15. You’re Not Alone
Astor walked around with Night on his back, her arms tightly wrapped around his neck.
From the tallest hill, they weren’t able to see her staff, so they started walking a spiral pattern, looking in small burrows, in puddles and under roots.
“Maybe it didn’t fall all the way down. Maybe it got caught on the branches above?” Astor suggested. “Do you really need the staff? You don’t have another casting focus?”
“That staff was crafted by a famous enchanter who owed me a favor. Beyond making my casting faster, it boosts my range and gives me more control over elemental spells. You can’t even buy a replacement with the same enhancements.”
Astor was silent for a few paces. “It seems like we’ll have to find it, then.”
“It’s imbued to be summonable if it’s within a hundred feet of me. But of course, that doesn’t work in antimagic fields. If you didn’t fool around with the flower, we would have been out of this area without problems.”
“…Don’t make me drop you, Night.”
She stopped complaining.
They continued the search, but they weren’t having much luck. Then, as they passed close to a set of thick roots, they saw several stone stalagmites that grew like fangs coming out of the ground.
Their shape looked suspiciously familiar.
“Ah! It’s my staff!” Night yelled, pointing at something silver flashing between two stalagmites.
Her voice echoed around them, and one large, yellow eye opened in the center of the tallest stalagmite. A jaw of numerous rows of pointed, jagged teeth appeared, and tendrils started stretching lazily through the air. One of the tendrils held the staff.
A roper. The monster had found the staff, and was now using it as bait, waiting for them to approach so it could catch its next meal.
With Night on his back, Astor jumped backward, staying clear of the roper’s reach. Once a safe distance away, Night climbed off him, fixing her robe and standing beside him.
They fought ropers a few times already. Because it couldn’t move quickly, hitting it with range magic was effective. But they currently couldn’t use magic.
“Any bright ideas?” Astor asked.
“If you get caught by those tendrils, they’ll sap your strength and you’re done for. If only we had bow and arrows…”
“We don’t need to defeat it, we only need the staff back.”
“It’s slow to turn around. If we stayed on the other side of its eye, it wouldn’t be able to see our attacks.”
“Look at it dangle that staff at us,” Astor said, gesturing at how the highest tendril swung the silver staff slowly around like a prize. “It definitely knows that’s what we want.”
“Compared to you, they’re not very fast, so you could fight it directly. Hmm…” Night hobbled around, squinting to look in the distance. “Is that tinmask mushroom on that root over there?”
“Oh.” Astor’s eyes lit up. “Let me grab the mushroom, you wait here.”
Using his dagger, Astor carefully cut the tinmask mushroom out of the root. He hurried back to Night, holding the mushroom carefully. “Here’s the plan. You get on that ledge in front of the roper and throw the mushroom at its eye.“
Night nodded. “And what will you be doing?”
“Just watch.”
Astor climbed to a cliff behind the roper. He signaled to Night, hoping she could at least throw a mushroom properly.
Thankfully, her aim was true, and as the mushroom soared towards the roper’s eye, it noticed. A tendril shot up to catch it, crushing the tinmask, releasing spores that cause confusion. The roper panicked, flailing its tendrils around aimlessly, its eye dazed and its mouth opening and closing for no reason.
Astor timed his jump, darting off the cliff, through the air, and towards the staff. As he grabbed the staff with one hand, his dagger sliced an arc around the tendril with his other, cutting it cleanly.
He landed in front of the roper, and without looking back, he sprinted away as fast as he could.
“You did it!” Night patted Astor on the back after they reconvened. He handed her the staff, wiping sweat from his forehead. “That was incredible, Astor. You flew through the air. The roper didn’t even have time to react.”
Astor was smug. “Now let’s get out of—“
The ground underneath them rumbled. Astor’s instincts kicked in before he could even think. He scooped Night up in his arms, one hand under her back, the other under her knees, and darted in the opposite direction from the roper.
A giant insectoid monster burrowed out of the ground near where they stood moments ago. It was twice Astor’s height, and boasted a body covered in spiked, beige chitin armor. Its six limbs were sharp, spiked with coarse, pale hair. Around its mouth hung large mandibles, dripping with some sort of green gunk.
“What in the Hells—“ Astor began to say, glancing back at the monster that appeared. He cradled Night against his chest.
