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Dataset card Data Studio Files
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Gale and Shadowheart were staring at Astarion quizzically, borderline concerningly. Never had the pair seen the usually regal vampire so disheveled. Thankfully, their seating arrangement prevented Aethelle from seeing the disconcert on Astarion's face. Gale and Shadowheart glanced at each other, before Gale kicked Astarion's leg out of view of the sorceress. Astarion blinked suddenly, ripped from the thoughts darting across his panicked mind. The cleric and the wizard looked at him expectantly.
"Gods, I can't wait to get out of this bloody corset," complained Aethelle.
Astarion unintentionally let out a quiet whine, similar to that of a dying cat. Shadowheart leaned her head against her palm. Gale struggled to contain his laughter once more.
"Loviatar surely looks down upon me favorably right now," continued the sorceress, pretending not to notice her companions torturing each other. "It's been months since I had to wear one of these damn things."
"I suppose you probably had to wear fancier garments often. Do tell more of your time in the Upper City, I'm quite curious," replied Shadowheart. The carriage suddenly moved, rocking across the cobblestones to the gate dividing the city.
"Well," Aethelle started hesitantly, "It's not always great. Most of the Upper City nobles are quite posh and rude. I'm not the highest ranking of the patriars by any means, but House Veluthezara stands its ground. But gods, the things some of them will say to you. Sometimes it makes for quite the entertainment, at least," the elf grinned.
"I won't act like I haven't had a privileged life, though. I do enjoy the comforts my life has allowed me. So, when the opportunity presents itself, I try to get out of the Upper City and spend my business in the Lower."
"Is that how you met Figaro?" the cleric asked.
"Indeed. He's got more talent and ethic than half the tailors in the Upper City. Most of them are making the same, overdone trash. When I first met Figaro he was working out of a much smaller shop, but I know a good designer when I see one. Once I started wearing some of his pieces, some of the other nobility followed. Now he's got a bigger shop and a clientele from all around the city, which is more than most can say."
"So, where's your first stop now that we're going for a bit of a trip?" asked Shadowheart, peering out of the carriage window. They were stopped at the gate as the Flaming Fist driving the carriage showed documents to another Fist.
Aethelle's face reddened. "Well, I was thinking my home, if you all would be so kind as to accompany me," she said nervously. "I haven't been home since, well, a tadpole was implanted in my brain. So please excuse any mess." The cabin lurched forward, faster now, as it traveled quickly through the streets of the Upper City.
"Excellent," smiled Shadowheart. "I would like nothing more."
"You might change your tune if he shows up," muttered the sorceress.
"He?" Shadowheart and Astarion asked in unison.
Aethelle smiled, almost wickedly. "I guess you'll just have to wait and see."
"So many surprises from our very generous mage today, hmm?" smiled Gale. "I, for one, cannot wait to finally get a little bit of history about our tempest incarnate."
"You may regret you said that," replied Aethelle.
Shadowheart and Gale stared at the tall iron gate before them. On either side of the gate was a brick wall, clearly enclosing the estate in front of them. Inside the gate was a beautiful brick mansion on bright green lawn. The two-story home was lined with white detailing along the wide glass windows, and lavender clung from the balconies outside. Looking around, the home was surprisingly smaller than some of the other homes on the street, but certainly still as grand. The street bustled as regal looking citizens hurried down the cobblestones amongst other similarly regal carriages. The only piece out of place, quite frankly, were the three heavily armed adventurers accompanying the lavish elven woman.
Astarion exited the carriage and held his hand up to Aethelle. She took his hand and smiled as she delicately stepped down. Now that Astarion had regained some of his composure, he could tell that his sorceress was poised differently. She stood straighter, head higher, chin tilted up, as if looking down constantly. She was in her element, or at least, knew the correct mask to wear now that they were in the Upper City.
"Lucky for you all that I still have my key and somehow didn't lose it aboard the nautiloid," Aethelle laughed. "Otherwise one of you would be climbing the wall. Probably the rogue," she said flirtatiously as she shot Astarion a smirking glance.
The sorceress unlocked the gate and pushed the iron bars forward. As they walked forwards, the grand house loomed over them. The nearer they got to the front doors of her home, the bigger it seemed. Walking up the stone steps, Aethelle unlocked the brass doorknob in front of her, then muttered a quick incantation. The door shimmered and the wall of magic, previously unseen, now fell into purple luminance and dissipated into the air. For only a moment, Astarion noticed the sorceress's hand hesitate before twisting the knob.
