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"And I the beautiful aristocrat roughing it with the local pauper." |
"How naughty," they replied flatly. "I think I prefer mad circus lover." |
"My...mad circus lover," Astarion impressed, asking for a kiss with a thought, receiving it with a press of grinning teeth. |
Quinntav was acting strangely. |
Astarion understood that a great deal of their group dynamic relied on the heavy emphasis of being comfortable with the abnormal. Why, just the week before the amethyst darling had shared some face paint with the class and...perhaps through some... alcohol influenced decision making, everyone partook. Astarion included... |
Of course, that was when a group of cultists decided to hop out of the bushes to attack them. On one side, you have a bunch of brainwashed, Absolute praising fools in ceremonial garb. And. On the other. You have their group, painted up like clowns and toppling over each other trying not to die. |
A normal night, as it were. |
And admittedly he was...in love with someone who had spent a majority of their known life in the circus. Things happened. Sometimes those things were being smitten over someone who regularly burst out into song and set their other Tiefling compatriot to dance. It wasn't what the vampire would ever call a mistake, that ... |
The newest oddity didn't mean anything terrible, per se. |
Actually, after the mess with the Ring of Soothe, which they had found and promptly destroyed, there hadn't been any talk of subduing their urges in any way that threatened to lobotomize them. As a result of that headache and the discussion held during, Quinntav had become more unrestrained with their affections. Befor... |
This meant an excessive amount of temple kisses, hand holding, and late night cuddling. But it also served as a stark reminder that Quinn was a very flexible, circus performer. |
One small example. The amount of times alone they would drop in front of his chair, shove their head under whatever book he would be reading, and insist on caging in his legs, and the chair's, with their own had occurred quite frequently. Astarion learned to be prepared to lift his reading material out of the way and d... |
A more extreme example? |
Plunging themself off a cliff, using every tree limb, and aerial root on the way down to make a three point landing and snatching Astarion directly from his view point on the forest floor. |
Perhaps that was less of an example of their flexibility and more to due with their outright insanity. |
Astarion could wax lyrical about their mad lover for days, and they were certainly taking advantage of his invitation. |
The very day that their nerves seemed to scatter Astarion had spent the better half of three hours half wrapped in their embrace, his lap as a pillow as they finished their rest and he the latest novel they had been chattering about for days. They insisted on wrapping a tail around his leg as they used a mirror to fres... |
"Quinntav!" The tent door was pinned back, letting everyone know they weren't likely not to be receiving visitors, and the Wizard made himself comfortable sweeping in. "Oh, how domestic. Quinn, a word?" |
"I," it was obvious he wanted the Tiefling alone, but Quinntav looked to Astarion first. |
The vampire preened inwardly, but waved a hand. "I'm not interested in discussing the societal structures of Displacer Beasts, or whatever he's on about, thank you." |
"I'll tell you anyway," Quinn grinned, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. They left after, following the Wizard and chattering almost immediately. Astarion had a clear view but he stopped paying attention for a few minutes. Actual minutes passed, and when he leaves the tent at last he sees that the two are in front of... |
Astarion busies himself, packing things from the tent, knowing they'll be leaving soon enough. When he glances over again, just on a lark, Quinn is looking at a small box in his hand, and Gale's expression is sweet. Radiating. Proud. A tiny, not even palm shaped box, with very distinct, rounded corners. |
Quinn jogs back over just as he's placed their chair in a bag of holding, and they immediately take his hand. |
"Always, dear, what is it?" Casual, secretly burning with curiosity. "Does it have anything to do with the proposal I believe I just witnessed?" |
Their eyes widened considerably, the vampire feels his sarcastic humor wane, and Wyll shouts that Kobolds are attacking the fucking camp. |
It takes an irritatingly long time to dispatch them all. Not dispatch them, but reason with them. As apparently the little bastards had confused them for a group of bandits that had recently routed their hunting camp, and they were out for revenge. Quinntav, being Quinntav and thus having a fondness for strange creatur... |
The Kobolds stayed with the group, for whatever reason. |
