Chapter Text
“It’s been too long, I should go after her.”
“A foolish notion. We have the advantage here and we need not rob ourselves of it unnecessarily.”
“Almost sounds like you have faith in her, Lae’zel.” Wyll offered with a knowing smile, one that was answered with a dismissive chk .
Astra wrung her hands nervously even as she tried to see the wisdom in her gith ally’s words. “I know, I know, it’s just…”
Gale interrupted as kindly as he could. “Astra, it’s fine . Our friend is no stranger to the shadows and couldn’t be more at home in this darkness.”
He was right, of course. Too right if anything, provoking a new kind of fear from her.
The wizard must have picked up on the adverse reaction, as he continued with a chipper smile. “Though, I could tell some stories while we wait! Why, I remember one incident at a tavern many moons ago, involving a pair of squabbling dragonborn and a nasty case of-“
Astarion’s interruption was much less gracious. “Darling, I think she was wanting the time to pass more quickly, rather than agonisingly slowly.” He was entirely immune to Gale’s cross look, offering an all too innocent smirk until something else caught his eye. “Oh, speak of the Sharran.”
Astra’s instinct was to meet Shadowheart halfway, make sure as soon as she could that the cleric wasn’t hurt, but better sense recognised the danger that could put them in and made her stay put in their ambush position. From the vantage point within the half destroyed hut, she could see the telltale umbral wisps of Shadowheart’s magic, the kind that allowed her to move even more unseen, that made her perfect for lone scouting tasks no matter how unbearable Astra found the waits for the cleric to return.
Steps taken with the certainty of experience and the conviction of utter faith carried the cleric across the rough dead earth and back to the assembled party. The almost silence of a few hushed voices were the only thing that betrayed their presence, Astra’s own party as well as the few Harpers Jaheira could spare alongside them, equally hidden.
“Are you alright?” Astra asked as soon as the cleric was closer, her voice louder and more urgent than she wanted it to be.
“Fine. It’s as Lassandra expected, about a dozen in a loose column. Swords mostly, with a few crossbows towards the rear.”
Shadowheart had brushed off the concern with an unsurprising shortness, Astra trying as best she could not to be hurt by it, but there was something else to it too, details omitted from her brief report.
“Well? What else did you see?” Wyll pushed her.
“They’ve got a leader near the head of the formation, holding some kind of powerful lantern. I think…” Shadowheart hesitated to continue, and for a brief second when her eyes flicked to hers Astra thought she saw something soft held within the green grey, like concern or sympathy threatening appearance, but like so much within the shadows it was swallowed up unceremoniously, disappearing as the cleric looked past her into the rest of the hut. “Karlach?”
Steps immediately answered the beckoning whisper, their owner doing their best to mask the natural loudness of them. “ Shadowlach , reporting for duty.” The tiefling said, still quite tall despite mirroring their own crouched stances.
“The leader should be your responsibility, with Astra staying to the rear to keep us all organised. If the gith’s in a charitable mood, maybe she could join you in the melee.”
Lae’zel predictably baulked at the suggestion, producing a cross scowl in reply. “Do not dictate tactics to me, half-elf . Myself and Karlach are a formidable pair, and even more so with Astra in support.”
Astra found herself frowning too, though mostly out of confusion at the sudden deviation. “Lae’zel is right, why are we changing things?”
There was undeniable frustration in Shadowheart’s voice, even if it felt like there was an absence of proper anger. “They’re big girls you know, maybe they can handle themselves without a paladin coddling them, hmm?”
Astra reeled slightly from the harshness, but another low yet urgent voice interrupted the debate - Lassandra, directing some of her own troops as well as assessing the party’s own positioning. “Footsteps and light coming from up the road! Be ready!”
Bodies moving as quietly as they could sprang to life around them, and all Astra could do was shake her head and dismiss the conflicting emotions as she prepared herself for the coming strike. Mentally at first, then physically as she took her place alone behind a waist high wooden wall, once a part of a balcony but now useful cover to crouch behind and observe the approaching caravan.
A corona of light climbed above the landscape like a foul sunrise, heralding the arrival of the Absolutists who, Astra hoped at least, remained unaware of the joint forces who lay in wait. The cultists were out of sight for now, obscured by a bend in the road, but a heavy march of boots impacting the hard ground told of their impending arrival, a soundtrack disrupted however by a different sort of rhythmic sound. Hard and sharp, tapping on the ground over and over again at smaller intervals. Astra concentrated hard, listening to try and discern the source of the odd sound, but before long her question was answered as the column of soldiers rounded the corner and came into full view.
