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It started one night around the campfire. Gale had made a simple stew of potatoes and whatever herbs they had gathered that day - something that didn’t require a great deal of time, as he was already quite tired from the day’s explorations. He knew that Wyll, Shadowheart, and Lae’zel also yearned for their beds, and was eager to get everyone fed as quickly as possible.
Astarion, as usual, didn’t eat any of said stew, but he had yet to go hunting, either. He’d been stuck at camp most of the day with Karlach and was likely bored. He sat on a rock, eyeing them each in turn. Gale watched as the vampire’s eyes settled on Wyll.
“What spoils did you return with this time, O fearless leader?” Astarion asked sweetly.
“Several things that I hope we can sell, but only a few things of use,” Wyll replied, putting down his empty bowl. “Some ingots, a few dented blades, a pair of plain leather boots, more potatoes….” The warlock shrugged.
“And tell me, Wyll,” Astarion continued, “did you happen to find any of these things in…bags?”
Whatever else Gale had expected the rogue to say, it certainly wasn’t that. He raised an eyebrow.
“I…suppose so? Yes, there were a few bags,” Wyll said, more confidently. “Are you…in need of a bag?”
“Oh, no no no, nothing like that,” Astarion said, waving a hand dismissively. “I just wondered if you were familiar with the tale of the Bagman.”
“The Bagman?” Wyll cocked his head curiously. “I don’t believe so.”
“Storytime!” Karlach exclaimed, as Astarion stood up. Lae’zel and Shadowheart both seized the opportunity to sneak off to their tents, leaving empty bowls sitting in their places.
“The legend goes that a cowardly adventurer abandoned his companions during a battle and hid inside his own bag of holding,” Astarion said solemnly, but with a slight smile - Gale could see that he was building towards something. “But he was unable to escape the extradimensional space within. It drove him mad, and he became a monster. Now” - Astarion displayed the palms of his hands with a theatrical flourish - “he slips between bags of holding, trying to find his way home.”
“That’s terrible!” Wyll exclaimed.
“Oh, that’s not the worst part,” Astarion added, nonchalantly adjusting one of his bracers. “If he doesn’t find his home, he reaches out and pulls someone into the bag with him, leaving behind nothing but a trinket.”
Gale scoffed. “What nonsense!”
Wyll chuckled somewhat nervously. “Well, I don’t think any of us have a bag of holding, so we’re safe.”
“That’s just it,” Astarion continued, grinning wickedly. “You won't know whether an ordinary-looking bag is a bag of holding - until it’s too late.” He adjusted his other bracer. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’m in need of some sustenance of my own. Good night!”
Astarion slipped out of camp. “Ooh, spooky!” Karlach chuckled, watching him go - and then she looked around at the empty bowls. “Hey - he was supposed to be on clean-up duty with me tonight!”
“I’ll help you, Karlach,” Wyll offered magnanimously, standing up. “Bagman,” he said quietly to himself, shaking his head as Karlach rose to join him. They picked up the abandoned bowls and went to wash them while Gale dealt with the cooking pot. By the time Gale had finished, the clean dishes had been returned; he thanked them both and sent them off to bed.
As Gale settled into his tent for the night, he could hear Wyll, muttering in the tent next to his. “Look out for the Bagman….”
Gale sighed.
The next day, Wyll gathered Astarion, Shadowheart, and Gale to go out on another expedition. They found themselves searching buildings in a ruined settlement, overrun with goblins. The goblins did not pose a problem.
Every time Wyll reached for a bag, Astarion made a noise of consternation. After the fifth or sixth time this happened, Gale could no longer contain himself. “Seriously, Astarion?”
“I’m just trying to protect our dear leader,” Astarion said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But far be it from me to offer advice when it isn’t wanted.”
"I do appreciate your guidance, Astarion,” Wyll said quickly; the rogue seemed placated.
And the noises continued.
Eventually, they found themselves in what looked to be a recently-abandoned storeroom filled with containers of various shapes and sizes. A veritable treasure trove, if Astarion was to be believed; or, more likely, a collection of rusty daggers, used rags, and rotting vegetables.
