#astarionfanfic

[ishtadawnstar]

Flirtation Failure

Upon reaching the stream, Astarion dropped his pack unceremoniously and knelt by the water's edge. For a moment, he stared uncertainly at the water, feeling a flicker of fear.

There was no way to tell if the effects of running water had disappeared along with his vulnerability to sunlight - not without physically finding out the hard way.

A quick glance around the clearing assured him that no one was watching, so he cautiously lowered his hand, hesitating ever so slightly before dipping the tips of his fingers below the surface.

Instead of the searing pain he had come to expect, the coolness of the water against his skin was an immediate relief. Smiling at this new and welcome discovery, he splashed some onto his face, washing away the grime and sweat.

He glanced over at Gale, who had collapsed onto a patch of grass, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Shadowheart was already filling her canteen, her expression thoughtful as she gazed into the distance.

Ishta knelt beside the stream as well, her hands cupping the water as she drank deeply. She seemed to radiate a calm strength, a stark contrast to the rest of the group, who looked utterly spent.

Astarion watched her for a moment longer before turning his attention back to the stream, letting the soothing sound of the water help him relax. Fortunately, the agitation on the stream's surface and the sunlight reflecting off it hid his own lack of a reflection effectively.

If he had been alone, he would have stripped off then and there and laid in the crystal-clear waters, allowing it to wash away all his fatigue. Instead, he settled for pulling off his boots and rolling up his trousers, dangling his bare feet over the edge of the stream bank.

Relishing the feel of the swift current against his legs, Astarion lay back on the grass and stared up at the sky.

With the warmth of the afternoon sun on his face and the scent of wildflowers and pine sap in his nostrils, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh of contentment.

Despite the dangers that still lay ahead and the ever-present hunger, Astarion couldn't recall a time when he had felt this happy - and it scared him.

The fear that it could all end at any moment, that Cazador could have people out looking for him, brought the familiar knot into his stomach, and he sat up abruptly. Chiding himself for his complacency, he quickly donned his boots and stood up, looking around at his companions thoughtfully.

So far, he hadn't made any headway in charming the Ranger, but maybe one of the others might be more receptive?

He spied Shadowheart sitting a little away from the rest of the group, busy sharpening a dagger, and casually walked over to join her. She looked up curiously at his approach but said nothing as he sat down on the grass a little to one side of her.

Giving her a disarming smile, he nodded in the direction of Ishta and remarked, "Our leader is quite the impressive athlete, wouldn't you say? I can't remember the last time I had to compete with such levels of endurance. How about you?"

"What do you want, Astarion?" Shadowheart asked with a slight hint of impatience in her voice, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Undeterred, he shrugged nonchalantly. "Simply making conversation. I realize I may not have given a very good first impression back at the crash site, and hoped I might have the opportunity to remedy that."

"Your aid in clearing out that crypt was all the remedy needed to make up for your first impression," she said, giving a nod of thanks before turning her attention back to her dagger.

Encouraged by her statement, Astarion leaned closer, his voice dripping with charm. "Shadowheart... Such a grim name for such a beautiful flower," he drawled.

She looked up sharply and gave him a cold stare. "I heard you mumbling that line to yourself earlier - it needs more work," she stated bluntly and turned away, clearly dismissing him.

From a few steps away, Lae'zel observed the exchange, her lips curling slightly into a smirk. "Oh, but do keep calling her 'flower.' She'll love that," she remarked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"I was wondering when he'd try it out on me," Shadowheart said, addressing Lae'zel as if Astarion didn't exist.

Lae'zel's smirk turned into a challenging stare that made him squirm slightly. "Fortunate for his tongue he didn't say it to me," she declared, her eyes glinting dangerously.

Astarion glanced between the two women, their eyes fixed on him with a mixture of cold amusement and irritation. Feeling his confidence wane under their scrutiny, he stood up, forced a quick, graceful bow, and retreated hastily toward where Ishta was resting.

He found her sitting by a mossy bank, her eyes closed, seemingly at peace. He dropped down opposite her and leaned back against the soft cushion of moss, letting out a defeated sigh. His pride was bruised, and irritation simmered just beneath the surface.

Ishta's mouth twitched as she sensed his presence. She opened one eye, a cheeky grin forming on her lips. "Not quite the marks you are used to, eh?" she remarked, her voice laced with wry amusement.

Astarion glared at her, his annoyance clear as he realized she must have heard the entire exchange. "I may be a little off my game," he admitted reluctantly, closing his eyes as if to shut out his embarrassment.

Ishta let out a loud snort. "A little?"

Astarion opened his eyes again, glaring at her more intensely, which only prompted her to laugh, the sound clear and bell-like, echoing into the clearing. It annoyed him, but he couldn't deny a growing warmth in his chest as he watched her.

"Tell you what," Ishta said, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "Why don't you practice your best lines on me, and I'll let you know which ones make me cringe and which ones make me want to stab you."

"Oh, piss off!" he retorted testily, though a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Her laughter echoed again, and this time, he allowed himself to enjoy it. He realized, with a mix of surprise and reluctance, that he might actually be starting to like this arrogant golden elf.

Astarion leaned back, watching Ishta's playful grin. Despite his initial irritation, he felt a connection forming that was different from his usual flirtations. Perhaps, he mused, the best way to make progress with her is to stop trying so hard.

"I'll say one thing for you though, you've managed to temporarily unite those two over their shared distaste for your pickup lines," she chuckled, nodding over at Lae'zel and Shadowheart, who seemed to be tolerating each other's presence a little better after his swift exit.

"Hmm... I don't envy your task of keeping them from each other's throats," he commented with a sly smile at Ishta.

She grimaced and leaned back with a sigh. "As if we didn't already have enough problems to deal with," she muttered bitterly.

"Well, if it comes to blows... my money is on the Gith."

Ishta gave him a disapproving frown, then chuckled mirthlessly. "I'll take that bet... just don't try anything to encourage a fight, will you?" she warned, with a twinkle in her eye.

Astarion gasped theatrically and put his hand to his chest. "Ishta! I would never do something so underhanded. What do you take me for?" he protested innocently.

"A sneaky, conniving, opportunistic son of a bitch," Ishta replied, grinning broadly at him.

"Ha!"

Fortunately, Ishta quite likes that about him. She prefers those who are honest about being dishonest, to those who profess to be saints while stabbing you in the back. Check out my Fanfic of these two scamps in the links below.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56114257

https://www.wattpad.com/user/IshtaDawnstar

[ishtadawnstar]

Rogue

The crypt's interior was a mix of haunting and beautiful, with nature slowly reclaiming the once grand stonework. Moss and ferns covered the walls and pillars, while cracks gave a glimpse into the past of this ancient structure.

On either side of the large chamber stood two massive wooden doors, weathered and scarred from years of use. The darkened wood was adorned with rusted iron studs, a testament to the craftsmanship of an era long gone. Despite their age, the doors remained strong and imposing.

Sunlight filtered through gaps in the ceiling, casting a soft and ethereal glow on certain areas of the chamber as the last rays of the setting sun trickled in. Dust motes danced in the light, adding to the serene atmosphere within the cool and damp air.

The scent of earth and decay lingered in the air.

"Oh, I like it... homely," Astarion joked, although there was some truth behind his words. There was something oddly peaceful about the quiet space, despite its grim purpose.

Ishta gave him a strange look before turning her attention to one of the locked doors. She pulled out a set of lockpicking tools from her pouch and began working on the lock with skilled deftness.

"Shadowheart, you and Gale go check out that other door while I work on this one," Ishta ordered in a brisk tone.

Shadowheart hesitated for a moment, scanning the chamber before asking, "And remind me why this is so important?"

Ishta continued picking the lock without looking up. "Crypts like this usually hold valuable loot that we can sell for better equipment or supplies. And...I just really want to know what's behind this door," she said with excitement creeping into her voice.

Leaning against a stone pillar, Astarion closed his eyes and let out a sigh as exhaustion washed over him. The cool air of the crypt offered some relief from the intense battle they had just endured.

Gods...I'm so tired. How do people do this all day? he thought to himself as the soft sound of metal scraping against metal filled the chamber.

A loud snapping sound and a profanity broke the silence, causing Astarion to wake up from his light doze. He watched as Ishta examined a broken lockpick with a pained expression on her face.

Amused by her frustration, he closed his eyes again and listened as she grabbed another pick and went back to work on the lock. After a few minutes, there was another snap and another expletive from Ishta.

"Double shit!"

Without opening his eyes, Astarion drawled, "Oh dear, has our fearless leader finally met her match? Who knew your prowess in battle didn't extend to opening doors... it's really rather embarrassing."

"Like you could do any better, toff," she snapped, frustration evident in her tone.

Astarion opened his eyes and flashed a grin. "Oh, I believe I can, my dear."

"Oh, this I have to see," Ishta snorted.

Astarion pushed himself away from the pillar, feeling determined once again. He crouched down next to Ishta, amusement dancing in his eyes at her scornful tone. He carefully inspected the lock before selecting a hook and tension wrench from his leather roll.

The familiar thrill rushed through him as he inserted the tools into the lock with practiced ease. He relished the challenge of the intricate mechanism, allowing it to demand his full attention. His fingers moved deftly over the lock, searching for the subtle clicks and resistance of the pins.

The only sounds were those of metal on metal as he continued his task, each click bringing him closer to victory.

With furrowed brows and pursed lips, Astarion focused all of his concentration on the task at hand. The lock put up a fight but ultimately gave in with one final satisfying click. Pushing against the door, he grinned as it opened slightly. Standing up, he turned to Ishta with a look of triumph.

However, instead of seeing her impressed, he was met with a devious smile, like that of a cat who had caught its prey. Her eyes sparkled with barely concealed laughter. Annoyed yet impressed, Astarion realized he had just been played.

Ishta's voice was purring and playful as she tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at Astarion. "So, a magistrate, hmm? Are you absolutely sure that's the story you want to stick with?"

"Would you believe me if I said lockpicking is just another one of my hobbies?" Astarion offered weakly, knowing full well she didn't buy it, but not minding all that much anymore.

Ishta laughed, the sound echoing through the crypt. She shook her head in amusement. "You are a highly efficient fighter. You blend into the shadows like you were born in them..." She paused and glanced at the door behind him, whistling in admiration.

"And you just picked that lock faster than it takes to turn a key."

Astarion felt a sense of pride at her praise, but also a twinge of anxiety as he sensed where this conversation was going.

Ishta continued, folding her arms and studying him intently. "I'll be honest with you. Astarion 'The Magistrate' - I have absolutely no use for him. But Astarion the cunning sneak thief...well, he's someone I can work with."

A smirk spread across his face as he cocked his head thoughtfully. "Well, I've been called worse," he replied nonchalantly.

It was clear to both of them what her offer meant, and though it made him uneasy, there was also a sense of liberation in no longer having to maintain this façade.

As if sensing his relief, Ishta smiled and extended her hand. "Welcome to the team...Rogue."

Well... that alias didn't last long did it Astarion? If you want to read more then check out the links below.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56114257

https://www.wattpad.com/story/369105372-ishta-blood-huntress

[ishtadawnstar]

Empathy

It was well past midnight by the time Ishta snuck back into camp. She had stalked her prey to the edges of the clearing, her heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and fury. She waited, hidden in the shadows, as the Vampire entered his tent, her breath slow and deliberate.

The campfire flickered and crackled, casting dancing shadows across the forest floor, but Ishta remained unseen, a ghost in the night.

When she judged enough time had passed for him to reach the deepest phase of either trance or sleep, she moved. Each step was silent, her movements fluid and precise, honed by years of practice.

She crept past the campfire, its dying embers barely illuminating her path, and reached the entrance of the Vampire's tent. Pausing, she pressed her ear to the rough fabric, listening intently. The only sound was the steady rhythm of deep breathing.

Satisfied, she drew her dagger, its blade glinting faintly in the dim light, and slipped inside the dark interior.

The air inside the tent was thick and oppressive, carrying the scent of earth and fresh blood. Her heart raced as she stepped lightly over to the still form lying on the cot bed. Each step was deliberate, every muscle in her body tense with the fear of being discovered.

She gripped her dagger tightly, her knuckles white, and stared down in savage hatred at the face of the sleeping monster. The elf's features were deceptively serene, a mask of innocence that belied the horrors he had no doubt inflicted.

Her hatred burned hotter, fuelling her resolve. Her breath came in shallow, controlled bursts as she raised the dagger. Her hands were steady, though her pulse thundered in her ears, as she aimed it over the heart of the man below her and closed her eyes.

"No!"

Ishta's eyes snapped open at the sound of his voice, sharp and urgent. She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. Had he seen her? But no, his eyes were still closed, and his body was twitching violently.

His breathing was growing steadily faster, loud, ragged gasps that filled the space of the tent. Ishta tensed her muscles, preparing to plunge her dagger down before he could wake.

"Stop... No more, please, I beg you!"

The plea was cried out in desperation from the depths of whatever nightmare Astarion was experiencing, and Ishta's hand wavered as his words washed over her. Echoes in her own mind replied, bringing with them memories she had spent a lifetime trying to forget.

Memories of countless nights spent screaming in agony as blades and fangs tore into her. Of grasping hands that clawed at her body and caressed it in equal measure. She could feel the pain, the sensation of cold steel against her flesh, the mocking whispers of her tormentors.

The suspended dagger trembled as Ishta struggled to suppress the torrent of emotions and memories that rose like a flood. Her breath hitched as she mentally pushed the wave back down, forcing herself to steady her shaking hands.