Nightmares were familiar company to Astra, her own mind complicit in undermining and replaying moments of heightened fear and suffering for no reason, none she could ever find at least. The most effective always drew inspiration from reality, far more visceral horrors than the imagined or the unknown.
Being enveloped in a sea of chaos and screams, too small to even see the scale of the ambush that had stolen so much from her. Entombed in a mindflayer pod, fighting with sheer desperation against fleshy bindings as the worm latched itself to her eye and sealed her fate.
Astra was just as helpless now as she was forced to live this waking horror, only hearing herself whimper between staccato breaths. A man sprouted from the abdomen of the beast, but that was where the natural ended. Eyes, too many eyes of obsidian black that blinked randomly and littered the scarred flesh of his head. The body of a spider, twice the size of her and covered in bristly hairs, long curved legs carrying the monster forward, towards her .
Her skin crawled, a cold sweat claimed her body as terror took hold. She had always found it hard to look away, when they crawled the walls above her bed and would drop onto her threadbare covers, petrified above all else of losing track of them. Now was the same, her eyes locked to the abomination like they would for any other spider. Somehow, a more rational thought broke through the wall of fear, one that made Astra notice its presence at the head of the formation, sword and guiding lantern in hand.
The leaders should be her responsibility.
A shuffle of feet from beside her betrayed the arrival of another, but she still couldn’t break the monster's spell. Without looking away, Astra spoke without real thought, only asserting the duty she thought she had. “The – the leader… I need to…”
“No. That won’t happen, not while there are other options.” Shadowheart was right next to her now, giving the order with a curt dismissiveness, as if it was an obviously stupid thing to even suggest.
Astra knew she should argue, explain herself further to the woman whose presence she had barely acknowledged, but fear continued to steal the words from her as the nightmare stepped closer, and closer, and closer.
Maybe Shadowheart would have said something more, maybe Astra could have pushed herself into being less pathetic and instead acting as the leader she knew she had to be, but the world would move on without her. The surroundings lost to the singular, primal emotion came flooding back, flaring into life like the bottle of liquid fire Lassandra hurled at the front of the Absolutist column, signalling the start of the attack.
At first, Astra was no more than a spectator as warriors lying in wait leapt from their positions, two figures leading the way in a furious blur of red and yellow-green. Together their paths intertwined on a collision course with the monstrosity as it hissed and reeled away from the small inferno, a vicious looking sword swinging wildly as braver fighters began to circle it.
Her body would have continued to be frozen, dumbly watching the scene unfold but unable to move closer, yelled orders and the din of magic being casted only adding to the numb ringing in her ears. But illuminated by a backdrop of divine fire, a plate-clad arm appeared in her periphery, pointing over her shoulder and to a separate part of the emerging battlefield. Astra’s eyes followed the wordless instruction, and a new scene came into slow but steady focus. A lumbering half orc, the new hole burned into its torso barely inhibiting his rage as he swung a greatclub with lethal intent. The strike would miss, but the warlock with his hand still wrapped in the last traces of eldritch magic was undoubtedly struggling as he stumbled backwards in a desperate evasion.
Combat, Astra had come to unwillingly embrace, could be very simple. If the choice was between the lives of enemies who would not rest until they had killed and slaughtered in the name of some perverted cause, or the lives of her friends and allies, innocents and victims as well, then it was a straightforward decision, even through the horror of blood and screams.
Sometimes, it was easy to live within that conviction, where a need to protect an imperilled friend could compel her into action, whilst banishing memories of dark shapes crawling on her skin, covers pulled tightly over her head. Such thoughts couldn’t linger when lapses in concentration meant death, and here in a more isolated part of the battlefield Astra could commit herself entirely to fighting alongside Wyll and felling the last of the Absolutists.
Maybe a better fighter could have enjoyed their victory, found satisfaction in a plan and battle well executed, but Astra found such thoughts of self praise hard to focus on.
The positives were clear of course, no casualties and a powerful lantern recovered from the leader, the twisted corpse blessedly out of sight when Lassandra presented the find to her. One emancipation of a mouthy pixie later, and Astra and her party found themselves the recipients of an even stronger blessing against the effects of the curse.
At least Shadowheart found no reason to object to this protection.
