The Ascendancy of the Vampire

21. A Party Of Six

In the morning light, the campsite was a mess of dried blood, wasted food, and scattered debris. Of course the monsters didn’t bother cleaning up after the party. The horde of goblins and their allies shuffled out loudly, following Mint Baenre at the front as they made their way north through the forest to a place called Moonrise Towers.

Astor’s party waved their goodbyes to the monsters, with Kal loudly yelling, “I’ll see you soon, Mint!”

Mint waved without looking back.

They also bid their goodbyes to Volo, who planned on staying in the area for further research. “I might catch up to you later, Nightingale. It was my pleasure meeting you all. Stay safe.” He gave Night a brief hug and left.

Astor held the detailed map that Mint had drawn for them, depicting a shorter route to Moonrise. The monsters were marching along a longer, more roundabout path, which had to accommodate their numbers. This meant the party could take their time before meeting Mint there.

Kal hugged the Spider’s Lyre, Mint’s precious lyre. It was used by the Absolute’s followers to identify each other. She lent it to Kal so allies of the Absolute would help Astor’s party traverse the forest safely. Kal plucked a few strings, then carefully stored it in his demicache. Then he turned to the party.

“Friends, thank you for putting up with me yesterday,” he announced cheerfully. “It is only due to your combined efforts that I got to spend time with Mint.”

Night gave him a hard look. There were dark bags under her eyes, and she rubbed her temple. “Was it worth the carnage?”

“The blood was half the fun,” Kal said nonchalantly. “You know me, Night. But I hear your complaints.”

“Let’s hear what you managed to learn from Mint,” Astor said impatiently, snapping his fingers.

“So, True Souls have mind flayer tadpoles in their heads like we do,” Kal explained. He was in a good mood and talked excitedly. “But from my understanding, they’re controlled by the entity called the Absolute, who speaks into their heads and gives them commands that they feel compelled to follow. That’s what happens to Mint.”

“It’s a magical cult,” Night said wearily. “Perhaps we would have become the same if not for Kelemvor’s interference.”

“So Mint is also under the Absolute’s control?” Shadowheart asked.

Kal nodded solemnly. “I had to be careful how I asked about it. It explains why she seemed obsessed with this god.” He laughed to himself. “She tried to stab me after she realized I didn’t hear the Absolute like she did.”

“What?” Shadowheart was surprised. “Mint attacked you?”

“Yeah.” Kal sighed contently, his gaze drifting. “Isn’t she lovely?”

“Did you manage to bed her?” Astor asked, arching an eyebrow.

Kal nodded and gave a sly grin, all teeth.

“Was that before or after she tried to kill you?” Night asked dryly.

Kal had to think for a moment. “I don’t remember.”

As the party traveled north, the wilderness opened up to jagged, mountainous terrain. They followed a narrow pass up the side of a ravine, the wind blowing fiercely and making it hard to talk. Walking single file, Astor led the front and Kal trailed in the back.

Night followed behind Astor, her silver staff grazing the rocky ground as she used it as a walking cane. She wasn’t paying attention and didn’t realize Astor had stopped walking, causing her to walk right into his back.

“Wha—?” she was about to ask.

He shushed her. Then he gestured toward an outcrop nearby. There were voices in the wind.

They crept up carefully, trying to see who the voices belonged to.

Two figures sat on small boulders, talking animatedly to each other.

A tiefling woman with a sturdy build, orange eyes, and vibrant red skin sat with the sun behind her. Her hair was stiff and upright, half red and half black, with parts of it shaved. Two long curved horns grew out of her head, one of them cracked in half. Dark leather armor wrapped her body, and a long barbed tail trailed behind her. A large greataxe leaned against her side.

Beside her sat a man with dark skin, round ears, and healed scars on his face. His hair was dark, with a head of soft, short curls, and two pointed dark horns poked through it. Padded cloth armor in red and brown covered his body, with a rapier sheathed at his waist. When he turned towards the party, they saw his mismatched eyes: one a cold, flat grey, and the other a burning red surrounded by black.

Upon noticing Astor’s group, the two strangers immediately stood up and raised their weapons defensively.

Astor walked out innocently, his hands in the air. “We’re just adventurers passing through.” He spoke loudly over the noise of the wind. “I’m Astor.”

The tiefling woman relaxed. Then she pointed at herself. “Karlach.”

The man put his rapier away. “Well met. The Blade of Frontiers, at your service.” He extended a hand.

Astor looked at him suspiciously. “Do you have a name?”

“You don’t know the Blade?” Karlach asked, stifling a laugh with her hand. “The so-called hero? The famous monster hunter? Come on, everyone’s heard of him.”

Wyll ignored her. His hand was still outstretched. “I am Wyll Ravengard.”

Astor finally shook it with a grin.

Night walked up beside Astor. “I’m Nightingale. This is Shadowheart and Kal.”

The tiefling woman crossed her arms. “This is a strange place to be traveling through. There’s really nothing here.”

Kal arched an eyebrow. “Then what are you doing here?”

While Kal and Karlach sized each other up, Astor eyed Wyll.

“Ravengard,” he said. “You’re from Baldur’s Gate.”

