Chapter Text
Astarion had had a lot of strange encounters in his long and miserable existence. Once, as he was stalking prey for Cazador, he had accidentally seduced a budding member of a cult, who almost managed to kidnap him to use in their “rituals.” On another occasion, he had sauntered into an unfamiliar tavern, only to discover it was a cleverly disguised Zhentarim hideout. And of course, there was that time where he found himself entangled in a lovers’ tryst, and naturally, subsequent quarrel. After that particular incident, he had made sure to take extra time in observing his targets were well and truly alone, and most of all, unaccounted for.
Well. In all of his years, nothing had prepared him for this situation. Where said situation had him barely a foot tall, with paws and a tail and godsdamned wings. No, this was definitely new. And this had all happened because of a run-in with a hag, of all things. A hag that he had mistaken for a frail old woman, an easy mark he could drain of blood—especially after he deduced he was no longer compelled by Cazador or his rules. Thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures. He had been eager to taste such blood, and if a decrepit old bat was found dead in the middle of the woods filled with dangers galore, well. That would have been her own fault, wouldn’t it?
The second he had attacked the old crone, she had materialized out of thin air and re-materialized as an ugly, putrid hag, and with a wave of her hand and a cruel sneer had mocked, “Perhaps your fangs would be more suited for smaller prey, hm?” Before he had even time to think, he flinched at a blinding light that surrounded him, and a dizzying wave of magic overcame him. He heard the hag’s laughter as she added, “Enjoy your new form, pet!” The next time he opened his eyes, the hag was gone and the world looked wrong. Colors, scents, sounds were different, unfamiliar— and he was noticeably shorter. As he tried to talk, only a cat’s yowl came out, and then he knew. Not to mention the feathered appendages he felt poking out from his back.
He was a cat. With wings. With no way to speak Common. Wonderful.
He had made a mad dash out of that forest, then, clumsily tripping over his paws and wings until he was able to get some sort of an understanding of his new body, and fled back to where his pod had crash-landed. He had seen tieflings in the distance, but he dared not approach for what other harm may come to him. He supposed the spell would wear off, that the hag had played a trick on him. Or that the tadpole, the very unwelcome companion in his head that he still felt, even as a cat, would fix the issue. Hunger gnawed at him, and after trying (and failing) to catch a rat, and later a bird—his movements awkward, crashing to the ground after a failed attempt at flight— he had turned in for the night, huddled next to a rock on the wayside, anxiety turning his gut.
And now Astarion stood once more near his pod, and he had forced himself to sit, and think, of whatever way he could get himself out of this damned predicament he had put himself in. And that’s when he heard voices.
“You know, Karlach, I may have a spell in mind to help stave off those flames of yours. I’d have to take another look at some of my spell tomes back at camp, of course, but—”
“Oh, would you?” A woman, probably the so-called Karlach, whooped earnestly. “I’d love to get your wizardly take on it! Hells, any kind of relief sounds like heaven at this point.”
A third voice piped up, sighing. Another woman. “We still need to explore the rest of this area before we can head back. There might be more clues as to this Absolute business, and getting rid of the tadpoles while we’re at it.”
Astarion’s ears perked up. Tadpoles? He swiveled his head and saw three figures emerge from the wreckage of the mindflayer ship. A petite, dark-haired half-elf with a circlet trudged in the middle, and was flanked by a tall, muscular tiefling with one horn (were those flames?) and a human, who— judging by his robe and the conversation— appeared to be a wizard as well.
Astarion prepared to make a run for it, but the mention of the tadpole kept him still. These people were looking to get rid of tadpoles, and unless his observation skills had perished just as his perfectly manicured hands had at the hag's doing, it was likely that they were talking about the same kind he had. Certainly, he had his reasons to like the tadpole to an extent— he was free from Cazador, able to walk in sunlight, and (he had tested, albeit unintentionally, in his failed hunt earlier) he was safely able to cross running water. But the tadpole would turn him into a mindflayer in a few days, and Astarion dreaded becoming more of a monster than he already was. If he played his cards right, this ragtag group might be his only lead on getting more information, and also, if Tymora took a liking to him, finding out on reversing his cat predicament. Astarion sighed internally. He had little choice in the matter. So he stayed, eyeing the strangers warily as they approached.
The first to spot him is the tiefling, and her eyes widen at him as she yells, “Look, look! A kitty!” The group stops their descent at the words. Astarion flinches, but forced himself to stay still, warily eyeing the trio at the first sign of hostility. He took a slight step back out of habit. The tiefling’s companions turned to look at him, and, at seeing Astarion, the wizard’s face immediately split into a beaming smile. “My, what an extraordinary sight! That, my dear friend, is not a cat,” he took a step towards Astarion, “but a tressym. Hello,” he greeted, and it took all of Astarion’s willpower not to dash away as the wizard took another step forward.
As if seeing Astarion’s evident anxiety, the wizard dropped to one knee, and extended his hand. “We didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Gale of Waterdeep,” he placed a hand on his sternum, then extended the other to his companions. “And this is Shadowheart, and Karlach. We mean no harm. Are you someone’s familiar? Can you speak Common?” The wizard, Gale, smiled softly at him, as if waiting for an answer.
Astarion stared at him, because he couldn’t believe the man was attempting to converse with him, but he reasoned that tressyms are much different from cats, so he shook his head, shoulders still rigid, wings tucked close. But he didn’t run.
The one Gale had indicated as Shadowheart raised her eyebrows. “Well, color me impressed Gale. It seems to understand us.”
Gale glanced at her, but his eyes settled back on Astarion. “Tressym are highly intelligent, Shadowheart. More intelligent than a lot of humans, in fact. I’m dear friends with one, I would know. However, I’ve never seen one that’s completely white. And that has red eyes, to boot.”
A small shiver of fear worked through Astarion. He’d kept some of his vampiric features then. He steeled himself. At this moment, he could not look like a threat. He knew that if the group decided to abandon him, he would not be able to stop it, and in the worst of cases— the flecks of blood on the tiefling’s greataxe still shined. Threats were handled, eliminated. He couldn’t be one. Not now.
He pushed the fear down and acted on instinct, two centuries of manipulation and guile serving him as he approached a few feet, swiveled his tail, tilted his head, and meowed.
He knows it worked when Gale gives him the most sickeningly saccharine look that Astarion wished he could take and throw over a cliff. But Astarion has been the recipient of many such looks in his times as a spawn, so he only tilted his head even further and gave another meow.
Karlach squealed and Astarion can’t help flinching as she jumped up excitedly. “He’s so CUTE! Can we keep him? Please?” She looks to Gale, while Shadowheart crossed her arms, letting a little smirk slip out.
Gale chuckled at Karlach’s outburst. “Unfortunately, that is not my decision to make.” He extended his hand again, looking into Astarion’s eyes. “Would you like to come with us? We won’t harm you, you have my word.”
Astarion froze at the man’s earnestness, and found it surprising that Gale was asking for permission. But Astarion didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He nodded his head, and, approaching tentatively, rubbed his head against Gale’s hand.
Gale smiled, scratching him behind the ears.
And oh. Surprisingly, that wasn’t... unwelcome.
Well, Astarion reasoned. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad after all.