Gazing at the twitching man in front of her, a sense of curious disbelief filtering through the anger, she wondered, How in the hells can a Vampire have a nightmare? They are the nightmare!

The desire to know deepened the more Astarion continued to twitch and jerk; obviously, whatever he was experiencing was intense, and Ishta tried to ignore the urge to find out exactly what that was for herself. However, the opportunity to use the tadpole was too tempting.

She sighed silently, cursing her insatiable curiosity as she closed her eyes and reached out to connect with Astarion's mind.

The images that assaulted her mind were like a physical blow, making her reel backward and clamp her hands to her mouth to stop herself from screaming. Phantom pain shot through every nerve in her body as her mind blended with Astarion's.

She found herself looking through his eyes, seeing what he saw and feeling what he felt. Flashes of chains and whips, rusty blades, broken bones, and burning flesh, of countless nights spent in cold darkness stretched out on a rack, writhing in agony.

Each image was a vivid, visceral experience, bringing with it the metallic smell of blood and the bitter taste of despair. And at the back of it all, a name - Cazador.

Ishta's body spasmed violently as her own memories surged forth to greet his, a torrent of images and sensations intertwining until she could no longer discern where Astarion's ended and hers began.

Cold hands, ghostly yet oppressively real, touching her/him, torturing him/her, as the cruel, echoing laughter of Cazador/Haro'kon filled her ears. His/their sadistic delight in her/his screams pierced her soul.

The monstrous faces of their captors, once distinct, melded into a single grotesque visage that loomed over her/him, inducing a primal terror so deep it felt as if his/her very essence was being shredded.

The twisted features of this abomination sprouted multiple, writhing tendrils that wrapped themselves around his/her limbs, slithering over, under, and into her/his body. The sensation was invasive and unbearable, like living chains of despair.

Ishta's knees buckled, and she collapsed, silently retching as the nightmarish landscape overwhelmed her mind, engulfing her in a suffocating ocean of inky black anguish and fear. Each beat of her heart thudded like a drum, echoing the torment that coursed through her mind.

Gritting her teeth, she dug her nails into the skin of her arms, the sharp sting a desperate attempt to anchor herself to reality. But the memories held her fast, an unyielding tide that refused to release its grip.

In a moment of sheer desperation, she reached out further, seeking the centre of the churning black whirlpool of distorted images and sensations.

In her mind's eye, she saw a lone, kneeling figure hunched over amidst the chaos, hugging himself and trembling while a spectral hand holding a wicked-looking blade carved Infernal runes into his bare back.

The sight of the silent tears falling from his tightly closed eyes sparked something deep inside Ishta, and the fierce, white-hot rage began to rise once more.

With newfound determination, she delved into the darkest corners of her mind, drawing upon the strength of what lurked there - ancient, primal, and raw.

Focusing all her attention on the spectral hand, Ishta reached out into the dreamscape with her own metaphysical arms, gathering the swirling mass of memories and emotions into herself.

She held onto them tightly, using the sheer force of her will to contain all the pain and suffering, shielding the trembling figure from their assault. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as if he looked right at her, a glimmer of recognition and hope in his eyes.

Keeping her eyes locked with the image of Astarion, Ishta unleashed a mental blast of pure hatred and defiance, aiming directly at the spectral hand. The dreamscape around them rippled and twisted under the onslaught and then abruptly shattered into a thousand shards of brilliant light.

Ishta gasped as the mental connection was severed, thrusting her back into the stark reality of the present.

Quickly looking over at Astarion, she was shocked but relieved to see that the experience hadn't woken him. His body had stopped twitching, and his breathing had slowed to a calm rhythm; her intrusion into his mind and the subsequent destruction of the dreamscape apparently ending his nightmare.

Ishta slowly stood up, lifting the dagger she still held in her hand, her mind a tumultuous sea of conflicting thoughts as she stared at her reflection on the blade's surface.

Vampire-Slave. Deceiver-Survivor. Evil-Abused. Killer-Puppet. Monster-Victim. The words tumbled over and over in her mind, each one crashing against the other akin to violent storm waves upon jagged rocks.

Every instinct and belief Ishta had carefully constructed over the past one-hundred and twenty-six years of her life slowly eroded away like crumbling stone as she stared down at the now peacefully sleeping elf.

Her hands trembled as she lowered the dagger to her side, her previous thirst for blood and vengeance tempered by a new emotion - one that both disgusted and frightened her: empathy.

She savagely shook her head as if the feeling were something she could dislodge from her brain, but it stubbornly clung to her thoughts, refusing to be ignored. The idea that she could feel empathy for a Vampire made her skin crawl.

Her entire being recoiled at the thought, yet the more she gazed upon Astarion, the more his nightmare imprinted itself into her memory. Slowly, insidiously, her mind began to betray her, fighting less and less against the unwanted feeling.

Sighing in resigned frustration, Ishta slowly returned her dagger to the sheath on her belt and turned toward the tent entrance.

Her hand hovered over the fabric of the door flap as a final protest rose in her chest, one last weak attempt to justify turning back and finishing what she had come here to do. He's the enemy!

The world would be probably be a better place if we could all see through each others eyes. Empathy is a powerful thing, and learning to put aside deep seated hatred can be the toughest fight you'll ever face.

https://www.wattpad.com/user/IshtaDawnstar

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56114257

[ishtadawnstar]

Boundaries

After a quick search, Ishta discovered a secluded section of the river near the camp. Its current was gentle, and its shore sloped down gradually, creating a peaceful oasis in the midst of chaos. She cautiously scanned her surroundings, ensuring she was truly alone before quickly stripping off her clothes and placing them on a flat rock nearby.

With fresh garments and a towel within reach, she stepped into the cool water, feeling it envelop her like a soothing balm. The chill of the air sent goosebumps across her skin, a stark contrast to the warm, muggy air that clung to the camp.

Carefully, she stepped over the slick rocks covered in vibrant green moss, making her way deeper into the river. The water's coolness was invigorating, washing away the grime and fatigue that clung to her body.

As the clear water rose higher, Ishta closed her eyes and let out a contented sigh. Keeping her back to the shore, she remained vigilant, her ears tuned to any sign of danger even as she stood waist-deep and scrubbed vigorously at her skin. The sound of the flowing water was a soothing melody, drowning out the remnants of tension and allowing her a rare moment of peace.

Kneeling down until only her shoulders were above the water, Ishta closed her eyes and felt the gentle current massage her tired muscles. The water's embrace was comforting, a rare luxury in their unpredictable journey.

Just as she began to fully unwind, her solitude was shattered by a familiar voice echoing across the river.

"Are you going to be long? There are other people who would like to use this river too."

Ishta's eyes snapped open, her brief moment of relaxation replaced with frustration. Raising her eyes heavenward, she let out an exasperated sigh. He couldn't even wait five bloody minutes...

Submerging herself up to her neck, she turned her head slightly, calling out sharply over her shoulder, "Your eyes had better be closed, Astarion."

"Of course they are," he replied, then paused and added, "One of them is anyway."

A flash of irritation sparked within her, and she clenched her fists under the water. She could almost see the smirk on his face. "Piss off and let me have some peace for once!" she snapped, tilting her head back and letting the water cascade through her hair, trying to wash away her mounting annoyance.

Astarion's chuckle floated over the water, his amusement clear. "Oh dear... someone's still in a bad mood."

"How observant of you. Yes, I am," Ishta confirmed through gritted teeth.

"Hmm... So running away with your clothes and making you walk back to camp naked is off the table?"

Ishta's head jerked up, and she abruptly stood, water streaming off her body as she spun around to face him. Her arms crossed protectively over her chest, she glared at him. "You wouldn't dare..." she growled, her voice low and dangerous.

Astarion, seated on the rock where her towel and clothes lay, seemed utterly unfazed. His hand hovered over her garments, a playful glint in his eyes as he met her glare. He knew exactly how far he was pushing her, and it was clear he found great enjoyment in doing so. "I am so very tempted." He grinned, lifting her shirt slightly with a hooked finger, dangling it provocatively. The fabric fluttered in the breeze, a silent taunt.

Ishta's anger flared, her patience wearing thin once more. She locked eyes with him, her gaze a storm of emotions. "Astarion, I will put up with a lot from you, but there is a line you don't ever want to cross with me," she warned, her voice steady but laced with an unmistakable edge. "And right now, you're standing on it."

For a moment, Astarion's playful demeanor faltered. The seriousness in her tone cut through the air, giving him pause. However, he didn't drop her shirt. His eyes bore into hers, assessing the situation, weighing how far he could go before she would snap. The tension between them was tangible, a silent standoff.

Ishta took a step forward, her resolve hardening. If he wanted to play games, she was more than willing to match him.

"Alright," she declared, her voice filled with determination. "If you insist on being this childish, then you already know I can be just as petty."

A flicker of doubt crossed Astarion's face, quickly masked by a dismissive shrug. "There isn't anything you can do to humiliate me that hasn't already been done, I assure you." His words held a hint of bitterness, more pensive than playful. With a moody flick of his wrist, he dropped her shirt back onto the rock, the playful spark in his eyes dimming.

"So you came here to humiliate me then?" Ishta challenged, her voice sharp with accusation. The tension between them thickened, the air around them charged with unspoken words and emotions.

Astartion's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by her directness. His expression shifted to frustration, and he shook his head. "No, that's not why..." He hesitated, avoiding her gaze as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. "I genuinely came here to clean up. I didn't realize you were using this spot, but when I saw you, I couldn't resist the opportunity to have a little fun." He shrugged defensively, his frown deepening. "Obviously, my timing was off."

His jaw tightened as he tried to mask the hurt in his expression. "How was I supposed to know you were going to be so prickly?"

Ishta's eyes narrowed, her tone scornful. "Use your head, mate," she retorted. "I'm standing here naked and vulnerable right now. Do you expect me to be thrilled about this? Or was your next line going to be 'how about I join you?' and then we both end up naked in a river together under the moonlight? Because if that's where you saw tonight heading, then boy, have I got news for you."

A pained look crossed Astarion's face, quickly replaced by a mask of cold indifference. He stood abruptly, the tension in his posture evident. With a stiff bow, he muttered, "I apologize for disturbing you. I will wait patiently back at camp until you have finished bathing."

As he turned to leave, Ishta felt a pang of guilt mingled with her lingering irritation. She let out a long, exasperated groan, tilting her head back. "Oh, for pity's sake! Stop sulking and come back. I'm finished already," she called out, her voice tinged with a mix of frustration and resignation.

Astarion paused, his shoulders tensing. He turned slowly, his expression defiant. His jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. "I am not sulking," he insisted, though his tone betrayed him.

"Yes, you are," Ishta replied, rolling her eyes. "Just sit down and wait while I get dressed, and then you can have the river to yourself, alright?" Her voice softened slightly, the edge of their confrontation beginning to dull.

-☆-

Astarion hesitated, his fingers twitching as he weighed his options. Pride urged him to maintain a facade of indifference, but the sensation of dried mud caking his hair and clinging to his skin made him feel grimy and uncomfortable. The allure of the crystal-clear water and the chance to cleanse himself was too tempting to resist. With a reluctant sigh, he decided to stay. He glanced at Ishta, noticing her guarded posture, still wary of his presence.

To ease the tension between them, Astarion sat down on a nearby rock and deliberately turned his back to her, a gesture meant to show respect, albeit grudgingly.

"There. Happy now? I promise not to peek," he called over his shoulder, his tone attempting to strike a balance between appeasing and playful.

Ishta responded with a grumble, her words muffled by the sounds of splashing water and rustling foliage. "You better bloody not."

He could hear the light patter of her footsteps behind him as she moved across the stones. Resisting the mischievous urge to glance back and risk her wrath, Astarion cleared his throat and attempted to sound casual. "The others are all sitting around the campfire, enjoying a meal and chatting with our newest companion," he explained. "I felt somewhat left out, so I decided to come here and wash this muck off."

There was a faint rustling of fabric behind him, followed by the soft thud of a damp towel landing beside him.

"You could have joined them, even if you're not eating," Ishta remarked, then her tone lightened with an undercurrent of humour. "Or you could have waited until I got back and sat there drinking from my arm."

Astarion chuckled softly, picking up the towel and absentmindedly twisting it in his hands. The sensation of the fabric was soothing, a small comfort amid the awkwardness. "I don't think that would go down very well... especially in front of Shadowheart," he mused dryly. He could imagine the judgmental stares, the quiet murmurs - none of which he cared for at the moment.

"Probably not," Ishta agreed, her tone turning serious for a moment. "Safe to turn around now."

With a fluid motion, Astarion swiveled on the rock, turning to face her. Ishta sat on the ground, pulling on her boots. Her hair, still wet from her bath, clung to her face and neck in dark tendrils. Small rivulets of water traced paths down her cheeks, soaking into her shirt and accentuating her form. She seemed momentarily lost in thought, her fingers deftly lacing up her boots with practiced ease.

Astarion's gaze lingered on her, captivated by the sight of water droplets clinging to her skin like tiny diamonds. He cleared his throat, drawing her attention. "Speaking of which..." he trailed off expectantly, his eyes flicking meaningfully to her exposed wrist. The request was subtle, but the need was evident in his tone.

Ishta met his gaze with a resigned sigh, standing up and moving to sit beside him on the rock. Rolling up her sleeve, she extended her arm towards him with weariness and resolve evident in her expression. "Go ahead... might as well get this over with."

Astarion's eyes lingered on her neck for a brief moment, but he pushed the impulse aside and instead took her offered arm lightly in his grasp. He tried to be gentler this time, mindful of the delicate skin beneath his touch.

