Chapter Text
[. . .]
"I am not just a cleric. I am a bard. A druid. Matter of fact, I'm a cat, too."
[. . .]
Chapter 1
Lost and—why is there a fucking hand sticking out of the wall
[. . .]
Cleric Avengalique Rose, a devoted follower of the Great Mielikki and the fugitive scion of the House of Gothics, gazes with increasing bewilderment at the hand emerging from the swirling purple vortex.
Her bare, healed feet tentatively step forward, wide golden eyes searching through the mauve seams of fabric adorning said hand that bends its fingers in a gesture to beckon her closer. She listens, tracing over the boned knuckles, callouses, and veins, hesitantly lifting her burned, white—or more so gray now, because of the ash of the crash in the traumatizing Nautiloid Ship she's sure she'll have nightmares about—dress above a puddle of blood in the middle of the open forest road.
"Hello...!" A distinctly male, charismatic voice calls from the void the hand comes from, "A hand? Anyone?"
Avengalique perks at the realization that it's a whole body in there and not a suspicious hand waiting to trick her and swallow her whole. Her brother Cassian would have cautioned her not to approach an unknown had he been present, but she quickly disregards thoughts about him, as the mere reminder of her situation, of him being hurt and lost out there or worse, dead, after the crash causes her so much anxiety that she can't function right.
They'd just been in Baldur's Gate, carrying off the small bag of coins they'd earned for the day performing little stunts of magic for the children of Miss Maya's Orphanage when in a sudden blunder, chaos erupted from the heavens. Blood, debris, and tentacles rained from the sky, and her brother, ever the quick one, hastily snatched her over his shoulder and ran as soon as trouble emerged.
He'd run far. Long-legged and taller than any mortal she'd ever met, his seven-foot height and lithe dexterity had managed to dodge the worst of it. She'd seen friends and people she'd passed by every day get caught and her heart had ached with sickness.
It was Nightmare Incarnate.
Unfortunately, the nightmare was far from over. Her brother's tall stature cursed him just as much as it blessed him, for he'd been one of the many to be collected within the fray. She too was next after she witnessed the horror of his body turning to charred dust from the ground she'd fallen painfully on, barely conscious enough to realize minutes later that she was now shoved into the cramped space of a horrid illithid entrapment she had no solid name of.
The next several hours, after being forced with a maggot-like creature she can still feel curling inside her brain with several others she didn't know, were spent in a rotten sleep. It smelled like guts and feces soon enough, and the screams of agony from those awoken pierced her so severely that she'd passed out several times from the fright.
Just to, in the end, break free of her prison after a majestic dragon burned the insides, taking everyone else, and luckily only her door, with the fires. She'd run to the edges, hoping for the best, trying to maneuver her way toward an exit.
But the ship fell.
Fell, and fell.
Her organs swooped. Her blood went cold.
Her vision went black.
And then she woke between brain matter, bodies, and fire.
She'd already spent a good hour trying to calm herself from what just happened, thoroughly emptying the contents of her stomach and taking the time to fully heal every gash and broken bone in her body, regardless of how erratic her mind was. It's now time for her to find her brother, as she's been meaning to do—but.
Such is her journey and fate, leading her here to this mysterious hand.
This mysterious hand, she thinks with slight marvel as she carelessly slides her palm with it to discreetly feel its every crease, which sparks with powerful magic enough to tingle her sickly, pale skin.
Wizard, she feels, just as she hears the voice speak again. "That's it!" The voice says, and the excitement radiating off of it spurs her to grasp the forearm with her other hand firmly, amounting a good strength, "Go on, keep pulling!"
So she does, to the best of her ability. It doesn't take long for her efforts to pay off either, for as soon as she gives it her might, she topples backward from the sheer force that stops struggling against her, the soles of her feet tripping against her long black hair. A body comes flying out, landing unceremoniously on top of her, thwarting her vision and wheezing out the remaining air in her lungs from the jabbing weight hitting her nerve endings.
"Oomf—oh dear, terribly sorry!"