It was no longer a surprise that her thoughts turned so effortlessly to her cleric in quieter moments, the exhausted but triumphant fighters staying in a vigilant formation even as Last Light Inn drew closer on the horizon. With safety so close and with so many numbers around her, Astra found it difficult not to indulge in the same unanswered questions, the same uncertainties.
Within the hold of the curse, Shadowheart had been.. lost, to them. That was the only word Astra had found which had come close to describing the absence and the distance, all of the wit and fire of her cleric smothered by an unseen thread that pulled her forward into the shadows. Loyalty and companionship were obstacles, interruptions on her grander path, one paved by Shar that led to Gods know where.
Karlach had been f*cking dying, and she didn’t even bat a eye.
But if pieces of Shadowheart had really been lost in the curse, then at least some of them had been found in the protective dome of Last Light. To see her Shadowheart again, the one Astra really knew, the one she was rapidly coming to accept she couldn’t be without, was a relief, though one tainted still by the shock of it all, and the cleric's own words.
Restraint, duty above all – Astra should have known it couldn’t last, but actually hearing those walls be erected so bluntly and so completely willingly was another thing entirely. Shar had taken so much from Shadowheart already, ensnared in a noose of pain only added to by whatever the curse was doing to her, that any promises of a future for the cleric that involved Astra were hard to put faith into, no matter how much she wanted to. No matter what she had thought she’d seen, what reasons there might have been for Shadowheart’s intervention before the ambush.
Though her own tragedy could be rightly pushed away when their safe haven was awash with broken souls reeling from the aftermath of loss. Astra had finally had the opportunity to speak with some of the more familiar faces, however thankful she was to see them safe entirely undercut by the horror of the tieflings ambush and torture at the hands of Absolutists, faces once so full of hope leaving their camp now suffering from these absences, the survivors consumed by the uncertain fates of friends and family.
Through a haze of alcohol and petulance Astra had learned of Rolan’s unlikely heroics, but also of Zevlor’s failure to protect his charges and the capture of the trainee wizard’s siblings. Pain shone through the confrontational veneer, and all Astra could do was leave him with his drink and a promise that she’d do all she could to mind the missing refugees.
An atmosphere of numb grief hung heavily over Last Light, the contrast between it and that wonderful night of revelry, the celebration of new beginnings and the escape from the tension of the Grove gripping Astra’s heart tightly. Not even the most pure and hopeful of souls could escape its influence, something that became all too clear when Alfira almost collapsed into her arms in a flood of tears, an outpouring of some relief at seeing her and the party safe but mostly just sorrow that had been without release.
“Sorry. I didn’t want to get tears all over your nice shiny armour.” The tiefling tried to laugh away some of the sadness and embarrassment as she pulled away, wiping her eyes.
The bard had essentially thrown themselves as Astra when she had spotted her, but it was difficult to begrudge Alfira for trying to find some kind of support. It wouldn’t have been something she would have chosen, but Astra had found it far too hard recently to deny someone a comforting embrace when they sought it, “You’ve nothing to apologise for, really. If I’m honest, this armour has seen worse than that recently.”
“Even more heroics, I’m assuming?” Alfira asked expectantly, the storyteller in her shining through. “You’ll have to tell me all about them sometime, I could weave your story into a stirring ballad when all this is over.”
“I’ll leave the retellings of the past to you, I think.” It was a charming offer, but it just didn’t sit right with Astra.
Nonetheless, she took a proper seat on the stool next to the other tiefling, both just trying to escape into this moment of unexpected peace and reconnection, one that couldn’t possibly last.
“I don’t know how they found us, out in the dark. Zevlor seemed to know where he was going, but when the cultists began surrounding us he just… stopped. Refused to do anything whilst they rounded us up like cattle.” Alfira’s eyes were glued to the counter in front of her in painful recollection. “They laughed, and taunted and teased while they tortured us, when they… we couldn’t…”
“Stop. You don’t have to.” Astra made sure to catch her eyes, the infernal pupils shimmering with new unshed tears. She couldn’t bear to see someone break themselves anew over retold memories, and as gently as she could, stopped her. “Rolan helped, didn’t he? Gave you and some of the others time to run?”
“Yeah, of all the bloody people.” Alfira huffed a mirthless laugh, out of disbelief rather than disdain. “That’s how any of us made it here, we gathered the children and made our escape in the chaos. But there’s still so many… Cal, Lia, Danis, Lakirssa...”