As he bit down, he focused on being quick and as painless as possible, though the warm rush of her blood still took him by surprise. The sweetness of it, richer and more vibrant than anything he had tasted since, was just as intoxicating the second time around.

Ishta remained perfectly still, her face serene yet with a distant look in her eyes, as if she had detached herself from the present moment. Astarion's control over his thirst was surprisingly better than usual, and he managed to pull back after only a few mouthfuls of her blood. He licked his lips, savoring the lingering taste, and couldn't help but give her a satisfied smile.

"Still just as delicious," he remarked happily, watching as Ishta calmly pulled out a strip of cloth from her shirt pocket and began binding up her wrist. Her movements were methodical, a practiced routine that spoke of an unsettling familiarity with the act.

"Even better than that human," Astarion added playfully, then instantly regretted his words as Ishta froze mid-wrap, her eyes snapping up to meet his.

"Wait... you've already fed on a thinking being today?" Her voice was low and dangerous, a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

Astarion hesitated, guilt momentarily flickering across his features. He looked away from Ishta's intense stare. "Er... I may have drained the third fake Tyrran," he admitted sheepishly.

Ishta's jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing as she stared off to the side. She ground her teeth together in frustration, struggling to contain her emotions. "Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath before turning back to him, her glare sharp and accusing. "Then why in all the bloody hells did you take mine as well?!"

Astarion felt a surge of defensiveness, his eyes narrowing as he quickly protested, "You offered! I couldn't resist another taste, and I'm hardly likely to pass up the opportunity for more, especially when it is freely given like that."

He watched as Ishta's eyes flashed with irritation, her voice rising. "You insufferable little—" she began, but he swiftly interrupted, feeling a rare need to explain himself.

"I don't know why, but yours tastes so much better," he admitted, glancing down at his hands. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, betraying his unease. "I never realized there could be such a disparity of flavors. Animal blood all tastes pretty much the same - not that I had much variety to choose from," he added bitterly, a shadow crossing his features.

He looked away, his brow furrowed in deep thought. His gaze lingered on a distant object, lost in contemplation. "I wonder if it's because..."

After a moment, he turned back to Ishta who watched him with curious eyes. A coy smile curved his lips as he continued, "I've had this condition for two centuries, but truth be told" - He cleared his throat and fluttered his eyelashes playfully - "You were my first."

Ishta let out a groan and dropped her head into her hands. "Did you have to phrase it like that?" she complained, her voice a mix of dismay and amusement.

Astarion chuckled softly and shrugged nonchalantly. "What? It's the truth," he replied with a faint smirk. He leaned back on his hands, relaxing into the moment and relishing the bemused expression on Ishta's face. The tension seemed to ease, replaced by a fragile camaraderie.

He arched an eyebrow curiously, continuing with a mischievous glint in his eye, "And now I can't help but imagine how the others would taste. Take Shadowheart, for example. She strikes me as having a heavy, enigmatic flavour - vintage port on two legs."

Ishta lifted her head, resting it on one knuckle as she gave him a sideways glance filled with amused disbelief. "I cannot believe we are actually having this conversation right now."

Ignoring her disapproval, Astarion carried on with his musings, eyes sparkling with intrigue. "But the Gith? What in the hells would she taste like?" The question hung in the air, bizarre and oddly fascinating.

Ishta chuckled, giving a half-shrug. "I'd prefer a beer, if it's all the same to you."

Astarion let out a dramatic sigh, sitting up straight and crossing his arms over his chest. "Yes, heavens forbid we'd have an interesting conversation," he huffed, before turning away in feigned disgust. But he couldn't resist sneaking a glance back at Ishta, hoping she would play along.

He saw her expression soften as she noticed the pleading look in his eyes. After a moment of hesitation, she sighed and rubbed her chin thoughtfully, seemingly giving in to his whims. "Perhaps something more exotic? An Amnian liqueur?" she suggested with a hint of speculation.

Astarion's face lit up with enthusiasm. "Ohh, that does sound rather tempting," he nodded eagerly. "I might just be convinced."

Pausing for a moment, he tilted his head and let his playful smile take over once again. "So - in the spirit of theoretical questions - if you had to take a bite from one of them, who would it be?"

Ishta stared at him blankly, her mouth slightly agape. Slowly, she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose as if trying to make sense of his question. Shaking her head in disbelief, she muttered under her breath, "You did not just ask me that..." Opening her eyes and looking at him wearily, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Why me? Why do you have to talk about things like this with me?"

Astarion leaned in closer, his expression now serious. It was a valid question, one that even he didn't fully understand. He wasn't sure why he felt so comfortable discussing himself and the darker aspects of his existence with Ishta. Perhaps it was her irreverent sense of humour and calm acceptance of what he was, or maybe it was because she treated him like a person instead of just a Vampire.

But there was also an unspoken understanding between them - in a world filled with danger and uncertainties, they had somehow found a sense of trust in each other.

"Because you're the only one who seems to genuinely want me around," he admitted softly, trying to keep the bitter edge out of his voice. The admission hung in the air, laden with unspoken emotions.

Astarion is still trying to figure out Ishta's boundaries. In my head I see it as him testing the limits of her tolerance, almost as if he can't quite believe how much freedom he has with her, after being controlled and beaten down for so long. Unfortunately, he will probably keep pushing his luck until she really snaps... kinda like a cheeky puppy that keeps creeping closer and closer to the bowl of a growling dog.

[ishtadawnstar]

Trust

The world exploded into existence as Astarion jolted awake, his senses immediately on high alert. The forest enveloped him with its oppressive darkness, shadows twisting and swirling among the trees like malevolent spirits.

A knot of fear gripped his chest as he struggled to recall why he was here, alone in the cold stillness of the night. The earthy scent of damp leaves and moss permeated the air, mingling with the coppery tang of blood - his own. He tried to sit up, but a firm pressure on his shoulder pushed him back down.

"Ah! No, you don't," a commanding voice echoed in the silence. "Sit back down and let that wound finish healing. If you make it bleed, so help me, I will knock you out again."

The pain radiating from his side brought back memories of the recent events - his encounter with Shadowheart and his desperate escape through the darkness. Groaning, Astarion leaned back against the rough texture of the tree trunk and looked up at the speaker. Ishta perched above him, her expression stern and unwavering. One knee tucked under her chin while the other leg dangled, her foot resting on his shoulder.

Astarion couldn't help feeling unsettled by how composed she seemed in his presence. Her golden eyes, usually filled with lazy charm, now gleamed with determination. It was clear that the truth about his nature was not much of a surprise to Ishta. He was painfully aware that she held all the power in this situation.

"How long have you known?" he asked wearily, his voice strained.

"That you are an idiot? About an hour," Ishta retorted, nonchalantly removing her foot from his shoulder and crossing her legs.

Astarion scowled at her but she paid no attention. "That you are a Vampire... about a week," she shrugged, her tone dismissive.

He couldn't hide his shock at her words and she gave him a wry smile in response. "I happened to be out hunting at night the same time as you. We were both after the same boar... You got there first."

Ishta gracefully slid down from her perch and sat beside him. Astarion couldn't help but admire her boldness, the way she carried herself with a confidence that bordered on recklessness.

She didn't seem to fear him at all, which both intrigued and unnerved him. He also couldn't ignore the small dagger she was twirling around in her hand - a not-so-subtle reminder of her prowess.

Ishta noticed his eyes on her blade and grinned. "Though at first I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out why you were trying to hug it to death."

Despite himself, Astarion chuckled softly, the sound laced with bitterness and pain. The movement caused a wave of agony to pulse through him and he winced. Gods... you'd think after enduring 200 years of torture I'd be used to this by now. His body, despite its undead resilience, still had its limits.

Ishta chided him gently, her voice tinged with concern. "Try not to move too much until the spell has had enough time to properly do its job."

He turned slowly, his eyes flickering with a mix of curiosity and wariness as they met hers. "Why are you helping me?" he asked cautiously.

Ishta paused her playful twirling of the dagger and regarded him thoughtfully. Her eyes took on a distant look, as if she were searching through memories and emotions to find the right words. A part of him feared what she might say, but he needed to know.

"Because I suffer from a terrible condition," she replied solemnly. "I've been told countless times that it will eventually kill me."

Alarm bells rang in Astarion's head. Shit... she must believe I am a True Vampire who can grant her immortality. Why else would she save my life...

"It's called a bleeding heart."

Her words startled him for a moment, and then a slow smile of comprehension spread across his face. Turning to look at Ishta, his eyes met hers, and he saw the glimmer of amusement in them.

She continued, her tone casual and confiding, "It's a terrible disease, really. I see people in trouble, and I just have this overwhelming urge to help them."

Astarion felt his whole body relax as he finally understood he had never been in any danger from Ishta - she truly didn't care about what he was.

"Sounds awful," he grinned at her, the tension melting away from his features.

—¤—

Ishta watched as a wave of emotion passed over Astarion's face, finally settling into something resembling trust. Observing the stiffness start to leave his posture as he gave her his full attention, she felt it was now safe to relax herself. Astarion had always responded well to humor and banter, so she decided to keep going with her playful 'explanation' to his question.

"It really is," she complained, shaking her head with exaggerated exasperation. "You have no idea how inconvenient it is to have to drop everything and help some poor Wizard out from inside a rock, save a grumpy Githyanki from a Goblin trap, or give up on a decent night's rest to race after some poor sod who's gone and gotten himself stabbed by an irate Cleric."

A slight smile tugged at the corners of Astarion's lips, and Ishta could see the tension draining from his body. He leaned back against the sturdy trunk of a tree, appearing more relaxed and at ease. For a moment, he seemed like his old self as he played along with her rant, nodding understandingly.

"I entirely agree, that does sound like an absolutely debilitating disease," he sympathized with a playful twinkle in his eye.

Feeling encouraged by his lifted spirits, Ishta leaned forward, resting her elbow on one knee and propping up her chin. "By the way, why did you try to take a bite out of Shadowheart?" she asked curiously, tilting her head in his direction.

A hint of tension returned to Astarion's body at the mention of his recent actions. His eyes locked onto hers as he struggled to find the right words. Ishta kept her gaze steady and non-threatening, observing the myriad of emotions crossing Astarion's face - confusion, guilt, fear - before he finally settled on resignation. He sighed and lowered his head, the weight of his actions heavy on his shoulders.

"It's not what you think. I'm not some monster," he muttered, his voice thick with regret. "I usually feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds - whatever I can find. I'm just too slow right now, too weak. I thought if I only had a little blood, I could think clearer, fight better. So I tried to take some from Shadowheart."

A small spark of defiance ignited in Astarion's eyes as he looked up at Ishta, pleading for understanding. "I wasn't going to hurt her, I swear. I just needed blood. But then she woke and attacked me - I had to defend myself, you understand."

Ishta held his gaze for a moment before speaking again, her thoughts racing as she remembered the bruises on Shadowheart's neck. Those marks go beyond self-defense. However, she chose not to voice her observation for now. Instead, she focused on a more pressing matter.

"Bullshit, Astarion."

"I beg your pardon?" he blinked at her, taken aback.

"You heard me. I've seen you with that bow of yours. You could hunt half the beasts in this forest without ever breaking a sweat. So what's the real reason you suddenly decided to change up your menu?" Ishta asked bluntly, her tone cutting through the night air like a blade.

Astarion's expression shifted from shock to defense, and Ishta worried that she may have pushed too far too soon. She could see him starting to retreat, his eyes darting around as if searching for an escape route. Realizing the need to tread carefully now to maintain control over the situation, Ishta softened her tone and reassured him.

"Astarion, please listen to me. I am not angry with you," she said gently. "I understand why you felt the need to keep this secret from us all. I just want to know why you risked exposing yourself and potentially turning us against you by choosing Shadowheart instead of the abundant game within these very woods."

Astarion focused on her again, and Ishta could see his jaw grinding under the weight of whatever decision he was trying to make.

The sounds of the forest at night grew louder in the tense silence between them, filling the air with rustling leaves, chirping insects, and the occasional hoot of an owl. Shafts of moonlight filtered through the thick canopy above, causing Astarion's eyes to glow like two crimson pools.

After what felt like an eternity, Astarion finally broke the silence with a heavy sigh. "I needed to know," he said, his voice laced with frustration.

Ishta waited patiently for him to continue, noticing how uncomfortable he seemed as he shifted around. Whatever he was about to reveal clearly weighed heavily on his mind, but she remained calm and collected, knowing that her patience would be rewarded.

Eventually, Astarion spoke again, his voice carrying a hint of resignation. "I am a Spawn. My... former master, Cazador Szarr, is a Vampire Lord in Baldur's Gate. The patriarch of his coven and a monster obsessed with power. Not political power or military power - I mean power over people. The power to control them completely. He turned me nearly two hundred years ago. I became his Spawn, and he became my tormentor."

Ishta sat up straighter, wondering if she should share what she already knew of his story, but ultimately decided against it. It was clear that he was finally opening up to her and she didn't want to interrupt or jeopardize that trust.

"So you were his slave?" she asked gently.

Astarion shook his head. "A Vampire's Spawn is less than a slave. They're a puppet. We have no choice but to obey our master's commands. They speak, and our bodies react... it's all part of the deal. Sometimes he'd order us to submit to torture. Sometimes he'd have us torture ourselves. Whatever his weathervane mood settled on," he said bitterly.