The weight over her quickly fades, and she feels strong hands grab her arm and lift her as she desperately tries to gather her breath, slightly swaying and clutching her solar plexus. "Are you quite alright? I'm afraid I've amounted some weight as of late, but I hadn't thought it would be so much..."
"S'okay," she wheezes in truth, inhaling slowly, blearily blinking up at the male voice. Her eyes land on a handsome bearded face—a man adorned in a purple robe, styled in a brown mullet with aging streaks of gray. He bears a distinct earring and his eyes are the richest brown she has ever seen. Immediately, any light scolding leaves her tongue.
"Hello," He greets amiably, and she straightens slightly, feeling much better now that some air has gathered, "I'm Gale of Waterdeep. Apologies," He dusts himself off with a sheepish smile, "I'm usually better at this."
Avengalique gathers some of her hair to check it for any dirt, nervously picking off a few strands in disarray. She should introduce herself. "...I'm ah. Um... Avengalique... Are you... okay?" She asks, clearing her throat, still slightly breathless. Gods, she hopes she doesn't seem so scared. What if this Gale is secretly evil and will exploit her weakness? Surely, he looks nice but looks can be deceiving. She's been deceived quite enough in the short thirty-nine years of her elven life.
It's a usual occurrence for her to run into strangers thanks to Baldur's Gate's city life, but it's mostly her brother who deals with them first before introducing them to her. He always checks if they're bad people or not. He's much older than she is, being a 256-year-old drow, so he's experienced more. Knows more.
But he's not here right now.
She tries not to run away.
Gale, as he's called, runs a frantic hand through his hair. "A bit shocked, really," He admits, but his smile soon comes into place, disarming her despite the caution she feels, "But friend, it's a relief and a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Friend, she repeats with hopeful disbelief inside her head. She doesn't have many of those.
"Say," Gale speaks again, and she blinks expectantly at him, "But I know you, don't I? You were on the nautiloid as well."
She stops fiddling with her hair. Her eyes widen. "Y-You, you? You too?" She stammers, stepping closer. Gale blinks in slight surprise, "Did you happen to see—um a tall man with purple eyes and a black hood? By any chance?" She pleas, looking imploringly at him.
"Not at all, I'm afraid," He replies, frowning. "Why?"
Avengalique sags with anxious defeat. "...He... he's my brother... He was with me, in that... that thing. I haven't found him yet and I'm—I'm afraid he's—" Gods, she can't even say it.
"Hey, hey, look. If you survived it, I'm sure he fares well, hm? Perhaps I might have missed him, due to my ah... situation," He side-eyes the glowing, purple sigils on the rocky surface with disdain. She flutters her eyelids, trying to dissuade the burn inside them as he turns back to look her in the eye, softening marginally, "You've helped me. It's only fair I return the favor. I wouldn't mind helping with your search if you don't. Perhaps he's around, wandering somewhere and looking for you as well."
She nods, holding onto that hope. "...Thank you," She whispers with agonized sincerity. "Though, you... don't have to. I just saw to help, and—" Cassian would have scolded you for it.
She can't trust Gale, as nice as he sounds and appears. That's the logical way. Cassian has advised never to trust, never to give or help so freely—not when unknowns are willing to exploit that type of kindness. She's listened and ached plenty of times. She blames herself for her naivety as Cassian so puts it, declaring it in such a gentle manner that often she thinks he's saying the right thing.
But it's hard to ignore her instinct.
She sees someone in need and goes to help, consequences be damned. And there are always consequences. But she can bear those consequences better than having to carry the regret of what if.
"It's no trouble," Gale says, pulling her out of her desperate monologuing. His smile is sweet and considerate. Casual, really, because she's seen a lot like it. Rare nevertheless, painted on faces who appear genuine. She can't help but lean toward it. "Well. Not, no trouble, of course. I have the unfortunate suspicion his survival is still very much in jeopardy. And yours too, for that matter."
Her breath and body seize with gelid fear.
Gale nods solemnly. "Yes, quite accurately put. Back in the ship, you too were on the receiving end of a rather unwelcome insertion in the ocular region, were you not?" He taps the side of his head, around his eye.
She licks her cracked lips anxiously. "...Yes," she replies uncertainly, attempting to locate anything suspicious about him.
