mickume/dnd_drow · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 41.4k
It’s enough to cut straight through the shuddering fog of Tav’s swiftly approaching orgasm. His eyes fly open, rules be damned.
The scrying eye’s on the floor, broken and mangled, Astarion’s other dagger buried to the hilt. Why did he—
Astarion straightens, his eyes blazing. In a heartbeat he’s at Tav’s side. Tav looks at him, bewildered. His hand’s still on his cock. The pressure in his lower body is intense, unstoppable. He’s seconds away from his peak, but Astarion destroyed the sensor and now Tav has no idea what he’s supposed to do. The ruse is up.
Astarion’s arms encircle him in a bruising embrace. Tav feels his body trembling, too. And Tav doesn’t understand, not one bit.
"Astarion, I can’t—"
"It’s all right," Astarion breathes in his ear. "Come for me."
And Tav does. He comes crying out, rocked by spasm after agonizing spasm, clasped tight in Astarion’s arms. He thinks he hears Astarion moaning too: a low, aching sound. Like part of him is breaking, even though Tav’s the one falling apart.
None of it makes sense. Tav’s not in pain. He doesn’t hurt at all, not with Astarion holding him like this. So why does Astarion sound like he’s suffering?
Tav lets his coated hand slip free of his cock. He’s still quivering with aftershocks as he turns his head toward Astarion, desperate to comfort him, even if he doesn’t know what’s wrong. "Astarion..."
Astarion kisses him. Softly, but insistently. His need is so strong and so raw that Tav can taste it, but gods, what does he need?
Tav doesn’t know. He’s never been so confused.
He feels Astarion’s hand moving through his hair, setting off waves of pleasure that are nothing like Tav’s orgasm of a few moments prior. Tav’s ready to melt into him, to dissolve away into nothing. But no, he can’t do that. He can’t ever lose control. He can’t let this feeling take root.
He wants to touch Astarion, to pull him away. But both of his hands are soiled, one with seed and one with blood. He’s impure. Helpless.
Nothing he can do but let Astarion burn through him like sunlight. Bits of him crumbling to ash with every stroke of Astarion’s hand through his hair, every movement of his tongue against Tav’s. There’ll be nothing left of Tav when this is over. Astarion’s going to ruin him.
Then he hears it. Voices in the corridor outside. The door to the storeroom creaking open.
He’s saved. He’s fucked.
"Thank the gods, they’re both in—oh, hells. Ah. Sorry. Sorry!"
Astarion breaks away with a furious snarl, and Tav’s free. Still in one piece, by a disastrous miracle. Astarion didn’t kill him. Didn’t ruin him.
But oh, shit. He might be about to kill Wyll.
The dagger clatters to the floor as Tav lunges for Astarion’s arm with his bloody hand—the lesser of two evils. He doesn’t even know what to say. He’s not sure he’s capable of speech at the moment. But the moment Tav touches Astarion, he feels Astarion’s fury at the interruption ebb abruptly away.
That’s never happened before, either.
"Sorry," Wyll says again, sounding just as confused as and far more embarrassed than Tav. "We’ll just, ah—we’ll wait out here. By the way, Tav. Cal and Lia say hello."
The door shuts with a click.
Tav snatches his hand back from Astarion’s arm. "Fuck, I got blood on you."
Astarion whips his head around to stare at him. "What?"
"Blood. On you." Tav waves his hand in the air like Astarion could have possibly failed to notice that his fingers are drenched in crimson. "On your sleeve."
"What in the hells are you babbling about? Darling, I’ve slit a hundred throats in this outfit. It’ll wash out."
Astarion sounds shaken. That is, if Tav can read him at all right now. The world’s fuzzy around the edges and it isn’t blood loss; Tav didn’t cut nearly deep enough for that. He looks at the mangled scrying eye on the floor, then back at Astarion.
It still doesn’t make sense.
"Didn’t it see you destroy it?" Tav asks.
"I imagine so," Astarion says.
"Won’t they know something’s wrong down here?"
"That does seem likely."
Tav hesitates. He’s almost too cowardly for this. But he has to know.
Astarion licks his lips. The silence stretches, and Tav’s brain spins. Is Astarion thinking of a lie? It’s never taken him this long before. He’s usually overflowing with excuses.
"I’m not quite sure," Astarion says at last. "It seemed the thing to do."
But he went to all that trouble. Orchestrated the whole thing, starting from the moment he shoved Tav against the wall in the corridor. He knew what voice to use to turn Tav to putty in his hands. Tav was even willing to do all the work for him. It was almost over.