As he spoke, Astarion's eyes became distant and withdrawn, clearly reliving the horrors of his past. After what she had witnessed when her mind had linked with his all those nights ago, she couldn't blame him for being hesitant to re-live such traumatic experiences. She knew all too well the feeling of trying to bury painful memories deep within.

Leaning forward, Astarion's voice became more animated. "But ever since I was kidnapped by the Mindflayers and implanted with this worm, I have been living in a strange, twisted kind of freedom. Standing in the sun, wading through rivers, wandering into homes without an invitation - they are all perfectly mundane activities now. More importantly though, I no longer feel the pull of Cazador's hold over me..." Astarion trailed off and leaned back wearily. "At least not until tonight," he admitted quietly.

The hair on the back of Ishta's neck stood up. Now this could be a problem.

Astarion must have noticed her concern because he quickly continued. "I had a... well, a dream - or perhaps it was a vision of him earlier tonight. I could see him as clearly as I see you now. He was reminding me that I still belonged to him and reciting those damn rules."

"Rules?" Ishta raised an eyebrow in question.

Astarion held up his hand and began counting off on his fingers. "First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures. Second, thou shalt obey me in all things. Thirdly, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed. Fourth, thou shalt know that thou art mine forever."

As Ishta listened to Astarion recite the first rule, everything fell into place. Knowing what she did of Vampires, the first rule made perfect sense. A Vampire's power was derived from the strength of their victims - not their physical strength, but the level of intellect and life experience that only sentient beings could provide. Animals and other lesser beasts simply could not offer the same levels of power, and if this Cazador was so obsessed with controlling people, it came as no surprise that he would force his spawn to feed on inferior beings to keep them weak and subservient.

"Thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures..." Ishta repeated slowly, giving Astarion a half-smile. "So that's why you did it."

The look of surprise on his face quickly turned to begrudging admiration, confirming her theory.

Pushing herself forward and standing up, Ishta walked a few steps away, the soft earth crunching under her feet. Spinning around and placing her hands on her hips, she confronted Astarion.

"So let me get this straight," she began sternly, her voice carrying authority. "You attacked one of my team - while she was sleeping, by the way, you jerk - and risked being thrown out into the wilds alone at best," she gestured to the surrounding forest, "and being staked in the heart at worst, all just so you could give the middle finger to your old master?"

A hint of guilt flashed across Astarion's features before he replied hesitantly, "Well... uh... when you put it like that..."

Ishta watched him come to terms with just how much of a risk he had taken and sighed inwardly. If the Illithid parasite doesn't kill him first, his own recklessness will. She could understand his desire to test the limits of his newfound freedom, but his rash actions had almost ended it prematurely. As resourceful and capable as he was, Astarion clearly still needed the protection and guidance of allies. Ishta just hoped she could convince the others waiting for her in camp that he was still worth protecting. Though, if she was being honest with herself, she wasn't entirely sure of that fact either.

Then, like a lightning bolt, an idea sparked in her head. A final test to determine just how far Astarion could still be trusted. It was a dangerous plan, one that filled her with trepidation and dredged up unwelcome memories. But Ishta pushed those thoughts aside, determined to see this through.

Stepping forward and crouching directly in front of him, she extended her arm and turned over her wrist, exposing the veins beneath. "Well, that's something I can get behind," she said with a wry smile.

Yeah... this is why you should never make important decisions while you're hungry.

[ishtadawnstar]

A Glimmer of Insight.

Before Astarion could gather himself, the Harpy lunged at him once more, eyes filled with savage hatred. In a blur of movement, Ishta suddenly appeared between them, her bow held tightly in both hands as she used it to block the Harpy's attack.

But she didn't fully stop the onslaught and a cry of pain escaped her clenched teeth as the Harpy's claws dug into her forearm, leaving a jagged and bloody wound.

Astarion froze for a moment in shock and disbelief, struggling to process the fact that Ishta had deliberately put herself in harms way to protect him. With newfound determination, he scrambled to his feet and unshouldered his bow. Taking aim, he took one final breath before releasing the arrow.

It flew true, passing over Ishta's shoulder and sinking deep into the Harpy's throat. The creature let out a final gurgling screech before falling lifeless to the ground.

Exhausted and battered, Ishta collapsed to her knees, chest rising and falling rapidly as blood dripped freely from her wounds, mixing with the dirt beneath her.

Astarion stood nearby, his eyes fixed on the deep gash on Ishta's arm, watching crimson rivulets trickle through her fingers as she clasped the wound. The metallic scent of her blood was overwhelming, and he swallowed hard, biting down on his tongue to stop himself from licking his lips hungrily.

He caught Ishta staring at him and quickly composed himself, pushing aside his darker instincts.

"That probably needs looking at," he remarked, his voice laced with caution, aware of Ishta's prickly mood. He tried to sound casual, but the concern seeped through. "Did you manage to find that Nettie person?"

Ishta shook her head, her expression strained. "I'm fine, I can take care of this myself," she replied, her voice tight as she hid her pain. She winced slightly as she adjusted her grip on her arm. "Besides, you have your own injury to take care of."

Astarion glanced at his own arm, where a shallow cut bled sluggishly. His innate healing ability was already at work and most of the damage had already been taken care of. He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "It's not that deep, nothing a Health Potion can't fix," he said, forcing a smile.

Or a good blood meal, he added silently to himself. "Yours, however, looks deep and is positively leaking blood like a broken tap. And I sincerely doubt Harpies practice good talon hygiene. Let me see if I can find you a healer," he persisted, attempting to keep his tone light.

"I said I'm fine, Astarion!" Ishta snapped, her exasperation evident as she glared at him, her eyes flashing with frustration.

Astarion's patience frayed, his concern turning to anger. "Fine! Then bleed out here on the sand for all I care. Why let a Harpy have all the fun when your own stubbornness can kill you just as effectively?" he retorted, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

Ishta glared at him, frustration bubbling over. "Oh, for Mielikki's sake! Te curo!" she hissed angrily, raising her hand. A pale green light enveloped her arm, and Astarion blinked in surprise, his anger giving way to confusion.

"Oh... Well why didn't you say you knew the Cure Wounds spell?" he asked peevishly, crossing his arms and frowning.

"Because you never bloody shut up long enough for me to tell you!" Ishta retorted, her voice sharp as she channelled the healing magic into her wound. The blood flow slowed, and the gash began to close, leaving only a faint scar.

Astarion watched, his irritation simmering down to a begrudging admiration as he observed the healing magic at work. "Well, it would have been nice to know before now," he muttered.

A small, trembling voice called out from under the rocks, "A-are they gone?"

Both Astarion and Ishta turned sharply to see the young Tiefling child emerging from his hiding spot, his wide eyes darting around nervously, searching for any remaining threats in the sky above.

"Yes, they're all well and truly dead," Astarion replied with a cheery tone, his lips curling into a wicked grin. "You're safe now...at least until the Goblins arrive," he added with a dark chuckle, relishing in the child's startled reaction.

Ishta gave Astarion a reproachful look, her expression softening as she approached the child. She knelt down in front of him, her movements slow and gentle as she reached out to place a comforting hand on his trembling shoulder.

"Are you all right?" she asked kindly, her voice soothing and reassuring.

The child stammered, his fear evident in his voice as he struggled to form coherent words. "No - yes - I mean... I don't know!" He cowered, his small frame shaking as he looked up at Ishta with wide, frightened eyes.

"Take a deep breath, slow and steady," Ishta urged him softly, her hand steady on his shoulder. "As he said, you're safe now. What's your name?"

The boy looked up at Ishta timidly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm Mirkon," he answered before suddenly exclaiming with fresh worry, "Oh no!"

"Now what's the matter with you?" Astarion asked impatiently, standing next to Ishta with a raised eyebrow, his tone laced with irritation.

"I have to get back. Mol will be so mad," Mirkon said, wringing his hands nervously and looking around frantically as if expecting Mol to appear at any moment.

"Go back to your parents, Mirkon. There's worse in the wilds than Harpies," Ishta advised, her tone serious as she gently squeezed his shoulder.

"Yes, and stop snivelling or they will come back. They like tasty little Tiefling kids- ow!" Astarion grunted as Ishta elbowed him sharply in the shin, glaring at him in annoyance before turning back to the boy.

"Pay no mind to him, Mirkon," she said firmly, her voice full of warmth.

Mirkon's shoulders slumped as he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "Th-they're gone...my parents. Now there's just Mol."

Ishta's expression immediately softened, her eyes filling with sympathy for the young boy before her. "I'm so sorry to hear that," she said gently, standing up slowly as Mirkon began to leave.

He ran halfway up the path towards the grove, but suddenly halted and turned back, running towards them again. He skidded to a stop in front of Astarion, who looked down at the boy with mild curiosity.

"Wait, umm... you should meet Mol. She'll be grateful you saved me...even if you were mean," Mirkon said, looking up at the elf with a mix of fear and gratitude in his eyes. He gestured for Ishta to come closer and leaned in to whisper something in her ear. "Find a boy called Doni. Tell him you want to see the 'Dragon's Lair'," he said urgently before turning around and running up the hill once more.

Astarion and Ishta exchanged glances, the tension between them momentarily forgotten as they processed Mirkon's words.

"You saved his life?" Ishta asked slowly, her head tilted with an unreadable expression on her face; surprise and curiosity mixed in her gaze.

Astarion started to brush off his leather chest-piece, tutting at the deep cuts and scratches marring its surface. "I've only had this two days and it's already ruined. Cheap bandit rubbish - gods, what I wouldn't give for a decent cuirass from the Stormshore Armoury," he grumbled.

"I'll get it repaired. And you're avoiding my question," Ishta said insistently.

"No, I'm simply not wasting my time on something so unimportant when I'm preoccupied with my woeful lack of protective gear," Astarion retorted defensively.

"Saving a child's life is pretty important, at least to me it is," Ishta said firmly, her voice filled with conviction.

"Well, it's not to me," Astarion snapped irritably, his eyes flashing with anger. "That little brat nearly got me killed, luring in those Harpies with his incessant mewling. I had a good mind to throw him to them as a distraction and make a run for it."

"But you didn't." Ishta said softly, her eyes searching his face, as if for a deeper truth.

"I thought you said you had functioning eyes," Astarion challenged her smugly. "The boy is alive and well, so clearly I didn't."

"No, clearly you didn't," Ishta echoed, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. "Why though? Why would you risk your life for him?"

"I didn't risk my life," Astarion scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "I hid in the same spot he did and was magnanimous enough not to shove him out."

Stepping closer to Ishta, Astarion's expression hardened, and he glared at her, his eyes darkening with intensity. He lowered his voice to a menacing drawl. "Let's get one thing perfectly clear, my dear. I am not risking my life for strangers. I have come too far to lose everything now, and I won't risk my freedom on some noble, heroic quest of yours."

Ishta cocked her head at him. "Risk your freedom?" she asked curiously, her voice softening imperceptibly.

Astarion froze, realizing he'd revealed more than he intended to. Panic flickered in his eyes as he quickly tried to come up with an explanation for his words. But he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't make him sound like a condemned criminal on the run.

Ishta had shown a tolerance for his dubious backstory, but he wasn't sure how far that tolerance extended. He opted instead for the defensive track.

"I don't have to justify myself to you, Ranger," he snapped, his lips curling into a sneer as he attempted to regain control of the conversation.

To further end the discussion, Astarion turned on his heels and began marching up the hill with purposeful strides. "Are you coming?" he called sarcastically over his shoulder. "I thought we had a Healer to find, or would you prefer to abandon our search for a cure in order to play hero to every snivelling little orphan we meet?"

In truth, he didn't know why he'd snatched the boy away from the Harpies' first strike. There was nothing to be gained from saving a useless whelp like that, and yet his arms had seemed to move of their own accord.

He knew what that sensation felt like when he was being controlled by Cazador, but this had been different. Maybe it was the tadpole? That explanation didn't make sense though; what in the hells would a Mindflayer hope to gain from an altruistic act?

As Astarion picked his way carefully up the narrow trail leading back to the grove, he continued to ponder the question, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. The air around him seemed heavier, the sounds of the forest muted by his internal debate.

He became aware of Ishta catching up to him and calling out his name, so he quickened his pace, the bushes whipping back as he pushed through them. He pettily hoped a few would whack her in the face as her voice came again, more insistently this time.

"Astarion."

He whirled around, eyes flashing with irritation, and exploded, "What!"

Ishta stared at him calmly, then stepped closer, her eyes glowing with a warmth that took him by surprise. "Thank you," she said firmly, her voice full of sincerity. The warmth in her eyes seemed to reach out to him, breaking through his defences.

She held his gaze for a moment longer, then pushed past him and carried on up the trail, her steps sure and determined, leaving him gaping after her in complete bewilderment.

Sometimes in the heat of the moment, when there is no time to think and all we have is instinct, our core natures are unearthed - no matter how buried we think they may be. The character growth that Astarion can display over the course of the game would not be possible if the seeds were not already there, lying dormant beneath layers of cruelty and abuse - waiting for the spring rains of trust and compassion to allow them to flourish.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56114257

https://www.wattpad.com/user/IshtaDawnstar

[ishtadawnstar]

Reluctant Hero

The trail led Astarion to the edges of a lake, surrounded by high sandstone cliffs. The afternoon sun cast a soft, golden glow over the expansive sandy beach of the lake, where he stumbled upon a scene that managed to be both serene and deeply unsettling.

A young Tiefling child, with a thick mop of dark curly hair and small curved horns, stood at the water's edge. The deep crimson of his skin created a vivid contrast against the shimmering golden sands. He was gazing into the horizon, utterly captivated by something unseen.