"No use sugarcoating it, is there?" He tries for a calm smile but it comes out strained. "The insertee we speak of, this parasite—are you aware that after a period of excruciating gestation, it will turn us into mind flayers?"
Her heart drops. No, I wasn't.
Her lungs appear to constrict and her inhalations become shallow.
Those things? The... tentacles? The brains?
She clenches her hands into white-knuckled fists. Her nails dig into the ashen surface of her taut skin, leaving red welts of stress, horrified at the realization that awaits her. Of course, she thinks, feeling her eyes burn with tears of frustration and fear. I couldn't have just survived a damn ship, but now I have no opportunity to survive at all. All because she had insisted her brother take her to the notably affluent area of their crowded city on that particularly unfortunate day.
All because I wanted a few more coins for my birthday, she internally grieves.
"It's a process known as ceremorphosis, and let me assure you," He looks grim as he puts a condemning finger up, and the image he paints only causes her further distress, "it is to be avoided."
Her vision sways.
"You don't happen to be a cleric, do you?"
She swallows thickly, but there's a ball of raw anguish stuck in her throat. "... Yes—yes," She whispers, scratching at her throat hard enough that she hopes it draws blood. Her voice wavers. She can barely speak. Before Gale can talk to her again, she puts a hand up in a gesture to 'stop' and lowers into a crouch, clutching her throbbing head. "Please... please give me a moment," She begs, breathing frantically. Her head aches something terrible, and all the wounds she'd healed flare with phantom pains, further plunging her into her affliction. What's worse, the maggot inside her head wriggles with her pain, burning and crawling through the squiggles of her brain.
She wants to throw up.
She heaves, but nothing comes out. Stomach acid burns her throat and she coughs, spitting.
I don't want to become a squid thing, she mourns, shaking.
I don't want to. I want to live.
Colors bloom in her vision, followed by static, and her chest sinks, cutting off her airflow. Multiple voices and groans infiltrate her mind.
Oh Gods, she's going to die! She's turning into one of those monsters!
She can't breathe. Can't. Breathe.
"—galique! Avengalique!"
Her body stiffens with attention and her eyes center on purple ones.
She lurches, breath shallow, suddenly hopeful at the mingling scents of wine, ash, and roses, "Brother—?"
Her brother's white locks drape over the relieved expression on his face. One that soon morphs into anger, effectively seizing her in place again. "That man," He points at Gale who looks wary and cornered among two others; a pale elf with curly hair and suspicious red eyes, and a woman with black hair, adorned by the Goddess' Shar symbol on her forehead. The two of them don't look or point their weapons at Gale, however. Their attention is focused on her. "Did he cause this?" Her brother hisses, looking back at Gale with something that must be scary because the wizard holds up his hands in placating caution.
She blinks wide, frantic eyes at him.
"No," She says, because technically he hadn't. She thinks. But. What exactly is he referring to? "Do what?"
Cassian's shoulders sag with a sigh. Not unusual of him to do so—only ever when something goes wrong and he has overthought about it more recklessly than it is. He pulls away from her, comically large beside her crouching frame. There are various burn marks scattered across his body, including a profusely bleeding cut across his neck, dribbling over the gray string that holds his long black coat together and his beige, torn shirt.
She stands with an alarmed sound retching from the back of her throat, "You're bleeding!"
Her brother scowls, thumbing the wound and smudging more of his blood. "Nothing alarming. You may thank him for such a cause," He drawls, side-eyeing the pale elf who crosses his arms with a prudent look.
Avengalique frowns, bringing her hands together for a healing spell. The fact that her brother hasn't killed him yet speaks volumes. Either her brother has a concussion or something far worse. "On purpose?" She asks because she can and absolutely will turn the pale elf's insides out. She's done it before, to countless foes who thought to get the best of her brother.
Her brother blinks tiredly at her. "Yes. But he was simply looking out for himself. It is by the mercy of this tadpole alone that his head is not on a pyke, carried around by my hand."
Mercy of the tadpole? Is that what's in her head? Does her brother have it too? And what does he mean by that?
"I'm glad you're alive," She whispers, watching her brother's eyes soften.