Each name cut Astra almost as deeply as it did Alfira, friends, family, lovers lost to shadows and cultists. Astra knew what was coming as Alfira turned to her with desperation, and whilst she dreaded just how uncertain the outcome could be, she knew she needed to try.
“Please, Astra. You’ll find them, won’t you? They might still be alive, captured and held in some godsforsaken place. Please ?”
Maybe it was foolish to swear such a thing in a land of shadows, devoid of hope, but within herself Astra was finding a growing conviction. One that refused to stand idly by and let the darkness take whomever it pleased, however impossible it seemed.
“I’ll do whatever I can, I promise.”
“You’re not normally this quiet, Astra. Do you want to talk about it?”
Astra hunched forward a bit more, leaning over her crossed legs and searching herself for an answer to the Guardian’s question. Her breathing had calmed, and her shaking had ceased, but the effects of the nightmare still hung heavily over her.
“I… I don’t know.”
“There’s really no need for such doubt.” The Guardian looked more tired than when Astra had last seen her, despite the new and more casual purple robe that adorned their sculpted form. Taking advantage of being out of their resplendent plate armour, the half-elf took a seat at Astra’s side, more relaxed than the woman next to them.
“You can trust me with anything. You know that, right?”
The expectation buried within the question snapped Astra out of her thoughts, finally able to look up. “Of course I trust you, I just don’t know where to begin, this time.”
“It doesn’t have to be difficult. Describe what you could see, how it made you feel.”
The world is a blur of inky shadows rushing around me. It feels like I’m falling, like I could be lost at any moment, but there are chains that are keeping me in place. I’m on my knees, an iron grip binds my wrists. I can’t possibly hope to struggle against it.
Then, she steps forward. It’s that spear again, one I’ve never even seen, in the waking world at least. It terrifies me all the same. Two hands clad in gold and black gauntlets grip it tightly, the sharp tip aimed squarely at me, the figure holding it one with the darkness. I’m not sure if they hesitate, but they strike hard with the blade all the same.
From there, it all begins to fade away. There might have been more, a flash of grey-green, the ripple of a gossamer black curtain, but pain and blood loss dulls everything into a haze as I slip away.
“Then, I was here. With you.”
It hadn’t been the first dream like it, or even the first thought. The nights they had now spent here, even within the protective dome of Last Light, had conjured repeating experiences. Futures that felt far too real, almost inevitable despite being just a patchwork of anxieties and possibilities. She had made a promise, to respect what Shadowheart wanted, to acquiesce always to what Shar would demand of her, to allow herself to be discarded by the cleric when the time inevitably came. Having such fears over what Shadowheart might yet be felt like a betrayal, even if the Guardian was now the only other soul to know of them.
“So, the darkness is having an effect on you. It frightens you, doesn’t it?”
The Guardian had listened thoughtfully, simply observing Astra as she recalled the experience. They hadn’t looked disappointed, or even sympathetic. Merely a tilt of the head, possibly understanding more than they said even as she questioned curiously.
“It terrifies me. We’ve barely scratched the surface of this place, and already seen so many awful things.” Shadows corrupting the dead, half-drow abominations, betrayals by former allies – it sent a chill down Astra's spine thinking about what could come next, the way the darkness affected all who walked within it.
As soon as they had heard this, the more passive look of the Guardian was dispelled, an intensity and displeasure in their gaze. “You must overcome this fear, however you can. There are answers we need within the shadows, and you cannot waste any more time not searching for them.”
“I’m sorry, I promise that we’re trying. But pushing ourselves, going deeper and deeper into the curse –“
With a curt flick of their wrist the Guardian silenced Astra’s rambled defence, standing quickly and glaring down at her seated form. “Are you not worried you’re losing sight of what really matters? Need I remind you of the tadpoles you carry, of the Absolute’s growing strength?”
Astra pleaded back. “I know, but what the shadows do to us, to Shadowhe-“
“So, you’ll let the rest of your friends, all of the others infected by the cult die? Just so you won’t upset the cleric who is exactly where she wants to be? You have to be stronger, Astra, ready to do what is right.” The Guardian softened slightly, trying to convince rather than chastise now.
Though she had withered under the weight of the scathing words, Astra managed to drag her gaze from the floor in front of her. “You’re right, I have been too distracted. We need to find Moonrise, the missing refugees too. The Absolute must be out there somewhere.”
