Chapter Text
Second Playthrough
Vixie woke on the beach.
Sand, scalding hot, scraped her palms, wedging between the fabric of her gloves and under her nails. The sun baked her, hot through her worn leathers. The tang of salt and blood was on her lips and in her throat. The light had her squinting, pupils seared.
She stood on shaky legs, having to hold onto the burning wreckage beside her, her mind whirling and body aching, nausea bubbling up from her belly. She caught sight of her patchwork boots, the heel hanging together with a prayer—.
She lurched to a stop, staring downward, blinking twice as her ragtag leather armor remained in place—blurry, yes, but there. Though familiar, its appearance startled her. No, this wasn’t right. She had been wearing Dammon’s leathers, not this ill-fitting set she had stolen off some dead vagabond. She hadn’t worn this since—.
In her head, something writhed.
A scream tore from her throat, loosed into the air, echoing on that ravaged beach, where it had all started.
X
Vixie spent perhaps too long cursing every god she knew, tossing flotsam and debris into the sea as she railed, like if she bitched loud enough and long enough whatever cosmic force that had caused this would come and fix it just to be rid of her.
She could be rather unpleasant when she put her mind to it.
But not unpleasant enough it seemed as the beach around her—as painfully fucking familiar as the cold, ragged leathers on her person—remained solid and real, the wind teasing at her red hair, her throat growing hoarse with her fury.
She bent at the waist, breath heaving from her, her mind reeling as it tried to reconcile the jarring dissonance. Just this morning, they had been preparing to face the Netherbrain. Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Astarion had followed her down into the brine. She had pierced the Emperor with her poisoned dagger. They had freed Orpheus, racing through the city to reach the brain, the sky bleeding red—.
There were cobwebs past that, clinging to her hands when she tried to brush them aside to peer at what they concealed. Trying to prod past left her oddly chilled and made her head ache.
And now she was here. Back at the beginning.
She picked across her memories trying to find the cause, someone she could blame. But her last recollection was of the sky tilting as the ground fell out beneath them, the brain’s crippling cry, the tadpole bursting in her skull—.
And then the beach.
“I bet you think this is funny,” she spat at the sky. Lightning strike her for her caustic tone, at least then she would be rid of this, this awful, horrid prank. “But joke’s on you! I’m just going to sit here!” She plopped her ass down, despite the tide wetting her pants and the relentless sun making her freckled skin burn. “I’m going to sit here and not do a damn thing and let the brain take over and let Faerun burn! How do you like that?!”
Not a spark lit the sky. Vixie exhaled out through her nose, crossing her arms, determined—.
A groan reached her ears. Vixie turned her head, tracking the sound, curiosity and hope winning out over sheer stubborn pettiness. If her memory was correct, Shadowheart should’ve been not a few paces away. She got to her feet, the lure of her friend enough to sway her. Maybe together they could figure this out. Or at the very least they could commiserate together. She picked her way across the rubble, trying not to roll her ankle, gaze flickering across the bodies that littered the sand, looking for a braid of black.
She pulled up short, startled when she found a robe of purple.
“Ah, well met, friend!” Gale said, getting shakily to his feet, groaning as he did so. “Sorry, knees not what they were once.” He stuck the edge of his staff into the sand, leaning heavily on it. “I’m Gale of Waterdeep. A pleasure to meet you. Or, at least, it would be.” He cast a critical gaze about him, to the eviscerated corpse staining the beach not two feet away from him, crushed under a Nautiloid tentacle. “Under different circumstances—.”
“You don’t recognize me?” left Vixie before she could think better of it, a sharp accusation.
Gale blinked at her, brow furrowing. “Should I? No, wait.” He snapped his fingers together. “I do know you in a manner of speaking. You were on the Nautiloid, a fellow—.”
There were probably better ways to make an introduction than screaming bloody murder at the sky but that was the option Vixie chose.
X
“Ugh, what happened here? Some scoundrel broken free? Hope we don’t run into them.”
Vixie barely heard Gale, staring at the broken cage that should’ve held Lae’zel. Its bars were split as if a sword had been taken to them, footsteps scuffling the dirt before being lost amongst the tall grass.
Surely she hadn’t spent that long on the beach, mocking deities’ dick sizes in an effort to goad a smiting? Not for things to have changed so drastically.