Night looked over Astor’s shoulder. “It’s an ankheg! They’re ambush predators that live underground. They’re not very fast but—“
The ankheg leaned back, winding up an attack. In less than a second, it squirted a blob of green acid. The digestive enzymes flew through the air at incredible speeds, and it hit Astor squarely on his back.
The acid immediately burned through his blouse, leaking onto his skin. He slowed down in his sprint, holding back his scream, gritting his teeth against the pain.
“It spat its stomach acid on you, we need to wash it off,” Night whispered frantically. “Can you find elevation? It can’t travel through rock!”
The predator started burrowing towards them, and Astor eyed a series of short cliffs nearby. He tightened his grip around Night and then jumped high, darting between cliffs as if they were a staircase, hoping to leave the ankheg behind.
Astor and Night found a small, rocky cavern to hide in, perched high on the cavern walls. The ankheg had given up its chase.
Sitting down quickly, Astor clawed off his shirt, which the acid had mostly eaten through in the back. He groaned in pain at the enzymes still burning his skin.
Night detached the waterskin strapped to her belt and carefully poured its contents over Astor’s back. She rubbed the flowing sleeves of her robe into the water, gently brushing the acid away.
As Night made contact with the burns on his back, pain flashed through him, and he inhaled sharply, biting his lips.
Night looked down at the burns the acid caused. “I hope this doesn’t leave a sc—“ She stopped talking mid-sentence, stiffening suddenly.
Astor realized why, and he immediately turned around. “Night—“
Across Astor’s back, beneath the fresh burn scars from the ankheg’s acid, Night stared at raised, long healed scars in the shape of a circle of sigils. “What in the Weave…? Infernal…?”
“What?”
“Why do you have runes carved into your back in Infernal?”
“They’re in Infernal? I—…never mind. We can discuss this later. Here.” He handed her his own waterskin. “Pour this on me too.”
Night nodded, helping Astor get the rest of the acid off.
“Did any get on you?” Astor asked.
“No, thankfully. How are you feeling?”
Astor touched his back gingerly, and he shivered, grimacing. “It hurts when I touch it, but it’s not too bad.”
After catching their breath, Astor, now topless, continued ascending the step-like cliffs by the cavern wall. He held Night in front of him, away from the burns on his back. She kept a secure grip on her staff.
Night’s face repeatedly knocked against his bare chest, and her face was slightly flushed the entire way.
Soon, they approached the canopy of branches and heard a familiar voice.
“Astor! Night!” Kal was calling them, his red hair visible through the branches.
A long rope descended through branches of sussur blooms, and Astor and Night took turns climbing up it.
The party was finally reunited.
That evening, after making camp, Shadowheart spent an hour treating Astor’s burns, all the while scolding him and Kal for their recklessness around the sussur flowers and their insensitivity towards Night’s discomfort.
Kal sincerely apologized to Night, admitting that he took it too far. Astor scoffed, then bit out a sarcastic apology, which caused Shadowheart to scold him more.
Back in Night’s tent, Astor finished showering, his injuries treated. Kal had even given him some blood. Dressed in dark silk sleepwear, he was warm and ready to sleep.
Night came over in her nightgown and dropped onto the couch next to him, placing a handful of small vials on the low table. Red, shimmering liquid sloshed in each container.
“My batch of Healing Potions are done. These are yours,” Night said. “Drinking one healed my ankle, so they should work properly.”
Astor nodded, stuffing the bottles into his Bag of Holding. When he turned back, he saw Night giving him an expectant look. He raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Finding your staff cost me my favorite shirt, Night. You owe me.”
“Sure, sure, take all the gold you need for your wardrobe. Now, can we talk about the scars on your back? What are they?”
Astor sighed. He knew this was coming. “As you know, I’m a vampire,” he began.
“Yes, there was a whole dramatic reveal last week,” she replied dryly.
“Well, I’m actually a vampire spawn. Do you know what that means?”
Night stood up, marching over to her bookshelf. She came back with the book that featured a mind flayer illustration on the front. Omeluum’s signature was scrawled on the cover.
“Monster Manual,” she explained, flipping through it to the page on ‘vampire spawn.’ She quickly skimmed it before answering. “You are subservient to a vampiric master.”
Astor eyed the depiction of a female vampire spawn on the page, illustrated in colored ink. Red eyes and grey, sickly skin, an outfit of rags caked in dried mud. The spawn was half snarling, her fangs descended and framing her mouth, her claws extended in an aggressive pose.