At this, the Guardian knelt down in front of her, the fire they’d had extinguished, a friendly hand on Astra’s shoulder. “I know you can do it, Astra. We’re a team, but I need you looking for the heart of the cult. I’ll continue to protect you, now and always, but you need to be making progress in the meantime.”
She nodded solemnly in return. “Of course. I won’t let you down.”
A warm smile answered the earnest declaration. “I’m proud of you, you know. Embracing your potential, rescuing the tieflings and the gnome slaves. One day soon, we’ll both be free – you can trust me on that.”
Cycles of the sun and moon were distant memories once again, but unlike the Underdark they had allies experienced with organising routine and schedules, lessening the effects of the absence of defined day and night. Jaheira had her Harpers, and Florrick had her contingent of Flaming Fists, their small detachment also becoming trapped by the shadows after departing the ashes of Waukeen's Rest. Wyll was happy to see the Counsellor at least, or as happy as was possible when both were still endangered by the curse. It also meant he was there to deal with these representatives of his city, rather than Astra who was all too keen to not spend any sort of time amongst them. Wyll may have been touched by the Hells themselves, but it was easy to look past that and see what sort of man he really was. Looking past Fist uniforms and insignia was a much more difficult task.
Though there were far more pressing concerns than a stranded diplomat and her escort, both inside and outside of Last Light itself. Halsin was a welcome sight, another friendly face to find in an unlikely place, but he was entirely preoccupied by a comatose man whose condition was apparently linked to the very heart of the land itself. Magic and mundane remedies were no help, and so the few clues they could gather about his past life were all they could cling to for now.
The Shadowlands themselves beckoned, and mile by mile Astra and her party were exploring as best they could. Never all at once and never for too long, instead smaller parties venturing out into the wastelands were preferred, seeing as they could be more mobile and easier to keep shrouded in protective light. Astra led these tentative expeditions as often as she could, only submitting to demands for her to rest and recover if there was a still strong party to go in her stead. Not that rest came easily when she was left back at Last Light, seeking ways to distract herself from thinking of the companions that were now out of sight but not out of mind.
Planning with Jaheira and Halsin, absorbing as much of their druidic knowledge as she could, especially when it came to the curse itself. Trading little trinkets with Mattis and some of the other tiefling children to distract them from their missing friend and leader, fixing some of the significant holes and buckling structure of Last Light along with Barcus, the deep gnome who had been saved from a windmill and a slave camp and who now found himself deep in new misfortune. His engineering experience was invaluable in the repairs and both of them were grateful to be of use, the work also helping to pass the time whilst they waited for word on his friend, another gnome who’d been lost during the ambush in the shadows.
Though merely hearing Halsin and Jaheira describe the effects of the shadowcurse could never really prepare Astra for seeing it up close. If it had all been a featureless void, a land completely devoid of signs of life or hope, then maybe that would have been marginally easier to bear. But even after a century of corruption there were still glimpses of a lost world, small windows into a happier time that were uniquely heartbreaking.
A cold wind rustled decaying leaves and half rotted vines as Astra led them further into Reithwin, a village that lay deep within the shadowcurse. It wasn’t their first time here, but the familiarity didn’t ease the sadness she felt walking amongst empty houses and deserted streets, the Blood of Lathander in her hand as it always was.
Treacherous ground lay all around as the party made steady progress forward, deep fissures in the earth birthing grasping vines and green tinged tendrils of shadow magic. These unnatural growths were everywhere, snaking around and within abandoned market stalls and crumbling statues, vindictively continuing to choke the life out of a settlement that had long since died.
It was this cruelty, persistent and vicious that was a constant of the curse, this unique brand of misery following wherever it touched. Even the small moments of triumph, when they would destroy scores of shadow figures that lurched into sudden ambushes, were tainted when the vestiges these fallen apparitions left behind told stories of the people they had once been. Mundane stories, merchants, labourers, priests, drunks, husbands, wives, sons and daughters who now only existed as echoes that reminded any who witnessed them of the curses enduring power to corrupt and destroy.
“What do you think this place was? A merchant district, maybe?” Gale asked, taking in the morose surroundings but finding the time to be inquisitive whilst scanning for threats.
Astra glanced over her shoulder to the wizard behind her, his light cantrips illuminating the small group that stepped over cracked stone paving and decaying roots. They were more serious, more alert in a way that wasn’t as prevalent during their walks through the wilds before, which is what made idle chatter such as this all the more necessary.
Gale was simply trying to keep their spirits up and minds sharp, though as Astra mentally cycled through possible answers, the images of happier times contrasted with the new grim reality was just too uncomfortable to linger on.