She had scoured every inch of that beach, turning over every particle of sand, Gale probably thinking her deranged. Shadowheart had not been there. It had felt like a defeat admitting this, soldiering on, and she had sprinted towards where they would find Lae’zel with her heart in her throat, only to find this.
You couldn’t wait five seconds, hon? She threw the thought out to wherever the githyanki wandered, hoping she heard her.
Vixie tried not to let her panic show, tried not to let it overtake her. She just needed to find someone, damn it. Someone who was where they should be, someone who recognized her.
She knew the pathway to one, yet her feet remained soldered in place, unable to turn to take her there. If he… If he didn’t recognize her… Gods, she didn’t want to admit that it would break her. Damn her, for giving him this power.
Wyll and Karlach. There was still Wyll and Karlach. Though, Wyll was in the Grove (or he should be) which the goblins were attempting to attack and with only Gale as her backup, no Withers at the moment, it seemed foolish to head there now. But Karlach… Yes, she could climb over the cliffs, avoiding the entrance to the Grove, for now, get Karlach and maybe their fiery friend—.
A part of her had expected him to wait there for her, for however long until she dredged up the courage to face him.
Certainly, she at least hadn’t expected him to jump her.
She heard Gale’s warning too late, heard the telltale rushing movements of a body descending from above before suddenly she was prone, a familiar cold weight over her, the kiss of a blade at her throat.
Her body froze, stupidly, her gaze anchored to the ground in front of her, unable to twist to see…
“Ssh, ssh, careful now.” His voice had her muscles freezing and melting, instincts warring with each other. “Let’s keep that darling neck of yours intact. And you—keep your distance!”
“I will incinerate you,” Gale warned, which was rich coming from a wizard who had forgotten how to cast Fireball.
Fucking move, bitch, she told herself, mad when she found her limbs stiff and heavy. It’s not him. Not really.
That cold, harsh reminder was enough to unlock her arms. She drove her elbow back, aiming for his right hip, which she knew was weaker. (“Old injury, darling,” he had told her when she had asked why he favored one side.) Above her, he let out a sharp hiss, the edge of his blade digging into the column of her throat, but she ignored the sting as she twisted. She got her arm around his forearm and used her upward momentum to send him to the ground, knees falling on either side of him as she pressed his own dagger-hand to his throat.
Her breath left her at the sight of him—both familiar and not, another dissonant clash to this unharmonious symphony. White curls tinged with dust. Still clad in the rich embroidery that was at home in Baldur’s Gate but at odds on the road and in fights. His lip curled as if to bare his fangs before he caught himself and folded them over his teeth. His red eyes flicked unerringly from her face down to her neck, where Vixie could feel her pulse throb as the tiny cut he had given her bled freely.
How exactly had she missed he was a vampire? She felt embarrassed for her past self, hopeless, besotted idiot.
“If you wanted to get me on my back, darling,” he purred, raising a brow, his gaze dead and blank as he stared at her, not a flicker of recognition, “all you had to do was ask.”
X
This is why you didn’t get close to people. This was exactly why. Because inevitably shit happened like getting sent back into motherfucking time and he didn’t recognize you and it feels as if your heart is being ripped from your chest because despite lessons that had been engraved into your skin you had hoped, deliriously, uselessly hoped. And that was uncommon of you once upon a time.
You are near tears as you lurch off of him, giving him your unprotected back because why the fuck did it even matter anymore if he stabbed you? You try to compose yourself and the wizard you had found (who also didn’t bloody recognize you) stares at you as if the tadpole truly has eaten parts of your brain already.
And you know your enmity is misplaced. You are mad at him for something he can’t control, doesn’t even know is happening, but, Corellon help you, you are angry with him—with someone that doesn’t even exist, not yet—for leaving you here alone after getting so used to him being there and you can’t simply dismiss that.
This is why you didn’t give anyone the power to hurt you.
It is a lesson you had forgotten, lulled into complacency from many nights around a campfire, belly full, feeling a gaze on you but teasingly not meeting it, heart learning a different rhythm other than survival.
It is a lesson that you now, sadly, have to relearn.
X
“Go to hell. An everyday expression. So trivial it’s almost meaningless.”
Gale was being his usual contemplative self as Vixie stood beside him, staring into the campfire. Night had blanketed them, turning the shadows long and thick. She could see fireflies darting through the tall grass, heard cicadas rattle in the trees, smelt the sulfur of Avernus still clinging to their bodies.
