Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When planning to kill the world, it’s best to have an exit strategy. She hadn’t had one planned if Orin were ever to betray her, but in retrospect, the Bhaalspawn should have had one. When part of a murder cult, these things tend to happen. To make things worse, she was now a victim of her world domination plan. After all they had been through, you’d think Orin would have the courtesy of giving her a proper death.

Now she was maimed, with a tadpole feasting on her gray matter. They had intended that to be permanent, and now she desperately hoped it wasn’t. 

The pod the Bhaalspawn was in was a cramped, fleshy tube with a narrow window pane that shook as something attacked the flying nautiloid. Screams, fire, and carnage echoed throughout the room. If there ever was a time to get out, this was it: away from Bonedaughter, and finally in her right mind again. Ample opportunity with the chaos outside. She might have to make that oath after all. 

She took a breath, steeled herself, and slammed her forehead into the glass. Thankfully, the Bhaalspawn was a tiefling, and her horns, while shorter than they used to be, were hard and shattered the pod with a couple of sound hits. She stepped through, her boots crushing shards as she walked. The walls of the nautiloid pulsed to an unseen heartbeat as the Bhaalspawn hurried along, treading carefully around a section of the blasted open ship. 

Peering over the edge, it’s clear the ship has jumped to Avernus. Flames licked at the hull, and heat pushed her back. Legions of devils mark the landscape as a hellish battle is waged. It excited her.

 
“Abomination!” The sharp shrill of steel rang in the air as she turned to meet a lithe gith’yanki and a sword to her throat. “This is your end.” She smiled wickedly. With no weapon and an aching body, the Bhaalspawn— scion of Bhaal, ender of Faêrun— raised bloody fists and made peace with dying. Finally.

A gith was a decent opponent to fall to.

Pain shot through her skull. She was Lae’zel, finest warrior of crèche K'liir. No fear would be allowed to spear her as it did weaker beings, so she would press on, and become purified from this invasion— 
The connection snapped, leaving the Bhaalspawn with a piercing headache and kneeling on the ground with her palms pressed against her eyes. 

“You are no thrall.” Lae’zel lowered her weapon. “Together, we must reach the hull, then find a crèche, and remove this parasite. Rise quickly.” 

“One moment, if you will.” 

“We have no time,” The gith growled, nearly stomping her foot in frustration. “Do you wish to become a mind flayer slave? I know the way to be cured, kainyank.” The Bhaalspawn rose, sighed, and nodded for Lae’zel to lead. When determining to use the mind flayers for this scheme, it was not her task to examine the nautiloid. It was Gortash’s assistant’s assistant’s assistant’s job to do. Now she wished to have at least toured the place, instead of relying on the angry lizard lady to navigate. 

---

Shadowheart was having a shit day. It was bad enough to have been snatched, but her only hope of salvation was walking away. She pounded on the glass of the pod with fervor as two women wandered away. They had heard her, they had had a whole conversation, and they left her. 

“Please!” The word was drawn out into a hysterical screech. Shar would be disappointed with the display of emotion. The tiefling looked back and then muttered something to the gith’yanki. The gith huffed, annoyed but waved the tiefling to continue. The tiefling — a blue-gray-skinned woman made mostly of scars with dark coiled hair—  examined the pod, testing the structure with taps. She took into her hands a longsword.

“Shield your eyes.” 

“What?”

The woman rammed the pommel into the glass, shattering it with a loud thunk. She sheathed the sword quickly and watched with dark eyes as Shadowheart stepped out. 

“See, Lae’zel? Two minutes.” Shadowheart tapped against her hip, where a secret pocket had been sewn. The relic was still there. She breathed easy for a moment.

“Tha—”

 Knives cut into her flesh with precision. Hands held her down as she squirmed, trying to reach for something that had been ripped from her. They had taken something, and now, now— 

“Hells.” The woman spat, digging a knuckle into her eye.  

“We were in each other’s minds.” Shadowheart grimaced. “What was that?” 

“The tadpole. If you wish to survive it, we will stop wasting time and get to a crèche.” The gith marched off, not turning to see if they followed them. 

“You keep dangerous company.”

The woman shrugged. 

“It’s what we need now, to survive this.”

 “I’m Shadowheart. Thanks for… well.” She glanced at the living debris. The tiefling paused, mouth slightly agape, her tongue tracing teeth as her eyes blurred with thought. Then, those eyes captured Shadowheart with dark intensity, before: 

“Rossius.”

“Nice to meet you, Rossius.”

“Yeah, you too.” She coughed. “Let’s catch up, yes?” 