Moved by curiosity, Astarion trotted down the sloping dunes to join the child. As he approached, the boy remained fixated on the water, whispering without turning, "Shh! Listen."

Astarion surveyed the scene with a furrowed brow, his gaze shifting from the child to the towering rock formation that loomed ominously ahead. He squinted, trying in vain to discern what had captured the boy's attention, and muttered, "I can't hear anything. You probably shouldn't be standing this close to the water's edge, though... unless you can swim. In which case, stand wherever the hells you want, I suppose."

"Don't you hear it? It's so peaceful," the child implored, turning his glazed-over eyes towards Astarion for the first time. The elf felt a sudden twinge of alarm and strained his ears, trying to pick up any trace of sound that had eluded him.

Suddenly, a faint, sweet melody wafted through the air, carried by a gentle breeze. The song pulsed with an enchanting magic, and Astarion's heart raced as he recognized the imminent danger - it was a Harpy's charm.

His head snapped upwards, eyes scanning the skies for any sign of the foul creatures known for their lethal allure. His sharp elven ears picked up the faint flap of wings. Whirling around, he spotted a dark shadow darting from behind the rock formation, its claws dangerously outstretched.

With a curse and a swift movement, Astarion grabbed the child by the shoulder and pulled him back just in time, as wickedly sharp talons sliced through the air where the boy's head had been mere seconds before.

A harsh, angry screech echoed across the water as Astarion bolted towards a nearby rocky outcrop, dragging the bewildered and reluctant Tiefling behind him.

They slid under the shelter of craggy stones just as two more Harpies descended, their talons scraping against the rocks in a fury of attempted strikes..

"Wha... what's going on"? the boy stammered, his voice quivering with confusion as he emerged from his charmed state, his eyes wide with terror.

"What's going on?" Astarion echoed, his tone sharp and laden with accusation as he glared at the frightened child. "Thanks to you, there's a very good chance I'm going to be killed and eaten by a Harpy!" His voice, thick with frustration and fear, bounced off the narrow stone walls enclosing them.

The child, overwhelmed by the sudden eruption of violence and the stern rebuke from his unexpected protector, began to sob, his tears catching the light and glittering like molten gold. The sight only fuelled Astarion's irritation as he turned back to face their attackers.

As the Harpies descended upon the beach, their horrifying visage became clear under the afternoon sun. These creatures bore the haunting features of women from the waist up, with wild, tangled hair framing their sharp, cruel faces.

Their eyes glinted with a predatory hunger as they advanced with a menacing grace. Below their waists, the transformation was stark - the lower half of their legs morphed into the powerful, scaled limbs of a bird of prey, ending in vicious, curved talons.

Their hands, though human in shape, were tipped with long, deadly claws that seemed perfectly designed to snatch and rend. Enormous wings, each feathered pinion strong enough to create gusts of wind with a mere flap, unfurled from their backs, casting large, ominous shadows on the sand.

Around their waists, they wore skirts that were a barbaric mix of rough leather and coarse feathers, which fluttered wildly in the breeze as they stepped closer.

The child's sobs escalated into panicked wails as he caught sight of the Harpies, his cries piercing the tense air.

Astarion gritted his teeth at the noise and rounded on the boy with a fierce whisper, "If you don't shut your mouth and stop crying this instant, I'm throwing you out there for the Harpies to feast on!"

However, his terrifying promise had the opposite effect than he intended, and the boy's wailing became even louder. "Wh... why are you s... so mean?" he sobbed uncontrollably, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Astarion stared at the child, and his expression softened ever so slightly. He turned away and muttered bitterly, under his breath, "Because being nice always ends up badly for me."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56114257

https://www.wattpad.com/user/IshtaDawnstar

[ishtadawnstar]

A Discovery

The gentle breeze caressed her face, whispering secrets of the ancient woods. It was in these solitary hunts that Ishta felt most connected to the world around her.

As much as she appreciated the company of her newfound companions, Ishta was never truly happy unless she was alone with only the hunt on her mind.

Her bow was ready in her hand, an extension of her arm, while her belt quiver was stocked with arrows, their fletching carefully chosen for silence and precision. She moved with the grace and stealth of a predator, each movement calculated, each breath controlled.

Her mind was clear, free of the worries and chatter of the day. Here, in the quiet of the forest, she could simply be.

As she crouched low, her eyes caught a glimpse of movement - a wild boar foraging among the roots of a large, twisted oak. Ishta's heart quickened, but her hands remained steady. She nocked an arrow and drew back the bowstring, her muscles taut and ready.

The world seemed to hold its breath with her, the sounds of the forest fading into a hushed stillness.

Suddenly, another figure entered her line of sight, and it took her a confused moment to recognize it as Astarion. Curious and cautious, Ishta lowered her bow slightly, watching him from the shadows.

He had his back to her and was only wearing his undershirt and trousers, with no sign of a weapon anywhere on his person. His attention was firmly fixed on the same boar she had spied, and Ishta began to feel a deep sense of unease in the pit of her stomach; something about this was off.

As Astarion slowly pulled his shirt over his head and laid it to one side, Ishta's eyes widened, her pulse quickening. She watched in frozen fascination as the muscles across his toned shoulders and back rippled as he crouched down low and tensed up.

A chill ran down her spine as her eyes focused on a group of strange symbols carved onto his back, widening as she recognized them to be Infernal script.

The feelings of alarm grew steadily stronger, her instincts screaming at her that there was something very wrong here, yet she remained rooted to the spot, unable to tear her gaze away from the pale elf before her.

In the moonlight, he looked for all the world like an otherworldly, ghostly feline about to pounce.

Then, with an unnatural burst of speed that made Ishta flinch, Astarion sprinted forward and threw himself across the body of the boar just as it spotted him and tried to turn and run.

Time seemed to slow while she watched in horror, her mouth dry and her hands trembling as Astarion wrapped his arms around the boar's neck, locking them together with an iron grip.

He opened his mouth wide, revealing glistening fangs that shone like two ivory daggers in the moonlight, and bit down into the boar's throat. The beast's almighty squeal of fear and pain pierced the night, its agonized cry echoing in the forest.

The squeal intensified while it thrashed around, trying desperately to escape his deathly grip. The sounds of the dying animal pierced through Ishta's skull, making her drop her bow and clasp her hands to her ears. A wave of fear and long-buried memories surged up, threatening to drown her.

The air became abruptly silent, and Ishta looked up to see Astarion bent over the now-still body of the boar. The sounds that came from him made her stomach churn with revulsion.

The loud gulps and swallows sounded like those of a parched man taking his first drink of water from a well, intermittently punctuated by gasps of breath between each painfully long mouthful.

Her body trembled in an overwhelming whirlwind of emotions as a single word rose to the front of her brain - Vampire.

A deep, intense anger crept across Ishta's heart, filling her veins with a white-hot rage. Her vision blurred with fury as she slowly backed away from the scene in front of her, concealing herself deep within the shadows.

She knew better than to try and attack a Vampire that would be at full strength after feeding.

Even with his back to her, there was no way she would be able to get a clean heart shot; his resilience would be at its height and a prolonged fight could draw the attention of the other companions back at camp and put them at risk. No, she needed to bide her time and wait until his guard was down.

With this in mind, she tucked herself deep into the undergrowth, the foliage pressing against her skin. She focused on slowing her heart and breathing rate, to avoid potentially being detected by the Vampire's now heightened senses.

Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig seemed amplified in the tense silence. The forest around her felt like a living entity, with her own senses heightened to an almost painful degree. She knew she had to be patient, to blend with the shadows and wait for the perfect moment.

The predator before her was no ordinary foe, and the consequences of a misstep could be deadly.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ishta saw him pass by a little way from her hiding place. He was wearing his shirt again and looked to be headed back to camp. A fresh wave of anger flooded her mind, as she reflected on how well the monster had fooled them all.

She seethed at the thought of this loathsome creature just casually waltzing around her camp, leeching off her kindness like a parasite, all the while laughing at her. Digging her nails into her hands, Ishta furiously tried to work out how he had managed to do it.

I've spent over a hundred years hunting these monsters for Mielikki's sake! she thought in frustration, How much damage has this accursed tadpole done to my brain if something as simple as day walking is enough to throw me off the scent?

The thought was a disturbing one and only served to strengthen her resolve to find a healer and be rid of the pest as soon as possible. However, there was another pest to deal with first...

Oh boy.... better hope that plot armour is working for ya Astarion. Ishta is on the warpath. Will he survive?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56114257

https://www.wattpad.com/user/IshtaDawnstar

[ishtadawnstar]

Introductions

As Astarion scanned the dense forest, every rustle of leaves and distant animal call set his nerves on edge. The dread of Cazador's wrath was a shadow that loomed over him, a dark cloud that tainted even the brightest moments.

The thought of those harsh, cruel eyes finding him again, of the chains and torment he had barely escaped, was enough to make his blood run cold - as cold as the steel he suddenly felt being pressed against his neck.

Astarion froze, his breath hitching and heart pounding as a dagger slid past his face, the sharp edge dancing lightly across the skin under his chin.

His pulse thundered in his ears, and he held his breath, painfully aware that even the slightest flinch could result in his carotid artery being sliced open. The sensation was a chilling reminder of how close death always was.

"Now this is how you threaten someone..." a voice purred menacingly.

His eyes widened as he recognized the voice. How in the hells did she sneak up on me so quietly?

The fear was quickly replaced by a wave of embarrassment and anger. Swallowing nervously, Astarion slowly raised his hands, palms out to show he held no weapon.

Trying to appear much calmer than he felt, he forced a cheerful tone. "Hello again. Still alive, I see."

"How observant. Yes, not much has really changed within the past half hour... including your position, it would seem," Ishta replied, a hint of amusement in her voice. He could detect a faint trace of mockery, and he felt his anger rising again, his pride stung by her nonchalance.

The sensation of cold metal against his neck abruptly disappeared, accompanied by the sound of a dagger being sheathed.

Springing up, Astarion spun around and reached for his own dagger, only to find, to his dismay, that it was gone. Looking at the Ranger, he saw her holding it up and examining the blade, turning it around to catch the light. She glanced at him with laughing eyes, and he clenched his fists angrily.

"What do you want?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous, eyes narrowing into slits.

"Well, first of all, this edge is a mess. Needs a good sharpening," Ishta remarked, tossing the dagger back to him. He deftly caught it in mid-air by the hilt and looked at her with a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

Folding her arms, the Ranger quietly observed him as he returned the blade to the sheath on his belt, his movements stiff and controlled.

"Is that all you came back to say?" Astarion asked testily, his patience wearing thin, his usual charm stripped away by the tension and humiliation of the encounter.

Ishta shook her head and smiled slyly. "No. I came back to test a theory."

Astarion stiffened slightly, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Surely she can't already suspect I'm a Vampire... The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

"And what theory might that be?" he inquired casually, striving to keep his tone light and unconcerned.

"That you won't survive for long out here without help. If I could sneak up on you that easily without even trying, then I guarantee the predators of this forest are going to be eating gourmet tonight," Ishta grinned, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of mischief and mild concern.

Her words struck a chord, and Astarion felt a pang of vulnerability as he reflected on the harsh reality of his situation. He'd been so caught up in his own thoughts that he'd allowed this damned Ranger to get close enough to lay a blade on him.

Either she was extremely stealthy, or he was getting sloppy. Neither explanation was very encouraging, but maybe there was still a chance to turn things around. She must have sought him out for a reason, unless she just enjoyed toying with people....

The Ranger's tone became more serious as she continued, "Look, the wilds can be a pretty dangerous place for someone on their own even at the best of times. Add to that, roaming Intellect Devourers, Mindflayers, and definitely Goblin raiders, and well... I think it would be best if you joined me and my companion after all."

Astarion could feel his pride warring with the stark truth in her words. He was no fool - he knew that his chances alone were slim. But to accept her offer would be to acknowledge his weakness, to admit he needed help, and that was a bitter pill to swallow.

He took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as he studied Ishta. Her confident stance and the way her eyes constantly flicked from his face to their surroundings indicated she was fully alert and taking in every detail around them.

She wasn't wrong about the dangers; the forest was more than likely teeming with threats, and he was far from his best while starving as he was.

If her fighting skills matched her calm confidence, then Astarion knew he'd be a fool to pass up an opportunity to ally himself with her - as much as he hated to admit it.

"I was ready to go this alone, but maybe sticking with the herd isn't a bad idea. Safety in numbers, after all," he said slowly, each word feeling like a concession. "And anyone that can crash a Mindflayer ship and walk away unscathed seems like a good person to know. All right, I accept. Lead on."

First impressions are so important, and Ishta has certainly made an... interesting one on Astarion. If you like this excerpt from my story and want to read more the click on one of the links below.

And to clear up some confusion, the Vampire lore in my story is a bit different from recognised D&D lore. (Mainly because from a writing standpoint, its extremely limiting and fustrating to describe the emotions of a character without the heartbeat and breath as indicators.) They have a heartbeat, but it is usually at 1bpm when calm, which prevents blood loss from injuries etc. However the more emotional they get, the closer to standard mortal levels their heartbeat becomes and the more dangerous it is for them to be injured.

Breathing is a bit more complicated; they can and do breathe, but they can hold their breath for an impressive amount of time and it won't kill them if they are suffocated in some way. They just fall unconscious and exist in a sort of hibernation until their bodies sense breathable air again.

https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/369105372-ishta-blood-huntress

[ishtadawnstar]

Daring or Deluded?

