring, which are slightly worse at replicating due to their lack of a V-shaped "mouth".

"Right now we are using genetically unmodified frog cells, and these cells naturally form spheres when brought into contact with each other," the study's lead author Sam Kriegman told Dezeen.

"Future work will investigate how to change the adhesion properties of these cells such that parents can form offspring with complementary shapes."

The parent bots can gather loose stem cells in a petri dish to form them into piles

Xenobots can live for up to a couple of weeks in an aquatic environment before biodegrading.

The hope is that the living robots could one day be deployed to pull microplastics out of waterways and build new medicines that can replace or regenerate human cells, tackling everything from birth defects to cancer.

Importantly, the latest study also shows that kinematic self-replication is possible in cellular life forms, which the authors say "may have been essential in the origin of life".

Over the course of a few days, these cell clusters develop into baby xenobots (top)

"The ability of xenobots to do the things they do despite being in a novel configuration, which did not exist in the frog lineage, is an example of plasticity, of problem-solving by living systems," Levin explained.

"It shows us that life can exhibit interesting and powerful anatomical architectures and behaviours that are not directly selected for. Thus, it sheds light on the progress of life."

Other advances in merging robotics with living systems have seen MIT researchers turn plants into sensors and displays, as well as using their bioelectrical signals to control a wheeled robot.

The images are courtesy of Douglas Blackiston and Sam Kriegman.

[blackjackkent]

LMAO. Started the fight off and Minsc immediately shouts out to the doppelganger, "JAHEIRA! You have an evil, much uglier twin sister? Minsc does not like this!"

(Matt Mercer is doing tremendously with this character, which comes as no surprise but is still fun to hear. He was clearly SO excited about getting to play him.)

The biggest challenge in this fight is that all four of the good guys are bunched up in the tiny tunnel we came in by, with Karlach in the back and not able to either jump, move, or shoot past Jaheira and Shadowheart, so she lost her opening turn which was pretty annoying.

This is a pretty large fight with some pretty beefy enemies, but extra shoutout goes to the random hyena also hanging out in the enemy roster with only 12 HP and the name "Snicker".

The end of the fight went on FOREVER because the last remaining enemy was on a high ground platform and kept throwing ice knives, which would down Hector, Shadowheart would healing word him back up, and then the entire team would eat shit on the ice surface trying to move to a position where they could shoot the guy. This happened like four times in a row.

But eventually we got there! And Minsc is not dead because (as our kind anon friend reminded us!) we had non-lethal damage on.

He begins to stir as the fight ends; Hector has a brief moment to be impressed by the man's battering-ram resilience.

Narrator: Against the darkness swarming his senses, a single light glows - rage, flaring brighter every moment.

In spite of his considerable wounds, Minsc struggles onto his knees. His breath is rasping heavily in his chest, his eyes wild with fury. Hector can feel the resonance of the tadpole working in the beserker's mind.

"...Killed... her..." Minsc rasps out between his teeth.

Of course, Hector thinks bleakly. He believes his Jaheira is the real one. And he believes we murdered her.

Jaheira - the real one - is at his side in an instant, the druid wildshape flowing off her like water, urgency in every line of her face. "He won't stay down for long!" she snaps. "Tell your illithid to protect him from the elder brain's influence. Quickly!"

"No..." the Emperor whispers in Hector's mind. "This one will not aid our cause. Get rid of him."

Hector scowls. Yet another reminder that he and the Emperor do not share common purpose. This is not about aiding the cause. This is about a friend who needs his help.

Extend your protection to him.

Minsc is beginning to stagger to his feet, a hoarse roar in his throat.

"Don't be foolish," the Emperor insists. There is just a hint of petulance in its mental tone - or perhaps that is Hector's imagination. "He is too unpredictable. He will only be a hindrance to us."

He's Jaheira's friend. Do it.

"No!"

Hector has never heard the Emperor's communications with him to be so deliberate, so stubborn and harsh. Is this because I rejected you? he can't help but wonder, and the thought makes his blood run cold.

