Trigger Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Bloodplay, Power imbalance, Identity crisis, Corpse desecration, Infernal themes, Consent under coercive systems.

His body is like silk beneath my calloused hands.

I feel guilty for touching him, but I can't stop myself.

He moans and leans back.

The sound of my name on his lips. The way he moves on top of me.

I sit up and grip his body. "Astarion." I murmur, dragging my teeth across his neck.

He digs his nails into my shoulders. "Don't."

I pull back, and shudder. "Break the skin."

He smiles and digs until red welts rise and peel. "Gods, you're a freak."

After the skirmish with the githyanki patrol, Gale and Lae'zel quickly left us to our lustful fervor. It was the right decision.

He leans forward and bites my lip before locking his mouth to mine, clinging to me possessively.

I break the kiss and place a hand on the back of his head, pulling his ear in. I speak to him with shuddering desperation. The anticipation alone rising my excitement. It's all I've wanted since the day it happened.

"Bite me."

He looks at me wide-eyed, pressing his hand to his chest. "Darling!"

I lay back and he grins and drags his fingers through my hair, appraising me. He kisses gently behind my ear and down my neck, only stopping when he feels the perfect spot, quivering, begging to be blood-let.

With a wistful sigh, he bites.

I feel a pop, and the pull from his hunger as he laps my blood. Pleasure surges through me.

Astarion's face becomes pained and he coos softly.

My mind wanes, delirious and delighted. My breath grows stilted. I pound my fist into the ground and finally release.

He continues to ride, and after a few stolen moments, pulls back. Blood smeared across his lips, he tosses his hair, "Gods!" He grips my arms and decorates my stomach.

My toes curl and I breathe.

Astarion drags his fingers across the side of my stomach. A smug satisfaction settling.

"Get your kerchief," I say, squeezing his hips once more.

He twists his shoulder at me. "What, you don't like my art?"

I chuckle as he lifts himself off me and grabs a kerchief from his pile of clothes next to us.

The view across the cliff face is a vast valley that stretches as far as the eye can see.

I take the kerchief and clean myself, watching the late day sun cast golden beams across the mountainside.

A distant bell rings, and I see an ornate white stone building jutting forth from an outcropping of trees.

A calm has settled within me, followed by resentment with myself. This wasn't desire as much as it was desperation. I glance at Astarion, having hoped for more. He's already dressed and sitting next to me. He regards me for a moment before looking across the valley.

A gentle breeze tousles our hair, and brushes against my bare skin. "I want to pursue Bex."

"I know." He says, tossing his windswept curls back into place. "Bex could never understand you the way I do." He shrugs modestly, "Likewise, I could never be Bex. Nor would I want to be." His voice dips, murmuring, "I couldn't be, even if I wanted to." He gives me a mischievous grin. "She's very cute, though. Very sweet. I think you've chosen well."

"Stop." I nudge him. "You don't always have to be like that."

He turns his nose up at me. "Of course I do. How else do you think I've survived two hundred fucking years."

I hear the edge in his voice, and don't press.

The screech of a falcon echoes across the sky.

"I knew a man of your appetite would never be fulfilled with just one lover." I expect sardonicism, but he sounds resigned. "I just need to decide on whether or not I'm okay with that."

After a held moment he stands and steps away. I consider his words before staring back out over the valley.

The setting sun bleeds pink hues that disrupt the golden cast of the evening.

I'm a selfish man.

Destiny promises me everything.

Fate may leave me with nothing.

Would it make a difference either way?

I get dressed and take Astarion's hand, heading back with him before the road grows dark.

The night comes quickly. The camp is alive with bodies. We've indulged our bone weary guests with a dancing lights show around camp. We do not start a fire tonight, as lungs and minds are still healing from the fire they just escaped.

I pull a few bottles of mead and share with those who imbibe. Shadowheart even sacrifices one of her precious bottles of wine.

I sit near the Counsellor and sip the mead. It's dry, and the fragrant honey hosts a hint of pear, making this a particularly exotic batch.

Florrick sits dignified, her breath has settled and she seems to have perked up significantly. "It seems shiftless to be resting here for a night, when we should be making our way to Baldur's Gate." She pauses, swallowing to soothe her throat. "With the Duke kidnapped, that could leave a particularly ugly dichotomy among the courtiers. I need to be the voice that makes sure they toe the line."