Camp seemed so much smaller than it ever had, with only the three of them. Her gaze kept straying towards where Shadowheart or Lae’zel had set up their tents that first night, clenching anew every time she found them empty.
Vixie felt heavy as if a weight had sunk low into her belly. Her cuticles ached from where she had picked them to bleed. The mad frenzy of denial was leaving her as the world around her, her new reality was settling in, worming its way into every divot and crevice, suffocating her. Shockingly, she was getting used to the lack of air. Maybe in the morning, if she was able to sleep, she would have the energy to plot and scheme but, for now, she just stared at everything with a numb gaze.
It seemed useless to rail against the obvious. She was here, stranded, among these familiar strangers, forced to play out a narrative she had only just witnessed.
Her mind sludged through memories with surprising ease, assembling a timeline. Tomorrow they would have to head towards the Grove, where hopefully they would find Wyll, maybe even Shadowheart and Lae’zel, having wandered due to Vixie’s dithering. Then, over the river to Karlach where they would have to deal with the paladins of Tyr…or no, fuck, Withers. Getting him might be more advantageous if they remained Shadowheart-less. She tried to remember the order of the events previously but she couldn’t place it, not exactly, her mind coming up with several possible options. Maybe Wyll, then Withers, then Karlach? Or Withers first—.
“Devils, dragons, mind flayers—all abstract concepts, pictures on a piece of paper. What a difference a day makes. Oh, but listen to me prattle on.” Gale dropped his hands from where he had been holding them out to warm by the flames. “Won’t do any good. This useless rumination.”
“We do have ticking time bombs in our heads,” Vixie offered. Quite literally, if they couldn’t find Shadowheart, maybe this whole thing wouldn’t last a tenday, would end in tentacles exploding from her maw and her thoughts silenced forever.
White glinted in her peripherals but she stubbornly ignored it, him, focusing more on Gale.
A part of her wanted to grab the wizard by the shoulders and shake him, admit everything in a vicious deluge, so they could skip past all the mundane drivel the second time. She imagined herself doing it, tried to picture his reaction to her foreknowledge of him, Mystra, the orb.
The Gale she knew would’ve been delighted, would’ve probably talked conjecture on string theory until her ears bled.
…But this wasn’t the Gale she knew. There was a hardness to his eyes as he looked at her, a wariness. Though weakened as he was, as they all were with tadpoles eating at their mind juices, he was still a formidable wizard and she a petty criminal with one broken dagger and a depleted belt of poisons.
Survive, her heart beat what she thought had been its silenced, forgotten rhythm. There you are, she acknowledged it, feeling charmed and sickened by its presence.
“Point well made.” Gale tilted his head back, taking in the night sky and the wilderness around them. He chuffed lightly under his breath. “It’s a far cry from Waterdeep. But maybe we can find something tomorrow. A healer, hopefully.”
Vixie blamed her disjointed memories and her tired mind when she blurted out, “What were you doing? Away from Waterdeep, when you were captured?”
She hadn’t thought about it before as by the time she had learned about Gale’s condition they had much bigger things to worry about. But now, looking at events as she knew them, it didn’t make a lot of sense for Gale to be anywhere outside his tower, his own inflicted prison.
Gale’s gaze shuttered and she could see a wall going up, even as he tried for an offhand smile. “Traveling. Picked a most unfortunate day.”
She wanted to press him. Gale couldn’t travel, or at least he had said he wouldn’t risk it, had sequestered himself into his tower for that very reason. So then how…?
“We should get some rest.” Gale turned away from the fire, orange light catching in his silvered roots. “We have a most adventurous day ahead of us.”
Vixie had to let him go, had to let him retreat to his tent, the question left bouncing around in her skull.
“Our resident wizard seems jumpy. Must not relish the thought of sprouting tentacles. Can’t say I blame him.”
Vixie closed her eyes, dragged night air deep into her lungs, and willed herself not to break when she reopened them to face Astarion. She had been an actress for how long, telling all manner of pretty lies to appease clientele at Sharess’ Caress. (Yes, it’s the biggest I’ve ever seen. I did enjoy myself. Of course I came.) Why was this any different?
She opened her eyes to face him, plastering a mask over her features, hiding the hurt behind a wall. Just act normal. You remember your lines , right? She cast her mind back to the first night, trying to align the dialogue in her head.