Shadowheart, Gale, and Astarion were silent. They were suddenly in a foyer surrounded by bright white walls with equally white molding trim. Their footsteps echoed through the hall as their armor clanked against the cream-colored marble floor. A few more steps forward through the doorway and they found themselves in a grand ballroom, the ceiling raised all the way to the top of the second floor. A staircase, also pristinely white with brass handrails, was centered in the back of the ballroom. The walls of the ballroom ended at the top of the stairs, with molded pillars and brass railings containing the balcony that wrapped around the second floor above.
Aethelle noticed her companions breathlessly taken with her home. "There's quite a few spare rooms for you all. Feel free to pick whichever," she smiled as she pulled a sending stone out of her pocket. "It's about time I let someone at camp know what we've gotten ourselves into."
"Poor Karlach," said Shadowheart. "I wanted her to see the patriar loo she's been talking about."
"Poor me, if my house suddenly burned to ash because Karlach got too excited at seeing a chamber pot," remarked Aethelle. "Perhaps, once this is all over, everyone could come stay a few days here?" asked the sorceress shyly. "Gale would have to make sure a Globe of Invulnerability was surrounding Karlach in the powder room, but I would very much like everyone to come visit, if they could, of course."
"I couldn't think of better company," answered Shadowheart.
The sorceress smiled and activated the sending stone in her palm. She quietly spoke into the smooth stone, reciting their misfortune to Wyll on the other end.
Shadowheart grinned. She knew her friend couldn't contain her excitement any worse at the idea of doing something fun, especially with the little band they all were now a part of. Aethelle was fiercely protective of the group, and had bonded with everyone, even Jaheira. Shadowheart initially thought Jaheira, their wise and wizened druid, would be a little too uptight for their party. She changed her mind after Aethelle came back with the others one evening after exploring Baldur's Gate, crying and cackling from laughter. Over the campfire, she retold the tale of stumbling into Jaheira's home and meeting her children. Aethelle emphasized children several times, almost choking on her laughter when she said it, and laughing harder at her own jokes. Shadowheart had never seen her friend so bright before, and Aethelle's laughter was infectious. They were all laughing that night, even Jaheira, as Aethelle told the story in great detail.
Shadowheart knew this from the beginning, though, that Aethelle was unlike anyone she had ever met. Not that the bar was very high, of course, what with being manipulated in a Sharran enclave with nothing but torture and death on the mind. But still, Aethelle was the first to show her the kindness and grace she had so desperately always wanted, but had never been allowed. Shadowheart looked at Aethelle and smiled as the sorceress put the sending stone away in her pocket.
"Should we be concerned about the rather angry paladin standing the door?" asked Gale with increasing alarm.
The group looked behind them. In the foyer stood a tall, elven paladin, cloaked in black armor and silver detailing. The hilt of a sword and the wall of a shield could be seen poking out from behind his back where they sat sheathed. His ginger-brown hair was swept out of his face, curled up from behind his pointed ears. His dark brown eyes pierced the group menacingly. He looked outright pissed as he slowly entered the home.
"Where in the Nine Hells have you fucking been!?" yelled the paladin.
Aethelle sighed. "Here's that history you wanted, Gale."
"Aethelflaed Veluthezara. I have not been checking your house for weeks, searching all over the damned city for you, for you to not immediately answer my question!" His tone was sharp as he stomped faster towards them.
"Aethelflaed?" the trio asked in unison.
"Shit." Aethelle put her head in her hands.
"And not only that, not only have you put me through godsdamned Hell these last few weeks, you suddenly show up, out of the blue, no warning, with the most beautiful cleric I've ever seen, the most average man I've ever seen, and a fucking vampire of all creatures?!"
"Beautiful?" Shadowheart asked surprisingly.
"Excuse me, average?" Gale put his hands on his hips.
"Am I really that obvious?" questioned Astarion.
"Yes!" groaned the others in unison.
The paladin walked to Aethelle and easily pulled the sorceress up into a hug before spinning her around.
"Now," he said calmly as he returned Aethelle to the ground. "Where would you like to begin?"
"You can start with the beautiful cleric thing, that I'd like to see."
Within seconds the paladin had one knee on the ground facing Shadowheart. He theatrically pushed his hair back behind his ear, which throughout all of this, was still not out of place.
"My lady of Selûne," the paladin began richly. "May the Moonmaiden guide me tonight, for I would surely adore to see you, to gaze upon you in the shimmering light of the stars. I-"
"That's enough," interrupted Aethelle. "I very much do not want you to scare her off."