Tav has no idea what to say. He looks down at his hands and the sticky mess he’s made of himself. "Astarion, could you... could you get my waterskin?"
Astarion huffs. "What am I, your manservant?"
Thank the gods. He almost sounds back to normal. Almost.
"Please? Wyll and Shadowheart are waiting. I want to know what they found. If we can save someone today..."
"Such a godsdamned bleeding heart." Astarion eyes him, his gaze darkening. "It’ll be the death of you, my dear. No, I’m afraid we won’t be saving anyone today. The jig is almost certainly up. We should leave here posthaste and fetch our reinforcements."
Tav stares at him. No. He doesn’t want to believe it.
Did Astarion ruin the distraction on purpose? Just to keep Tav from rescuing the prisoners?
He can’t be... no, Tav knows he isn’t that petty and cruel. Tav knows... he thought he knew. Fuck. Fuck!
He’s been so blind. Astarion tried to talk him out of this plan once already, this morning at the bar after Rolan stormed off, but he wouldn’t have stopped at asking nicely. Of course he would have had another trick up his sleeve. He wanted to come down here alone, but Tav wouldn’t let him. Gods know what he would have done.
This must have been his last resort. Tav never should have even brought him here. He should have known...
Gods, that kiss. That was the real distraction. That was Astarion doing his level best to make sure Tav, eternal idiot, wouldn’t put two and two together. Thank fuck for Wyll opening the door at exactly the right moment.
"Absolutely not," Tav says, and the coldness in his own voice frightens him. "If the jig is up, then we’re getting them out of here today. Right now. I don’t care how dangerous it is. This just became our only window."
Astarion draws back. "You can’t be serious."
"You heard Wyll. Cal and Lia are alive. But they won’t be for long. The cult will kill them. Or worse, tadpole them."
"Making Rolan even more tedious than he already is, yes—I see the problem." Astarion paces the room, his movements quick and frenetic, then whirls to face Tav. "There’s a simple solution. Let’s kill him."
"This is no time for jokes."
Tav’s almost shouting. Gods, his control is slipping away. Surely Wyll and Shadowheart can hear every word of this.
"I’m serious as the grave. Rolan’s grave, to be specific. Don’t you know what he was doing? All that fuss with the wine was his way of getting under your skin. He knows what makes people like you tick. Guilt, darling. Guilt. "
"You make it easy for them. Prancing about with your heart on your sleeve." Astarion’s gone perfectly still. His eyes are wide. Wide and blood-red. "You can be so much better than this. I’ve seen it. The monster you’d rather die than let yourself become. And it is killing you, love. Not slowly at all. Quickly."
Tav snaps. The flood rushes in. He’s underwater.
"I’m not like you," he roars. "And I never will be."
He’s running on pure adrenaline as he throws on his clothes and armor, piece by piece, heedless of the mess. Everything he touches is already stained, so why should he care?
Astarion watches him, a statue. Unmoving. Unmoved.
The last thing Tav does is draw the Blood of Lathander from his pack. Sunlight pours across the room, and for one sickening moment all he wants is for Astarion to crumble to ashes in its heat. Let him know what that feels like. Let him be gone, and tear Tav’s heart from his chest so he can finally be hollow and free.
Tav yanks open the storeroom door. Wyll and Shadowheart turn to look at him. Tav doesn’t stop to take note of their expressions.
"How many still alive?"
"A dozen, I think," Shadowheart says. "Tieflings and deep gnomes."
"Do we have a way out?"
"Yes, the gnomes have a plan. It’s risky, but it might work. There’s a hidden harbor with boats, and the walls are fragile. If we come back with tools—"
"No, we’re doing this now."
Tav sweeps past them, pulsing to the familiar rhythm of long-buried rage. The Blood of Lathander lights his way.
"Shit," he hears Wyll mutter from behind him.
It was all something of an accident.
They were down in the sewers when it happened. They’d been pinned into a corner near the Guild, ducking behind a forgotten pile of Zhentarim shipments while crossbow bolts pinged off the brick like hail or rain. Tav kept her head down and smashed herself in next to Astarion, waiting for the volley to peel off. Karlach’s bulk and heat washed over her and Wyll slid in next to her.
"The next time we try sneaking around an ambush, don’t bring the giant woman with you," Astarion hissed in her ear.
"I heard that," said Karlach. A bolt caught a horn and she ducked further. "And I told you, I’m no good at it!"
