Chapter Text
You are trapped. Not quite so literally, but by the fey creature you are contract bound to, his ancient magic quelling your volatile ichor in exchange for yourself. A ritual done weekly, as to keep your blood from destroying your mortal flesh from the inside out, you sit within a ritual circle, your palms pressed together as pixie dust is smeared across your forehead. You've seen the faded imprints of the markings afterwards, symbols so finely left on your skin you might mistake them for an artistic choice, but they are vital. This spell is nigh impossible for a mortal to succeed in, were it not, you would not have to inquire with this trickster creature that prevented your body's sworn death to itself. All you have to do is sit patiently as he whispers the foreign language dripping with magic, words you could probably repeat considering how often you'd heard them, although their meaning is lost on you. All you know is that the incantation somehow quells the potent magic in your veins, leaving it no longer volatile, but still dripping gold instead of red.
There is a pause as the third and final phrase is spoken, and at once you can feel the relief. The strain of radiant energy is momentarily abated as its timer is turned back to zero. The process of your undoing has been reset, and as a result your savior is expecting his dues. It is difficult to look into his eyes, like smooth, milky opals slotted into the sockets, tainted with dark spots of poison. You had been contract bound to the dryad for a few years, you'd lost count of how long it had actually been, and had your previous healer not passed unexpectedly you might have enjoyed avoiding the creature indefinitely. Although, you are certain he was responsible for the soft-hearted cleric's demise.
Ciliaris owned you, the contract had not been fair, but fairness was out of the picture when your own life force was keen on taking you down. You had spent a ten-day bed-ridden, burning up from the inside, the gold in your veins almost popping from your skin like cracks on marble. Your mother had convinced you to accept, crying deep into the thin fabric of your nightgown as you'd laid in your deathbed. You could not bring yourself to kill her daughter, betraying her felt a more contemptable crime than betraying your dignity, but it had been even worse than you'd imagined. Your mother was taken upfront as payment, certainly he would have liked to take more family from you, but your father, Corellon, was and always would be out of Ciliaris' reach. And your other relatives had found their calling outside of Baldur's Gate, away from its influence and chasing their own paths to grandeur.
You could not even imagine what it was he'd done to her—was still doing to her, even, if he had kept her living this long—but it was what she wanted. She'd whispered it in your ear, a comforting prayer, as you'd cried into her shoulder, begging to just be done. This world did not long for you, it wanted you gone, but just as always she convinced you of hope and love and a future that doesn't only hurt, with all the good things in life and none of the bad. Just as always you believed it, you believed your mother, and just as always you could never deny. Your freewill was hampered, muted by your heart, and the word no began to grow even more unfamiliar than before.
He is the only cruel dryad you have known—the only dryad you have met although his actions went against his kind's natural behavior—but his cruelty goes beyond elves, beyond humans, beyond drow, beyond fiends, beyond undead, beyond every creature bearing soul or not; Ciliaris was what you saw when you felt sin, when it slipped past you. He was everything you desired to avoid, everything you wished not to be. A dryad blinded by greed, to give up tending the forests so he may tear them down and wear land thin for a purpose he needs not. Blinded by envy, so caught on bringing down your house and the splendors your family had built up, so bored and gluttonous that even the smaller free folk were not immune to his wrath. And you existed to sate him, or so he had taught you, his outlet of lust and pride, a trophy earned by his arcane knowledge, his innate connection to the workings of the world, and a symbol of his power over your house which he had so simply dismantled, a house born from gods. A house Baldur's Gate once respected and looked to for aid, now reduced to nothing but you. Nothing but the curse your ancestor's sick pursuit for godhood had given you. An immortal body so overflowing with divine energy that it wished to tear you apart for thinking you might be worthy of it.
Worst of all, Ciliaris pretended he loved you, and you were expected to play this love with him, to act your part with a full heart and dote upon him. To press yourself closer, into his thorny side, and bleed against him for it is an honor to be his pet. It should be an honor that he keeps you here still, for there is nothing in your contract preventing him from ending you whenever he pleases, so he must love you so. He feeds the notion to you daily, to be thankful he cares, it is the reason you have lived and continue to do so. It's the reason your torturous existence continues to be quelled with his own presence, with his lovely home, with his lavish clothes, with his feather-soft bed that he so generously shares with you, and are you truly so greedy that you ask for more? How could you possibly want more when he has given you everything. When he continues to give you everything. It is a wonder you do not grovel at his boot toes, so lucky he has chosen you. And to think you are so pathetic that you want for more, for freedom, when others dream of what you have.