Her voice is commanding, even after the fire. I would cause mischief, just so I could be scolded by her. I take a sip of mead. "You're afraid that once word reaches the court, it will create a power vacuum."

"Precisely. You can see my anxiety. Fables fly faster than feet."

"That's a good one; I'm going to keep that." I say with a light chuckle. "But it rings true. Too true." Such notions are why Apikusis is vital to me. I'll need to get her a gift for the next time I see her. "Who has been taking charge since you and the Duke have been traveling?"

"Lord Gortash. He's been very effective, but I fear he would be more than happy to erase Duke Ravengards legitimacy, if given the chance."

A bolt of static rips through my spine.

Gortash. That familiar fucking name. This man is looking more dangerous the more I hear about him. A former slaver turned into a lord. The churning wheel of hierarchy consumes the feeble, his rise wasn't a fluke. It was inevitable.

I glance at Karlach who is chugging a mug of ale and telling stories of the Blood War with zeal.

Bless her.

The Counsellor becomes stoic in her rhetoric, addressing me pointedly. "Vash. I need to lay something out plainly." I give her my full attention. "I cannot search for the Duke in the state that I am in. I need someone who is willing to do it in my stead."

I blink, holding my lips to the brim of my mug.

...More fucking errands.

"We have coin, of course. I know such an ask would be disrespectful and damned near impossible to recruit for without compensation. But your company seems more than capable. Duke Ravengard is one of the most influential people in Baldur's Gate. He must be protected at all costs."

I tap my finger against my mug as I listen to her plea. "What were you and Duke Ravengard doing, traveling in these lands?"

She speaks very frankly. "He was on a diplomatic mission to Elturel, on the invitation of Thuvias Kreeg. Unfortunately, he was there when the city was pulled into Avernus. This convoy was to bring him back to Baldur's Gate. I just thank the gods he didn't change."

I lean back and eye her. "We have refugees here who have changed. The only disadvantage they've experienced is the belligerent prejudice. I'm sure you witnessed it yourself when you were in Elturel. Otherwise, the change is for the better."

"With all due respect. You're not wrong, but the fact remains the same. There is prejudice. Turning would have hurt his political standing. We need him to maintain the authority and influence he's always held."

I snort but concede. "True enough." I finally sip my mead. "I'll see what I can do. Let's keep in touch. I'll send a bird if I have anything of value to report."

A great relief takes her, and she dares relax. She looks down at the mug of mead at her feet, picking it up. "You said this was from the local grove?"

"Yes, they have an apiary. It was generous of them to share their bounty."

"Indeed." She takes a sip and her eyes go wide. "This is... phenomenal."

We share a smile and the night carries on until I am reasonably tossed. The camaraderie slows to a lull, and I excuse myself, throwing my cloak over my shoulders.

I peek inside my tent. "Shovel. Come."

She had been spread out on my cot, asleep. She slowly sits up, blinking and rubbing her eyes, wiping the drool from her mouth. She sees me and immediately jumps to her feet. "YYEEEAA—"

I quickly grip my hand over her mouth... well, her entire head. Her screams are muffled, and I wait until she calms. "Shut the fuck up, Shovel. For one moment in your pathetic life."

She eventually stops kicking and I slowly let go of her face. She scowls at me and whispers. "Master Neely gives Shovel special prize now?"

"Yes, follow me." I grab a cigar from the table, and turn only to see Lae'zel standing at the entrance of my tent.

She's been drinking, but she's trying to maintain her composure.

"Lae'zel."

She looks at me for a while, vaguely swaying. "Vash..." She joins me on my cot; sitting, troubled.

Shovel groans and plants herself in the corner, finding a stick to draw in the dirt.

Her posture is composed, disciplined, even while inebriated. Her eyes finally find mine. "I am Lae'zel of Creche K'liir. I am a mighty warrior. I have studied the directives. The history. The doctrine. I have proven my strength, and I will continue to fight for my Queen. I will be known. I will make her proud!" Her declaration carries every ounce of pride she has.

My hand rests on her back, as her eyes flick, searching her mind. As she lingers on her thoughts, tears begin to well and run down her face, guided by the channels of scars left behind by countless battles.

She falls against me, burying her face in my shirt. I put my arm around her shoulders, which shake with quiet, muffled sobs.