"Pity, I was rather enjoying this sudden chaos," said Astarion, clearly taking pleasure in Shadowheart's newfound embarrassment. Her face was as red as the blood he drank from the sorceress next to him. He smiled devilishly.
The paladin stood up and outstretched his hand to Shadowheart. "All right, all right," he said. "Ryndel of House Faennawedd, at your service. You may call me Ryn."
Shadowheart did not budge.
"And your name, my lady?" stammered Ryn, awkwardly lowering his arm to his side.
Shadowheart stared daggers into the paladin, so sharply that anymore time dedicated to the glare would have resulted in the paladin being dealt actual bodily harm through the form of psionic damage. Her nose wrinkled. A nasty little terrier indeed, as Isobel, another cleric of Selûne, once put.
"Ryndel of House Faennawedd, please oblige and enlighten me as to why you seem to think I am an average man. Have you met many wizards, if at all?" Gale asked impudently.
Ryn laughed sheepishly. Aethelle's face once again returned to the palm of her hands.
"You see, I simply meant, as far as men go..." Ryn stumbled over his words. "You seem very normal looking and not glowingly transcendent and ethereal."
"Well gods, I'm not the damned Weave itself!" retorted Gale.
"To answer your question, Gale," replied Aethelle, "No, I don't believe he's seen many wizards. If he did, he probably did not realize he saw a wizard to begin with."
"You damned sorceress," Ryn turned his attention to his friend. "I'm not the one we should be marching to the gallows right now. Start explaining, please and thank you!" The paladin indignantly placed his fists on his hips and furrowed his brow.
"Ryn, look," she sighed. " There's no simple way to put this. I was abducted by illithids and now there's a tadpole in my brain. I ran into a few others who also have tadpoles," continued Aethelle, gesturing to her perturbed companions, "and now we are on a quest to remove the tadpoles, kill an Elder Brain, and the Chosen of the Dead Three in the process. Any questions?"
"Alright, begin."
"Why didn't you take me with you?"
"They abducted me on the way to The Wide. Next question."
"Did you miss me?"
"That's up for debate. Next?"
"Let me guess. Did you fuck the vampire?" Ryn smirked and pointed at Astarion.
The elven woman's face contorted from absolute horror to pure rage. In one swift motion, Aethelle pulled the quarterstaff Woe from her back and subsequently began clubbing the paladin with it. Ryn stumbled to the ground dramatically, faking pain from the blows. Aethelle was not very strong, and Ryn was covered in heavy chainmail, after all.
"You fucking bastard," spat Aethelle. "I made some fucking friends and you're going to scare them all off with your theatrics, you fucking so-called benevolent shithead!"
Shadowheart, Gale, and Astarion watched in disbelief as all decorum had disappeared from Aethelle's previously regal manner. The sorceress was now seething, and the paladin relentlessly taunted her, knowing full well that she could not hurt him unless she wanted to cause some sort of magical damage to her lovely home.
"A fucking vampire of all things, really Aethelle?!" Ryn howled with laughter. "Gods, you are so predictable! Why couldn't you have brought back, like, a giant bear or something?! Then I'd be surprised!"
Aethelle clearly had had enough of his goading, her face twisted with loathing. She paused the flogging and threw her staff on the ground. In one swift motion, she turned and pulled the dagger Rhapsody from Astarion's side, and faced the paladin on the ground once more. Astarion, surprised the sorceress even got the weapon off him to begin with, quickly grabbed her wrist holding the knife. As much as he'd love to see the blood spill from the paladin's veins, he could use this opportunity as an excuse to be close to his lover once more. And at this point, the smell of blood mixed with her vanilla perfume would make him lose himself entirely, and probably better to avoid that scene until they were alone. He wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her back into himself, the both of them facing the man on the floor. She squirmed under his arms, trying to break free without actually hurting her lover.
Shadowheart finally spoke up. "Aethelle... is this... is this your brother?"
Ryn picked himself off the ground and dusted himself off. "Neighbor, actually. But for all intents and purposes, a brother indeed. Who else would be here to absolutely irritate her to no end?" he smiled genuinely. Aethelle finally stopped wriggling, but made no attempt to free herself from Astarion's grasp. "My dear vampire friend, I don't know what that blade of yours can do, but I thank you for protecting me from this most vicious creature."
Aethelle pitifully attempted a lunge once more, quickly halted by Astarion still holding onto her.
