5. You Don’t Have A Tent?
The road through the forest was quiet and dim. With the commotion at the temple ruins behind them, the group winded down for the evening, looking for a suitable location to rest.
Four small, glowing orbs hovered above Night’s head, her Dancing Lights cantrip lighting up the path.
Kal was in a good mood, having had his fill for dinner. Though he was still completely covered in dried blood.
Night and Shadowheart nibbled on cured meats from their packs, both standing a good arms length away from Kal.
“Your choice of…protein surprised me,” Shadowheart said to Kal. “But as long as you keep your teeth away from me, I won’t interfere.”
“I can differentiate food from friends,” Kal said sharply. “I’m not uncivilized, like some dragons are.“
Night nudged Astor’s side, holding out a piece of jerky. “Do you want some food?”
He arched an eyebrow, eyeing the dark, half-eaten meat in Night’s hand. “I’m good, thanks,” he replied lightly. “I don’t eat much.”
“Really? You seem pale. Are you feeling alright?” Night said in a concerned tone.
“This is just how I look,” Astor said flatly.
By the time the party arrived at the clearing, the sun had fully set. The grassy field they found was amidst tall, lush trees. The full moon hung low in the sky, its reflection mirrored on the surface of the nearby lake. In the center was a patch of bare ground.
“This looks as good a spot as any,” Astor announced decisively. “We’ll make camp here, get some rest, and start fresh tomorrow.” He turned to the group. “Nightingale, can you put up some protection magic?”
“I’m not an expert in wards but I can try. What kind do you want?” Night replied.
Astor had no idea what the options are. “Um, something useful. You decide.” He walked away like he had given sage advice.
Night gave an amused scoff, and then got to work.
Meanwhile, Kal surveyed the area.“Every camp needs a campfire. I’ll get some wood.” He excitedly ran into the tree line, and soon they heard the felling of trees.
“It doesn’t need to be too big, Kal!” Astor shouted into the darkness.
Shadowheart walked to a grassy spot. She reached into her bag of holding, pulling out a tent bundle, getting to work pitching the poles.
It was at that point that Astor realized he was empty handed. The nautiloid had plucked him out of Baldur’s Gate’s streets as he was out on his evening stroll. He doesn’t even have a bag. He glanced at the grass under his feet. Maybe sleeping on the ground won’t be too bad.
“Wards are up,” Night said as she approached Astor. “If anyone but us four cross the boundaries, an alarm will sound and that should wake us up.” She watched Shadowheart figure out her tent straps and yawned. “Let’s hope we get good sleep tonight because I am exhausted. I might even sleep in.”
“Do you have a tent?” Astor asked.
Night nodded. She reached into her bag of holding, her arms disappearing into the depths, pulling out a cinched cloth bag. Opening the bag upside down, out fell a cluster of coarse, violet-colored cloth. As she pulled at the canvas, it quickly expanded upright into a small tent. Subtle grey, geometric patterns ran along its surface, forming arcane signals that covered the entire fabric.
“Self assembling. A simple enchantment,” Night said, seeing Astor’s gaze. She tilted her head. “Where’s your tent?”
Astor crossed his arms. “I don’t have one, but I’ll find one tomorrow.”
“You can sleep in mine tonight, if you want,” Night suggested.
“With you?” Astor replied in surprise. “In that tiny thing? Can you even fit?”
“I promise it’s much bigger on the inside,” Night explained.
Suddenly, a flash of light lit up their surroundings. Kal had unleashed a fiery breath onto a precariously balanced stack of thick, roughly cut wood. The logs immediately caught, and soon, a hearty campfire roared in the center of the clearing. Sparks flew around the air, blown by the breeze. The light threw long shadows across the grass.
“Nothing beats the smell of burning wood,” Kal said to Shadowheart as they both sat down near the campfire “I like to sleep by the fire at night. It keeps my scales warm.”
Night and Astor approached the fire and found places to sit down.
“That was quick, Kal. You’re good at this,” Night commented, watching the tall flames.
“But next time, maybe not so tall,” Astor said.
“The taller the better though?” Kal said, shrugging.
Together, they went over the events of the long day. Tomorrow, they would look for clues about the mind flayer activity, and how they could remove the tadpoles.
They hypothesized on the God of Death’s appearance, and hoped that with Kelemvor’s divine intervention, it meant they weren’t close to becoming mind flayers themselves.
“If Kelemvor’s the reason I get to stay a dragon, then I wouldn’t mind throwing him a prayer or two every now and then,” Kal mused. “I can sleep soundly tonight.” He stretched out and laid down on the grass, fully content, and closed his eyes.