She croaks, "I have trained the whole of my life to hold authority over lesser beings. Yet this company failed to recognize me." Her voice pinched with the effort of holding herself back. "I have never seen a Zaith'isk... and the Kith'rak did not deem me worthy to be cleansed." She exhales, catching her breath. "We only came this far because I gave you my body."

The words hit me like a bolt. I grow cold with a sinking devastation. I speak very carefully. "Did you not want to sleep with me?"

"No... I mean... Yes! It was my decision. I do not regret it." She wipes her eyes. "I just..." Her jaw tightens, "I'm not who I thought I was anymore. Who I thought I needed to be." Her voice becomes a weary rasp. "I thought I was worthy."

The thought lingers as the silence settles between us.

...

"What does it mean to be worthy, for The Great Warrior, Lae'zel? Worthy to whom?"

She's quiet, running her fingers along the edge of the cot, considering the words.

She finally gets to her feet, looking down at me, and wiping the last of her tears away. Her discipline returns to her, and she gives me a prideful nod.

I nod in return, and she leaves as quietly as she came.

The weight of the moment pins me to the cot. I take a deep breath and hang my head.

My focus shifts back to Shovel who has drawn a summoning circle in the dirt. A tiny portal opens and a few hellish bugs crawl forth. She snatches them and promptly bites into their wriggling bodies, dismissing the hell hole.

"Alright, Shovel." She quickly hops to her feet and follows me out, snacks in hand.

I make it to the riverbank where Karlach had been discovered.

Shovel hops with excitement. "Death meat! Where is it, Master Neely!? Where!?"

"Find it."

She grins mischievously and dashes around, sniffing the air. I stand by Wyll's grave, trimming the tip of the cigar, and lighting it. I pull a few drags to get the leaves to smolder.

Shovel takes the hint and begins digging furiously. I pull the stone eye out of my pocket once more. It still hums with the Weave. Perhaps Wyll's body will have some clues as to what it could be.

Shovel finally uncovers him. A truly efficient grave digger. We are kindred spirits.

Karlach's concern about Shovel was noteworthy and raises questions about myself that I doubt I'll find the answers to.

Shovel begins peeling away the skin on Wyll's face. I go through his pockets but find nothing useful. The man was running on the bare minimum. Someone set him up to fail.

A crackling rises behind me, flames flinging up from the ground. I take a step back and Shovel stops, Wyll's face is half off and she has her arm threaded through an eye hole.

We look at each other, and I smell the unmistakable sulfur of the Hells.

The flames open into a wide, abysmal portal, from which rises a cambion. She's wearing a silken indigo dress that only covers what it needs to. Shocking crimson hair is contrasted against her pale blue skin. Large, devastating wings adorn her back, and four slender horns stand tall on her head like a crown.

She looks at me with a cool smile. "It seems some rapscallions have decided to disturb my beloved puppies rest. How uncouth."

Her eyes land on me and she gasps, bringing her hands to her mouth, dramatically.

My cigar stays clenched in my teeth as I track her carefully.

"It's you! I was wondering when you'd come knocking again. It's been quiet as the grave since the last stunt you pulled. Disappointing."

I take a drag and tap the ashes. I hold the smoke, studying her, before finally releasing the breath. "Do we know each other?"

She laughs, brash and delighted. "Personally? No. But we can easily remedy that. Call me Mizora."

"Vash Neel."

Her grin drips with eagerness. "Oh. Is that what you're calling yourself now? I like it. Very strong." Her mockery isn't subtle.

My shoulders tense. What in the hells is that supposed to mean?

She glances down at Shovel, who has Wyll's good eye in her teeth.

Shovel is staring up at her, wide-eyed. She slowly bites down on the eye with a pop. The jelly dribbles from the corners of her mouth, haphazardly.

"Hmph... curious circumstances to find you in. What has you this far from Baldur's Gate? Did Dear Father send you on another mission?"

"Mission?"

Her eyes snap to me, and she focuses with a flaming intensity. "Yes. Mission." She folds her arms. "You know. Like the last one you were on."

Fuck.

"Oh. My. Gods. You don't remember, do you?!" She brings her wrists up with an elated wiggle. "Then the rumors are true! Oh! This is delicious!"

This is why I shouldn't fucking speak.