“I don’t really want to think about it, honestly.” Astra answered shortly.
“She is right. Better to stay alert, rather than wasting time and energy ruminating over the long dead.” Lae’zel agreed, still entirely focussed on scanning the darkness around them.
“Oh, it’s not all such a waste, Lae’zel. We’re preserving the spirit of this place, keeping the memories of a more jovial past alive. This shadow magic may take everything else, but we can safeguard that from its clutches.”
The idea seemed to appeal to Karlach, who joined in enthusiastically with an added spring to her step. “Yeah, I like that! Gods, I bet this would’ve been lovely to see back in the day, if it was anything like the market days in the city at least. The smell of freshly baked bread, hearing all the sellers yelling, advertising their sh*t.” A few quicker steps to catch up, and she was nudging the side of a plated torso with her elbow. “Come on Lae, I bet you’d love a nice warm pastry in the morning.”
A scowl and a small sidestep was her response, which was quite tame from the githyanki really. “ Chk , the day should not start with such luxuries. It weakens the spirit when it should be preparing for coming battles.”
Gale took a similar view of the merits of a breakfast croissant as Karlach, and hummed his disapproval. “I suppose she won’t be joining you for your morning coffee then, right Astra?”
“Correct. Even the Sharran knows that is a squanderous use of time.”
Astra felt her shoulders hunch in response, wincing from the offhand comment. It was true, in recent mornings, or what they could only guess was the morning, Shadowheart had been absent, their past routines of coffee and pleasant joking conversation just another casualty of the shadows. The cleric would be studiously praying instead, and Astra would prepare for the day alone. That was just how it had to be.
As much as she had tried to describe her hurt, something about Astra’s body language must have given her away. “Ah, bit of a sore subject, Lae’zel?” Karlach interjected, a note of sadness in her own voice.
Clearing her throat loudly, Astra finally came to her own defence, hoping she at least sounded unaffected. “It’s fine. I’m glad she’s found something to keep her happy while she stays in the Inn.”
“We all have fealties that must be paid to our deities, after all. Whatever they think of us.” Gale continued, rather wistfully.
“Yeah, but I doubt Shadowheart’s ever been to bed with Shar. Or Astra with Lathander. Or -”
“Continue that sentence and lose your remaining horn.” The gith growled.
“Aw, love you too Lae.”
The view up ahead had been slowly changing, from row and rows of similar, smaller buildings to a larger concourse that preceded a different sort of structure. Much larger, and overshadowing the only path forward. “Come on, focus. This must be what Astarion said they saw last time.” Astra ordered, the new need for readiness being felt keenly by the bickering party.
“ ‘Reithwin Toll House’ . Of course that would catch his attention.” Gale tutted as they entered through the rotting doorway.
What Astarion failed to mention, however, was the cursed being of pure greed on the upper level. More gold than person, barely humanoid in shape and devoted entirely to the gathering of more riches. Demanding the toll still with a hollow, echoing rasp, a duty held close even whilst they and their former place of work bore the scars of the curse’s corruption.
Violence and death followed as it always did, but even as they healed their wounds and made to head back to Last Light, the party’s magic and tolerance for the shadows long since depleted, Astra could still only see that creature as yet another victim of the curse. Shar’s curse, polluting an ordinary land with a poison of loss and pain, a microscopic example of the Nightsinger’s vision for the entire realm, what Her and Her children strived to accomplish every day.
The day was over, as far as Astra was concerned, the meagre but concrete progress made with their victory at the Toll House being enough for now. As soon as the party arrived back at the Inn, Astra made sure to brief Jaheira on their discoveries, who would in turn keep her Harpers informed and ready for what they may encounter out in the Shadowlands.
“I'm surprised not to hear any jangling pockets. You weren’t tempted to liberate Gerringothe’s coffers?” Jaheira had asked with a smirk just as Astra was bidding her farewell.
“Leaving with all of us alive was a good enough prize. Also, all that gold looked really heavy.”
“A wise choice indeed, paladin.” The druid replied with a satisfied laugh.
The docks at the rear of the Inn were deserted for the moment, a welcome sight for Astra who was keen to take a moment to herself, if not to completely rest than at the very least decompress from yet another perilous excursion. Taking a seat at the end of one of the creaking wooden piers, she briefly considered dipping her toes into the water itself, though the lake looked so thoroughly blackened and polluted she couldn’t be sure her feet would survive the exposure.
