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dnd_drow

Dataset card Data Studio Files
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Astarion, historically, had been rather power-hungry. Wyll wasn’t judging that hard. He judged on Astarion’s intentions with the cult, which had already started a few tense arguments between them, where Astarion scoffed at Wyll for being "naive’ and "lacking ambition’. But Wyll tried, as always, to empathize. There was nothing like being under the heel of a cruel master that made you fight for every scrap of power you could get. Astarion consumed mindflayer tadpoles like Gale did magic items, and he read dubious tomes of magic, and he stole various magical items from chests and passerbys and sometimes Gale’s snack drawer. He’d even started learning a handful of spells himself.
Wyll knew he was a hypocrite. It had been pointed out to him after Mizora had showed, and he didn’t deny the truth. It still wasn’t going to stop him from drawing hard lines in the sand.
That said, a potion that enhanced strength probably wasn’t made from the blood of innocent children, and Wyll wasn’t going to begrudge Astarion it. He would back Astarion’s play if he wanted it.
And then Astarion said no.
The merchant turned to Wyll in disgust. "Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?"
Wyll let his voice be an edge. "I already told you, he’s his own person. He said no."
Astarion blinked and stared at Wyll, off-guard for some reason. Like Wyll had, in the middle of a dance, switched into an entirely different one.
"Right," Astarion said, strangely tentative after having recently been so certain. "Well, we’re leaving."
The vendor made a disgusted sound and turned away.
The blood merchant had Astarion rattled. It wasn’t in anything he said. It was rather in the lack of things he said.
Astarion didn’t complain when Wyll murdered a bunch of guards and arranged for a jail break. He didn’t complain either when Wyll gave the departing tieflings and deep gnomes some supplies, a scroll of Daylight, and directions to the Last Light Inn. He didn’t complain when Wyll broke a compulsion on some gnolls and let them eat the person who had been mind-controlling them, but to be fair, Astarion did usually delight in carnage.
Astarion barely even complained when Wyll, staring at goblins, couldn’t bring himself to kill them when they were defenseless.
"I meet you raiding again, this will go differently," Wyll said.
"Not again, we swear, please," the goblins said. "We just don’t want to die."
They could be lying.
They could easily go out and hurt people, simply because Wyll stayed his hand.
They were terrified, and they were still people.
Wyll sighed. "Go then."
"Really," Astarion sighed, and that was it.
It was deeply concerning. Wyll was almost tempted to take him aside right there and ask after, but they were on a mission. Tonight then.
The half-orc upstairs was upset Wyll hadn’t slaughtered the goblins, but Wyll was great at lying, and he span the entire thing on a long-term investment strategy in the cult, of spreading the good word of the Absolute, and the half-orc’s eyes glazed over in boredom, and she barely questioned Wyll further.
Wyll did have experience with this sort of thing.
He knew it was the blood merchant. He knew it was in the offer, either in the demeaning way she treated him, or in the offer itself, or both, but it hadn’t been the largest interaction. People had treated Astarion worse in the past when the crew had been there, and that hadn’t prompted this silent behavior.
Wyll didn’t know how to help Astarion with his demons, so he stopped a shipment of mindflayer tadpoles, murdered the witnesses, and then handed out the few surviving tadpoles to his party companions, pressing two into Astarion’s hands.
Lae’zel stared at the sky, and then back to the group. "Perhaps it is the height of presumption to think you do not want to be ghaik. But yes, shove more tadpoles in your face. I await what mutated ghaik monstrosity you will become, and know that I will, despite your stupidity, still have the grace to end your miserable existence quickly."
Karlach sighed. "I mean, Astarion and Wyll and Shadowheart are right that we don’t have many choices. We’re stuck with the tadpoles anyway. I don’t like it. It’s gross. It’s so gross. But they haven’t tentacled-out yet, and we’re in the deep end here."
Gale stroked his chin. "I do hate to say it, but you’ve got a point."
"No! No they don’t!" Lae’zel said. "We do not rely on ghaik trickery. It will consume you in the end, and we have no need. We are mighty enough without them. Do not listen to the lies Mystra told you; you are enough."
Gale teared up. "Awwww, Lae’zel. You’re wrong, but you are so sweet for saying it."
"I am not sweet! I am trying to keep you from cutting off your own hands! Is it also wizard schooling to center yourself with destructive magic?"
"Well I mean, considering I’ve got an orb in my chest that wants to explode at any moment, you could say technically yes."
They slipped away back to the Last Light Inn. The tieflings arrived safely, and after a quick run back out, Rolan also was reunited with his siblings.
It was soothing in a way nothing else would be. In this moment, it didn’t matter if Wyll’s soul was in a nebulous state. It didn’t matter if he was banished, or if there was a mindflayer tadpole in his brain, or any of his faults or deficiencies. It didn’t even matter to these refugees from the Hells that Wyll was currently a devil. All that mattered to these people was that he saved them.
And he was enough in that alone.
He had done good, and all else was washed away in that moment. There was a positive impact on the world, and he felt like he could breathe again.