Her wings sway excitedly behind her. "Well! That explains the name. Far be it from me to interfere with whatever daddy issues you might have. But, I may be willing to help you."

"No."

Her pout is laced with more mockery. "Awww. A shame. Well, if you change your mind, Vash Neel, you know how to reach me." She nods to my pocket. "You've already got the sending stone, you clever fiend. Be a dear and just... hold onto it from me." She gives me a curled smile and then looks back down at Wylls body. "Carry on. He could use some redecorating after his failure."

She steps up to me and drags her fingers across my shoulder. "I'm sure we'll be speaking again soon." Her tail brushes against me. "Tah." She steps back and vanishes into her portal. I get a sinking feeling.

Missions?

Rumors?

For fuck's sake...

I pull Wylls eye from my pocket once more and turn it in my hand again, taking another drag from my cigar.

Shovel has Wylls face draped over her head and is currently wallowing in his entrails. Chewing on what may very well be his spleen. It's too dark to tell.

The night has been long, and I lay in my cot, staring at the ceiling of my tent.

The weight of Shovel draped over my legs is comforting. She's snoring, belly full, and covered in slick corpse grease.

But I'm restless. Like something is waiting for me the moment I close my eyes. Despite my trepidation, I am pulled into a heavy slumber.

My eyes flit open, and I see it.

The Astral Plane.

She's back.

I climb to my feet and look for the dream visitor. She sits placid on a marble bench overlooking the husk of a god. The dark bones are suspended in the vacuum of space. The skull is adorned with a jagged crown, and within it, a pulsing power floats in a shield of shattered magic.

I take my seat next to her, and she glances at me with a vague smile. "I'm sorry for disturbing your sleep."

I shake my head. "I was hoping you would return. I still have questions."

She gives a quiet, placating laugh. "Of course you do. Our conversation was unfortunately cut short."

I look over the god corpse. "Who were they?"

Her eyes drift across the scene. "Dead longer than written history. It is unknown."

My eyes track the skull.

"The shield protects the power that allows me to protect you. If it were to fall, then there would be nothing I could do to stop you from becoming thralls of the Absolute."

"You knew I was going to ask."

"Yes. The power that protects you, also allows me to see into your mind. I know everything about you."

"That's why you knew about Bhaal. Do you know of my past?"

"No, I cannot harvest forgotten memories."

I nod, resigned. "So, what do you want from me? You haven’t given me a directive, and I'm curious to know why any of this matters to you at all."

"Fate has pointed you in the right direction. There is no need for me to guide you. Only to assist you along the path you are already walking. This is why you need to use the tadpoles."

I stare at her, feeling her desperation press against me.

"You and I are alike in many ways." She says. "I know what your struggles are and understand them because I am experiencing the same."

"The same… what, exactly?"

She gives me a coy smile, looking back to the shield pulsing around the god skull. "It is surprising to me that you, of all people, would be so frightened of the power of these tadpoles. But you needn't be afraid."

My lips curl inward. "If I empower the tadpole, how much of myself will remain?"

She laughs, gentle, but mocking. "You will not lose yourself. The tadpole is connected by your will alone. You have agency over how and when you use it."

"Power is never free. I need to know what this will cost me."

"Vash." Her tail lashes behind her. "Why would I lie to you? It would only serve to lose you as an ally, and you of all people, are who I need by my side."

I lean back, watching her, gripping my knees.

She places her hand softly on my leg. "I am going to bestow the prism into your care. In good faith, but also necessity."

"Necessity? Is there something going on with Shadowheart that I should know about?"

The dream visitor speaks flippantly. "As valuable as Shadowheart's services have been, her directive is to return the prism to her Sharran cloister. Lae'zel has a similar directive. Karlach is too absent-minded, Gale's condition is too precarious, and Astarion will not take my protection as seriously as you. It has to be you."

She suddenly grows still. "They're coming. Another attack."

"Tell me what I need to do."

She stands, and I follow. "Nothing, I can handle the coming charge, I need you to focus."

She touches my arm. "One tadpole. One. And see."

I look at her hand before giving her a slow and hesitant nod. "One."

She smiles when an explosion rattles the garden. She dashes to the edge to see the assault. "It's my time. Go now." She turns with a look of solidarity. "Vash…"

A few pulses from the onslaught disturbs the air around us.

"Get some rest. You look exhausted."

Gallows humor...