"As am I. How ever did you survive?"
She shrugs.
He grows quiet.
Nervous, Avengalique places her hand on her brother's forearm, chanting a quiet healing ward in hopes to distract herself. In doing so, she peeks around him at the gaggle of people behind him, who now appear to have engaged in strained conversation. All three of them must have this tadpole, then. Maybe. The Pale Elf is suspiciously quiet. There's a funny smirk on his face, and the moment she studies him, his red eyes lock onto hers and curl further.
It's not an inviting smile. She can't decipher it.
"Are you okay? Unharmed?"
She looks up at her brother. He looks stoic.
She shakes her head. "Unharmed, after I healed. But okay? No. I felt a horrible headache. And I was scared. And I couldn't breathe," She blurts, rubbing the center of her forehead.
Cassian makes a face at her. "Not another one of those attacks, I take it?"
She isn't sure. Her brother doesn't understand much of modern mental health, but he knows what to do when she gets anxiety attacks.
Her uncertainty must be plain because her brother crosses his arms. "Perhaps not, then. The tadpole probably serves as the link between you and us in this situation. So far it's normal, considering it happened between myself and the individuals standing behind me. I would advise against being alarmed, but that would not be truthful. We find ourselves in a serious predicament."
She nods sadly. "That... That is what... Gale of Waterdeep was discussing with me. He... He knows what it is, I think."
As soon as she says that, her brother turns sharply toward the three, and all three look at him suspiciously. He walks toward them with purpose, bending slightly forward to level his gaze on them. They draw back slightly. Cassian stops in front of Gale. "Gale of Waterdeep."
"...That's me," Gale responds, raising a challenging brow. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. And you are...? It's not often I see a drow above ground."
"That's what I said," The pale elf speaks up, checking his nails.
Cassian waves him off. "Circumstances better left unsaid. My sister informed me that you know some about our situation. This... tadpole," He taps his head, ignoring the cordial invitation to reveal his name, "Speak your truths, and nothing more."
"Well," Gale huffs, scratching the back of his head. "In truth, I know the mere basics. I'm aware we will experience a phase of intense gesticulation, which will ultimately transform us into Mind Flayers. Regrettably, I possess no additional information beyond this, except for the knowledge that the process will require a week to complete."
"A week," Cassian grunts. "Fantastic. And should we want further information, where would we look?"
Gale puts a pondering hand on his chin. "My best bet? A library."
"Evident," Cassian grumbles, turning toward Avengalique. "Hurry over, sister. I have two I must introduce you to."
She heeds, lifting her dress over the blood puddle again to wobble over. The woman looks down at her bare feet and furrows her brows, but Avengalique chooses to ignore her.
Cassian puts a comforting hand on her head. "My sister, Avengalique."
Avengalique doesn't try to smile, but it's a close thing. Until the pale elf opens his mouth.
"Astarion," He gives her a salacious smile and intends to grab her hand to kiss it, but Cassian's warning gaze stops him entirely. "Curious, though, don't you think?" He aims this question to the others, "They hardly look like siblings."
Her brother narrows his eyes at Astarion, who lazily blinks in return. "Perhaps I should have cut off your tongue, instead, elf. Would that have been preferable?"
Astarion smirks, "A shame. I'm quite good at tongue, I assure you."
Hastily, Avengalique buds in, "We're adoptive siblings."
"Ah," The woman nods, looking thankful for her interruption. "I see. I'm sure your story is interesting," She gives her a cordial smile. "I'm Shadowheart. A pleasure."
Avengalique smiles something genuine. "It's... good to meet you all," She returns her gaze to Gale, "And... sorry... about earlier. I uh... My brother said it was the tadpole that connected us?" She looks up at her brother for confirmation.
Her brother nods in approval.
She relaxes.
"Not an issue!" Gale chuckles, and she feels Cassian significantly settle at the wizard's easygoing nature. "My mastery in retaining control over my mind is the sole factor preventing me from forming such abrupt connections, I say. I prefer it to whatever distress this thing has caused you upon reunion."
Cassian considers him. "Explains why we felt no such pain from you," He mumbles. "For all we know, however, you may not have a tadpole. A mere lie, to travel along with us."