All this was was doing enough good to justify the end fate of his soul. The gods wouldn’t help the small and defenseless. The only major powers that did were hags, were devils, were things that would twist your wish into a whip. If the gods couldn’t be damned, then Wyll would, because Wyll knew intimately how it felt when no one came to save you.
He couldn’t stop evil in the world, but he could save as many people as possible before he died.
And they had a lead now, a new location to head to where the source of Kenthric’s immortality lay. They hadn’t found any devil for Mizora, but after taking out whatever was keeping Kenthric immortal, they would be able to lead an assault with the Harpers, and from there...
Maybe Wyll could get ownership of his soul once more. It still didn’t feel real. He felt like he was on the edge of a massive chasm, and at any moment Mizora would appear to push him off.
Was it a good idea to be in a relationship with someone, when Mizora could hurt them at any moment?
Wyll thought about it for a while, but Mizora had never gone for the obvious when she could go for subtle. She never stopped Wyll from saving people; she just tried to turn the people he saved against him. And as much as she threatened about what she could make him do, she hadn’t actually sent him on any of his companions, or away from them. She’d tried to humiliate, to poison his connections, and it all did was backfire on her.
She would try to ruin whatever he had with Astarion though. Her presence was caustic, but Astarion was a balm in so many ways.
He thought of Astarion humoring him with a dance, following his lead. He thought of Astarion digging through his mind so painfully, revealing his darkest moments. He thought of Astarion swearing Mizora didn’t get to touch him anymore.
Wyll put most of the thoughts into the repression box, except for the happy ones involving Astarion. But he needed to check on him.
Astarion was at his tent, fiddling with his gear. It looked like he’d been fiddling with it for a while.
"Are you alright?" Wyll asked.
Astarion looked up at him. "Hmm? Yes?"
"You were distant today," Wyll said. "Too quiet by far. How else am I to experience the joys of "needless heroics’ without you complaining about it?"
"I warned against it," Astarion said, voice having a strange tone Wyll couldn’t quite decode. "And yet you’ve always insisted on being so gallant, even when you shouldn’t. And yet, here I am, wanting to thank you for it."
"For the merchant?" Wyll asked. "There’s no need. She was demeaning towards you."
Astarion scoffed. "Please. It was a valuable potion. Even if I didn’t want it, shouldn’t I have thought about the common good of our party? Karlach could have used it. Lae’zel could have used it. You yourself might get your pact broken if we can figure out where the cult is stashing devils. Perhaps you’d like that stronger sword arm. I was preparing for all of that you know. I was ready for you to- to talk me into it. Haven’t I been the one fucking saying that we have to use the tadpoles, disgust be damned, because we can’t give up their edge?"
Astarion’s hands moved in the air in sharp jagged motions. "It wouldn’t be that different. I’m an expert at it, you know. I spent two hundred years luring pretty things for my master. It was the entire purpose of my existence, and what I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing never mattered. My disgust never mattered. So, what, this time it’s different? Lives are the the line. My life is on the line. They were good reasons for just... for forcing myself."
Astarion closed his eyes. "But you didn’t say any of that. And I’m grateful."
"I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do," Wyll said. "Also, she was a cad. I wouldn’t have bitten her either."
Astarion half-laughed at that. "Oh it’s worse than you know. Her blood was rank. I’d rather bite Gale."
"No wonder she struggled with finding someone to bite her," Wyll said. "But, Astarion. Haven’t we already agreed that we don’t need every scrap of power to fight the Absolute? What do you think breaking my pact will do to me? And, yet, the group has decided it’s not necessary, because I don’t want it. I don’t regret it, but I don’t want it."
It felt so strange saying it out loud, like he was betraying something. But it was true. How many nights had he stared at the sky, trying to think of any way to avoid his fate?
Astarion gave him a tentative, such a cautious look. Vulnerable, but not necessarily in a bad way.
"The decision to consume more tadpoles was ours," Wyll continued. "You had good points, but you didn’t force it on us. Lae’zel won’t consume, and that’s her right. And it’s your decision whether or not to bite someone. You shouldn’t feel like you have to force yourself to do things for survival."
"But I did," Astarion said. "That’s how I survived for two hundred years, and even still, I keep acting like I’m playing under Cazador’s rules."
Astarion looked nervous, eyes abortive. "That’s... why I buddied up with you, after all. At first, anyway. I needed protection, and you seemed the best for the task. If a monster hunter vouched for a monster after all, well, that was the best word of mouth I could ever get. I tried to seduce you, repeatedly, and you wouldn’t have me, and worse of all, your whole courting thing has its charms, and I started to genuinely feel things like a fool."
Wyll stared at Astarion.
"You care about me?"
"Of course that’s your one takeaway," Astarion said in frustration. "Yes. Yes you ridiculous stock character in a fairy tale. Yes I care about you and your dances and your taking it "slow’ and your unending support even when it’s the stupidest option you could do. It’s alright, you know, if you are upset about this revelation I was trying to use you."
He wasn’t lying. He did care.