"What are you doing, Ishta?" Shadowheart suddenly asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and concern.

Astarion turned to see Ishta standing with her hand on the doors leading into the burning crypt. She threw them open, and he took an involuntary step back as the heat from the gouts of flame blasted out, hitting his face like a furnace.

Standing silhouetted against the blinding orange and yellow light, with her head tilted tilted to the side, she observed the interior. Swallowing down his initial fear, Astarion walked over and stood beside her, noting the intense scrutiny she was giving the room.

After watching in silence for a few minutes, he figured out that the initial explosion was part of a sequence of events happening continuously. Bolts of flame were being fired from somewhere behind a row of pillars on either side of the sarcophagus, crisscrossing above it.

Every tenth pass they would pause as vents in the floor of the room spouted pools of greasy liquid. The firebolts would then resume and sparks falling from them ignited the grease, resulting in a spectacular explosion.

Astarion glanced at Ishta and saw her lips moving silently, realizing with some alarm that she was counting out the timing of the chain of events. His alarm grew as he saw her tense up into a crouch, her muscles coiled like springs.

"You're not seriously thinking of running into that, are you?" he uttered in disbelief.

The only reply he got came in the form of a low chuckle, before Ishta suddenly bolted forward. Astarion watched in wide-eyed amazement as she sprinted into the crypt room, her movements timed perfectly with the pause in the firebolts.

Just as they were about to resume, she reached one of the pillars and slammed her hand down on a button he hadn't noticed until now. Astarion exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as the flames halted, leaving the room eerily silent.

For a moment, Astarion dared to hope that the danger had passed. Ishta wasted no time, however. She moved to the sarcophagus and, with a grunt of effort, pushed the heavy lid off. The sound of stone scraping against stone echoed through the chamber.

Without a second's hesitation, she leaped into the tomb just as the firebolts resumed their deadly dance above her.

Astarion's mind raced. He had seen acts of bravery before, but this was sheer madness. His fingers twitched at his sides, wanting to help somehow, but he knew he would only get in the way.

He could only watch, feeling utterly powerless as Ishta remained hidden in the sarcophagus, the flames roaring above her as the grease ignited again. The heat was intense even from where Astarion stood. He couldn't imagine what it was like inside that stone coffin.

Time seemed to stretch, each second an eternity.

He saw her head peek out from her hiding place, eyes fixed on the button she had just pressed. The next time the firebolts paused, she moved with lightning speed, drawing her bow and firing an arrow with pinpoint accuracy at the button.

The trap halted once more, and Ishta leapt from the sarcophagus, the motion almost graceful in its precision. She sprinted back across the room, clutching something gleaming in her hand. Astarion's astonishment grew as he realized she was holding a golden spear, its surface glinting in the firelight.

She reached him just as the firebolts resumed, breathing heavily but with a triumphant glint in her eyes.

"Rule number two: Where there's traps, there's treasure," she panted breathlessly with elation, holding out the spear.

Astarion stared at her, dumfounded, his mouth hanging open slightly. "You're completely insane, aren't you?" he said slowly, struggling to keep the awe out of his voice. His mind raced, trying to comprehend the sheer audacity of her actions.

Ishta chuckled, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead and nodded. "Nutty as a fruitcake," she grinned wildly, her eyes gleaming with exhilaration and a touch of pride.

"I must say, that was an absolutely stunning display of bravery and foolhardiness," Gale remarked, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and disbelief.

"I agree, what exactly did you hope to achieve with that little stunt?" Shadowheart asked, her tone laced with annoyance.

Ishta shrugged and handed her the spear. "Thought you might like a new weapon. It's enchanted, I think," she said, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "Now, let's go see what delights await us in the next room."

https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/369105372-ishta-blood-huntress

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56114257

[ishtadawnstar]

Conscience

The cool night air enveloped Ishta like a soothing embrace, but it was only temporary. Her steps were unsteady and she felt as if she were walking on shifting sand. The night was quiet except for the distant sounds of Goblins preparing for battle and the crackling of the campfire.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead, but it returned almost instantly, stinging her eyes and making her feel like she was drowning in her own body.

And then she heard it - a wet, rattling cough that sent a shiver down her spine. Turning towards the treeline, she saw Astarion hunched over, his body wracked with convulsions. Even in the darkness, she could see dark stains of blood on his pale hands and spatters on the ground with each heave.

She froze for a moment, her heart clenching at the sight of him in such a state, before silently making her way over to him. When Astarion finally noticed her presence, his eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and fear that made her hesitate. He tried to straighten up, but the effort left him trembling, his usually poised form now shaky and unsteady.

"Leave... me the hells... alone!" he managed to rasp out, each word punctuated by another cough that racked his body.

Ignoring his words, Ishta took a step closer, her gaze never leaving his face. "Talk to me, Astarion," she urged softly, trying to keep her own unease at bay. "Let me help you."

Astarion's breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to hold himself upright. "I feel awful," he muttered, one hand pressed against his forehead as if trying to hold his skull together. "My head is pounding, my teeth are loose, and I can barely see straight."

The unfiltered honesty in his words hung heavy in the air. Ishta nodded slowly, her own throat tight with fear. "Me too," she whispered, barely audible.

Astarion's gaze held hers, filled with dread and desperation. "This is it, isn't it?" he said, voice trembling. "The beginning of the end."

Ishta watched Astarion's already pale face turn even whiter, his breath hitching and his body doubling over in another violent coughing fit. She could see the strain on his face, one hand clutching at his chest while the other gripped onto a nearby tree for support. Blood flecked his lips, the sight of it stark against his ashen skin. When the fit finally subsided, he looked up at Ishta with wide, pleading eyes.

In that moment, Ishta saw a raw vulnerability in him, a desperate need for her to have all the answers and make sense of the chaos unraveling within them. The weight of his unspoken plea settled heavily on her shoulders, and she found herself wishing she could give him the reassurance he sought.

Straightening as much as he could manage, Astarion asked the question that neither of them had an answer for: "What are we going to do?"

Ishta's shoulders slumped and she shook her head. She couldn't find the words to offer any reassurance because she had none to give. "I don't know," she admitted with a dry mouth, her resolve wavering. "I've faced many monsters before, but this... this is one I can't slay with a bow or sword."

A bitter laugh escaped Astarion's lips before it was cut short by another fit of coughing. He pressed a hand to his chest, wincing in pain as he struggled to catch his breath. "I won't lie...I'm almost ready to take Raphael up on his offer," he gasped, dark humor lacing his words. "The problem is... I have no idea how to contact him. How does one summon a devil exactly? Do I need candles? Entrails?" Despite his attempt at covering up his fear with angry sarcasm, his voice betrayed him with its shaking panic.

As if in response, a sudden coughing fit ripped through Ishta's body, sending her crashing to her knees. The world seemed to tilt dangerously as she struggled for breath, her vision swimming. When she brought her hand to her mouth, she felt warm and wetness on her fingers. Looking down, she saw the smear of blood on her palm, her stomach lurching at the sight.

Astarion's eyes widened in alarm, his anger dissipating as he rushed to her side. He knelt beside her, his hand hovering uncertainly before finally settling on her shoulder. "Ishta," he whispered softly, the edge in his voice replaced by genuine concern that was almost painful to hear.

She looked up at him with weary eyes, her breath coming in shallow and ragged bursts. "You are free to do what you want, Astarion," she said, her voice trembling with exhaustion and resignation. "But please, you promised to do something for me first."

Her hand fumbled at her belt, fingers grasping for the cold metal of her dagger. With a swift, practiced motion, she pulled it free, the blade glinting in the dim light like a sliver of ice. Astarion's eyes widened with understanding as he realized her intentions, instinctively pulling his hand back as if the sharp edge might bite him.

"I'd love to, darling, but my head is spinning," he said, his voice faltering as he struggled to maintain his usual facade. "I wouldn't know which of you three to stab. Find someone else to kill you."

"Please," Ishta whispered urgently, desperation clawing at her insides. "I don't have the strength to do it myself."

With trembling hands, she guided Astarion's fingers around the hilt of the dagger, positioning it over her chest. The sharp point pressed lightly against her skin, a cold contrast to the raging fever burning through her body. Their eyes met in a moment of shared understanding and pain. "One good thrust to the heart, remember?" Ishta reminded him, her voice barely audible.

Astarion's breath hitched, his grip on the dagger unsteady. His face twisted in anguish, the mask he always wore now fully shattered. "You can't be seriously asking me to do this," he choked out, his voice breaking, the words filled with a sorrow that cut deeper than any blade.

"Please," Ishta begged, her voice barely audible, her strength waning fast. "I don't want to become a monster again."

Astarion's entire body tensed, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as he tried to summon the will to do what she asked. His fingers tightened around the dagger's hilt, his knuckles turning white with the effort. He began to mutter under his breath, a desperate litany of words meant to convince himself. "It's easy, I've done this plenty of times. I can even do this in my sleep."

But as he stared at the shaking blade, his eyes flicked up to meet Ishta's with a look of confusion etched into his features. "Why can't I do this?" he asked, his voice filled with frustration and bewilderment.

Despite the direness of their situation, Ishta couldn't help but let out a soft groan that turned into a weak smile. "Of all the times for a Vampire to develop a conscience, you had to pick now."

Astarion's lips twitched slightly, a wry smile forming on his face as he, too, recognized the irony of their predicament.

For just a fleeting moment, their shared amusement was a glimmer of something almost like normalcy amidst the chaos. But before they could fully savor it, both of them suddenly clutched their heads, and a searing pain ripped through Ishta's skull.

It was blinding, overwhelming, and before either could react, they collapsed to the ground, darkness swallowing them whole in its merciless embrace as the dagger slipped from Astarion's grasp.

Mr Squidface Emperor, you have impeccable timing sir. That was a close one...

I really wish Larian had kept this EA interaction in the game.

[ishtadawnstar]

Kindred Spirits

As Ishta and Alfira caught up, Astarion's gaze wandered around the cave, taking note of the surroundings. His attention landed on a lone figure standing apart from the rest - Mol, the young leader of the Tiefling thieves. Her posture was guarded and tense, as if constantly on alert for danger. Astarion's curiosity was piqued, and he silently excused himself from the conversation with Ishta.

Mol didn't acknowledge his presence at first, seemingly lost in thought as she watched the others with a mix of disdain and protectiveness. But as Astarion approached her, he could hear her muttering under her breath. "Some dumb fairy tale is all we have left..."

Astarion leaned casually against a wooden post, his posture relaxed as he observed her with interest. His eyes caught sight of the bandage covering her left eye, and he couldn't help but wonder how she had received such an injury. The girl finally looked up at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Her gaze was sharp and assessing.

"You're a little old for story-time," she remarked, a hint of challenge in her voice. "Looking for a place to hide when the end comes?"

Astarion raised an eyebrow, his expression cool and unbothered. "You look a little old for this yourself."

Mol rolled her eye in exasperation, clearly used to hearing this kind of comment. "Take it up with Zevlor," she retorted, her frustration evident in her tone. "Apparently, I'm 'too young' to fight on the wall."

Astarion's attention drifted to the pair of small throwing knives tucked into Mol's belt, piquing his interest even further. "Are you any good with those knives?"

In response, Mol's hand moved with lightning speed, one of the knives leaving her grip and whizzing past Astarion's ear so quickly that he barely had time to react. The blade embedded itself in the wooden post behind him, pinning a moth in place with deadly precision.

Astarion blinked in surprise, momentarily stunned by her skill and quick reflexes. But he quickly regained his composure, his expression remaining neutral as he looked at the knife then back at Mol, who was watching him with a self-satisfied grin.

"A simple yes would have sufficed..." he commented dryly.

Mol's grin widened, her one good eye gleaming with pride. "Wouldn't have been as impressive though, would it?"

Astarion nodded appreciatively, recognizing a kindred spirit in Mol. He gestured towards Ishta, who was beginning to take notice of their exchange. "You remind me of someone else I know. Use those skills of yours to protect the kids in here," he advised, his tone serious. "If any goblins pop their heads through that hole, aim for the eyes."

Mol's smirk slowly faded, replaced by a glimmer of recognition in her eyes. "You're the one who rescued Mirkon, aren't you?"

Astarion brushed off the question with a careless shrug, his voice dripping with nonchalance. "I might have. It's hard to remember."

Mol's gaze narrowed and her tone became accusatory. "And you're also the one who stole from Mattis."

Astarion's smirk returned, sly and unapologetic as he leaned in closer, his voice now a cunning whisper. "Ah... yes. That does ring a bell."

Mol's eyes sparkled with a mixture of admiration and mischief as she retorted, "You should be ashamed of yourself, stealing from a kid like that."

Astarion scoffed lightly, flicking his hand dismissively. "He tried to swindle me while his accomplice attempted to pick my pocket. I have nothing to feel guilty about."

Mol glanced over at Ishta, who was making her way towards them with a curious and slightly suspicious expression on her face.

A crafty smile spread across Mol's lips as she tilted her head knowingly at Astarion. "Bet she wouldn't approve, though... she seems like the more upstanding type."

Astarion snorted derisively, though he could feel the weight of Ishta's gaze boring into him. "You would think so, but I'm not so sure anymore," he mused aloud before turning back to face Mol. "Alright, fine. Here." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch of coins, tossing it to Mol with a resigned sigh. "There's more in there than what I took from the lad. Consider it an investment. I may need your skills in Baldur's Gate."

Mol caught the pouch effortlessly, her eyes lighting up with surprise and delight. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper as Ishta finally joined them. "You're off the hook... for now."