"Time for blame is over," said Wyll. "We need to get out or they’ll shoot us like fish in a barrel."
Tav waited for a pause in the volleys and cautiously peaked over the edge of the box. The Absolutist cult members wearing Orin-red were reloading.
"Now," Tav said, and she flung herself sidelong over the box. The others shouted behind her to varying levels of enthusiasm as she swung her violin off her shoulder and bent the Weave to her music. Several crossbow men scattered as daggers, conjured by her sharp staccato playing, whirled into view.
Things devolved into a full on brawl from there as Karlach roared and charged straight ahead. Wyll’s eldritch bolts hissed as they cut through the ambient steam and slammed into the chests of two cultists to send them flying. Astarion she lost track of immediately as he used the chaos to slink to the battlefield edges to go for their leader, a strict looking woman wearing a red jacket and with a certain manic look to her eye. She trusted his instincts. They had fought for weeks back to back and the strategy formed itself organically out of the chaos.
Tav only looked away for a moment. A cultist sprang up next to her with a ripple of magic, and the pressure of Bhaal’s gaze made the air thick and acrid in her mouth. She jerked backwards just in time for the rusty blade going for her throat to cut only air, and swung to slam her elbow into their face. They reeled.
The Weave bent.
Tav’s breath caught and she turned. Astarion had the woman with the jacket in his grasp, but the woman’s hand went for his face. She was shouting something and the flare of magic caught Tav’s breath. The world slowed down as she felt the chance to intervene slip immediately through her fingers, as if she’d ever had the chance.
Astarion disappeared.
The world narrowed in Tav’s sight as her breath caught. She lunged across the field, ignoring the bright heat of the dagger that caught her shoulder. The woman was laughing with her hands against her chest, and holding something aloft in her hand.
"How perfect," she was saying, "Your form finally matches your function!"
Tav snarled and slammed the butt end of her dagger hilt into the woman’s face.
The woman reeled and her hand opened, and something fluttered immediately out of view. Tav didn’t fight as well as she talked or spelled, but hell, she could keep someone busy. The woman staggered back and opened her hand. The spell collected in her fingers as she chanted something, and white light poured out of the cracks in her hands. A door of light opened behind her and she stepped through, and it shut with a deafening pop of air pressure.
Tav caught her weight on the balls of her feet and spun to see the rest of the field of battle. Karlach, looking thrilled and glassy-eyed from adrenaline, was jerking her axe out of someone’s rib cage. Wyll was scanning the scene for moving bodies. Tav felt a crawling sense of panic try to batter through the cold calm of battle focus.
"Astarion?" she called into the air.
The words echoed back at her from the brick. Astarion. Astarion. Astarion.
"Where’d he go?" asked Wyll, slowly padding over to her. Tav scanned the shadows but there was no white-haired vampire to be found. She slowly stowed her dagger back into her boot, feeling a bit adrift.
"Good question," she said. "That woman used some kind of spell, and then he..."
"What is that?" said Karlach.
"What was what?" said Tav.
Karlach was frowning, and rubbing the back of one ear. "Don’t you hear that noise--"
That’s when the bat came screeching out of the rafters into her face. Tav jerked back out of instinct, batting (hah) away the creature. It kept fluttering at her and her hair making the most adorable tiny sounds. Tav registered mostly a blur of white and very large ears, and then Karlach’s hands shot out next to her ear and caught it between her palms. Whatever it was, it was struggling against the cage of Karlach’s fingers.
The three of them drew together into a tight circle, with Karlach’s hands in the center. Slowly, trying not to lose her grip on whatever-it-was, Karlach opened up her hands.
In the center of her wide palms was a small, fluffy, white bat. It had mostly a pure round body of fluff and gigantic ears for it’s size, and the thumb on the wings was clinging to Karlach’s thumb. It looked up at them and chittered angrily.
The three of them mutually stared as it turned around to scold at Tav.
Wordlessly, Tav pulled her violin off her back and cast Speak with Animals.
The chittering immediately resolved into words that sounded suspiciously familiar.
"--can’t believe the rough handling I am receiving. Have you no brains? I’m right here!" shouted the little bat in Astarion’s voice.

