#because they love close to the coast where the sun isn't ENTIRELY covered by the mountains

[tieflingtareon]

My love, are you the devil? (Oh, call me a devil)

Chapter 19 | Words: 5.4k

Summary: Astarion found himself often surprised by his heroic companion. He had one goal. To become the favoured companion of the group, to earn the Tieflings loyalty, to make Tar'eons strength his own. Yet Tar'eon isn't like the usual target of his manipulations. Despite his naivety, he does not seem gullible. There is something very wrong with their 'leader' to begin with. Astarion isn't sure if he wants to control it or eradicate the threat it posed. But can he really do either when Tar'eon himself seems so...unwaveringly kind?

That devil is getting into his head, while others get into Tar'eons. He doesn't appreciate not having the upperhand after years of being at the disadvantage. He will find a way to make him see.

He is the one he should be listening to. Astarion would make it so, no matter the means.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50668558/chapters/127995079

Waking up to a sleeping lover was rather normal for Astarion. Having that lover still be clothed was different though.

Astarion moved from his back, the lull of his trance ebbing away as he rolled onto his side, looking at the sleeping man beside him. The blanket was bunched around the mans waist, likely because he ran too hot to actually be wearing his bed shirt and be covered by the woollen blanket at once. Not in the inn where they were hidden from the elements, unlike when they were in the wilderness of the coast.

He wasn't sure of the time, but he could hear the stirrings of their neighbour, one of the Harper's, getting up, so he assumed it to be morning. Or, as morning as it could be when there was no sun to tell him so. Thinking about the lack of sunlight actually made him shiver, and he hesitated before sliding himself closer to the man, gently lifting his limp arm and allowing it to rest over his waist, tucking himself into his chest. He was acting like a leech, stealing his heat, but it was only to be expected. He got used to warmth on his skin, as temporary as it was. He couldn't wait to be back in to Baldur's Gate where he could flaunt under the sunshine again.

It seemed to be the best lighting for his complexion anyway, he thought to himself with a quirk of a smile, remembering himself through Tar'eons eyes.

If Tar'eon felt the chill of his skin, he didn't react, sleeping heavily. Astarion wasn't used to the man resting so deeply. He would have checked his pulse to see if he was dead if he couldn't hear it, slower but just as strong as always. He wouldn't lie, he salivated a little the longer he listened to the blood travelling through his heart and outwards to cycle through his body. Tar'eon may be his...something now, something real, but he was still Astarion's favourite meal. He was a vampire, he couldn't be faulted for his hunger.

Astarion closed his eyes, tempted to lay there a while longer. Pretend to sleep so he could be held by the tiefling for another hour.

Tar'eon shifted, making a snuffling sound before he huffed hotly over his curls, arms tightening around him. If he were awake, Astarion would have complained. If only for show. But as it was, he would indulge himself.

He wasn't sure how long this would last after all. A few hours, a few days, a few weeks - if they transformed, this would be cut short. If they died by Ketheric's hands, by Cazador's...There were so many possible deadlines for them. He would have Tar'eon for a hundred years at most before he was gone entirely. It didn't like thinking about it though.

He tucked his face into his neck and breathed deep, the scent of patchouli and lemongrass filling his nose. It had to be the soap he used, something he'd found in the inn or brought from Dammon. Beneath that, was a smell similar to the warmth of a hearth, pure heat coming off in waves off his skin as he breathed him in. And under the flesh, was the smell of sweet, fresh blood, pulsing through delicate veins, one of Astarion's favourite scents.

He practically purred, feeling more relaxed than he could ever remember himself being. Were his muscles truly so heavy when he let them loosen and fall in their natural place? He was used to aching, feeling heavy in his bones and skin stinging with agony after a bad night with Cazador. This was a different heaviness all together, one that felt welcoming; felt comforting.

Astarion's eyes opened slowly when he felt Tar'eons claws dig into his lower back, felt him shift and grunt, the steady pace of his heartbeat falling into disarray, pumping hard as his breathing grew uneven and harsh.

He frowned as he pulled his head back, watching Tar'eons face contort, sweat beading at his temple. He looked like he was in pain. Astarion made to sit up, but Tar'eons claws-like nails dug in deeper, and he couldn't help the small shout of surprise when skin broke and gave way beneath the thumb of the tiefling.

"Tar'eon, wake up, for Gods sake!" He snapped, not appreciating the broken peace of his morning, nor the sting.

Tar'eons eyes flew open, and in moments, he had his hand back to his side, whirling around to curl into himself, blanket tangled around his legs as he sat on the edge of the mattress, as far as he could get from the vampire. Astarion watched the man as he clutched his hands to his chest, head bowed, taking in deep breaths.