“Aren’t you going to bathe, Kal? You’re filthy,” Shadowheart said. Then her eyes widened. “Oh sorry, was that rude of me? I don’t know much about dragon culture.”
“You’re good,” Kal said, laughing. “I can wash up in the lake.”
“If you prefer hot water, you can use my shower,” Night piped up.
“You have a shower?” Shadowheart said, intrigued. “Where?”
“In my tent.”
Kal, Astor and Shadowheart stared at Night in confusion.
“Oh, did I not mention?” Night flashed a mischievous grin. “Let me show you.”
From the outside, Night’s little violet tent was a nondescript and made of sturdy, water resistant cloth. Held up by metal poles, the front of the tent featured a single flap that took up almost the entire side.
Night held open the flap, and then ducked inside. Astor and Shadowheart exchanged a look, and then followed.
Through the entrance, the space inside the tent opened up to the full height of a regular room. The walls were a dark purple, and were framed and accented by polished dark wood at the corners and edges.
A long couch of carved wood and plush, blue cushions lined the far wall. A wooden low table sat in front, a cup sitting empty on top, stained with dried tea. Paintings and potted plants hung on the walls alongside bright glowing crystals that lit up the space. Shelves of books and various knickknacks lined the side walls, spaced apart to accommodate curtained windows.
On the nearby wall was a den that acted as Night’s study, with a work desk, an intricately carved wooden armchair, and tall cabinets. Scrolls, tomes, inkwells and notebooks lay scattered messily on the table.
Next to the study was a closed door. “That’s my bedroom,” Night explained. She walked past the door and couch, down the short hallway that led to the back. “This is the bathroom where the shower is,” she said, opening a side door. “And this,” she patted the back door, which was made of colorful stained glass, “this opens to the yard.”
Astor approached Nightingale and opened the back door. He looked around, wide-eyed, as a meadow of slowly swaying green grass greeted him. Low rolling hills lined with various flowers and trees under a strange sky of swirling, glowing faintly purple, amidst a black starless backdrop. The scene was dimly lit by numerous crystal lanterns, hanging from poles sticking out of the grass.
He couldn’t comprehend the existence of this space.
Kal poked his head through the front entrance. “Woah, cool lair!” He entered the flap with some effort. “There’s so much space in here. How does this work?”
Night looked proud. “This is my personal demiplane. I made my tent a permanent portal into my plane.”
“This is great for travel,” Shadowheart said.
Astor’s mind was swirling with implications. This was incredible. What else could she do?
“Astor,” Night began, snapping Astor out of his thoughts.
“Yes?”
“I meant my offer earlier. You can stay on my couch until you find a tent. I have a spare set of beddings,” Night said. “I also have plenty of hot water in the bathroom so you can all take turns using it in the evenings. Just clean up after yourselves.”
Astor stood under the shower head in Night’s bathroom. The water was warm and plentiful.
The small bathroom was covered in teal colored ceramic tiles. Steam from the water filled the room, and it filtered out through slits on the walls.
He scrubbed the blood and dirt from his hair and body, watching as the water turned pink and swirled around the drain.
A glass bottle sat on a shelf, labeled with the Common word for “soap.” It had a floral scent. Astor poured some of the contents out and watched suds appear as he lathered his hands. He took a moment and just stared. He didn’t think he would have the luxury of a hot shower and soap during this journey.
This whole place was ridiculous. Night was ridiculous. How could this woman have so much power in that tiny, human body of hers? Nothing about her made any sense.
She was a Chosen of the literal Goddess of All Magic. And she had lived in the afterlife, in a goddess’ divine realm. She had a demiplane just casually attached to her tent. And the God of Death knew her name.
Not to mention how easily she seemed to conjure magic that caused as much devastation as a dragon’s breath.
He turned off the water and grabbed the towel that Night had left on a hook for him. Drying off his silver curls and his body, he stepped out of the shower. There was a mirror in the room, but it had fogged up from the steam. He wiped it clear with his towel.
Astor’s reflection stared back at him, a set of red beady eyes hovered within a swirl of dark shadowy mist, though the white towel reflected back perfectly. He had lost his reflection the night he became a vampire, when his eyes turned this particular shade of red and he grew fangs. He had hoped that perhaps the tadpole would have given him his regular reflection back, but it looked like that wasn’t the case.
Nor did the tadpole do anything for his blood hunger, a constant gnawing presence at his side that he tried his hardest to ignore. He had learned to live with it, passing his days in a haze. But today, he had gotten to drink thinking blood, and he could think clearly for the first time in centuries.