It’s enough to cut straight through the shuddering fog of Tav’s swiftly approaching orgasm. His eyes fly open, rules be damned.

The scrying eye’s on the floor, broken and mangled, Astarion’s other dagger buried to the hilt. Why did he—

Astarion straightens, his eyes blazing. In a heartbeat he’s at Tav’s side. Tav looks at him, bewildered. His hand’s still on his cock. The pressure in his lower body is intense, unstoppable. He’s seconds away from his peak, but Astarion destroyed the sensor and now Tav has no idea what he’s supposed to do. The ruse is up.

Astarion’s arms encircle him in a bruising embrace. Tav feels his body trembling, too. And Tav doesn’t understand, not one bit.

"Astarion, I can’t—"

"It’s all right," Astarion breathes in his ear. "Come for me."

And Tav does. He comes crying out, rocked by spasm after agonizing spasm, clasped tight in Astarion’s arms. He thinks he hears Astarion moaning too: a low, aching sound. Like part of him is breaking, even though Tav’s the one falling apart.

None of it makes sense. Tav’s not in pain. He doesn’t hurt at all, not with Astarion holding him like this. So why does Astarion sound like he’s suffering?

Tav lets his coated hand slip free of his cock. He’s still quivering with aftershocks as he turns his head toward Astarion, desperate to comfort him, even if he doesn’t know what’s wrong. "Astarion..."

Astarion kisses him. Softly, but insistently. His need is so strong and so raw that Tav can taste it, but gods, what does he need?

Tav doesn’t know. He’s never been so confused.

He feels Astarion’s hand moving through his hair, setting off waves of pleasure that are nothing like Tav’s orgasm of a few moments prior. Tav’s ready to melt into him, to dissolve away into nothing. But no, he can’t do that. He can’t ever lose control. He can’t let this feeling take root.

He wants to touch Astarion, to pull him away. But both of his hands are soiled, one with seed and one with blood. He’s impure. Helpless.

Nothing he can do but let Astarion burn through him like sunlight. Bits of him crumbling to ash with every stroke of Astarion’s hand through his hair, every movement of his tongue against Tav’s. There’ll be nothing left of Tav when this is over. Astarion’s going to ruin him.

Then he hears it. Voices in the corridor outside. The door to the storeroom creaking open.

He’s saved. He’s fucked.

"Thank the gods, they’re both in—oh, hells. Ah. Sorry. Sorry!"

Astarion breaks away with a furious snarl, and Tav’s free. Still in one piece, by a disastrous miracle. Astarion didn’t kill him. Didn’t ruin him.

But oh, shit. He might be about to kill Wyll.

The dagger clatters to the floor as Tav lunges for Astarion’s arm with his bloody hand—the lesser of two evils. He doesn’t even know what to say. He’s not sure he’s capable of speech at the moment. But the moment Tav touches Astarion, he feels Astarion’s fury at the interruption ebb abruptly away.

That’s never happened before, either.

"Sorry," Wyll says again, sounding just as confused as and far more embarrassed than Tav. "We’ll just, ah—we’ll wait out here. By the way, Tav. Cal and Lia say hello."

The door shuts with a click.

Tav snatches his hand back from Astarion’s arm. "Fuck, I got blood on you."

Astarion whips his head around to stare at him. "What?"

"Blood. On you." Tav waves his hand in the air like Astarion could have possibly failed to notice that his fingers are drenched in crimson. "On your sleeve."

"What in the hells are you babbling about? Darling, I’ve slit a hundred throats in this outfit. It’ll wash out."

Astarion sounds shaken. That is, if Tav can read him at all right now. The world’s fuzzy around the edges and it isn’t blood loss; Tav didn’t cut nearly deep enough for that. He looks at the mangled scrying eye on the floor, then back at Astarion.

It still doesn’t make sense.

"Didn’t it see you destroy it?" Tav asks.

"I imagine so," Astarion says.

"Won’t they know something’s wrong down here?"

"That does seem likely."

Tav hesitates. He’s almost too cowardly for this. But he has to know.

Astarion licks his lips. The silence stretches, and Tav’s brain spins. Is Astarion thinking of a lie? It’s never taken him this long before. He’s usually overflowing with excuses.

"I’m not quite sure," Astarion says at last. "It seemed the thing to do."