And then Wyll hesitated, standing over a large bag in the corner. Behind him, Astarion grinned. “What’s the trouble, Wyll?”
“Gale,” Wyll asked carefully, his tone neutral, “are you able to detect magic in this room?”
“Well, yes, but it’s a ritual spell - it requires extra time. Why? Is there a - oh.” Gale frowned, abruptly realizing the true purpose of the question, but Wyll was watching him, wide-eyed. “Even if that were a bag of holding, I very much doubt…. Fine, let me take a look,” Gale sighed, sparing a glare for Astarion as he walked over and crouched down to stick his hand in the bag.
“Careful, Gale!” Astarion gasped.
Gale pulled out a few gold coins. “Not much, but it’s something.” He held them out to Wyll.
It happened again in another building, and then again. Each time, Wyll would back away from a bag on the ground, and Gale, grumbling, would go over to open it. Most of the bags they found were empty, but no one was willing to turn down the chance of finding extra provisions or coins.
Gale wouldn’t have minded so much - but the constant crouching was killing his knees. “Why don’t you look, Astarion?” he asked, the next time it happened.
“Me?” Astarion pressed a hand to his chest in mock outrage. “Oh, right - send the vampire to do it! He’s expendable!” He shook his head. “I’m no fool, wizard.”
“This is ridiculous,” Gale grumbled, but the pleading look on the young warlock’s face kept him from refusing outright, and he opened yet another empty bag.
“Thank you, Gale,” Wyll said earnestly. “Forgive my superstition, but after having dealt with a devil, I don’t think I should take any more risks with the supernatural.”
“I understand, Wyll. I don’t hold it against you.”
But he certainly held it against Astarion.
“This nonsense about the Bagman is getting out of hand,” Gale whispered sharply to Astarion later. “Why are you tormenting him? What did he do to earn your ire?”
“Are you joking? He’s a child!” Astarion hissed back. “The Blade of Frontiers, indeed. He didn’t even realize that there was a vampire lord living right in the middle of his beloved city!”
The vampire’s vehement tone took Gale by surprise. “He’s young, as you yourself just stated.” Gale shook his head. “It’s hardly fair to hold that against him - any of it.”
“Hmmph.”
Clearly, appealing to the vampire’s better nature was not going to work.
“Wyll,” Gale began, approaching the warlock later still, “you know that Astarion is just teasing you, yes? He can have an odd sense of humor-”
“One of us,” Astarion interrupted loudly, “has been around for hundreds of years and has seen horrors you can’t even imagine.” He strolled over, eyeing Gale suspiciously. “You’re going to believe the wizard, who picks up mysterious books and expects a stranger to just trust a hand poking out of a rock?” He casually propped an elbow up on Wyll’s shoulder. “If it had been up to me, Wyll would never have grabbed that hand. I’m simply trying to teach him to exercise some caution, darling.”
Gale turned and walked away, shaking his head.
“You might have been the Bagman yourself!” Astarion called after him.
Gale ignored him.
The next day was worse. Wyll hovered in the doorway of a large chamber, refusing to even enter. “I’ll keep watch,” he offered, but his eyes shifted nervously as the rest of them searched the room for anything of use. As per usual, Gale searched all the bags. Most were empty,
“Shadowheart,” Gale whispered, letting Wyll take the lead as they exited the building, “you see what’s going on, don’t you?”
“Yes. Wyll is developing sakoulaphobia,” Shadowheart told Gale in an undertone. “Generally, it’s a fear of bags and sacks. But if it gets any more severe, he may begin to react to anything bag-like. Anything that looks like it could swallow him.”
Behind them, Astarion snorted.
“Sakoulaphobia?” Gale asked skeptically.
“He may even become fearful of his own clothing and refuse to dress himself.”
“That sounds more like a perk than a problem,” the rogue remarked.
Gale closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t care what it’s called.” If Astarion was going to listen anyway, he might as well hear what he thought. “I care that Astarion is intentionally doing this to him, and if we let him continue to have his way, our leader will be compromised. Is there anything you can do to help Wyll?”
“If I knew how to counter phobias, I’d find a way to cure my fear of wolves,” Shadowheart returned.