Gale opens his mouth—
"But fret not. You're intelligent. And even from here, I feel your power," Cassian tilts his head, analyzing him with praise, "I will allow you to travel with us, as you prove useful yet."
Gale scowls slightly. "That's... presumptuous of you. But. I assure you, friend, that I too am infected by this parasite. If I may be so bold—" Avengalique hisses with pain at the pulsing connection that travels through her, squeezing her brother's arm harshly, "—I believe this is sufficient enough, yes? I would like not to do that again, please. Very uncomfortable."
Cassian rubs his jaw, nodding. He looks pleasantly surprised. "Sufficient. Should I be worried that you know how to do that?"
Gale shakes his head. "It's not so hard. Intention is important, after all, but I advise you not to do that if you're able. Who knows what else it may do, if given the opportune chance to strike should we mess around with the thing. Eugh."
"Noted," Her brother looks down at her, "How do you fare?"
Avengalique rubs her eyes, squinting. "...I'm alright. Just... didn't like that. It hurts."
"It does," Her brother agrees. He looks at Shadowheart and Astarion, "Shall we?" He stops short after they nod, glowing eyes catching on the sigils inscribed on the wall. "Hold. What is this?"
"What is what, darling?" Astarion sounds vexed. Shadowheart pauses, looking over at the portal her brother points at with curiosity.
"The thing I found Gale in," Avengalique informs readily.
Everyone stares at her.
She shrinks. "What?"
Cassian turns to Gale and points, "You will explain everything along the way, yes?"
Gale looks like he swallowed a lemon. "...Very well?"
"Good," Cassian turns to the road, "Onward then, let's not dally and wait to die."
Avengalique seconds that.
[. . .]
This... Gale of Waterdeep explains things very thoroughly.
Former Soldier Cassian Violet of the House Baenre of Menzoberranzan doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. There's only so much information a simple mind can retain, and for someone as complex as himself, even Gale's constant talking can become tiring. Even still, Cassian appreciates Gale's theatrics on the matter. He makes good attempts to grab the attention of the listener. The gestures of his hands and the illumination of his spectacles, typical of a wizard of his caliber, are captivating.
That's the only reason why he hasn't swiftly reached into his mouth and cut off his tongue. Simply put. That, and his sister's wide-eyed wonder of it.
His sister has suffered much. There are many freshly pink brushes on the skin he can see, indicating her rapid healing process. He's already given her a new pair of sandals, seeing as her previous ones were nowhere to be seen. She hadn't balked at the implications of where he'd gotten them from (a corpse by the crash site), and this worried him, for not even her germaphobic nature had made an appearance.
It tells him enough that what they've gone through has shaken her deeply.
At the very least, he will allow this talkative wizard to keep his silver weapon. His sister ought to engage in activities that provide distraction, as this would be more beneficial than dwelling on recent events.
Cassian is very thankful this stupid wizard had found her instead of anyone else, worse.
When he'd awoken inside the nautiloid, he'd been inconsolable.
He'd been separated from Avengalique. It wouldn't be the first time, no, but considering the disaster suffocating the air, he'd been in a fit of rage to get out. He'd spat out cruel threats among the carnage he could hear happening on the outside. He'd nearly broken free from sheer anger and spite, had he not suddenly been brought face-to-face with a fucking Illithid. He'd been cruelly cramped into the pod keeping him prisoner, binding his legs and shoulders hardly capable of fitting into something so damn small.
A slimy hand had then shoved his head back hard enough to see stars and forced his eyelid up, and he remembered screaming in cruel madness as the tadpole bled its way through his carnal surface.
After that, chaos ensued.
His mind was barely his. He forced his way out, headbutting the mind flayer that'd been distracted by the roaring dragon chewing its way through the fleshy walls. He'd then used his claws to sink into the thing's neck, pulling out various tentacles and bits of its nerve-connecting, bloody spinal cord. It'd spasmed before falling dead, and he had stomped on it one more time for good measure, before running out without a glance back just as soon as fires licked his back.