Despite their rocky introduction, Astra felt safe enough with Jaheira nearby to take this time away from her party, away from the relentlessness of leadership and responsibility. Both of those things would still be there waiting for her when she returned, so for now she allowed herself this temporary leisure, closing her eyes and emptying her mind of as much as she could, excluding any tadpoles.
It was such an appealing prospect, being lost in this rare moment of peace, that she barely noticed the footsteps impacting on wood behind her. Slow but heavy, the rattle of armour accompanying each thud of a metal boot, until the source of the noise stopped somewhere behind her, a harsh gravelly voice puncturing the silence and tearing her open all at once.
“Well I’ll be godsdamned, it really is you. Our very own Craven.”
That word. That name was all it took.
Astra’s eyes shot open, her stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. Against her will her body seized, the imprint of pain flaring to life in the base of her aching tail, all at once ensnared in fear and a desperate search of buried memories that frantically tried to place the man's voice, a fruitless endeavour even as she sprung to her feet and turned to see him at last.
She didn’t recognise him, and she remembered all of their faces.
Every detail, seared into her mind like an Absolutist brand. The cruel sneers, the yellowed teeth exposed when they shouted, the untempered malice in their eyes. Laughter that rattled her thin body when the blows would land, the cold metal of a gauntlet used to strike when she missed a stitch or broke a tool. Days of darkness, a world devoid of colour. Unpainted walls and the featureless steel of plate armour, save for one detail.
A symbol of a hand, curled into a fist placed onto a background of flames. The uniform the Flaming Fist wore now, hands on hips and regarding her like an amusing curiosity.
“Yeah, there she is! Granted, I wasn’t sure at first, what with all that shiny sh*te you’ve stuck to your horns and the fancy armour. I’d always assumed you’d crawled into a gutter and died, but here you are. Life is funny, ain’t it?” He pointed to her horns, her plate with that gauntleted fist, and she couldn’t help but wince as the metal glove rattled and moved.
The docks were still empty save for the two of them, and Astra could only be thankful no one else was there to see her like this, crumbling under the weight of a reminder of torment callously inflicted by this figure she still didn’t f*cking know . Yet the fear was slowly being eroded by anger, old ways taught with violence still keeping her voice meek as she spoke, barely audible even to her own ears.
“That’s not my name.”
The Fist only cupped an ear and leant towards her. “Ey? Come on Craven, speak up! You ain’t still scared Merac is gonna hear you, are you?”
A second name, dragged with barbed wire from the recesses of her brain, a past life being brutally exhumed by a Fist who was merely amused by her faltering. Astra’s shaking hands clenched, and she was defiant, if only to try and drown out her screaming mind.
“That’s not my f*cking name!”
He simply grinned at the display, mockingly holding up his palms in a gesture of peace. “Hey, no need to get all pissy with me. I was only doing the transport, you know. Would only ever go inside when they needed me - or when I was bored.”
“You were there?” She asked in disbelief.
The Fist shrugged. “Loads of us were. You know, it’s a shame they let you go. I always thought they’d at least keep the obedient ones.”
“Let me go? You think they let me go?” All she could do was repeat the hideous words.
“Well, yeah. That sort of thing was always their decision, though - what happened in the Shop was never much of my business, so long as you lot met the quotas”
No, she couldn’t take this anymore. How casual he was, how tauntingly he prodded and poked years of suffering that could have stayed buried, needed to stay buried, if it wasn’t for this Fist miles away from his wretched city looking to belittle her for no reason other than idle boredom.
She yelled, her voice almost a growl even as it was punctuated by uncontrollable sobs. “No, they did not let me go. I fought and clawed my way out of that hell before they could take any more from me, before I was forced to meet any more of your f*cking quotas .”
Years of pain were coming loose, falling apart at the seams, but the Fist only reacted with indignance at her simmering rage, like he was offended by the audacity of it. “Never used to have that kind of f*cking mouth on you. It was always ‘yes Overseer, no Overseer, thank you Overseer’. ” He imitated with a pathetic wobbly tone.
“I’m not that person anymore.” She corrected, fire and tears in her eyes.
“Ohh, you’re telling me you’re not the same miserable foulblood you was back then, just because you’ve a big scary sword and a few yappy dogs at your heels? That ain’t how it works, Craven .”
“Stop it.” Astra screwed her eyes shut, fighting the horrible instinct that told her to let his admonishment cull her defiance, to forget all the training and battles and prove him right.