“This is a terrible illustration,” Astor said, tapping the page. “Vampire spawn can easily blend in with people. We don’t live covered in dirt or wear rags—unless our master forces us to. Still, this is insulting. She’s not even wearing shoes.”
“Uh.” Night just stared at him. “I could send the editor a note, if you want?”
“…forget it.” Astor looked away from the book. He paused to gather his thoughts, taking a deep breath before he started, realizing that this would be the first time he’d have verbalized what he went through to another person.
“My master is a vampire lord named Velith, of House Szarr, one of the patriar families of Baldur’s Gate. She lives in a mansion in the Manorborn district of the Upper City. Two centuries ago, she turned me into her spawn, and I’ve been enslaved ever since, trapped and compelled through the blood magic that binds a spawn to their master under servitude. I can’t even kill her if I held a dagger to her throat.”
Night looked at him wide-eyed in horror. “Astor… I didn’t…realize…”
*That’s it. That look of pity. *He hated it, but he was hoping for it. His hands tightened over his knees.
He knew that if he wanted Night to help him kill Velith, he had to give her good reasons to. It was easiest to appeal to her emotions. So he went on to describe the Hell that was his life under Velith. How she treated her handful of spawn like toys. How she held fancy balls for nobility and vampires alike, and forced Astor to perform as part of the party entertainment.
“Wow.” Night was strangely impressed. “How many instruments do you know?”
“Lute, violin, drums and lyre. Four. This is irrelevant, Night. Keep listening.”
Astor then described what Velith made him do. Most evenings, all of Velith’s spawn had to go into the Lower City and bring back a victim for her to consume. Now, this was more annoying than anything for Astor. He could use his psionic magic to compel unsuspecting people to follow him willingly back to the manor. Some of his sibling spawn did struggle with this chore, since they didn’t know magic.
Unfortunately, because Astor was so good at kidnapping people, Velith frequently gave him extra work. Whenever she needed someone quietly disappeared, or perhaps tortured, Astor was dispatched.
“That explains your skill with the dagger,” Night murmured.
“I am quite good at my job,” Astor said darkly, and he gave her an unsettling smirk.
Then his smile faltered, and he fell back into the plush cushions of the couch, folding his hands over his stomach. His eyes unfocused as he thought back.
Taking in an intentionally indifferent tone, he started to describe the sadistic punishments Velith inflicted on her spawn. Starvation, though they were already regularly starved, having mostly been fed vermin blood. Getting flayed, then chained down until their vampiric regeneration healed the wounds, only to get flayed again. Locked in a coffin lined with spikes. Being strung up in the hallways for days in public humiliation, the blood in their body draining to their heads until they passed out. Intentionally getting exposed to sun, which burned their skin off.
Half the time, the spawn had to carry out such punishments on each other, while Velith watched with glee. Occasionally, they were compelled to inflict these tortures onto themselves.
Night froze, her face paling. “M-my word, I don’t even—“ She rubbed the hem of her nightgown in awkward silence.
“That’s messed up,” she said finally, meeting his gaze with a deep frown on her face.
Astor nodded slowly. So that’s how people react, he thought.
“Decades ago, Velith called me to the dungeons. She strapped me to one of the stone tables. It took her all night, but she carved whatever is on my back into me, making revisions as she went. She savored my screams with a glass of her favorite red wine… Eventually she carved marks into each of her spawn. They all look slightly different.”
“This is— I’m so sorry you went through that, Astor.”
“It’s fine. I’m used to it.” He wasn’t.
Astor sat up. “Did you say my scars are in Infernal? I didn’t realize it was an actual language. Can you read Infernal?”
“Wait here.” Night stood up quickly, and Astor noticed she was trembling slightly. She went to her study, rummaged around, and came back with a roll of parchment and a small, wooden case. Sitting back down, she opened the container in front of him.
Inside the smooth wooden box was a pair of elegant glasses. The lenses were frameless half-circles, and the arms were metal shaped into connected arcs that made it look like wispy smoke.
“Spectacles of Comprehend Language,” Night explained. She held the box up to Astor. Tiny glyphs were inscribed on the lenses, golden letters that morphed constantly.
“These glasses let you read most written languages. Here, try it on the Necromancy of Thay while I copy your scars to parchment.”