“So we’re resting here for the night?” he asked, looking about him with a sneer. “Turning in, I mean?”
She clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry I couldn’t find you a feather bed.”
He hiked a brow her way. “No need for the cheek. I just meant this is all new to me. Usually, for me, the nights mean bustling streets and bursting taverns. Curling up in the dirt is a bit…novel.”
Too easily, she found herself slipping into familiar patterns as she cooed, “Aw baby’s first camping trip?”
“As a…magistrate, camping wasn’t a part of the job description. It doesn’t look like you’re one for the outdoors either,” he added, turning to her. His nose wrinkled. She could see the tips of his fangs peek through as he leaned a little closer to her. “Are you wearing perfume?”
While setting up her tent, she had dug down deep into her pack for that tiny, dwindling vial of gardenia oil, smearing it onto her pulse points as a way to comfort herself, pressing down until the weight of her finger hurt. But, hearing him mention it, she was reminded of warm, quiet mornings, before the others had roused, his head finding the curve of her neck and inhaling deep—.
“So what if I am?” she snapped, tone churlish enough to make him raise his eyebrows. Gods, she was failing at this, wasn’t she? “Look, rest or don’t, it’s up to you—.”
“I fear we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” Astarion cut in, looking…well, the vampiric equivalent of sheepish, which was just short of smug. “I did apologize for ambushing you, didn’t it?”
Vixie scoffed. “You didn’t ambush me—.”
“I got the jump on you and startled you. Come off it, darling, don’t feel embarrassed.” She got the mad, violent urge to flick him on the forehead, only just managing to stay her fingers. “If that’s not the definition of a successful ambush—.”
“It’s the definition of a sloppy one,” she corrected.
“Then how would you have done it?”
She crossed her arms tight to her rib cage. They were way off script by now but it wasn’t like she had anyone but herself to blame. She exhaled through her nose. “I’m…partial to poisons. And if your ambush was so successful, how come you barely managed to nick me?” The fine line on her throat had already healed but she saw his gaze dart to it, as if it still bled.
Her blood heated as she remembered his gaze straying to her neck for a far different reason—. No, stop it. Don’t go there.
“Because killing you wasn’t my intent,” he said with that liar’s tongue of his. “If it was…trust me, you’d be dead.”
Said the vampire spawn starved from rats and flies. She remembered how he had been at the beginning of their journey, keeling over from the smallest hit, dropping his daggers when his hands trembled from hunger. Vixie barely managed to contain her eye roll. But he must’ve seen the minute twitch of her irises, for he pressed, “What? You doubt my abilities? Just wait until I’m rested, pet. You won’t believe the things I can do.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it, babes,” she told him and, this time, she couldn’t help herself; she flicked him on the forehead, getting a startled widening of his red eyes before she turned her back on him.
“Did you just flick me?!” Astarion asked in a scandalized, horrified tone.
She played dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Careful, she warned herself, feeling his gaze on her. She had a feeling she’d be telling herself that a lot.
X
That night presented her with a unique, confounding problem. She had gotten used to Astarion sleeping beside her. She caught herself assembling the pillows for two before madly tearing them back into a pile, growling as she berated himself.
She had existed for years without him. A few months should mean nothing, easily unlearned.
Yet she lay there, staring up at the dark hollow of her tent, body strung tight, remembering the shape of him against her and her heart ached—.
She scraped rough hands down her face, cursing every foul word she knew, the shadows her only witness. Her body practically throbbed with the need for rest, her thoughts sluggish and slow.
Rest had never come easily to her, not since the night she had been tossed out, the door of the brothel slammed shut in her face, blood still tacky on her thighs, the shreds of her wispy dress suddenly not enough to cover her, cheek burning from Mamzell’s knife. She had gotten used to it, though, had gotten used to waking up after a few stolen hours to a flood of adrenaline, ears always pricked for the sounds of the Fist smashing the door open to her hideaway.
But, just as she had gotten used to the frenzied, chaotic habit, she had gotten used to falling asleep feeling safe and secure, her back watched, a body nestled tight to hers. And while this body may have never known such luxuries…her mind seemingly hadn’t forgotten it, was chafing at the sudden denial.
Which was fucking rude of it.
A sound reached her ears, had her sitting up and peering through the near-closed flap of her tent. Astarion’s moon-pale form slunk through the camp, righting the cooking pot he had disturbed, head furtively turning before crouching further and darting towards the tree line.