They found the bandits because the bandits were idiots who attempted to ambush what looked like a small army of refugees. |
Wyll saved the daughter of the Kobolds from certain doom and secured a marriage purposal of his own. |
And so it went. For two days. Things. Simply. Kept. Happening. The bandits" friends returned for revenge. The Kobolds chased them away when Wyll turned down the daughter. Lae'zel challenged their first to a duel in his name, Karlach was imprisoned for accidentally making a child cry and refused to break out because she... |
And then Quinntav was knocked clean out by the flung boomerang of an overexcited Kobold Chieftain and their conversation simply had to wait. |
This was normal. Everything about this was normal. Just as normal as Astarion simply plucking the box from their coat as they lay recovering in his lap that night. |
Two days and they had been flitting glances to him. Two days the vampire felt their excitement, their anxiety, their frustration. Something important was on their mind that they refused to put into words until they were alone. And. So. He took the initiative. |
The box was remarkably unscuffed, despite Quinn having rolled down a hill side, been caught on fire, and, yes, being accidentally bludgeoned. Astarion recognized the design at once, and as he opened it up he saw within exactly that...a ring. A golden ring, inscribed with a sigil of sorts that resembled a setting sun. A... |
He... vaguely recognized the sun. It was something used in the Sunlight Spell, when inscribed. The water drop suggested...well, no, this wasn't necessarily enchanted, but it was certainly no mere bobble. |
To react so...what had Gale done for them? Their local Wizard-? |
The ring! It was the Ring of Protection they had begun testing for all those weeks ago, at Last Light Inn. Yet still. Why the reaction? |
And they had wanted to speak to Astarion immediately-. |
He removed the ring from the box and slipped it on. A perfect fit. |
Quinn heard sobbing. It was always a distinct noise, broken and wet, sending alarms ringing across their throbbing head. They were lying down, the dim memory of collapsing coming back to them and being pushed aside, a wave of thick pain so intense follows it, so intense it threatens to drag them under again. They clinc... |
They inhale, the scent of him in their nose, on their tongue, belatedly knowing that in grabbing his shoulder the way they can, both arms bending up to press into his back, that they’re staining his shirt. |
He’s crying, and it fills them with such fear they can’t form the question to ask why. |
"Where were you?" What? "Where were you a hundred years ago? Fifty years ago? Twenty?" Where were they? "Why didn’t I take you then? Why didn’t I take you for myself?" |
Their connection is always open to be used, and the memory Astarion sends into them kicks down the door. It shunts them into a different space entirely. Until there they stand. Surrounded by the limelight. |
Cheers. Cries. Riotous applause. Quinn is trembling with exhilaration, with anticipation, with nerves. They have to focus, and it helps hard it is to see everyone in the stands. They encircle the sphere of the stage, the heart of the tent, as shadowy figures existing always beyond the light. They can stumble, falter, t... |
"Quinn!" They don’t turn their head, but Medrash is in the upper strut, the Dragonborn signaling them to descend. Below, the round dais Luretious had left for them, surround in the remnants of her skeletal army, was framed by the next to final act: Zethino whipping tendrils of flowering vines around the entire tent, at... |
Quinn dropped from their tight rope, hidden among the darkness, spiraling down through the upturned just of petals. They dropped neatly in the center of the dais, cushioned by a well time Feather Fall from Glingo. Their crouch down left them in shadow, the wide set of their tasseled hood, the length of their sleeves wh... |
Medrash’s talons cracked against the strings of his lyre, amplified with Ghost Sound, and Quinn jumped up, the twin blades hidden in their cloak whirling around them in both hands, seeming to tatter the cloak into stripes, and revealing the color under neath. Deep blue dotted with half moon disks of glinting cyan, a sa... |
Lucretious’ army sprung from their sleep, jumping from the shadows, forming into skeletal demons that sought to rend and cut and devour. Quinn apologized inwardly as they dashed and kicked their way through one after the other, being sure to spin on their heels, flair out their coat, and laugh with abandon whenever it ... |
When at last the act reached it’s crescendo, Quinn bull rushing with their blades whipping forward, one and the other, and back, in a graceful arc, their last opponent exploded into bone dust. The crowd went mad, Quinn remained composed, standing straight, shunting their blades back into the sheaths at their hips, and ... |