Astarion gave her a mock bow, his smirk still playing on his lips as he replied, "It was a pleasure doing business with you."

Mol quickly vanished back into the shadows with practiced ease, leaving Astarion and Ishta alone. Ishta watched her go, then turned her gaze to Astarion, one eyebrow raised in question.

"What was all that about?"

Astarion waved a dismissive hand, his tone light and breezy under her scrutiny. "Just some Rogue business."

Ishta studied him for a moment longer, then nodded slowly as if accepting his answer, though she could tell there was more to the story than what he was letting on. "I see... Anyway, some of the children mentioned seeing Donni heading down into the lower grove. Halsin probably found him by now, so let's leave these kids to their storytelling."

As Ishta gazed sadly at the group of children, Astarion couldn't help but ask, "Do you think they will be safe down here?"

Ishta's expression hardened and her voice took on a fierce determination. "It's our job to make sure they are."

[ishtadawnstar]

Awkward...

As he turned another page in his book, Astarion's attention was drawn by heavy footsteps approaching the campfire. His eyes followed Lae'zel's determined stride as she made her way towards Ishta, who sat idly poking at the fire with a stick. A hint of firelight glinted in her eyes as she stared pensively into the flames.

A knowing smile played on Astarion's lips as he shifted slightly, angling himself for a better view without being too obvious. Lae'zel rarely sought out conversation, and when she did, it was always worth listening to.

"I have a confession," announced Lae'zel, her tone devoid of hesitation or emotion.

Ishta blinked in surprise, clearly caught off guard by Lae'zel's unexpected statement. "You do?" she asked, tilting her head inquisitively.

Astarion couldn't help but be intrigued. Lae'zel and confessions? This was going to be interesting - apparently the evening's entertainment wasn't over quite just yet. He settled into a more comfortable position, one hand resting against his cheek as he pretended to be engrossed in his book, all the while listening intently to their conversation.

Without hesitation, Lae'zel continued, her voice measured but with an underlying intensity. "I was too hasty to judge you," she admitted. "I thought you were witless, gutless, unimpressively bland."

Astarion nearly lost his composure right then and there. He could feel the laughter bubbling up inside him, but he bit down on his lip, forcing it back. If Lae'zel caught even the faintest hint of a laugh, she'd be on him in an instant, and Astarion had no desire to test her temper tonight.

Ishta's expression shifted from confusion to bemusement, clearly not expecting this turn of events. "Can I assume a compliment is coming?" she quipped with a light tone, though there was a hint of wariness in her eyes.

"I don't pay compliments. I only say what is true," Lae'zel replied without missing a beat.

Astarion's smirk deepened. Ishta had walked right into that one. He could see her mentally scrambling, trying to navigate the conversation that was clearly not going the way she expected.

"So what about now?" Ishta asked tentatively, her voice softer as she tried to gauge where this confession was heading.

Lae'zel squared her shoulders, her gaze unwavering as she spoke. "Now, you've earned my respect, and more still. You've proven your wits. You are efficient and dominant, in and out of battle. You've proven your courage. I swear, you would tear the horns off one dragon to plunge into another. And you're hardly bland. Your scent alone is enough to make my neck sweat and my hairs stand on end."

Astarion had to bite down on his knuckle to keep silent, while Ishta, completely oblivious to the underlying meaning, furrowed her brow, concern clearly etched on her face. She leaned back slightly, her fingers tightening around the stick she held as if it might somehow offer her some clarity.

"If you're having some kind of allergic reaction to being around elves," Ishta offered, her voice filled with genuine concern, "I might be able to mix a tonic for you. Crag Cat's sometimes have the same reaction to the scent of Dwarves."

That was too much. Astarion felt his chest starting to cramp up from the sheer effort of keeping his laughter contained. The utter cluelessness, the sheer earnestness of her offer - this was better than he could have imagined. Lae'zel, however, was not deterred.

"It is not a tonic that I desire," Lae'zel stated bluntly, taking a deliberate step closer to Ishta, her eyes fixed on her with an almost predatory focus. "I will be plain: I desire you. I want to taste you. Perhaps tonight. Perhaps later. But I want it all the same."

Astarion watched as Ishta's face went from concerned to completely flustered in a matter of seconds. The stick she had been holding slipped from her fingers, tumbling into the fire with a soft hiss, and her face turned an interesting shade of pink as she finally started to understand what Lae'zel was saying. Her gaze darted around the camp as if searching for an escape, and when her eyes landed on Astarion, he felt her mental shout slam into his mind with a force that was almost physical.

"Help! What do I say?!"

Astarion stared into Ishta's wide, panic filled eyes, his face now half-buried in the book to hide his grin.

"How in the hells should I know?" he responded, hoping the glee wasn't too apparent in his mental 'voice'.

"I think she wants to uh... sleep with me."

It was getting harder and harder to hold back. Astarion's eyes were watering now, his entire body trembling with the effort of stifling his laughter.

"Well done," he mentally applauded. "You've grasped the basics of the mysteries of Githyanki flirting. It would seem your little display of temper earlier has stoked her fires."

"But I don't see her in that way!" Ishta's mental voice was tinged with desperation.

"Then tell her that," Astarion suggested, his amusement clear even in his thoughts.

"I don't want to die..."

He rolled his eyes behind the cover of his book, though his grin was still firmly in place. "Then don't tell her that."

Ishta's mental sigh was almost tangible, thick with exasperation. "Oh, thanks a lot, Astarion."

"My pleasure," he replied with a smirk, enjoying the chaos of it all. "Now get out of my head."

Astarion couldn't help but revel in the irony of the situation. This bold and confident Ranger, who had just hours earlier cowed two seasoned warriors with the sheer force of her strength and fury, was now left completely flustered and at a loss for words by the Gith's straightforward proposition. He watched intently as Ishta took a deep breath, her body tense as if preparing for a battle far more daunting than any they had faced together.

As she began to speak, Astarion noticed her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. "Lae'zel, I am... very flattered," she started awkwardly, searching for her words. "But I, um... I don't really think of you in that way. At all. Sorry, but the answer is no."

Astarion observed Lae'zel's reaction with rapt attention. Though her expression remained stoic, there was a slight tightening of her jaw and a flicker of something behind her eyes - disappointment, perhaps? She then responded in a low and firm tone, "Your loss, I fear. One day soon, you will wonder how my lips might have tasted, how my fingers on your skin might have felt. And you will wish you could return to this lost moment."

With one last lingering look, Lae'zel turned sharply on her heel and strode away with her usual rigid posture, though Astarion could detect a faint tension in her movements.

Meanwhile, Ishta slumped in her seat, letting out a long, shaky breath as she ran a hand through her hair. It was clear that she was relieved to have survived the encounter. "Oh, I'm fairly certain I won't," she muttered to herself while rubbing her temple.

Astarion couldn't hold it in any longer. A small, involuntary snort of laughter escaped him, the sound cutting through the quiet night air. Ishta's head whipped around, her eyes narrowing as she shot him a glare that could have melted steel.

Astarion quickly raised the book to cover his face, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter as he tried to stifle the giggles that were now threatening to escape. He peeked over the edge of the book, meeting Ishta's exasperated gaze with a look of pure, unrepentant amusement.

"Well, darling," he murmured, his voice barely audible, "this has been the most delightful evening."

Ishta scowled and picked up another stick, stabbing it into the fire with jerky movements as if taking out her embarrassed frustration on the embers. Her voice dripped with biting sarcasm as she stared moodily into the flames. "So glad I could provide you with entertainment."

Astarion lowered the book to his chest and leaned back languidly on the pile of cushions behind him. Resting both hands behind his head, he smirked at Ishta and drawled, "Indeed. I have to say that was one of the most entertaining things I have witnessed in quite some time."

In response, Ishta simply raised one hand and flipped him the middle finger.

I love writing the dynamic between these two...

I think I'm basing their relationship on a mixture of Daniel and Vala from SG1 and Booth and Brennan from Bones. The frienemies part is definitely Spike and Angel though...

[ishtadawnstar]

Hunter or Prey...

A thick, suffocating scent filled the air - a mixture of burning incense, blood, and dark energy. Ishta's eyes scanned the small chamber they had entered, taking in every detail with precision. At the center stood a large desk cluttered with maps and scrolls, guarded by a Drow woman who towered over a cowering Goblin. The disdain etched on her face was clear as she scolded the trembling creature before it quickly scurried away at her command.

As Minthara's gaze fell upon Ishta and her companions, an oppressive silence descended upon the room. Ishta could feel the weight her stare as it locked onto them, studying them with a calculating gaze.

Ishta's eyes took in every detail of the figure standing before her. The Drow woman was a striking vision of dark elegance and lethal grace. Her skin, a pale shade of ashen grey, seemed almost luminous in the dim light of the chamber, contrasting sharply with the stark white hair that was pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. This hairstyle accentuated the sharp angles of her face, giving her an air of cold authority.

She was clad in intricately designed armor that hugged her slender form like a second skin. The armor was a complex weave of grey leather and what looked like darkened, gold-metallic plates, each piece molded to fit her body with precision. The design was both beautiful and fearsome, with overlapping sections that resembled the scales of some ancient, mythical beast, each piece catching the flickering light in a dull, almost ominous gleam.

Her posture exuded absolute control - shoulders back, chin slightly raised - as if she were a queen surveying her domain. The armor's sculpted pauldrons flared slightly at her shoulders, adding to her imposing presence. But it was her eyes that truly captured Ishta's attention. A vivid crimson hue burned within them, radiating a cold and calculating intelligence that seemed to see through all pretenses.

But beneath the arrogance and power, Ishta sensed a deadly focus - the mark of a seasoned warrior who had survived countless battles. Failure was not an option for this woman, and she was not one to be swayed by words or flattery easily.

Minthara's icy gaze bore into Ishta, her voice laced with disdain and sharp as a blade. "I do not entertain interruptions from underlings."

As she turned to face them fully, an unnerving chill crept into Ishta's mind, like a cold hand caressing her thoughts.

The chamber around them seemed to melt away, replaced by a dark, void of endless nothingness. Within this void, a vision unfolded before Ishta's eyes - Minthara listening intently as a pale-eyed young woman whispered in her ear. The woman's presence was eerie yet familiar, connected to the ominous voice that had assaulted Ishta's mind earlier - one of the Chosen. And just as quickly as it came, the vision dissipated, leaving Ishta standing once again in the dimly lit chamber with the Drow's imposing figure still looming over her.

A faint incredulous smile curled on Minthara's lips as the vision faded. "A True Soul in such a grotesque form? The Absolute has a place in Her heart even for darthiir." Her tone dripped with condescension, crimson eyes narrowing as she assessed Ishta.

The tension in the room shifted, Ishta's companions standing behind her in silence. Without hesitation, she responded in smooth and deliberate Drowic, slipping easily into the language's flowing cadence. "Lil' vlos d'lil silinrul mizil'ra naut, er'griff lil' z'ress d'lil skikudis il mire." (The blood of the hunter matters not, only the dominance of the steel she holds.)

Minthara raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, a glimmer of approval flickering in her cold eyes. "Well said. Your pronunciation is surprisingly good."

Ishta met her gaze without fear. "A friend taught me," she replied calmly. "Though in truth, my blood holds as much Ilythiiri as it does Ar-tel-quessir."

Minthara's expression shifted, the approval vanishing as her lips twisted into a sneer. She took a step closer, moving with fluid grace like a predator closing in on its prey. "An impure mongrel," she spat, her voice dripping with disdain. "I am not sure which is worse."

"I am the most impure of all mongrels," Ishta declared proudly, her heart pounding in her chest. "I am Xindite."

Gale and Wyll stiffened beside her, their silence heavy with unspoken questions. This was the first time Ishta had openly admitted her heritage to them. She could sense their curiosity and surprise, but now was not the time to dwell on it.

For the first time, Minthara's eyes widened slightly, a spark of genuine interest igniting in those crimson depths. She uncrossed her arms and studied Ishta anew. "Xindite?" The word slipped from her lips like a serpent's hiss. "A child of the Red Wars. I did not expect to find one such as you among the ranks of the Absolute."

She stepped back, a small smile of contemplation tugging at the corners of her mouth. "This may yet prove to be a blessing in disguise. Perhaps your skills can make up for the impurities in your blood... numerous though they may be."

Ishta noted the shift in Minthara's tone, the subtle calculation behind her words. The Drow was intrigued, and that intrigue might be their only leverage. Minthara's gaze moved over her once more, lingering just long enough to let Ishta know she was being weighed and judged - perhaps found useful.

Minthara turned slightly, sweeping her hand over the maps and scrolls cluttering her desk. "As you can see," she said, regaining her cold authority, "I am surrounded by imbeciles and spineless worms." Her lip curled in disgust as she glanced at the door where the Goblin had fled. "In sufficient numbers, Goblins can be an effective force - expendable and willing. But they lack the intelligence to lead this hunt with me. Do you?" She fixed Ishta with a challenging stare, waiting for her response.

Ishta allowed a small smile to play on her lips, calculating and controlled. She shifted her weight slightly, appearing more at ease as if the tension between them had dissipated. "I always relish a new hunt," she said, her voice barely concealing a hint of excitement. "However, I am already on one of my own. I'm searching for a Druid named Halsin."

Minthara's interest sharpened, her narrowed eyes studying Ishta's face for any signs of deceit. She leaned back against the desk, crossing her arms once again. "Interesting. What do you know of this Druid?"