"Now, now, darling," Astarion's honeyed voice soothed her. "Let's not spill blood on your pretty new dress."
The sorceress glared at the paladin.
"No?" Ryn asked anxiously.
"No. I did not miss you."
As the adventurers walked through the home, Aethelle excitedly giving the grand tour of each room, Astarion had droned out all sound. The brief moment in which he held his lover proved quite unsettling, as the scent of her perfume had caused him to absolutely lose himself in a flurry of daydreams. His legs somehow were able to bring him from room to room, but he was dead silent, lost in his own imaginations. The tour certainly wasn't helping either, as each room they entered, he seemed to dream up a different scene. The first room was a lounge, in which he imagined him and his lover laying on a chaise, her holding him as he read. It was effortless to picture her serene face, looking out the window, peering at gentle rain. The next room was a library, in which Gale's sudden astonishment almost pulled Astarion out of his fantasy, but he quickly sunk back into his mind to imagine holding Aethelle up to grab a book from a higher shelf. He pictured her giggling as he brought her down, her asking him to kiss her, and he would, of course, oblige. As the companions walked through the hallways, he imagined her laughing and running from him while he playfully chased her, trying to catch her for himself. The next room they entered was an office, and he dreamt of her laying on the desk, skirt pushed up to her waist, his head nestled between her thighs. Room after room was a different fantasy he found himself comfortably holed up into.
"Astarion?" the sorceress's voice rang out. "Are you all right?"
Astarion blinked. They were on the second floor, at the top of the stairs, noticeably alone.
"Where did the others go?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.
Aethelle looked at him concerningly. "They went to go get changed for supper, my love. Shadowheart took a room downstairs, and Gale took the one across from the library. Ryn is getting started in the kitchen, then Gale was going to join him..." Aethelle stepped closer to examine the pale elf's eyes. The nearer she was, the more agony Astarion was in.
"Are you all right?" Her voice was low and quiet. "Do you need to feed?"
He couldn't control himself any longer. Astarion picked up the dainty sorceress and hurriedly pushed her against a nearby wall. His lips crashed against hers, the vanilla rolling over him like a tide, the taste of cherries assaulting his tongue. With one hand he held her waist close to him as possible, the other behind her head, keeping them locked in their kiss. She returned the notion, a hand running through his silver curls, the other cupping the side of his face. He moved over to kiss her cheek, her neck, then lowered his head to her cleavage accentuated by the corset. She let out a low and breathy moan as he softly nibbled at her the top of her breast, not quite enough to draw blood, but just enough to entice her. As the rogue kneeled down, one of his hands became dedicated to holding up the fabric of her skirt, and the other ran its way up her leg, pausing at her exposed inner thigh. Astarion leaned his head forwards, kissing her thigh, moaning huskily into her skin.
"Astarion..." quivered the sorceress. The vampire, pleased with his work, now dedicated both hands completely to holding up the length of her gown. The silver garter held black stockings dutifully in place, albeit not for long, if he angled his fangs just right.
"Astarion." Aethelle spoke more distinctly before kneeling in front of him, joining him on the floor. She adjusted her skirt to preserve her modesty, though her flushed face was clearly betraying any notion of the sort. Astarion, surprised at her sudden reluctance, placed his hands in his lap and looked at her quizzically.
"My apologies, my dear, is something wrong?" he asked quickly, fearful he may have upset her with his tenacity.
Aethelle could clearly see the dread written all over her lover's face. She smiled at him before placing her hands in his.
"My little star, as much as I would adore this right now, we will be going downstairs for dinner soon, and I would hate for someone to stumble upon this little romp and interrupt us." She giggled, and Astarion finally exhaled. "There are some spare clothes in the master bedroom, how about you change out of your armor and meet me downstairs? I am the host, after all, it wouldn't do to keep anyone waiting."
Astarion smirked. "Just me, I suppose." He stood up and smoothed out his leather armor before offering Aethelle a hand. She took his hand in hers, and he delicately helped her back up.
"Not for long," replied the sorceress. "I promise to indulge you tonight." Her words, rich and enticing, were enough to placate Astarion. For now.
She gestured to the double doors behind him, before kissing his cheek and walking towards the stairs. He kept his eyes glued to her as she carefully stepped down, until she was out of sight.