“Yes. How do you know?”

“I’m from Baldur’s Gate,” Astor said casually. “I’ve met Ulder Ravengard, the Grand Duke.”

“That’s my father.”

“Really?” Astor asked suspiciously. “I didn’t know he had a son.”

“I haven’t been back in a few years,” Wyll explained, grimacing.

Night nudged Astor. “Noble politics are messy. Especially familial concerns. You shouldn’t pry.”

Suddenly, the tadpole in Night’s brain squirmed, and her world turned red. A haunting scream came from everywhere. The ground burned, the sky was a dark, bleeding red, and smog hovered over rivers of pure black. The smell of brimstone and burning flesh blew through the polluted air.

She snapped back, groaning while holding her head as the memories cleared. This was not helping her hangover. She looked up and saw Wyll in similar pain.

“I saw your memories, Wyll. You have the tadpole too. Were you kidnapped by a nautiloid?”

“Wh—what? You’re from the ship as well?” Wyll yelled, shaking his head to clear the interference.

“Oh yes, we all were,” Night explained. “Your memories… You were fighting in Baator, weren’t you? The Hells?”

Karlach stepped closer. “The ship picked us up from Avernus.”

“There were a bunch of tieflings that escaped from there. Are you tieflings part of that group?” Astor asked.

“The ones from Elturel? No.“ Wyll paused. “By the way, I’m human.”

The group stared at Wyll’s horns.

“Ah,” he realized, touching them. “These are… cosmetic?” He changed the topic. “Nightingale, what I saw in your head. Swirling green and blue skies. That wasn’t Toril.”

“That was Elysium. I used to live on the first layer, Amoria.” She faced him directly. “Erm, what else did you see?”

“It’s hard to describe. But there were a ton of weird creatures… people? A large city with illogical architecture. It was bright and blurry.”

“You saw Dweomerheart,” Night said fondly. She gave a short explanation of when she worked for Mystra. Karlach and Wyll were amazed, and they both asked questions about life in a god’s realm.

Wyll eventually found his composure and let out a long breath. “Well, it seems like we’re stuck in the same predicament. So let’s work together?”

The group, now six, continued following the trail together. The wind died down, and the sun slowly set. They looked for a suitable location to make camp.

Over a large campfire, a roasted boar stood on a makeshift rack. Kal had caught it, and Astor had helpfully drained the blood from it. The party sat around, discussing everything they knew regarding the mind flayer parasite, the Absolute, and True Souls.

“Withers also visits us sometimes,” Karlach said. “But we’ve never met this Kelemvor you mentioned.”

“It is a bit unbelievable that you have the avatar of a god visiting you, but everything about our situation is already strange,” Wyll reasoned.

Each member talked a little bit about themselves.

Kal announced he was a dragon by showing off his true form, to Karlach and Wyll’s complete shock and distress. They immediately picked up their weapons.

Night worked to calm them down, saying he was mostly tame.

Kal didn’t notice their reactions at all, and he rambled on about the lovely Mint, his tail thumping the ground heavily as he recounted how they met at the goblin camp. He explained that Mint was waiting for him at Moonrise Towers, where they were heading.

None of them mentioned what happened at the grove.

Next, Shadowheart discussed her worship of Shar, praising the Lady of Loss until Astor impatiently cut her off. Wyll eyed her warily.

Night mentioned her previous employer, Mystra, again, explaining how a small mishap caused her body to be poisoned with Netherese magic, preventing her from casting higher level spells.

When it was Astor’s turn, he talked quickly and casually about him being a vampire, explaining that his vampiric master was in Baldur’s Gate and probably waiting for him to set foot in the city so she could drag him back into enslavement again.

Wyll just stared at Astor, who smiled back innocently. “What?”

“As Karlach said, I’m a monster hunter.”

“Ah.” Astor frowned in mock confusion. “And?”

Wyll’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve killed vampires.”

There was a moment of silence.

“So have I,” Night chimed in. “And I’ve killed humans and tieflings, and I’ve also dated a vampire. It’s not that complicated, Wyll. They might be undead, but they’re people too.”

Wyll looked thoughtful, but Astor stared at Night in mild puzzlement, caught off guard by her unexpected support.

Once he recovered, he cleared his throat. “If you’re itching to stake a vampire, I can introduce you to a nice little vampire lord who’s hiding in the Upper City in plain sight,” he said lightly.

Then Karlach laughed, breaking the tension. “As long as he keeps his fangs away from us, it’ll be fine. I should warn you, though, you do not want to even consider that, Astor.”

She launched into a long description of exactly why. Her heart had been replaced by an infernal engine as a way for Zariel to extract more power from the tiefling. But outside Avernus, her body was overheating.

“I run extremely hot, and you’ll get burned if you touch me.” She flexed her arm.

Kal, back in his humanoid disguise, took that as an invitation, immediately shaking Karlach’s hand. “Hmm, you’re not that hot,” he said.

Karlach’s eyes widened at the contact. “Right, red dragon.”

“We bathe in lava,” Kal said, shrugging. “You’ll fit in with this party well, Karlach.”