He'd then faced off with a Githyanki woman. One who had praised Vlaakith when she'd realized he was no thrall. No Ghaik, as she had so put it.
He had intended to ignore her, but her quick reflexes, intercepting the imps trying to get a jump on him, had him reconsidering. He'd let her accompany him, if only because she proved a useful ally, and they had run, intending to get out as soon as possible.
It was when he came across Shadowheart.
If not for the battle following them into the room she was trapped in, Cassian regrets to say that he might have left her in there to save himself. He was looking for his sister most of all, thinking the worst, and in his worst, helping people is the absolute last thing he wants to do.
But because he'd thrown various thralls against the surface of her screaming pod, he'd hooked his hand under the weakened door, ripping it off effortlessly and using it to squash the shrilling beings behind his capture.
She'd fallen forward, free at last, and he'd caught her on instinct after his kill, sneering down at her, thinking she was there to kill him.
But she was no thrall. The Githyanki Woman, Lae'zel if he remembers right, hadn't been enthused by the new arrival. Neither was he, for that matter, but Shadowheart had fought well in the coming journey to the Helm, and he wouldn't say no to some help if he truly needed it. They'd managed to connect the nerves of the transporter to escape the Hells, weaving through demons, devils, and many a creature from that doomed dimension.
And then they fell.
Fell hard, with Cassian locking angry eyes with the damn thing that helped them escape it all. The Main Illithid in charge of the Nautiloid ship.
He doesn't remember much else. He'd been hit by something tough and thrown off-ship.
The next moment, he woke up with a bad headache, to sandy beaches and bright blue skies.
"I have many baskets of holding if each of you would like one?"
Cassian stops reminiscing to regard his sister. "You kept those?" He questions lightly, sniffing in disapproval as he watches who he suspects is a vampire spawn quickly nab one without his sister noticing. Astarion. Truly a mercy of the universe for the tadpole's intervention. Had the maggot in his brain not shoved brief flashes of images of this elf's past, the man would surely be dead. Not for being a spawn, mind. Cassian has interacted with many in his day. Astarion is simply on thin ice for attempting to foolishly kill him when he thought he wasn't looking.
He commends such efforts, though. And he certainly doesn't blame him, now that he's sound of mind. Processing what he saw, combined with the tense way the elf held himself and the weapon he had nearly broken with his bare hand, Cassian isn't so much of a heartless idiot to acknowledge that this (likely) spawn has gone through much.
But should this elf prove fatal for the only person he considers family, his life will come to an abrupt and gruesome end. Shadowheart and Gale are on the same page. Should they do anything to Avengalique, their deaths will be tenfold worse.
But he digresses. They serve as calm companions, at least. Shadowheart, for sure. He'd found her awake and bumbling toward him, seeking to accompany him for the rest of his journey. He'd kept her around for her help in healing the worst of the burns.
He watches Astarion carefully.
"Yes, I did," His sister smiles at him. He turns to her. "Would you like one? I know your old one broke under mysterious circumstances—"
"Meaning you were at fault," Cassian deadpans.
His sister suddenly looks very innocent. The look doesn't quite pull off. His sister is considered creepy-looking. Characterized by a pallid, veiny complexion, deep-set, broad golden eyes, and hair that is long and dark, resembling the abyss, her appearance has drawn numerous complaints. The majority of these grievances originate from those who have suffered grievous injuries at his hands or unfortunate wanderers who meet their demise at the hands of her seemingly innocent demeanor during the night. She's been confused for a haunting ghost many times now.
The sole touch of color on her face is the deep purple-red tint of her lips, which subtly extends to her cheeks, the tips of her ears, and eyelids.
"...Do you want one or not?" She questions in exasperation.
"Sure," He mumbles, taking the handed one for himself. It feels heavy. "Did you incorporate an addon to them?" He inquires, intrigued. He peers inside to find an unnatural pitch-black.
"Yes," She nods proudly.
"Most excellent," Gale compliments, eyes creasing at the corners as he takes one. "Such exquisite craftsmanship. Baskets of holdings can only hold so much, but the weight of this extends to something more. A pocket dimension, am I correct? Your written sigils on the edges of it are clever! Your calligraphy is most beautiful, though these are unlike any I've seen before. If you would—"
"Where did you get so many?" Shadowheart interrupts, cradling one of her own. "I've heard these are... expensive."