---

Rossius let Shadowheart run ahead. 

It wasn’t like Rossius wasn’t her name, it was. Her mother had given it to her and everything. However, running a death cult required a certain…lack of identity. She hadn’t had one in well over a century. It was best to think of herself as an extension of Bhaal, which got her into the least amount of trouble. To have a proper name again— Well, she’d have to be careful to respond to it. 

---

The nautiloid's bow was just as fleshy and pulsing as the rest of it, but it had more holes in the hull and demons scrambling around. 

“Get to the helm!” Lae’zel shoved her sword toward a mass of tentacles across the room. They did not resemble any helm Rossius had ever seen. Blood stained every surface of the room as mind flayers, thralls, and demons sliced, bludgeoned, and swiped at each other. It was enough to make Rossius dizzy with euphoria. She readied her longsword, eager to fight her way through the crowd. 
It burst into a blinding, radiant light. It wasn’t the sort of sword that could do that, but it did so now. Rossius threw it at the nearest fiend. It soared through the air, end over end, before finding its mark. The creature swelled and exploded as holy light speared through its flesh. 

She hadn’t been able to do that before. 

She smelled pine. 

“Hells. Damn it, damn it, damn it.” She should have known praying to random gods would have consequences. Rossius plucked the sword up and slammed the edge into more hellish flesh. Cutting her way to the helm, she could vaguely see Shadowheart and Lae’zel doing the same. They ducked, scrambled, and weaved their way through the demonic flesh.
Shadowheart was the first to make it. She took the wriggling tentacles, joined them as if they were holding hands, and plucked. 

The ship lurched and slipped between planes. 

Chapter Text

Taking naps on beaches without towels was ill-advised on the best days. Laying face down with a mouthful of sand was never advised against, because most people figured no one would attempt such a thing.

Rossius spit out sand with a gag, delighted to find all her limbs were still intact after a fall that should have killed her. Perhaps her father had not completely abandoned her, or maybe he didn’t want her to die such a stupid death.

Fighting her impulse to collapse in a heap of pain, Rossius dragged herself to the shore’s edge and dunked her head into the cool waters. Blood washed off in rivulets as she drank. Rossius popped up, running her fingers through her dark coils, noting how long her hair had gotten. Before the nautiloid, she had an undercut, leaving a puff of longer hair between her gray horns. It was practical, and she liked it. However long later, it had grown to two awkward lengths. Rossius mentally added ‘get a haircut’ to her growing list of things to do. Right below ‘food, water, shelter, clothing’. Her clothes were irreparably damaged and not made for the early fall chill in the first place.

She stood, brushing sand off and taking stock of her surroundings. The nautiloid twisted into and above the landscape, its tentacles leaving flaming gashes in the ground. The mangled flesh of one arched over her, landing into the …lake? Sea? Bodies littered the coast, blood tinging the air in a way that pleased her. Most were unrecognizable as people, they were a tangled pile of limbs.  Something else stirred at the notion, and she smelled pine again.

Right. The mystery god.

‘Please’, she had begged. A knife sliced along her collarbone. Then it was blank. Kressa had done something with her mind, the memories were muddled in a way that could only be magic. Feeblemind, perhaps? That had been part of Gortash’s study when developing the tadpoles, Kressa might have gotten her hands on it.

Rossius thumbed over the scar that trailed up her throat. It was more healed than it should have been; if she had her time-line correct. There was the matter of the divine light that had emitted from the sword too.

After putting both of those in the “For later, throw out” folder, Rossius turned to her current task: stealing clothes from the dead. None had armor, but she was able to steal an intact ruana. The cloak was made of blue, heavy wool that was soft to the touch. She stole that from one body, a tunic off another, and pants off another. The pants she modified to accommodate her tail, but this was as easy as cutting a notch in the waist. She kept her boots-- these were in good condition, minus the viscera and mucus from the nautiloid. And she liked them.

Changing, Rossius ignored the long y-shaped scar that ran along her stomach and branched out over her collar bones. While the scar itself was healed similarly to the one on her throat, blood had melded the fabric to her, and it was painful peeling away the scraps. Once fully dressed, Rossius looked like one of the fishermen. The clothes were fitted for a man shorter and wider than her, but averaging those together gave enough leeway in the loose cut. She’d have to find better later.

---

Waking up to find oneself suspended in the air by one’s ankle was humiliating, to say the least. Lae’zel wiggled and only succeeded in making herself sick. Her weapons had fallen on the ground, and while she could reach the metal wire, it had dug into the leather of her booth, and attempting to break it made her hands bleed. This did not dissuade her from trying, however. Her pride would not allow her to be bested by a mere wire!