Astor turned to Wyll, gesturing to his horns. “So, your turn, Lord Ravengard. What’s your story?”

Wyll gave a conflicted smile and then sighed. He briefly discussed the existence of his pact with his fiend patron, Mizora, who worked directly for Zariel.

“So the horns and eyes are your work uniform?” Kal asked, laughing.

Karlach guffawed and she patted Kal heartily on his back.

“No, they’re a ‘gift’ from Mizora,” Wyll explained. Mizora had sent him to Avernus to kill Karlach, saying she was a ruthless devil. He then learned that the devil was actually just a tiefling, forced to work under Zariel to fight in the Blood War.

“I refused to kill her, and this is my punishment.” Wyll shrugged, trying to act casual. “It’s not a big deal. Better than becoming a lemure…”

“Well,” Astor started, “Night here says monsters are cool now, so I see it as an upgrade.”

Night nodded with an awkward smile.

“As I said,” Wyll replied sharply, “it’s purely cosmetic.”

Wyll and Karlach had their own tents, and they pitched them within Night’s wards. Now their reoccurring camps had four tents, with Kal still preferring to sleep by the campfire on a bedroll.

Night’s tent was popular. Shadowheart was currently using the shower in the bathroom. Everyone else filed in for a tour.

“I cannot believe this,” Wyll said as he stepped into Night’s demiplane tent, marveling at the space. “How can I get something like this? How much does it cost?”

Astor scoffed. Figures it’s the noble who thinks everything can be purchased with gold. “You can’t buy a demiplane at the market, Wyll. You either grow one yourself, or…” He trailed off, not sure what the alternative was.

“Share someone else’s demiplane,” Night finished. “They can transfer ownership, so I guess that’s like buying one, but it’s not really worth growing just to sell.”

Wyll looked over the living room, seeing the pillows, blankets, various articles of clothing and books clustered around the couch. “Who sleeps here?”

“Oh, Astor does,” Night said lightly. “It’s gotten a bit messy, hasn’t it?”

Wyll turned to Astor. “I have to ask, are you two in a relationship?”

Night stiffened visibly, Astor almost laughed, and Kal did laugh out loud.

“No, we are not,” Astor replied with a smirk. “What gave you that idea?”

“You share a tent. Though I guess you’re only on her couch.” Wyll shrugged. “I’m merely trying to understand the dynamics in this party.”

Karlach was already in the backyard, running around.

“Be careful not to fall off the edge!” Night called out the back.

“What happens if someone does fall?” Wyll asked carefully.

“Then they’ll start free-falling in an orbit around my island. I’ll have to get out the chain and anchor, and try to fish them back in.”

“That sounds fun,” Kal said. “We should try it.”

“No,” Night replied flatly.

That evening, Astor rested on the couch, studying cantrips and scribbling in his notebook.

They had met Wyll and Karlach, more survivors of the crash protected by Kelemvor’s intervention. He wondered what Kelemvor had planned for their fates and sighed. There was nothing one could really do when at the whims of the gods. It wasn’t a good feeling.

His mind drifted to the previous evening. At the goblin party, Night had fallen asleep in his arms, and he had been the one to pitch her tent and tuck her into bed.

As thanks, Night showed him the full extent of her wine cellar, a small cabinet in her study. Tonight, he had a delicious glass of wine while he studied, chilled to perfection using his newly mastered Prestidigitation cantrip.

Night came out from the bathroom, freshly showered, and fell onto the couch beside him. She cracked open the Necromancy of Thay in her lap and immediately lost herself to her reading.

Astor watched her, and then his mind wandered to Kal and Mint’s interactions. Kal listened to every word that came out of Mint’s mouth. He had quite literally committed mass murder to impress her, and Astor had no doubt that, at the rate Kal’s infatuation was developing, he would soon raze Faerûn if that was what she wanted.

He looked at Night again and saw her foot casually tapping his leg. He was sure that Night was attracted to him. He could see it in her eyes, in the way her body leaned toward him whenever he was close. But why, then, did she seem so hesitant to spend the night with him?

What must he do to have Night look at him the way Kal looked at Mint? To do anything for him and make him her priority?

When he joked about love, Night’s entire demeanor had changed. Maybe that was the solution here. Love. If he could make Night fall in love with him, then he would have truly won her over, a permanent claim on her future.

She looked up, noticing him watching her, and gave him a smile. Then she turned her attention back to her book, her foot still tapping his leg.

Yes, this could work. The condition called love was a topic he was well-versed in, at least clinically—he had never experienced it himself. A popular theme in stories and songs alike. A combination of glances, touches, and words said at the right moment, that was all that was needed for love to bloom.

He was good at the sweet words, the deliberate touches, the longing looks. He had a handsome face, a solid build, and it had always been quite easy for him to bed anyone he wanted.

He could appreciate bodies for their beauty and enjoy a night of passion with whomever he chose. There had been the occasional guest at Velith’s balls, or various people he met in the Lower City. Always light and casual, a way to forget his enslavement and lose himself to a moment that he controlled.

But if he needed to foster love, it wasn’t enough to bed her. He would have to think his strategy through.