As always, his face was one contorted in disgust, eyes drawn to the shimmering dust coating his fingers, something you were to blame for and would have to make up for later. His words to you went unlistened, but you nodded at the right times and willed a smile. If he was sated, felt that you were tamed well enough, your upcoming strife would be more bearable. But there would be none, as you soon came to understand. His hair, like ghost white lichen, shifted unnaturally with the trembling beneath your feet, all light was extinguished in the little garden as some massive, alien ship in the sky usurped the sun. It was like nothing you'd ever seen before, tentacled and writhing as dragons swarmed about it. Ciliaris was screaming something at you, but you couldn't hear him, you could not look at his retreating figure, and as one of those long, winding tentacles ripped from the sky, growing nearer, you could barely rise to your feet, legs quivering under your weight as you were stolen away.
Your consciousness fails you repeatedly, but information slowly trickles to you through your brief waking moments. A room, darkness, a strange creature, a peculiar pool as the room's centerpiece, rows of teeth edging towards you, a parasite squirming past your eyelid, and finally: inferno. By the time you are fully awake, the capsule you find yourself in has broken and you are able to drag yourself out of it with nothing more than a few nicks on your dress. The markings on your face have been smeared, replaced by blood that does not belong to yourself, and you take a moment to scrub it away on your skirt. Outside is a raging fire, nothing like Baldur's Gate, and you probe your mind to think of any possibilities, any recounting, of where you might have been taken.
Succeeded: Perception
You figure at a glance, with the many imps and hellish creatures in the distance, that you're in Avernus, but how you wound up here remains a mystery that you need the answer to. Still, more pressing an issue is how you will manage to escape this place. A pounding sound distracts your thoughts. In another pod, fairly close to your own, you catch sight of another person. Their fist beating against the thick material of the containers so many people are trapped in, and, of course, their attempts to escape are futile. Now that you look closer, it seems to be a pale man trapped in the holding device, and instead of pounding, he's taken to jabbing. "You!" You look around for a moment, although its entirely transparent you could be the only person he's referring too. Everyone else in the room is either unconscious or dead. Still, your confusion seems to upset the fellow more than anything else. "Gods, there's no one else here, dear!" Being careful not to step on any of the viscera and confusing tech laid broken across the floor, you make your way over, glancing momentarily at the complicated control panel nearby, or so you assumed it to be.
"Hello?" You almost jump upon hearing your own voice, its been a few days since you've had the chance to speak, or more so, since you've wanted to speak. "Are you alright?" It's almost impossible not to catch the roll of his eyes at your question.
"Oh, yes, and how are you? Lovely chancing upon you here. Now if we're done with the pleasantries..." There was a practiced suaveness to the man's voice, the scrunch of his brows and the hot, seething red of his eyes betraying his annoyance as his friendly tune changed to spitfire. "then could you please get me out of this god forsaken thing!?" You flinch at his shouting, and your backtracking feet seem to catch his attention, his voice turning a bit gentler than before. "Wait, wait, wait! Sorry, love. I'm just a little... claustrophobic." He flashes a pleasant smile from behind the glass, "One of those tentacled freaks was messing with that contraption over there. Be a dear and see if you can get me out, would you?"
You certainly have no intention of leaving him here, but something about this man makes you feel... cautious. It almost seems like there is an air of deceit behind each sugarcoated word he sends your way. Or, perhaps you've spent too long holed up in a dull, empty manor with only Ciliaris to keep you company. Treachery has been all you've known for too long. Whatever the case, you turn to where his eyes have pointed you to and inspect the alien device.
It appears to be in working order, an otherworldly hum resonating from the console. As you reach forward to further inspect its peculiar mechanisms, a strange sensation takes hold of you, your head pounding with something new, foreign, and unwelcome. It is as though something tangible is roiling in your head, and you remember the strange creature that had flashed in your vision for just a moment in your brief flickers of consciousness. Whatever it may be, this feeling fades into a strange sense of control over the device, as if you have always known it. You had not even meant to, hardly thought about it, but even the brief thought of the pod opening results in its glass encasing pulling back.