The bedroom was quite contrast from the parts of the home Astarion had already seen. The rest of the home was painstakingly clean, painted a crisp white, contrasted by the color of brass hardware or the cream marble floor. However, it was noticeably barren. There were hardly any decorations, vases, or florals, let alone paintings of any of the nobles of Veluthezara lineage. Cazador's palace was nauseatingly gaudy, but the mansion he was currently in was starkly opposite. It felt almost incomplete, in a sense. Astarion had passed over these details whilst he was daydreaming earlier, but now it was all too obvious, as the master bedroom was abruptly different.
The fireplace in the middle of the room was ashen, not properly cleaned out from the last time it was used. The only warmth in the room radiated from the ruby wallpaper and embroidered golden curtains. A bed stood to Astarion's right, where a crimson blanket lay upended, exposing cream silken sheets that matched the drapery of the canopy. A wooden dresser, holding various undergarments, was halfway open, as if the owner herself had exploded from her slumber in a rush, trying to get ready for the day's events rapidly. Astarion smiled to himself, imagining his lover late for some high society event, stumbling over the intricate clothes splayed on the floor. On the other side of the room, across from the bed, sat a small desk next to a floor length mirror. As he approached the desk, he noticed the various papers strewn across the wood. A small, leather-bound book caught his eye beneath the parchments, opened to the most recent page. The beige paper was decorated with smooth, black cursive. Silently, he carefully lifted one of the papers, and read the most recent entry, dating back to several weeks prior. After all, not even the mirror could see him.
He's up to something. I can't tell what, exactly, but that damned Viscount asked to see me. He said it was of the utmost importance, but behind his voice I could tell there was a threat behind it. No, it was no request, it was a command. Has he not taken enough from me? Not since that day have I felt any fear of him. Not for a very, very long time. But I can't help but wonder, why now, all of a sudden? I guess I've no choice but to meet him at the market tomorrow and find out.
Astarion delicately placed the paper back over the journal. His brow furrowed. The words written on the page gave him more questions than he had anticipated. The only thing he could certainly piece together was that this was the last entry written before his lover's abduction. He thought back to their conversation with the paladin from earlier. "They abducted me on the way to The Wide." Aethelle's voice echoed in his head. Perhaps it was divine intervention that she didn't end up meeting the fellow she wrote about, clearly uncertain about the encounter. Or, perhaps she did. Guilt washed over Astarion in a wave. He should not have read this. The mirror may not have seen him, but he certainly could see himself nonetheless.
Regardless, Astarion knew his time was going to be cut short if he didn't arrive to the dining room shortly. He pushed open a door perpendicular to the fireplace, and soon stood upon a clay tiled floor with a porcelain tub in the middle of the room. Candles upon candles filled the bathroom in varying states of use. Making a mental note, he exited the doorway and tried the other door next to the fireplace. A smaller room, with rows and rows of expensive outfits filled the closet. Most of them were women's garb in blue, black, or dark red tones. Some of the petticoats were quite full, making it a little difficult to walk through the closet. He pushed his way through the fabrics before he noticed a few men's coats shoved to the back of the room.
As he felt through the clothing, a black silken shirt caught his eye. He pulled the shirt away from the other clothes, revealing the smooth poet blouse, quite similar to the white one he had back in their camp. This one, however, was noticeably more new. The shirt was embroidered intricately with threads of gold. He carefully removed the shirt from the hanger, before finding a matching pair of black cloth pants to go with it. A pair of black loafers also caught his eye as he took the pants into his hand. Taking his newfound haul out of the closet, he returned to sit on the sorceress's bed, and began unbuttoning his padded leather armor.
He smiled to himself again. Perhaps once all this brain business had been taken care of, he could stay here with Aethelle. If she wanted him to, of course. He imagined waking up next to her, their bodies intertwined through the cream and crimson sheets. He pictured her sleeping softly and breathing gently next to him. Such an image would usually follow with imagining himself delicately biting her neck, carefully drinking the blood dripping from it. But, in this moment, he just wanted to picture being near her, being close to her, and being with her forever. Right now, all the vampire wanted was to have something just a tad mundane for a little while. Was that too much to ask? Not forever, of course, as he guessed his adventuring days were far from over. But perhaps, for a slice of time after their ordeal was over, they could live out his fantasy of just existing with each other, with no suffering in sight.
He couldn't contain the smile on his face. He was thankful he was alone as he couldn't bear the others to see him so sickeningly giddy. One of their companions would surely have begun teasing him and asking him questions he didn't want to answer, most likely Karlach. His happiness was an emotion he wanted to reserve only for his sorceress, only when they were alone, so only she could see how truly content he was.