"It's hardly my fault that he's so gullible," Astarion protested.
By the next night, Wyll was making whimpering noises in his sleep, and jumping at his own shadow as he moved about the camp, and Gale had had enough. He headed straight to Astarion’s tent.
“He's having nightmares and he’s barely functional. This isn't funny, Astarion.”
“It's a little funny.”
“I'm not going to let you keep doing this to him.”
Astarion’s laughter followed him as he stormed back to his own tent.
Later that day, after clearing yet another building of unwanted inhabitants, Astarion and Shadowheart began looking through crates. Wyll quickly made to exit - but Gale stopped him. “Wait.”
Wyll looked at him, startled. “Yes?”
“Listen.” Gale put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know that everything about our current situation has been fraught. But you are Wyll Ravengard. You can overcome this.” He pointed across the room. “Ignore the paranoid vampire-”
“Hey!”
“-and go open that bag over there.”
Wyll took a deep breath and nodded. “You’re right. You’re right, Gale.” He patted the hand on his shoulder. “I can do this.” He crossed the room and stood over the bag, pausing to look back at the wizard. Gale smiled encouragingly.
Astarion made a show of covering his face and turning away.
Reaching down, Wyll picked up the bag and held it open wide, leaning over to poke his head inside.
A hand appeared, grabbing the warlock’s wrist - and Wyll promptly vanished with a gasp.
The bag fell to the ground, along with a single lanceboard piece that audibly rolled a few inches before coming to a stop.
Shadowheart gave a short, startled shriek.
Gale looked to Astarion, who turned and met his eyes immediately. “I warned you.”
“No.” Gale shook his head in disbelief. “No - no, Wyll!” He took one step, then another, towards the fallen bag. Wyll had trusted him, had done exactly as Gale suggested - this couldn’t be true, it couldn’t-
Another step took him to the spot where Wyll had vanished, and Gale tripped over something and fell with a grunt. “Oof!” he heard.
Rolling onto his back to look back, Gale saw what had tripped him: Wyll, looking at him sheepishly.
Astarion snorted.
Gale, still too stunned to speak, looked up at Astarion. The rogue was holding a ring and grinning. “Got you,” Astarion said.
“What?”
All at once, Wyll, Astarion, and even Shadowheart burst out laughing.
“Wait-” Gale looked around at the three of them. “You - this was all just - you were all in on this?”
“Everyone but Lae’zel,” Wyll admitted, standing up. “And Karlach didn’t think she could keep the secret, so she tried to stay out of it.”
“But - but how did you-”
“A ring with an invisibility spell, and a tremendous bit of acting - well done there, Wyll - combined with a sneaky minor illusion.” Astarion brought his hands together in silent applause as Wyll took a small bow.
Gale looked at Wyll, mildly hurt. “I thought - I thought the Bagman actually took you!”
“Oh, Gale.” Astarion clucked his tongue. “Everyone knows the Bagman isn’t real.”
“And you!” Gale glared up at him. “I thought you really had it in for Wyll!”
“Well, he had to make it believable,” Shadowheart remarked.
“And you, too! Sakoulaphobia, indeed,” Gale huffed. “You’re all just - just-”
“Now now, don’t be so sour.” Astarion reached down to help him up. “It was just a bit of fun.”
Gale reluctantly accepted the assistance and stood up. “Well, the next time you three decide to have a ‘bit of fun,’ please leave me out of it.”
“Noted,” said Shadowheart and Astarion at the same time. They moved to give each other a high five.
Wyll gave Gale a rueful grin. “I apologize for the ruse, Gale. I was caught up in the fun of it as well.” He reached out a hand. “You're a good man, and I appreciate how much you care about my well-being.”
It was difficult to stay angry with the earnest young man. “I accept your apology.” Gale shook his hand, and Wyll clapped him on the shoulder. “Sakoulaphobia,” Gale chuckled, shaking his head, and they moved out of the room, Shadowheart and Astarion still laughing as they followed.
If anyone had looked back into the room, they might have seen a different bag expand and deflate, as if sighing in disappointment, a crawling hand vanishing back into its depths.