His exit from the pod is not so graceful as his inevitable rise, his hands making sure to brush off all and any imaginary filth from the expensive fabrics he wore. You make sure to keep a good distance from the man, but once he is done scowling at the place around him, a grin takes up his countenance, directed at yourself. He takes a short, almost unnoticeable step forward, as if testing you. "Thank you." You shift under his stare, his eyes don't share the sentiment of his words.
Failed: Insight
Blood red and swarming with emotions you have grown to fear, but you cannot recognize what it is particularly about them that stalls your voice. Whatever this man may feel, it is heavily guarded, and serves as a reminder to keep your own up as well. Your lips remain sealed as you wait for his response to the silence. "I suppose introductions are in order." One perfect brow raises as the corner of his lip quirks up. "My name's Astarion. I was in Baldur's Gate when those beasts snatched me." His accent is posh, familiar but apparently older than what you'd expect from a Baldurian. Each word he speaks is rife with a personal touch, charming even, or perhaps only attempting to be. You wonder if he is something akin to old money.
You take a moment to steel yourself, to catch your voice that you had let lose itself over the years. "_____." He looks over you, and instinctively, you grasp the emblemed ring adorning your finger. An action that does not go unnoticed by him, but remains unaddressed.
"A pleasure." The words wisp from his lips like a sultry tune before they turn almost serious; the closest to honest you've heard from him thus far. "I don't suppose you know how to get out of here." You shake your head. You've known little of the world outside of your gilded cage, something as alien as this is nothing but an incoherent nightmare come to life.
"I'm no more knowledgeable on our kidnappers than you are, I can assure you." Your arms cross, hands cradling your torso at the distant screeches of hellish creatures beyond what remains of the ship. You wonder how it is still running in such a state, its otherworldly constitution being almost admirable, had it not been your newest holding cell.
"Oh, well then, I'm assured." He pauses frequently in his musings, almost suavely, as if he is attempting to lure you in with the prospect of unspoken opinion. In reality, nothing he says seems to hold any actual substance, each word speaks as much to his character as the cut of a nobleman's cloth.
"Perhaps we should look around. Find something that could get us off of this thing." He raises a brow and a tilted smile meets his lips at your suggestion. There is the briefest show of his teeth and you cannot help but notice the point of his canines.
"We?" He repeats the word, holding it on his tongue for a long, mocking moment; as if the suggestion of a we is the foulest thing he's heard. You almost find yourself as repulsed by the notion as him, something about this man feels apparently cruel. An unwelcome reminder of what you've been separated from, it almost feels like your natural instinct should be to dispel or escape from this man, but realistically, you've not a fighting chance against your captors alone and unarmed. You figure he doesn't either, if he was so inclined as to travel on his lonesome he might as well have left already. Certainly he is looking for some form of cooperation, although you've no interest in allowing another parasite to hitch a ride with you.
"Better to brave the unknown together, if you're willing." His eyes rake your figure once more and with no interest in hiding the action either. Years under Ciliaris had you nearly shudder at the attention. If he were here he would raise the hells just so this naïve fool would feel its fires. His fires. You pinch your eyes closed to rid him from your mind, force him out from the shadows of your thoughts, but he remains, always in its recesses.
"But of course," he coos, and its clear you've called his little bluff successfully. "Preferably, we should make our exit before this thing erupts." His comment runs the guise of being playful, although clearly incentive to stop dawdling. You hum in agreeance, but your newly accessed comradery makes it no easier for you to turn your back on him, although you must. You make your way around the room at as swift a pace you can manage in the gown you were left in, the rubble of this structure making the task exceedingly difficult along with the hot coals scattered about and ready to bite your bare feet. You couldn't help the bitter taste in your mouth at the untimely manner of your being stolen, had you the old armor from your long past days of training this unknown circumstance might not feel so daunting. But alas, you are one elegant garment of silk from being naked as a babe.
As you make your way through the room you come across a fleshy blockade that opens from its middle upon your nearing it. A brain skitters across the floor and past you, your companion's lips pulling down at the sight, the disgust in his sharp eyes is palpable. The room in front of you seems emptier than you had expected. Dead bodies lie in ornate thrones surrounding the middle and an open pod sits on one end of the room, it certainly seems that someone has already been here; especially considering the emptied chest that sits on what you assume to be a table. "Seems like someone's already been here." You lightly pick up a woman's wrist, her body splayed and cold to the touch.