“Nah, I don’t think I will.” He took a commanding step closer, all merriment gone from his demeanour, now only the type of cruelty a master might save for a disobedient hound. “You might have been useful once, but those days are long since f*cking gone, and I’ll be damned if it let some worthless little rat talk back to me.”
More heavy thuds of boots on wood, until he loomed over her, close enough to all but whisper his next words as her body shrunk in his presence. “Merac and Verran should’ve let you die in that doorway. Not like anyone would’ve missed you, especially not Mummy and Da-“
The Fist didn’t get the chance to finish the word, as with a feral sounding yell Astra launched herself forward and buried her armoured shoulder into his stomach, grappling the larger man to the ground with an uncontrolled strength. She was on him immediately, pinning his shocked form under her and wrapping both hands around his throat. Red had flooded her vision, years of surviving only through submission now manifesting as a fury that overwhelmed the both of them.
“I’LL f*ckING KILL YOU, YOU HEAR ME? I’M NOT YOUR CRAVEN, I’M NOT YOUR f*ckING PROPERTY ANYMORE!”
Those damned gauntlets desperately clawed at her wrists, his eyes blown wide in shock, but Astra was not letting go. Even if he wasn’t one of her tormentors, he had watched and laughed and profited from her suffering, from the others’ suffering too. Nothing on this realm was going to loosen her grip on his windpipe, or so she thought.
“Astra! Astra, NO!”
Hands were on her back and shoulders, an iron grip of their own that yanked hard and tried to pull her away. Astra shrugged them off without thought, without feeling, only seeing the man growing paler underneath her.
“I’LL TEAR OPEN YOUR GODSDAMNED THROAT, YOU AND ALL OF YOUR SCUM FRIENDS! YOU’LL ALL ROT IN THE f*ckING HELLS FOR WHAT YOU DID TO ME!”
More yells, more force pulling Astra up and away from the gasping Fist beneath her, until finally that desperate strength would overwhelm her own, and she was all but thrown bodily backwards onto the cold dock. As she lay on her back looking upwards, her vision wouldn’t resolve through the blur of tears and desperate anger, only vague silhouettes that stared down at her. Astra didn’t need to see their eyes clearly to feel the stares bore into her, trapped underneath the faceless threats.
My claws, my claws aren’t long enough. I can’t let them hurt me again, I need to…
“It’s me, it’s me. You’re safe. Just breathe with me.”
Shadowheart’s calm voice cut through the haze, pulled her out of that ocean of panic and stopped her lashing out. Some control of her own body returned, as painstakingly slowly hyperventilating breaths became something closer to normal, the onslaught of tremors lessening in violence and strength before stilling entirely.
Finally, Astra could see the world around her again.
Her cleric, knelt at her side and holding on tight to one of Astra’s hands, a heartfelt concern swimming in the summer green of her eyes that looked less restrained than she had seen before. Karlach and Wyll, who must have been the two to drag her away but now stepped back upon seeing some kind of peace return to her. Somewhere further away, a commotion of arguing Fists and Harpers, Jaheira right in the middle of the scrum.
More and more came to investigate the scene on the docks, Astarion, Lae’zel and Gale ignoring the developing argument and pushing past until it was the just the party, all together and stood around Astra as she struggled to sit upright, pulling her hand away from Shadowheart, noticing the blood coating her palm from how tightly her fists had been clenching.
Astra pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly, buried her head forward, and began to cry.
It was the only thing she was capable of doing, in that moment. She couldn’t bear to look at the others, knowing they now saw her for what she really was. Lost, scared, a fraction of a person whose pathetic fragility was exposed for all to see, one not worthy of sympathy. The shame was unbearable, a smothering heat burning through her entire body as so many of her fears were realised all at once.
Of letting her companions down, at last decisively proving herself unworthy of whatever respect they had actually held for her. Astra had no defence or explanation for herself, of why they should in fact still follow the poor excuse for a paladin who sat in front of them now, curled up in a ball of self pity while so many of the party fought greater battles with infinitely more courage and strength.
Not that there was anything, anyone beyond that oath, not really. Lathander and His love had saved her once, but it wouldn’t save her now from the questions and the judgement. She would pick herself up, take them all inside and give them all the answers she could, would explain the contemptible past she wasn’t strong enough to handle to anyone who’d bother to listen.
That would come later. All she could do now, was cry.