Ishta met her gaze head-on, keeping her voice steady as she lied through gritted teeth. "I have orders to capture him."

A slow, predatory smile spread across Minthara's features. She pushed off from the desk and took a step closer to Ishta, her presence suddenly more intense and menacing. "If you were sent here to hunt him, perhaps you can help me. The Druid resides in a nearby sanctuary where his followers worship a false god. I intend to find it and destroy it." Her tone was final and cold, as if the destruction of the sanctuary was inevitable. "We have captured a human who knows its exact location. He's proven to be resilient, but he will talk..."

Ishta gave a confident smile, her tone laced with a dark promise. "I can be very persuasive," she purred, her eyes glinting with determination. "I will interrogate the prisoner."

Minthara's expression flickered with satisfaction. She took a step back, but her intense gaze never left Ishta's face. "Excellent," she said, the sound akin to a low growl. "Just make sure not to kill him before he reveals what we need."

"As you wish," Ishta replied, her tone calm and obedient, even as her mind raced with the implications of their exchange.

Minthara's gaze lingered on her for a few more moments, as if trying to unravel the thoughts hidden behind Ishta's calm exterior.

Then, with a dismissive wave of her hand, she turned back to her desk, signaling the end of their conversation.

Ishta let out a soft sigh of relief as she turned to leave. Gale and Wyll fell into step beside her, their expressions betraying both curiosity and concern. She could feel their eyes on her, unspoken questions hanging in the air between them, but now was not the time to address them.

They had managed to secure Minthara's temporary trust, but they were still deep in enemy territory. Every step they took was a precarious dance along the thin line between deception and discovery. And Ishta knew all too well how quickly the tables could turn - when the hunter became the hunted in an instant.

—¤—

The oppressive gloom of the Worg pens Ishta had just left clung to her, like ticks on a deer, as she navigated the Selunite temple's winding corridors. The stench of sweat, blood, and mildew still lingered, a grim reminder of the battle they had fought not long ago. The cold, damp walls seemed to press in around her, but Ishta's thoughts were focused on the task ahead. Still, traces of amusement flickered across her mind as she recalled the events from earlier.

She couldn't help but smile as she recalled Astarion's look of utter embarrassment when he had mistakenly assumed she and Halsin were lovers - the moment had been priceless. It had been a fleeting moment of vulnerability from someone who typically wore confidence like a second skin.

Ishta had tried to explain, patiently at first, that her relationship with Halsin was nothing more than the bond of adventuring partners, forged over a year of traveling together, facing danger side by side. But despite her reassurances, Astarion had retreated, sulking in a corner, his insecurity as evident as the scowl that marred his usually smirking features. Her fit of laughter probably hadn't done much to soothe his bruised ego either...

But there had been more pressing matters. The group had debated their next move, with Lae'zel suggesting they lure the Goblins to the grove. Ishta had agreed - it was too risky to fight the horde in this rabbit warren of a temple where they held the advantage. It had taken all of her determined logic to convince Halsin of this, who had been torn between his protective instincts and the necessity of their plan.

In the end, Halsin had agreed, though reluctantly. He had promised that he could reach the grove by sundown if he wildshaped into a falcon to make the journey quickly. Before leaving, he had given Ishta a parting embrace, his strength a brief comfort, before transforming into a rat and disappearing into the shadows.

Another boon to Ishta's plan had come from Gale, who informed her that he had placed teleportation sigils along their route to the temple, ensuring their return would be that much swifter. The thought of not having to travel through the swamp had bolstered everyone's mood, even Astarion's.

The Goblins, however, would take days to march to the grove, giving them time to prepare defenses.

Now, as Ishta made her way to speak with Minthara, she felt the weight of what she was about to do. Convincing the Drow leader to fall into their trap would be no easy task. Minthara was cunning, and one wrong word could unravel everything.

Ishta boldly pushed open the heavy, oak doors leading into Minthara's chamber, their ancient hinges creaking in protest, the groans swallowed by the oppressive silence of the room beyond. She entered with measured steps, her expression composed yet her mind a flurry of calculated thoughts. It was time to set the final part of their plan in motion.

Ishta walked across the chamber with purpose, her boots echoing softly against the stone floor. She paused a few paces away from Minthara, just outside the reach of the other woman's weapon. The silence between them was heavy, punctuated only by the distant sound of Goblins squabbling somewhere down the corridor.

Minthara broke the silence first, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. "Report. And make it quick - organizing these creatures tests my patience."

Ishta inclined her head slightly, her expression remaining composed despite the tense atmosphere. She took a step closer, careful to keep her movements smooth and unhurried. "These Goblins are even more hopeless than I thought," she began, her voice cutting through the silence with a sharp, clear note of derision. "Not only did they kill the prisoner, but they were too stupid to realize they had a Druid from the grove right under their noses."

The words struck Minthara like a slap, causing her head to snap up and her eyes to narrow into slits. She straightened to full height, her attention now fully on Ishta. The grip on her sword tightened, the leather of her gauntlets creaking under the pressure. "What?!" she demanded, her voice rising with barely contained anger. "Explain yourself."

Ishta held Minthara's fierce gaze without flinching, her own eyes steady and unwavering. She subtly shifted her weight, silently preparing for any potential violence that may erupt. "The bear in the Worg pens," she explained calmly, savoring the tension in the room before continuing. "Turns out he was the grove's First Druid himself. He tore up the place and started slaughtering all the guards. Seeing an opportunity, I decided to help him escape."

Minthara's jaw clenched, her breathing becoming more deliberate as she processed the information. "You did... what?" Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper as moved out from behind the table and took a step forward, closing the gap between them until their faces were mere inches apart. "I trust you had a very good reason. Though I cannot fathom what possible excuse you might have for committing treason against the Absolute."

Ishta could feel the heat of Minthara's breath, but she remained composed, her heart steady despite the perilous line she walked. She had anticipated this reaction, counted on it, even. The trick was to control it, to mold Minthara's anger into something she could use.

Ishta lifted her chin slightly, her piercing gaze never wavering from Minthara's face. "Sometimes, if you want to find a hive full of honey, you need to follow a bee," she stated calmly, her voice like ice water in contrast to the tense atmosphere between them. With a cunning gleam in her eye, Ishta continued, "While the grateful fool was busy thanking me, I managed to attach a charm onto his clothing. My Raven familiar is attuned to this charm and will lead us straight to the grove." Her words hung in the air, dripping with smug satisfaction.

Minthara's anger simmered just below the surface, but she held back from lashing out. Instead, she carefully studied Ishta's face, searching for any trace of deceit. Her grip on her sword loosened slightly and her posture relaxed ever so slightly as she considered Ishta's words.

After what felt like an eternity of tense silence, Minthara gave a curt nod of approval, although the tension still radiated from her body. "For your sake, I hope you are right," she grudgingly admitted, her sharp gaze still lingering on Ishta for a moment longer. "You have shown great cunning, Xindite. Perhaps there truly is more Ilythiiri blood in you than I first thought." She paused before continuing with a hint of begrudging respect in her tone. "I would ask you to use that cunning once more."

As Minthara paced a few steps, her boots scuffing against the uneven stones beneath them, she outlined her plan. Ishta would travel ahead of the warband and approach the grove under the guise of a friend. Once inside, she would open the gates for Minthara's raiding party to strike at the opportune moment.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Ishta's lips as she nodded in understanding and acknowledgement. She had played her hand well, and Minthara's grudging approval was proof enough. "As you command, My Lady," she replied respectfully, with a hint of triumph that she didn't bother to hide.

As Ishta turned to leave, she could feel Minthara's calculating gaze following her every move. It reminded her that the fragile trust she had just earned could easily be shattered. Steeling herself, Ishta reached for the door and paused, taking a moment to compose herself before stepping out into the dimly lit corridor. The heavy door creaked shut behind her, sealing both the chamber and Minthara within its confines.

In the coolness of the corridor, Ishta let out a slow exhale and leaned against the stone wall for support. The game was far from over and the stakes were high. But for now, Ishta had played her part well and that would have to suffice.

It's a dangerous game to try and outwit a Drow...

Xindites are a race I created for my fanfic. In simple terms, they are an Elven eugenics experiment. Ishta has the blood of nearly every Elven race in Faerûn running through her veins. The true nature of the experiment will be revealed later on.... it's quite a grim tale.

[ishtadawnstar]

Vamp Pranks

As the warm, coppery liquid flowed down his throat, Astarion's senses heightened. He savored the taste of blood and the rush it brought him, but was abruptly pulled back to reality as he sensed a presence behind him. He quickly raised his head and spun around to face a very startled Karlach, who gasped in shock.

"Holy shit! You're a Vampire!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise.

Astarion nonchalantly wiped the blood from his mouth with a flick of his wrist, his expression daring as he raised an eyebrow. "Yes, and?"

Karlach shrugged casually, trying to play off her initial shock. "Nothing, it's all good. Just surprised me, that's all...though the pale skin and red eyes should have clued me in, I guess," she added, tilting her head as she studied him with curious fascination.

A smirk tugged at Astarion's lips as he responded with an offended huff. "Rude. For all you know, I could have been born looking like this."

"Oh gods...yeah, sorry, I didn't think..." Karlach quickly started to apologize, her face flushing with embarrassment. But then she tilted her head and gave him a lopsided grin. "Yeah, but you weren't. So don't try to make me feel guilty. But seriously, how can you be out in sunlight? Is the parasite responsible for that?"

"That's my theory, yes," Astarion confirmed with a nod, his expression softening as Ishta appeared from around the corner.

Karlach hesitantly glanced at Ishta before leaning in closer to Astarion and whispering conspiratorially, "Does she know? That you're a...you know."

Before Astarion could respond, Ishta's voice cut through their conversation with curiosity. "That he's a what?" she asked as she approached them while meticulously cleaning her scimitars with a cloth.

The setup couldn't have been more perfect.

A mischievous glint flashed in Astarion's eyes as he turned to face Ishta, hiding his amusement from Karlach. He sighed dramatically and spoke with an air of guilt and solemnity, "Oh dear, I was hoping to delay this conversation a bit longer. But there's something about me that I feel I ought to tell you."

Ishta caught on quickly, tilting her head and folding her arms in front of her with a concerned expression. "Oh yes? And what might that be?"

Beside him, Karlach fidgeted nervously as she watched the interaction. She let out a worried murmur of "Uh oh..." and Astarion struggled to maintain his composure, trying not to break into a smile.

"It's nothing big or terrible," Astarion began with feigned unease, his voice trembling for added effect. "Just a small little detail about me that hasn't come up naturally...I happen to be a - what's the best way to put this?" he paused dramatically, glancing at Karlach before continuing, "a Vampire."

He added in an nervous giggle for extra impact and couldn't resist sneaking a glance at Karlach from the corner of his eye. The Tiefling was staring wide-eyed at Ishta, anxiously waiting for her response as if bracing for a fight or flight situation.

And the Ranger did not disappoint.

With a gasp that could startle nearby birds, Ishta stepped back in shock, her hand placed dramatically over her heart. "By the Nine Hells! How could you keep such a despicable secret from me, after all we've been through together?!"

Astarion held his hands up in a pleading gesture, looking at Ishta with mock sincerity shining in his eyes as he implored, "Come now, my dear. Things haven't really changed - I'm still the same sweet, lovable rogue. My smile is just a little...sharper."

Ishta recoiled in horror, stumbling backwards with an expression of terror on her face. Astarion couldn't help but stifle a laugh at the exaggerated performance.

"Karlach, quick! Find me a stake!" Ishta cried out in panic, diving behind an overturned cart for cover. "And slather yourself in garlic!" she added desperately, peeking out from her hiding spot with wide eyes.

Astarion wrinkled his nose in disgust at the thought of being covered in the pungent herb. "I highly doubt it would stay on her... but I suppose the smell of burnt garlic is just as effective," he mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

Karlach watched them with wide-eyed confusion, her suspicion growing by the second as she started to put the pieces together. "Hold on a minute..." she trailed off, realization dawning on her.

"Stay back, fiend! I have Shadowheart's canteen and I'm not afraid to use it!" Ishta's laughter echoed through the air as her facade crumbled.

"Ha! Water blessed by Shar would probably make a Vampire stronger," Astarion scoffed.

Amused and slightly relieved, Karlach chuckled and shook her head, folding her arms across her chest. "All right now, you two. Joke's over." She turned to Astarion with an appreciative nod. "You got me good."

Still laughing, Ishta emerged from behind the cart and stood beside Astarion, looking up at the Teifling with bright eyes full of mirth.

Karlach regarded the two of them with a similar twinkle in her eye and grinned widely, showing off her teeth. "You know what? I think I'm going to enjoy traveling with you. I have the feeling we're gonna be good friends."

Ishta's smile widened and she nodded firmly in agreement. "I believe you're right."

And so begin the shenanigans...

[ishtadawnstar]

Frenemies

Ishta and Astarions relationship in the beginning is very much like a sibling rivalry. They are equally as stubborn and mischievous and push each others buttons with glee.

I am writing their story as a slow burn that focuses on building the foundations of a deep, trusting friendship. Despite the mutual attraction, Ishta has too much baggage in her past to simply hop into bed with Astarion at the first opportunity. (So party night will not go the way Astarion was expecting)

They will eventually end up together, but not until the start of Act 3, by which point everyone else in the group can already clearly see these two are head over heels.... except them. (Halsin and Karlach make a bet which one will break first and confess their feelings)

If you want to read their journey so far click on the links below. (Wattpad has lots of nice screenshots to accompany the narrative.)