But he went to all that trouble. Orchestrated the whole thing, starting from the moment he shoved Tav against the wall in the corridor. He knew what voice to use to turn Tav to putty in his hands. Tav was even willing to do all the work for him. It was almost over.

Tav has no idea what to say. He looks down at his hands and the sticky mess he’s made of himself. "Astarion, could you... could you get my waterskin?"

Astarion huffs. "What am I, your manservant?"

Thank the gods. He almost sounds back to normal. Almost.

"Please? Wyll and Shadowheart are waiting. I want to know what they found. If we can save someone today..."

"Such a godsdamned bleeding heart." Astarion eyes him, his gaze darkening. "It’ll be the death of you, my dear. No, I’m afraid we won’t be saving anyone today. The jig is almost certainly up. We should leave here posthaste and fetch our reinforcements."

Tav stares at him. No. He doesn’t want to believe it.

Did Astarion ruin the distraction on purpose? Just to keep Tav from rescuing the prisoners?

He can’t be... no, Tav knows he isn’t that petty and cruel. Tav knows... he thought he knew. Fuck. Fuck!

He’s been so blind. Astarion tried to talk him out of this plan once already, this morning at the bar after Rolan stormed off, but he wouldn’t have stopped at asking nicely. Of course he would have had another trick up his sleeve. He wanted to come down here alone, but Tav wouldn’t let him. Gods know what he would have done.

This must have been his last resort. Tav never should have even brought him here. He should have known...

Gods, that kiss. That was the real distraction. That was Astarion doing his level best to make sure Tav, eternal idiot, wouldn’t put two and two together. Thank fuck for Wyll opening the door at exactly the right moment.

"Absolutely not," Tav says, and the coldness in his own voice frightens him. "If the jig is up, then we’re getting them out of here today. Right now. I don’t care how dangerous it is. This just became our only window."

Astarion draws back. "You can’t be serious."

"You heard Wyll. Cal and Lia are alive. But they won’t be for long. The cult will kill them. Or worse, tadpole them."

"Making Rolan even more tedious than he already is, yes—I see the problem." Astarion paces the room, his movements quick and frenetic, then whirls to face Tav. "There’s a simple solution. Let’s kill him."

"This is no time for jokes."

Tav’s almost shouting. Gods, his control is slipping away. Surely Wyll and Shadowheart can hear every word of this.

"I’m serious as the grave. Rolan’s grave, to be specific. Don’t you know what he was doing? All that fuss with the wine was his way of getting under your skin. He knows what makes people like you tick. Guilt, darling. Guilt. "

"You make it easy for them. Prancing about with your heart on your sleeve." Astarion’s gone perfectly still. His eyes are wide. Wide and blood-red. "You can be so much better than this. I’ve seen it. The monster you’d rather die than let yourself become. And it is killing you, love. Not slowly at all. Quickly."

Tav snaps. The flood rushes in. He’s underwater.

"I’m not like you," he roars. "And I never will be."

He’s running on pure adrenaline as he throws on his clothes and armor, piece by piece, heedless of the mess. Everything he touches is already stained, so why should he care?

Astarion watches him, a statue. Unmoving. Unmoved.

The last thing Tav does is draw the Blood of Lathander from his pack. Sunlight pours across the room, and for one sickening moment all he wants is for Astarion to crumble to ashes in its heat. Let him know what that feels like. Let him be gone, and tear Tav’s heart from his chest so he can finally be hollow and free.

Tav yanks open the storeroom door. Wyll and Shadowheart turn to look at him. Tav doesn’t stop to take note of their expressions.

"How many still alive?"

"A dozen, I think," Shadowheart says. "Tieflings and deep gnomes."

"Do we have a way out?"

"Yes, the gnomes have a plan. It’s risky, but it might work. There’s a hidden harbor with boats, and the walls are fragile. If we come back with tools—"

"No, we’re doing this now."

Tav sweeps past them, pulsing to the familiar rhythm of long-buried rage. The Blood of Lathander lights his way.

"Shit," he hears Wyll mutter from behind him.

It was all something of an accident.

They were down in the sewers when it happened. They’d been pinned into a corner near the Guild, ducking behind a forgotten pile of Zhentarim shipments while crossbow bolts pinged off the brick like hail or rain. Tav kept her head down and smashed herself in next to Astarion, waiting for the volley to peel off. Karlach’s bulk and heat washed over her and Wyll slid in next to her.