"Picked the place clean while they were at it." His grumbling portrays the same indignance you feel, as little as you wish to steal from the dead, their pockets could have provided you with some form of defense. Still, with a grim face you pull off the sandals from her feet and fit your own in them. They prove a tad larger than your own. You mumble a quiet apology, the man beside you raising a brow. "I don't think she can hear you, darling." A chuckle hums from behind his lips, bright despite the grim occasion and you can feel your face sour at his mirth. You hold your tongue, opting instead to brush the debri from your dress as you stand.
Your eyes fall to a pod in the middle of the room, a tentacled creature stares at you from within, its skin pale as the moon and thick with veins. It proves most difficult to break from its gaze, amber rings on pits of black. Had you not escaped from that pod, was this what you would have become? No, this threat still looms over you, something deep inside of you reminds you almost maliciously of this fact and your stomach curls as you back out from the room.
As you reach a much smaller corridor you can't help but feel compelled to enter the room in front of you, as if something within it is beckoning you, your head pulsing as you near it. The flesh withdraws and you find the floor set with the ravaged corpses of demons and tentacled horrors alike. Their intermingled blood pooling into the middle of your sandals as you enter further at a quickened pace. Despite the carnage, there remains a fighting few and your head trembles as a commanding voice invades your mind. Connect the nerves of the transponder, thrall. You purse your lips, while the words are outlandish your eyes lock on a very distant bulk of machinery and you instantly recognize it as the item of interest; this transponder.
The ship shudders under an attack and you lower your stance in an attempt to keep your balance. You can hear the heavy flapping of wings from outside the ship. Vaguely, you can hear a voice ahead of you, although not clearly enough to make out the words, but the tension is thick in the air already. This ship is bound to crash and it is most likely to do so very soon. Each creak from the surrounding structure like the ominous ticking till its death, and the appearance of demons prepared to cut the lot of you down does not help with your chances of survival. Just behind you and the elf at your side are two towering creatures of hell with wings that triple their size.
Your feet work quicker than your thoughts, your body moving faster than you thought yourself capable, only stopped by the heavy promise of a fire-painted blade swinging your way. Your hand moves to halt it and you feel the sting of a new cut, gold leaking from the wound. You can feel it boil out of you.
Failed: Constitution
The crackling of it burns hotter than you can withstand, your teeth clench to distract from it and your jaw pops under the pressure. A hiss sneaks from you and the light that erupts from the newborn cut, the cambion's head cleaved from existence, turned to a pitiful pile of ash.
There is no opportunity for you to even breath, not as the monster that had been dueling it turns its attention to you, its mouth a horrible circle of teeth ornamented with fleshy tendrils that threatened to wrap around you and pull you in. Before it could raise a finger, an arrow kissed its armored shoulder, launched from a small crossbow in some stranger's palm as they made quick ground towards a tentacled console. You pry the smoldering blade from the fallen demon's grip and spend its hilt on the alien creature's rippled skull.
It crumples from the blow, and in its daze you slip past it, your eyes locked on the same person that had spent an arrow for your life now gripping the writhing appendages that could land this thing before its passengers collective doom. Just as they connect flames wash over the console from the spiked maw of a dragon, the room ahead alight with a magnificent crescendo of fire. Your fingers pull at the nearest surface as everything stalls before it hastens, the room washed in an ephemeral light as the ship swims through an ocean of suns and nebulas, and just as quickly as it had left Avernus a new body of land became its target for descent.
The sky glittered with stars, not the same as the infinite cosmos that had momentarily greeted you, but a sight that almost felt familiar. You braced yourself against the wall of the ship, its body falling apart with each passing moment. Each league it took was another step of decay and all you could do was hope. Hope that it could withstand one more pace. Hope that you could hold on for just a moment longer. Hope that you would live another breath.
Fate, as peculiar a thing as it was, seemed to have listened to you. Just as your grip had begun to loosen and you could feel yourself plummeting, everything stopped. A sort of energy halted even the force of the ship meeting the pale sand that should have scuffed you beyond repair. Your body met what remained of its floor gently, and as you peered up you swore you could see your mother, her smile softer than the moon's pearly reflection.