Wyll found himself smiling. "But you tried to break the pact the moment you understood. Strange choice if I’m supposed to protect you."
"I’m bad at it, okay?" Astarion said. "I thought I knew how to seduce someone, but I forgot! That most of my seductions ended that very night! With them dead at Cazador’s hands! I had no preparation for any kind of long con, and it’s really disheartening to fuck up this badly, and I don’t know what you see in me anyway. You want my body but you won’t use it, and what else- I just don’t know what you see in me if not for sex."
Ah. This was fixed so easily.
"Do you want to see?" Wyll asked.
Astarion hesitated for a moment and then nodded once.
So Wyll showed Astarion himself. He showed Astarion a charismatic figure prone to dramatics in the best, most entertaining way, and how Wyll looked forward to every conversation they had. He showed Astarion a man, nervous, yet still going toe-to-toe a devil. He showed someone who wasn’t judging Wyll for feeling like a monster, for needing some time to adapt to this transformation.
He showed Astarion a man that the moment, the instant he was free after two hundred years of unending torment, had the strength to pick himself up and start running, to immediately plan on how to make sure he stayed free of Cazador, still unbroken.
Astarion pulled away. "Ah," he said. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then just looked at Wyll.
"You are the strongest person I know," Wyll said. "Ah, you make me feel hopeful. I’m pessimistic about Mizora, and it’s only been seven years, but maybe you can find a way out for me. I should at least try, shouldn’t I?"
"Okay," Astarion said, voice shaken. "I did ask. You are just full of surprises, aren’t you. That’s certainly a perspective on me."
"We don’t have to have sex either," Wyll said. "Not if you don’t want it."
"Not even I know that," Astarion said, pulling a face. "I don’t know. I think I liked it once? I want to like it again. I don’t want it to be yet another fucking thing he took from me. But right now... no. No I don’t want to. I don’t know if I will, and I don't know if it will ever be something for me like the things you are looking for."
"That’s fine," Wyll said. "If we do lay together one day, I just want you to genuinely want it, and for the moment to mean something for us both, heat and heart alike."
Tempered fantasy. It wasn’t quite the starry romances he would make up for himself in between visits from Mizora, but it was better, because it was real, it was tangible.
"We might have to wait a while. You’re... truly comfortable with this? With me?"
There was vulnerability there Wyll didn't normally associate with Astarion. When Astarion had been vulnerable in the past, it was a forced thing, unpleasant and jagged. Right now, he was tentative but open in a way he hadn't really been before. It felt so breathtakingly fragile.
"I am," Wyll said. "I require nothing more than you are willing to give, and your presence alone soothes my soul."
Astarion smiled and took Wyll’s hands in his own. "Good. I did say you’ve grown on me. And if you aren’t too displeased about the start of whatever we are doing, I would enjoy if you continued your courtship thing. Whatever this is, I like it."
"I like this too," Wyll said.
That night, as Wyll was becoming accustomed to, he slept in Astarion’s tent.
Elves didn’t sleep, and even their trances they went into took only half as long as it took for everyone else to rest.
Wyll fell asleep, one hand in Astarion’s, and when he woke, though Astarion was now reading a book, Astarion was still holding on.
Nalia almost couldn’t believe it. After all these years there it was; the De’Arnise Keep. She was back.
Or almost back. She currently stood on the unpaved road leading up to her family’s hold, the thick stone walls towering over her. The sky was clear. The drawbridge was down. The way was open. Nothing was in her way, yet here she stood all the same, hovering.
It’s not like she hadn’t thought about how this moment would be. Truth be told she had envisioned this day more than any other, but now that her Glorious Return Home was fixed firmly in the present rather than the distant future Nalia couldn’t decide how this was supposed to go. Should there be trumpets? She felt like there should definitely be trumpets, or at the very least a flute. She’d settle for a bard. She’d settle for Garrick.
Instead there was silence. Silence, muddy boots, and the vague feeling that none of this was quite how she wanted it to be.
This was her home - or it had been. This place had been her whole life right up until the invasion that slew her family had forced her away. She hadn’t been ready then. There was no way she could have been.
Now she was. But was it too late?
Nalia began to pace - then stopped herself, realising pacing back and forth on a completely empty road would only draw attention to herself. Why was this hard? She was coming home. Was it supposed to be hard?
Maybe it didn’t feel like her home anymore. And she supposed it didn’t, not really. Not with the knowledge that the keep was in the hands of the Roenalls. It felt like a failure - her failure.
She knew better than to truly believe the sentiment, but it lingered within her all the same. In hindsight she knew that there was no crime in being young and inexperienced, in not being ready for a surprise attack by a horde of monsters, but...
But now that she could see the gates of her keep again she couldn’t help but drown in the sharp memory of it all.
But had leaving been her choice? By time she had found help to quell the invasion the power structure that had fallen into place in her father’s absence had not accommodated her. She was not even considered an option.
No-one had thought she would actually help.
That fact wouldn’t have stopped everyone, but it had stopped her. Was that the failure she felt in her bones, or was it giving in to other people’s ideas in the first place?