"Not so," Cassian grunts. Shadowheart looks up at him. "For nobles, at least. I for one, stole many. No amount of gold required."
"Most efficient way, I'd say," Astarion grins.
Cassian inclines his head. The elf has some merits it seems. "Steal from the rich, as I say."
Shadowheart smiles knowingly. "I won't argue with that logic, I suppose."
He turns to his sister, eyeing the enthused conversation she's having with the wizard. He looks away, satisfied. "Now you won't need to carry anything. As long as it fits, I'm sure my sister has uncovered enough space for its use. It looks like we'll be camping," He points out.
"Yes," Avengalique says again, handing Gale his basket back. She looks at their party of three, "Much like spells, intent is used. Like so," She lifts the basket and shoves a rock, a rag, and a random fish in it. "Think about what you want, and..." She takes out the rock with a gleeful grin, "There."
"Convenient," Shadowheart hums.
"Much," Cassian asserts before Gale can speak again. "Let us continue onward. I perceive voices in close proximity."
Their party tenses.
Cassian goes to reach for both his trusted scimitars on his back before remembering he lost them somewhere in the disarray. He scowls, clenching his fists. "Let us not be caught unawares. Mayhaps there is weaponry we can take for ourselves," He grumbles, dutifully ignoring the disturbed look of Gale and the secret grin from Astarion keeping at his heel.
He hears Shadowheart behind him, where his sister's scent lingers.
"Your brother is very serious, isn't he?"
His sister hums.
"He's actually very silly."
A tense silence.
Then, "Huh."
[. . .]
It turns out the voices belonged to two tieflings coming from a Grove not far from them. They'd long left after Avengalique convinced both of them they could handle the Githyanki woman, Lae'zel.
Cassian would have simply incapacitated them instead of granting them a quick death, contrary to his sister's belief. No blood, no foul. But he was good to trust in his sister's instincts. They had provided directions to a place where assistance could be found, despite her stumbling over many of her words, which nearly jeopardized the tieflings' lives. Regardless of the situation, whether favorable or hostile, Cassian would take the necessary actions.
Getting Lae'zel down hadn't been hard.
His height exceeds expectations for many, though he considers it much more of a curse than not. A drow above ground is bad enough. Adding onto the fact that he seems the tallest in every case produced worse results. Nevertheless, in situations like these, where great height is required, his supposed curse is useful. Without much fanfare, he reaches to unlock the cage of the trap, freeing the angry Githyanki.
He stares her down, watching her land and straighten effortlessly.
"Chk. About time, Drow. The tadpole hasn't yet scrambled all your senses. Auspicious," She hisses, "But the longer we wait, the more it consumes. My people possess the cure for this infection. I must find the Crèche," She narrows her eyes, "You will join me."
"Cure, you say?" Cassian probes, searching her expression for lies. He finds none. A good farce, or genuine? He'll see for himself.
"Yes. The cure I offer will suffice as thanks," She spits, gesturing at the trap above her head.
Cassian doesn't trust her at all. But her strength is useful, and for that, he will recruit her. "Very well," He acquiesces, glowering. "We will find this... Crèche. But should this be folly, your blood will stain my hands."
She looks up at him akin with some approval. "Ra'stil. You have made an ally from Crèche K'liir. Few know of such fortune. Let us make haste. The horned ones mentioned a camp. One there—this Zorru—has seen Githyanki. A Crèche must be near. We will ask this Zorru where he has seen my kin."
"Hold on," Astarion pipes in, looking unimpressed, "Do we not get a say? I say we think twice before following after something so convenient."
"It's our only lead," Shadowheart states begrudgingly. She looks at Lae'zel with something like contempt.
"It's as good of a start as any," Gale agrees, neutral about the situation.
Cassian turns to his sister. "What say you, inferior sibling?" He asks, serious.
The expression of disdain that Avengalique directs toward him nearly elicits a smile.
"So long as you don't lead us to our death, stupid brother."
He looks back to Lae'zel. "It is done."