"The next time we try sneaking around an ambush, don’t bring the giant woman with you," Astarion hissed in her ear.

"I heard that," said Karlach. A bolt caught a horn and she ducked further. "And I told you, I’m no good at it!"

"Time for blame is over," said Wyll. "We need to get out or they’ll shoot us like fish in a barrel."

Tav waited for a pause in the volleys and cautiously peaked over the edge of the box. The Absolutist cult members wearing Orin-red were reloading.

"Now," Tav said, and she flung herself sidelong over the box. The others shouted behind her to varying levels of enthusiasm as she swung her violin off her shoulder and bent the Weave to her music. Several crossbow men scattered as daggers, conjured by her sharp staccato playing, whirled into view.

Things devolved into a full on brawl from there as Karlach roared and charged straight ahead. Wyll’s eldritch bolts hissed as they cut through the ambient steam and slammed into the chests of two cultists to send them flying. Astarion she lost track of immediately as he used the chaos to slink to the battlefield edges to go for their leader, a strict looking woman wearing a red jacket and with a certain manic look to her eye. She trusted his instincts. They had fought for weeks back to back and the strategy formed itself organically out of the chaos.

Tav only looked away for a moment. A cultist sprang up next to her with a ripple of magic, and the pressure of Bhaal’s gaze made the air thick and acrid in her mouth. She jerked backwards just in time for the rusty blade going for her throat to cut only air, and swung to slam her elbow into their face. They reeled.

The Weave bent.

Tav’s breath caught and she turned. Astarion had the woman with the jacket in his grasp, but the woman’s hand went for his face. She was shouting something and the flare of magic caught Tav’s breath. The world slowed down as she felt the chance to intervene slip immediately through her fingers, as if she’d ever had the chance.

Astarion disappeared.

The world narrowed in Tav’s sight as her breath caught. She lunged across the field, ignoring the bright heat of the dagger that caught her shoulder. The woman was laughing with her hands against her chest, and holding something aloft in her hand.

"How perfect," she was saying, "Your form finally matches your function!"

Tav snarled and slammed the butt end of her dagger hilt into the woman’s face.

The woman reeled and her hand opened, and something fluttered immediately out of view. Tav didn’t fight as well as she talked or spelled, but hell, she could keep someone busy. The woman staggered back and opened her hand. The spell collected in her fingers as she chanted something, and white light poured out of the cracks in her hands. A door of light opened behind her and she stepped through, and it shut with a deafening pop of air pressure.

Tav caught her weight on the balls of her feet and spun to see the rest of the field of battle. Karlach, looking thrilled and glassy-eyed from adrenaline, was jerking her axe out of someone’s rib cage. Wyll was scanning the scene for moving bodies. Tav felt a crawling sense of panic try to batter through the cold calm of battle focus.

"Astarion?" she called into the air.

The words echoed back at her from the brick. Astarion. Astarion. Astarion.

"Where’d he go?" asked Wyll, slowly padding over to her. Tav scanned the shadows but there was no white-haired vampire to be found. She slowly stowed her dagger back into her boot, feeling a bit adrift.

"Good question," she said. "That woman used some kind of spell, and then he..."

"What is that?" said Karlach.

"What was what?" said Tav.

Karlach was frowning, and rubbing the back of one ear. "Don’t you hear that noise--"

That’s when the bat came screeching out of the rafters into her face. Tav jerked back out of instinct, batting (hah) away the creature. It kept fluttering at her and her hair making the most adorable tiny sounds. Tav registered mostly a blur of white and very large ears, and then Karlach’s hands shot out next to her ear and caught it between her palms. Whatever it was, it was struggling against the cage of Karlach’s fingers.

The three of them drew together into a tight circle, with Karlach’s hands in the center. Slowly, trying not to lose her grip on whatever-it-was, Karlach opened up her hands.

In the center of her wide palms was a small, fluffy, white bat. It had mostly a pure round body of fluff and gigantic ears for it’s size, and the thumb on the wings was clinging to Karlach’s thumb. It looked up at them and chittered angrily.

The three of them mutually stared as it turned around to scold at Tav.

Wordlessly, Tav pulled her violin off her back and cast Speak with Animals.

The chittering immediately resolved into words that sounded suspiciously familiar.

"--can’t believe the rough handling I am receiving. Have you no brains? I’m right here!" shouted the little bat in Astarion’s voice.