Astor pulled his nightshirt off in one smooth motion, then he moved to face away from Night. Propping the thick tome on his lap, he opened it to a page written in a language he didn’t recognize, and then he put the glasses on.
Immediately, he felt unsteady, like reality was sliding and shifting. When he looked down on the page, the written text stayed the same, though they shook slightly. Then suddenly, the meaning of the text passed straight into his mind.
“This is really disorienting,” Astor said, pushing the glasses further up his nose.
“You get used to it,” Night mumbled. He heard the sound of her quill scratching parchment. Then he heard a quiet sniffle and looked over his shoulder cautiously.
Night’s eyes were slightly wet. “What?” she asked, looking up.
Astor’s eyes widened. “Are you…tearing up?”
“I just—your story is heartbreaking,” she said, wiping her eyes.
His hands tightened their grip on the Necromancy of Thay. Heartbreaking? To him, it was just his life, something he had to survive if he wanted to live to see another day.
He tried to lighten the mood. “Maybe I should turn my story into a ballad.”
Night huffed a half laugh, then she continued her scribing.
“Where did you get these glasses?” Astor asked conversationally.
“They’re from Lord Azuth, who I worked for in Mystra’s realm. They’re work equipment. I’m supposed to give it back, I’m pretty sure, but he hasn’t appeared asking me for them. I hope he forgot I have them.”
Astor turned abruptly to meet Night’s eyes. “You’re serious? These belong to a GOD?”
“Astor, turn around and stay still.” But she was smiling.
“I can’t believe I’m wearing glasses that belong to the Lord of Spells.”
Soon, Night’s art piece was complete. She spread out the parchment on the low table. On it was a perfect copy of Astor’s back scars in black ink. Night looked proud, waiting for Astor to comment on the quality of her scribing.
Astor ignored her. Instead, he leaned closer, pointing the glasses at the Infernal sigils on the parchment. The meaning of the Infernal text swirled into his thoughts. He read them out loud.
“By fire, I swear below,
These words I speak,
And with them, the world is changed.“
“That sounds like jargon used in infernal rituals,” Night said quietly. “It’s not just decoration.”
Astor sat still, his mind processing the translated words. “Great. Just great. Life keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?” he spat out.
Slamming a fist onto the couch, he cursed loudly. His hands clenched tightly, trembling with quiet rage, with frustration, with panic. His thoughts were a blur. What was Velith trying to do? Why do all her spawn have these marks?
“…Are you okay?” Night asked carefully.
He didn’t answer immediately. Then he replied in a strained voice, “yes, I’m fine.” He closed the Necromancy of Thay and took off the glasses, carefully putting them back in the box. “It’s good I learnt this now, so I have time to prepare before I see Velith again. I can handle this.”
She looked at him warily. He didn’t meet her eyes.
“I’m going to turn in now,” he said finally, his voice strangely hollow. “Could you turn off the lights?” Without waiting for her response, he laid down on the couch, pulling his blankets over his bare chest.
Night didn’t move. Then, slowly, she lowered herself to lay on the couch beside him. “Astor… listen,” she began softly, “you’re not alone. We’ll work this out together.”
He blinked. Then he forced his body to relax, turning his head to finally look at her. He softened his voice. “In that case, Night, my dear. I would greatly appreciate your help with this.”
Night nodded. She wrapped her hand around his, raising them into the air together. “Let’s do some research on the ritual. I’m sure we can figure out what Velith is planning.”
He held her gaze in silence. Then he asked, “will you help me kill her?”
Their hands still intertwined, she thought about this request while he held his breath in anticipation. Then she smiled, shifting herself closer. “Of course. We’ll come up with a foolproof plan.”
Astor breathed out. “Alright.” Then he smirked. “I can’t wait to stab her through her smug face.” His mind was already orchestrating various grotesque versions of Velith’s bloody demise.
She leaned her cheek against his exposed shoulder. “I really appreciate your help today,” she said softly. “Carrying me and retrieving my staff. I’m sorry you got hurt by the acid.”
“You’re welcome,” he murmured. Her cheek was soft, and her body was warm next to him. He replayed the memories of being pressed against her when they hid from the minotaurs, his head in her arms. The warmth was comforting, a familiar presence at his side.
He threw half the blankets over her, their hands touching underneath.
He quickly fell asleep.