He grabbed a set of clean clothes. Night had said she kept clothing in various sizes for visitors. Astor smoothed the fabric of the sleeveless navy blue shirt and the soft, baggy grey trousers and shook his head. This was definitely not his style, but at least it was comfortable.
Astor sat on the couch, warm and clean. Night had laid out blankets and a pillow for him. She even left him a cup of warm tea on the table.
He took a sip. Like most food and drink, it didn’t taste like anything to him, but he could smell the floral scent, similar to the smell of her soap. He leaned back into the couch cushions and tried to relax.
Today was a very long day. His life had completely changed, and he was still getting used to this twisted new freedom of his. He thought about all the new experiences he had. The sun. The blood. Allies who treated him as an equal. No master to dictate what he did and when.
He looked at the shelves that lined the walls, his thoughts drifting to Night. For someone with so much power, resources, and prestige, she was oddly genuine. Though maybe it was for show, all for him to drop his guard.
But maybe this is what bookish wizards are like. Besides one of his sibling spawn, he didn’t know any other wizards personally, but the stereotypes of them in the stories he’d read matched Night perfectly. Energetic, knowledgeable, and slightly awkward. He had only met her that day, hadn’t been very polite, and yet she still offered him shelter.
Perhaps he could take advantage of this situation. If he could get closer to her, become someone important to her, then maybe…she wouldn’t be against using some of her power for his benefit.
His mind immediately went to work, iterating over various schemes and plots. He sank deeper into the cushions.
“You’re getting my couch all wet,” an annoyed voice said. “Dry your hair, Astor.”
Astor looked up and saw Night standing in front of him. Her indigo hair was undone and messy, freshly washed and dried. Her azure eyes were tired under her bangs, but still alert. A dark nightgown with a high collar hung on her small frame. The sleeves were long and stitched with white lace, and as his eyes trailed down her body, he saw that the bottom hem was short, ending above her knees.
Night plopped down on the couch beside him, and he scooted aside to make space. She held out a narrow stone wand. At the tip was a thick ring of carved stone the width of her palm, with intricate runes inscribed along the inside of the circle. “Here, use this.”
“What is it?” Astor asked, holding the rod in his grip. Suddenly, the runes flashed, and hot air blew through the ring directly into his eyes and nose. He coughed violently.
Night cackled at the sight. “It’s a hairdryer. For drying your hair. Squeeze it harder for stronger wind.”
He turned the tool over in his hand. “Where did you get this?”
She tapped her chin. “I think it was from Waterdeep? Our marketplace gets all the new arcane tools first, before they get mass produced. You said you’re from Baldur’s Gate? Have you visited Waterdeep?”
Astor thought back to when he was very young, he had spent a few years living in Waterdeep. But the person he was before he was turned felt so distant to who he was now. The few memories he had of the City of Splendors felt more like scenes from a story than his own life.
“Once, very long ago,” Astor replied, carefully crafting a fond and nostalgic expression.
“Then you should visit again,” Night suggested. She tapped her temple. “After we remove these tadpoles, of course.”
“I would love to visit,” Astor said cheerfully. Once Velith is dead. He eyed Night carefully, testing the nickname in his mind before he said it. “You’ll show me around, right, Night?”
Night paused for a moment, and then her expression brightened. “Oh, definitely! I’ll take you to all my favorite restaurants.”
Astor laughed under his breath. There was no way he would have the freedom to see Waterdeep anytime soon. No way he could enjoy the taste of the food. No way he could stand in the sun without the tadpole. And here was Night, talking like the plans had already been made.
“By the way, do you have a sewing kit? My clothes got ripped earlier,” Astor explained, holding up his blouse and showing her the tear. He didn’t have another set of clothes.
Night held her palm over the tear. She murmured a spell, causing blue magic to infuse into the shirt. The tear vanished. “I can’t fix clothes to save my life but every wizard worth their salt knows mending cantrips. Oh, but I’m an expert at magical embroidery. If you need a perfect circle stitched, ask me any time.” Then she leaned closer to the shirt. “This is covered in blood, Astor.”
“I could rinse this off in the bathroom,” Astor said.
Night brought her hand over his shirt again, and murmured a different spell. White light surrounded the shirt, and the visible stains slowly dissolved away. “Basic cleaning magic,” she explained. “It doesn’t replace proper laundering, but it’s good enough for the road.”
How useful, came Astor’s involuntary thought.
He flashed a soft, practiced smile. “Thanks, Night. And for letting me stay in your tent, too.”