“Hey, look!” A loud voice called, but it was not the teethling from earlier nor the human. “It’s one of those gith’yangee things.” Two different teethlings appeared — how common were these people?— from the forest.

“It’s gith’yanki,” She corrected because if they were going to hoist her up a tree, they would get it right. “And you are to release me at once!” There was only so much time before the ceremorphosis started, she needed to get to a crèche soon.  If she were to delay more, without knowing where the actual crèche was? It would be deadly and shameful.

“Shut up!” Said the male before whispering to his companion. “It’s just like Zorru said. They’re bloody everywhere.”

“We should just leave her, honestly. The goblins’ll get ‘er soon enough.”

 “No, no, gotta take her in. For questioning, or something.” He sighed. “What’ll Zorru think, not getting information from her? Or revenge.”

“S’not like she did anything.”

“Excuse me! Hello!”Another voice joined in, this time accompanied by a human man. “I was wondering if you could help—” He cut off when he saw her dangling from a tree. “Oh. Oh my.” He stared at the floor now, his long dark hair shielding his eyes from her view. “I’m sorry, what’s going on?”

“One of them tried to kill my friend!”

“Right, but she didn’t try to?”

“Well, no.”

“Right. Well, I think it’s best you leave her to me. As an experienced archmage, I can easily combat this—uh” He glanced up, briefly. “Creature. You should run along now, could get bloody.” The teeflings looked at each other, but the mage ignored them and aimed a sparking fist at her.

“You wouldn’t dare.” She fixed him with a glare and crossed her arms. This man would never stand a chance if she’d been on the ground.

“We should go, let him take care of it.” The female tugged at the other one’s arm. The male sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Whatever, do what ya like.” The two left without looking back, nodding to the man and walking northward. The human dismissed the magic with a huff. He kneaded at his chest for a moment, then looked back to Lae’zel.

“Right. Now to get you down.”

“Hand me my sword, and I will cut myself down.” She reached toward the ground, straining to reach the weapon. The human mage handled it like it was going to explode, before handing it over, with the sharp blade pointed toward her. “K'chakhi.” Lae’zel took the sword anyway, before bending up and sawing at the metal wire. It snapped.

“Shit!” Blue energy enveloped her, and she floated gently to the ground. Turning her head, she saw the human on the muddy ground with her, a wooden staff clutched in his hands. Blue sparked off of it. “Do be more careful. A fall from that height could do some serious head damage.”

“A gith’yanki would not be so weak to suffer such injury. It was only a couple of feet.”

The man looked taken aback, before reigning in and standing from the muck. He stretched out a hand, which Lae’zel ignored. The human tucked it behind his back.

“I’m Gale, of Waterdeep. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Lae’zel stared at Gale. Gale stared back. “Um. As a gith’yanki, are you familiar with mindflayer tadpoles? Specifically with the removal of them?”

“Of course,” Lae’zel replied haughtily, “I am an expert on it.”

---

Astarion was not having a good time. His current plan (get revenge on the bastards who put that worm in his eye) was failing spectacularly, as he was currently pinned between a large tiefling and the dirt, and she was digging her elbow into his back.

“Drop the knife.” His hands were held behind his back. The knife slid out of his hands and thumped onto the ground. Damn her. She had a hand in his hair, her wrist pressing against his nose when he struggled and turned his head. The smell of blood was tempting, and he was almost willing to cast every hope to the side for a taste. Almost.

Astarion was a vampire, and he knew that most people wouldn’t find that appealing.

He was beginning to see that picking a fight with two people was a stupid move. The half-elf eyed him, hand resting on a mace the size of his head. Threat received, angry cleric, no worries.

“I’m sure we can talk this out—”

A pulsing, throbbing pain exploded behind his eye, and the tiefling let him go, gasping in agony— He was bhaalspawn, and held the power of death itself. An Assassin clothed in death, he roamed the streets looking for some new victim to drag back to the altar. He tasted blood on his tongue. Not fresh, definitely human.

There, in the ally, there was his target now. His information was correct, a puffy noble was sneaking out to the poorer districts of the Gate. It would be an easy kill, so easy to let the man’s blood spill across the streets. So many ways to do it…

Astarion snapped back to himself, squirming under the great weight of the tiefling.

“Get off, get off, what the hells was that?”

The tiefling, irritated, rolled off him and settled in the dirt. Her hands pressed into her eyes, her fingers pushing against her skull.

“That’d be the tadpole,” The cleric sneered down at him.