Looking into the mob, into the shouting masses, into the mid center where the entry way stretched out away from the stage. Seeing a figure there, eyes glinting- |
Red. Crimson spheres against the backdrop of a fog cloud of blood red steam. Those were the eyes of the performer before him, that star of the show, bursting with life. Astarion’s vantage point was interrupted as the other performers ascended the stage, the troupe bowing in a single line, and the vampire used the surge... |
He had the Tiefling’s schedule memorized. |
The acrobat would leave the stage with the others through a path in the back, and weave their way through the flower hidden walkways to their tent. They would slip into this small space, one among three wagons, and then leave, making their way through the graveyard. Astarion would be near, waiting, and so it was, the v... |
Only once had the Tiefling seemed to have spotted him, on that first night of the three, when Astarion followed them to the lower parts of the city. Since then the Tiefling never turned up a chin again, instead humming the entire way as they took a stroll within the dark. |
The vampire was certain he was looking for something, but Astarion could only guess what. He was an in between, a guest to gate for as long as the circus was in town. And Cazador’s promised target. |
The Circus of the Last Days had appeared in Baldur’s Gate, and it order to win some pathetic amount of time away from the bunk house, Astarion had promised his Lord the leading act: a sword juggling, bright eyed wonder with a face that could steal the hearts of hundreds in a single night. |
Astarion was certain that Cazador would take one look at the Tiefling in his banquet hall and choose to make him a spawn. The Tiefling was too beautiful, too quick, too deadly with a sword, and Astarion could recognize, by then, the difference between a living blade and a mere act. |
Thus the vampire followed him, night after night. Every night, into the bowels of the city. Every night to the same, mulch and wet speckled ally. Every night to a pure white cat that he, the Tiefling, had named Catlamity. |
"Come, love, come," he would whisper, crouching down with a hand extended, an olive branch of kindness. |
The cat would appear, meowing pitifully, a gleaming white despite it’s lanky frame. It’s neglected angles. |
"Eyes on me, eyes on me," the Tiefling would feed the creature with something from their hip, would run their fingers through that mane, would remain for awhile until the cat slunk off into the dark. |
This last time, Astarion smells the blood before the Tiefling enters the ally. |
Laughing, drunken fools, standing over the stray. The stray, meowing pitifully, all the way through the performer’s break in composure. Astarion fails to feel pleased by his assessment. Because then the Tielfing is crouched with the corpse pressed to his face, weeping apologies to the once-thing. |
Apologies, as if it were his fault it was there to begin with Apologies, as if he had sent those bastards out to kill it to begin with. Apologies, as if it could have ended any other way. |
And Astarion hesitates. |
He follows them back up the winding ways to the Circus, the Tiefling clutching the body in his arms, singing something soft and low while blood cools on their cheeks. Dries, and cakes. |
He hesitates as the Tiefling enters the grounds. And he does not follow. |
He doesn’t know why. |
Doesn’t know when Cazador shoves him pleading into a stone coffin to wait out the year in solitude for his failure. Doesn’t know a fucking thing as he scratches, starves, heals, and screams in endless repetition. He doesn’t know why he thinks of this one one person, inhaling growing rot, breathing muddied blood, pushin... |
Quinntav remembers. Two years ago. Their last return to the gate. The cat they had carried to Lucretious. And the figure in the dark. |
By then Astarion’s tears have dried. He sits slumped against the frame of the tent, deep marks below his eyes, a hollowness there that would take a very, very long time to smooth itself away. Quinn’s head is still in his lap, and his hands are on their chest, and one bears the ring. |
"The first night. Someone was following me." |
Eyes on me. Eyes on me. The cat wary of the person in the shadows, Quinntav amused by their apparent game. Then nothing. Quinn let it slip from their memory for years, tucking it into a portfolio of strange occurrences, and over shadowed by the grief they had faced that night. |
"Why did you never tell me?" |
"I..had a difficult time excepting that you were the same person. That I witnessed you that first time was folly. A second? Fairy tale. But you haven’t changed. Still caring for strays." |