His first hunt. Vixie laid back down. There would be a drained boar on the path the next morning and she would have to make sure her acting skills were up to the task. Then, two nights from now, so long as they were still tentacle-less, he would try to bite her—.
Her body stiffened and she sat back up, gaze on where he had vanished, the ferns still shaking from his hurried movements. She could play her part, she realized, banking on her ability not to arouse suspicion, yanked along the narrative like a puppet…
Or she could be a disruptive, chaotic force.
Palming her daggers, she slipped out after him.
X
Gods, he was a messy eater.
Vixie tried not to judge as, if the tables should ever be turned, she couldn’t say if she would be a neat vampire, but Astarion was slobbering at the boar’s neck like he never heard of table manners, red staining his chin and gloving his hands, dripping onto the forest floor.
She ducked back behind the willow tree and considered her options. She should wait, she supposed. It would be rude to surprise him while he was eating. Maybe happen across him while he was stumbling back towards camp, still blood-drunk, get this whole vampire-reveal story thread out of the way—.
A smear of white had her jerking back against the bark, raising a dagger right before a forearm came across her neck, slamming her airway closed. She registered burning red eyes and features distorted with a snarl, elongated fangs bared at her.
Astarion blinked at her, lips uncurling as he registered her, ignoring the blade she had weakly pressed to his throat in retaliation. “You—?!” He jerked his forearm up but didn’t lower it completely, still keeping her pinned. She felt the cold iron of blood transferred to her, tingeing every inhale he was so close. Globs of it still wreathed his mouth as if he had torn himself away mid-drink. “This isn’t what it looks like—!”
“Enjoying your meal?” she rasped, feeling her throat bruise. He had slammed into her with force, slightly crazed from the fresh kill.
That expression of bewilderment evaporated from him, replaced with one of suspicion. “You…You knew I was a vampire?”
“You, the ghostly pale companion with the red eyes and the fang marks on his neck, a vampire? No, this is brand new information.” She really did question how she hadn’t seen it during the first go around—not until he was crouched over, fangs presented. In her defense, she had been preoccupied with greater questions rather than whether or not one of her companions was an undead spawn.
“But I was out in the sun,” he argued.
“You act like that’s something unique,” she mocked.
His forearm pressed against her neck in warning. The vermilion of his eyes seemed to pulse, reflecting rings of moonlight from the freckled canopy above them. “You taunt a predator, pet,” he hissed, vocal cords rumbling over the words. Instead of fear, a thrill went through her, brain chemicals not aligned to deal with the current situation.
Dark blood still dripped from his chin. He was too close; she knew he was too close, that she should be struggling harder. That would be the smart, sane option. He didn’t know her, had no reason not to drill his fangs deep within her and suck out of her life. But memory and instinct were jarringly opposed and she wanted nothing more than to grab him by the nape and bring him—.
He dropped his arm and staggered away from her. Vixie could suddenly breathe again. “So what?” he asked, brows still lowered. “You’re here to kill me?”
“What makes you say that?”
“You followed me with a bloody knife!”
“Who goes into the dark forest without a knife?” she challenged.
He tilted his head and seemed to consider it, giving a begrudging shrug. “I can be an asset, you know.” He seemed to only then register the wet mess of blood clinging to his chin and he dropped his head to rub it against his shirt sleeve, smearing the red more than cleaning it, leaving his skin stained pink. “Properly fed, I can be a force to be reckoned with.”
“And you feed off of animals?” she asked because this was what she should’ve asked if she didn’t already know his answers. She kept her dagger raised between them with no real intent to use it.
“Mostly animals.” She wanted to call him on the lie but managed to hold her tongue. “I can control myself, if that’s what you’re getting at. Heck, I’ve never even killed anyone…not for food at least.”
“So I won’t find you crouched over me in the dead of night, salivating at my throat?” She wanted to make sure certain events didn’t repeat themselves; who knew what he could glean while he was lapping at her vein, her blood thrumming through him?
He tucked a smile into the corner of his mouth. “Well, not unless you were to ask. You do have a lovely neck after all.” His words were dripping with suggestion, barely concealed intent, his arsenal of skills out in full force.
Vixie flicked him on the forehead again.
“Ow! Would you stop doing that?!” he seethed, baring his fangs.