“That worm thing?” Astarion tried to look for his knife without alerting the others. “Aren’t you working with those… creatures?” He wiggled his fingers in front of his mouth, mimicking the creature’s tentacles. Ah, yes, there it was, next to the tiefling’s knee. Damn.

“No, obviously not!” The cleric stomped her foot. “I wouldn’t be caught dead working with mind flayers.”

“I saw you walking around that ship.” Astarion pointed an accusatory finger toward the cleric. Gods damn it if he died now, shouting like he was. “Roaming free without a damn care while I was stuck in there!” He gestured wildly toward the pod he’d been trapped in. A moment of panic washed over him before he shoved that deep inside a dark corner of his heart. No good showing more weakness.

He still had long gashes in his hands from the glass, as he’d broken off chunks with his hands in his panic. They didn’t bleed much if at all, he didn’t have enough blood for that. He was so hungry.

“We had broken out when the gith’yanki attacked. We were lucky.” The tiefling spoke from her position on the dirt. Headache? His head pulsed a little, but clearly whatever she had experienced was worse. Serves her right. “If you’re amendable to it, we could join up, try to get rid of… what’d you call them? The worms.”

Astarion was repulsed by the idea, but what choice did he have? He knew little about surviving in the wilderness, and even less about the tadpoles or mind flayers.

A glimmer of an opportunity shone in the back of his mind as well. If he played it right, these people might be his ticket to killing Cazador, and then he’d be free of the bastard forever.

He turned on the charm.

“What a wonderful idea, darling. I do believe we started on the wrong foot, as it were. I’m Astarion.” Rest the hand on the chest, cock a hip, be harmless, be alluring. He extended a crisp hand to the tiefling. Best to make friends now, who knows what she saw when in his head (bleh), and given what he’d seen, this woman was terrifying. Perfect for slaughtering vampire lords.

The tiefling did not respond, so he turned his attention to the cleric. She ignored his outstretched hand as well.

“Shadowheart.”

It took all his strength not to burst out laughing.

“Did your parents not love you?”

The woman scowled at him. Oops.

“That’s Rossius.”

“Lovely to meet the both of you.” He snapped his hand back. “You seem to know your way around the tadpole thing. Anything life-altering to know, besides being able to see in your mind, of course.” He nodded toward Rossius, who now sat up on her knees.

“In about seven days, we’re going to be mind flayers if we don’t get rid of them,” Shadowheart said.

Rossius huffed, almost like a laugh. Astarion filed that away for later.

“Of course.” He’d escaped one horror, one that lasted centuries, and now he’d become something more monstrous. Just his rotten luck. The gods were surely laughing at him. “Of fucking course.”

“Let’s move. Find a cleric who knows something. Or find Lae’zel, her people might know how to get rid of the tadpoles.” Rossius stood, wobbling as she did, but then confidently limped toward inland. Astarion wondered if Shadowheart had picked up on the limp, Rossius was doing a decent job at hiding it. Of course, he noticed it, Astarion knew people and knew how they hid things.

He followed, not having anything better to do.

—

Astarion was chatty. Astarion was also a vampire. She’d never dissected a vampire before. Would they be different, inside? Did he have different organs to process the blood? He’d look lovely on her table, arms stretched wide, flecks of blood splattered over his silvery curls.

She shook her head, the thoughts were not productive right now.

His vampirism was a little obvious, but she hadn’t noticed until it had been revealed by the tadpole. In fairness, Rossius had been distracted by him holding a knife to Shadowheart’s neck. Shadowheart would also make a good corpse, but now was not the time.

If she wanted to get to Baldur’s Gate, and if she wanted the damned tadpole out, she couldn’t do it alone. Well, she probably could, but it’d be easier to travel with companions. If anything went wrong, she could just eat one of them or something.

“Where are you from, Rossius?” Astarion asked, falling into step with her. Talking to Shadowheart had led nowhere for him. “I think I detect a Baldurian accent, but I could be wrong.”

She stared at him for a long moment.

“You’re correct.”

“I knew it!” He grinned toothily, exposing his long canines. “I’m from there too, coincidently. Perhaps once this… adventure is done, we may travel to Balur’s Gate together?”

“Perhaps. Best not to make plans when the situation is so dire, don’t you think?”

“Ah, I think it best to remain on the optimistic side of things, darling.” He winked. “With you around, I feel our odds are improved.”

Rossius rolled her eyes.

“There’s shouting up ahead,” Shadowheart warned. She looked relieved at the distraction from Astarion’s ramblings. The group slowed, keeping out of obvious sight lines. Then, Rossius saw the source of the commotion: goblins.