They reached for the hand with the ring, holding it and his palm close. "I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure. You told me once that you would have to get used to living in the dark again and I," they swallowed, trying to hold back their emotion for his sake, and taking his face in their free hand. "I do not thin... |
"Quinntav." His voice broke. "You would give me back the sun?" |
"You are to me the sun, Astarion," Quinn could barely speak, and Astarion felt it then, the tight reigns strapping down and gritting into their fear, their mourning, their sadness. They did not feel these emotions to be adequate, to be remotely comparable, but that they, were, there. "I can’t risk killing you. I will n... |
"Oh. Oh you sweet-." He reached to bury his face in their neck, to hold them, and Quinntav was there, reaching around his chest, pressing him closer, closer, never close enough. |
The Shattered Sanctum was an awful place to walk through, reeking of goblin debauchery. The search for this supposed "Halsin" was starting to turn fruitless, but Dmitri held out hope. Wild Shape lasts a long time, right? Shadowheart, Gale, and Astarion followed behind, surveying the desecrated temple. Shadowheart will ... |
His eyes light up in recognition, "Ah! You’re here to help with the prisoner?" He asks. Dmitri recalls seeing a man in the next room over, beaten bloody, and half-conscious. |
Shit, I have to make a distraction so he can escape |
, Dmitri thinks to himself. He decides to play dumb, "What do you mean?" He asks, hoping his tone is convincing enough. The man smiles, "I was invited to teach them some of my...techniques. I live for pain and its intricacies, you see." He sighs, his brief glint of joy now dulled by reality, "But alas, these goblins se... |
form of worship." He gives a small bow as he says this, affirming the statement. Dmitri is silent, waiting for an elaboration. |
"You see, pain is a |
thing. But, trying to explain it to these goblins has proven..." He trails off, catching Dmitri’s eyes for the first time since they met. His eyes are an icy blue, almost completely white. A stark contrast to Dmitri’s blue and purple eyes, two-toned and shrouded in darkness. "Forgive me, but that look in your eyes - so... |
Dmitri wishes he could say he’s not in pain, but that would make him a liar. He spent a century living in Menzoberranzan, under constant threat of betrayal and backstabbing. It was commonly joked about, "There’s never a familiar hand on your back, it’s a dagger waiting to be unsheathed." He was happier once he reached ... |
It scratches a depraved part of his brain in a way nothing else does. |
"And how would you do that?" He found himself asking before his mind could stop him. The man smiles, "As the Maiden of Pain, the goddess Loviatar, teaches us through penance administered by my skilled hand. My work can grant peace and serenity - the likes of which few experience. It will be worth it - I promise." Befor... |
..." Astarion adds, "I must see this, don’t you |
say no~" Dmitri weighs the options, noticing Gale remains silent in all of this. "Alright, on one condition," Dmitri says. The man’s eyes light up once more, "And the condition is?" Dmitri gets much closer to him, towering over him with a sadistic glint in his eye. "I get to serve a penance in return, |
." Letting his native tongue slip for the pet name at the end. "Oh, what gracious generosity is shown to me. I agree to your condition, Dear One." He backs up to grab his weapon, and says, "I have something |
in mind. Both Loviatar and I are interested in how you handle pain, Dear One. And should you delight her, you will most assuredly receive her gracious blessing - trust me. Simply face the wall and we can |
." He pauses, adding "If you’re comfortable, some followers chose to strip, allowing themselves to better |
Loviatar’s presence, but it’s not necessary." |
Dmitri looks to the party, "If you wish to look away, I won’t blame you." Astarion replies, "So you plan on stripping naked in a defiled temple for a blessing? I wouldn’t look away if it meant saving the world~" His eyes rake over Dmitri’s body, blatantly sizing him up. Shadowheart shrugs, "You’re participating in a ho... |
He walks over the wall and kneels down, ready for a god to finally hear him. His mind flashes images of praying at various temples, hoping they would help him. He felt the cold silence, the uncomfortable marble floors, and the pitying eyes of the templegoers. He pushed those images away and centered his mind. |
I don’t know if you’re listening Loviatar, but I know pain better than most. Pain has been woven into the fiber of my being since my birth. It has followed me on the battlefield, reminding me of my mortality and pushing me to fight harder, fight faster, and stand atop my enemy's corpse. Grant me this blessing, so I may... |
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