She bared her teeth in a savage smile that matched his, feeling the scar tissue on her cheek tug. “Then quit saying stupid things.”
He loosed a breath, staring at her with narrowed eyes. “You are…vexing.”
“I’ve been called much worse. That’s practically flattery.”
“So what was the plan here?” He tapped a finger on the edge of her knife, pushing it slowly to the side. “Show me what a proper ambush looks like?”
“No, I…” In truth, she hadn’t had much of a plan. She just wanted to cause something rather than be pulled along, be in control of something for once since people couldn’t damn well stay where they should. “Look, we’re a team, for now anyway. And we should…trust each other.”
Astarion looked from her still raised blade to her, lifting dubious brows. She dropped her hand with a sigh, sheathing her dagger at her belt. “So long as you keep your fangs to yourself, I’ll do the same with my blades, happy?”
“Ecstatic,” he purred.
“Now go.” She waved him back to the boar. “Get in there, slurp it all up, don’t be wasteful.”
He swayed as if debating. “And leave you to wander back to camp alone? What kind of gentleman would I be?”
“I won’t be wandering back to camp.” She took up a stance against the oak tree. “I’ll stay and watch your back.”
He jerked his head towards her, gaze sharp. “Watch my back? As if I need you and your puny blade.”
“Oh come off it you ass. When you’re eating, you’re preoccupied—I presume,” she added hastily.
It was after the tiefling party that he had asked this of her, the sight of the Gur having spooked him. Just make sure one of them doesn’t jump me, darling, he had asked, the question seeming to cost him something. Before she had started feeding him, this had become their usual routine, Vixie following him at a distance while he hunted, keeping watch as he relaxed into his kill.
But he hadn’t asked this time around. She was offering.
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why? Why would you offer?”
“Because we’re a team now, for better or worse.” Because I loved you once and I don’t know if I can stop.
He stared at her for long enough that she had to touch a hand to her face to make sure tentacles hadn’t grown, his expression telling her was expecting a punchline. The weight of his gaze was enough to make her skin itch.
“You’re wasting moonlight!” she barked at him. She held up her fingers in warning. “Do I have to flick you again?”
Astarion slowly returned to the boar, chancing glances over his shoulder, as if he expected Vixie to jump at him with a stake. Vixie settled against the tree when the sounds of his slurping returned, keeping her gaze trained on the forest, making sure the only monster remained the one at her back.
X
Vixie awoke, thoughts fuzzy from too little sleep. Muscle memory had her reaching for her daggers before she heard the sound of flames and hurried, garbled casting.
She stumbled out into the wane morning light, a faint veil of mist having risen from the sea overnight. A chill hung in the air, had her flesh prickling.
Before she could even register her surroundings, someone was yanking her to the side, a hissed “Pay attention!” directed into the shell of her ear.
Gale’s flames lit the camp, jetting across to pelt into a snarling gnoll who was rifling through the campfire’s ashes, lured by the lingering smell of their meal from last night. It yelped as the flames scorched its hide, turning dripping, slobbering jaws onto the wizard. Its companion stalked the camp’s border, hulking body prowling, close to where Vixie had exited her tent.
Foliage rattled and Vixie spied the wide shoulders of another one hidden in the tall grass. She heard the baying howls of two others, palming her daggers with clammy hands. She tried to do the mental math, trying to judge if they had camped too close to the bridge, not thinking they had, but maybe the beasts had wandered, a domino effect of her different choices.
While gnolls weren’t usually that much of a threat, they didn’t have Lae’zel or Shadowheart to bolster them. They only had Gale who was only good at a distance and Astarion who slunk to the shadows and Vixie who was nothing without her poisons.
“Be ready,” Astarion warned, still flushed from recently feeding, his eyes glittering as he flipped his dagger blade.
Right before she sensed they were about to pounce, something came crashing through the undergrowth. Vixie saw the lick of orange flames over the tall grass and smelt sulfur, her heart missing a beat at the familiar smell. She lurched forward, unable to help herself, barely registering Astarion grabbing at her arm to stop her.
An ax flew, thrown by an expert hand, embedding hard in one of the gnoll’s rib cages, causing it to crumble. A tiefling, one-horned and flame-bright, erupted, stamping through the ambush of gnolls like they were twigs, bending to retrieve her ax from the split carcass of the one she fell.
“Need a hand, soldier?” Karlach asked.