"I will not be coerced into protecting him," the mind flayer snarls in his brain. "You do not see what I do - his thoughts, his mind. Pure chaos."

Hector's face must show something of this inner conflict being battled out; Jaheira is watching him intently.

"The mind flayer pours poison in your ear, I think," she snarls, as fierce as the tiger whose form she took only a few moments ago. "Tell it I will tear the Prism from your grasp and throw it in the deepest lava pit I can find! Long after our bones are dust and ash, the walls of its prison will still be burning!"

"Now HELP MY FRIEND!"

"She bluffs," the Emperor responds at once, icily, although Hector thinks he can sense a fractional hesitation. "Surely she would not risk the fate of all for one simple life."

Hector lifts his head, looks at Jaheira steadily for a long moment, and then a dry smile tugs at his lips.

I don't think you want to find out.

He can feel the Emperor recoil inside his mind, a flash of white-hot fury... and then an empty chill. "Fine," it answers harshly. "Have it your way."

Pain stabs through Hector's temple - a pain he has not felt in some time, the sharp pain that accompanied his first meetings with Lae'zel, Shadowheart, and the others back at the nautiloid crash. The pain of the deeper tadpole connection that binds them all, and binds them to the Emperor's protection.

Narrator: His mind unfolds beneath yours, a still lake pulls you down into its depths. Images flash by - battles fought, and friends fallen. His rage grows colder, burrows deeper, as a familiar face crystallizes before you.

"Jaheira..." Minsc groans. His eyes are fixed on Hector, an arrow locked on its target. "You KILLED HER!" He roars the words out, raises a fist to strike, and Hector becomes briefly and acutely aware of just how much bigger this man is than any of them--

"You are being dramatic," Jaheira says with a grin from beside him.

The effect is instantaneous. Minsc goes still except for his head snapping around to look at her.

Narrator: The instant's hesitation is enough. With a sensation of terrible rending, something vast and nameless falls away from his mind.

"There," the Emperor mutters irritably. "It is done."

The huge warrior staggers, putting a hand to his temple. A groan rolls through him like a rumble of thunder... trails off to a soft noise of confusion.

"Jaheira?" he mumbles unsteadily. "I... do not understand."

"Good," she says. Her tone is lighter than Hector has heard it before; all the muscles in her face have relaxed from a tension that he did not realize it's been holding all the time he's known her. "That means you are back to your old ways." She puts a hand gently on his arm and gestures to Hector. "We have a lot to discuss. But first... you have someone to thank."

Narrator: In the sudden silence, your minds merge once more. More memories, sensations, but passing too quickly for you to track. In the same breath, you share everything that happened to you. The nautiloid. The Absolute. The Chosen of the Dead Three.

(A/N: Once again - love the usage of the tadpole as an exposition skip button. XD )

"You." All the rage has dropped out of Minsc's voice, all sign of the darkness of the Stone Lord is gone. He is looking at Hector with frank, openhearted curiosity mixed with regretful pain. "You saved Minsc, while he danced like a mind flayer's meat-puppet. Why?"

Hector smiles slightly, jerks his head to indicate their mutual friend. "Jaheira insisted," he says gently.

"Suggested," Jaheira corrects with a soft chuckle.

Minsc laughs jovially. With the tadpole's influence quieted, it is clear to Hector that the man's natural state is a good nature as big and vigorous as his body. "You do well to heed her," Minsc says brightly. "Jaheira was very wise even *before* she was very old."

He reaches, with a gesture clearly as natural as breathing, towards his shoulder. "There is someone you must meet," he adds excitedly. "He is--" A pause. He hesitates, looks around unsteadily. "He is..."

He begins to paw frantically at the pockets of his armor, his shoulders, even the top of his head.

"Where is he?!"

With an attitude far more frantic than any he displayed in combat, Minsc turns on his heel and darts away without warning, leaving Hector standing with a bemused expression on his face.