He didn't chance getting closer to him, not until his heartbeat sounded stable. Quicker than preferred, but steady. He slunk up behind him, a hand smoothing up his back, and over his shoulder until it laid over his chest, his chin propped on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry." Tar'eon said before he could even open his lips to ask if he was alright, the apology laced with guilt. "I'm sorry, ph wzir, oarqujy py, oarqujy py." The apologises slipped into his native tongue, too caught up to bother with translating.

"Shush...Barely a scratch. Do not think me so weak to bemoan a nick." Astarion tutted softly, even if they both knew he adored the dramatics. In any other situation, he absolutely would have complained to the High Heavens, to anybody who would listen. He gently scratched his blunt nails over the tieflings chest, the action instinctive, trying to sooth him like he would a frightened animal.

"I'm sorry." Tar'eon took his hand, curling his thumb into his palm and holding gently. After a minute of silence, his heartbeat was finally quiet once more, and the tiefling pressed a tender kiss to the back of his hand. "You let me get a hold of you. Next time, you need to be more careful. You do still have your dagger, right?"

"Shut up." Astarion hissed at the very notion, a cowed expression on his face. "I wasn't going to stab you over a couple of bloody bruises. When I stab you, it'll be because you deserve it." He grumbled, slipping away from the mans back to sit. Tar'eon turned around to look at him, his expression painfully sad.

His gaze feel to Astarion's chest, then down to the small patch of blood that had wept out of the wound on his hip, staining the silky white bed shirt. He looked back at the vampire who tilted his head, waiting for him to speak, but he couldn't form a single world, his throat closing up tight with emotion. He placed a hand on one side of Astarion's hip and rested his head on his chest, slowly wrapping his arms around him. Trying to reassure himself it was all a bad dream. A nightmare. Not the Urge making himself feel unrecognisable.

"I'm sorry." He whispered once more, even if he knew Astarion didn't want to hear it. The vampire sighed, his chest physically deflating as Tar'eons cheek rested upon it, spidery fingers running through dark strands, loosening the ribbon keeping his hair out of his face. The slipped free, falling over his hulking shoulders, tickling Astarion's chest.

"Enough of that. I didn't apologise nearby as much when I sunk my fangs into you, darling. This truly is nothing." Astarion felt like he was cradling a mountain lion against his body, but he did consider himself a cat person so... "You're awfully upset about all this, though. Would you like to tell me something, hm? I told you once before; nightmares aren't something I'm uncommon with."

Tar'eon shook his head.

"It was just...a nightmare. I don't know. I can barely remember it now." The large tiefling pulled away, shaking his head. "It's not important. I swear."

"It sure seemed important when you were clutching at me like you'd grown a hawks talons." Astarion groused.

"Astarion," Tar'eon cupped his face in his hands and smiled, even if it looked weary. "It's nothing. Really. I promise. I just need to wash up and eat some breakfast, and I'll be right as rain."

"There is nothing right about rain." Astarion tutted but conceded. If Tar'eon didn't want to talk, fine. He'd wring it out of him eventually. Tar'eon smiled, looking a little more relaxed now.

"May I kiss you, ph myirz?" He asked, the question whispered in a low, warm tone. Astarion huffed out a small laugh and smirked, nodding.

"Do you really need to ask? Go ahead." Tar'eon leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips, only lingering a few moments. Astarion opened his eyes as he pulled back and smiled, something soft in the upturn of his lips.

"Delicious. Are you sure we must go wondering in the dark again today? I'm sick of the shadows."

"The sooner we defeat Ketheric, the sooner we can leave for Baldur's Gate. I promise." Astarion sighed.

"Very well. Go wash up then. I don't mind my breakfast a little salty, but..." Astarion trailed a finger up his neck and smirked, unable to help himself from using old tactics to get the mans full attention. "Your fear smells rotten, unfortunately. Go wash it off. Then I'll take a nibble, hm?"

"I spoil you too much." Tar'eon muttered, pressing another quick kiss to his lips and getting off the bed. "I'll be back."

"I can't wait." Astarion licked his lips and laid back on the bed, happy to take up the whole thing as Tar'eon laughed, disappearing into the bathroom with his pack in hand.

It didn't strike Astarion as odd, even if it was.

****

"Have you seen my dagger?" Astarion asked as he lifted up pillows and rifled through the dresser drawers, confused to where he could have put it. "The pretty one."

"All your daggers are pretty, Astarion." Tar'eon chuckled, standing in front of the mirror as he adjusted the collar of his armour to hide the bite mark Astarion had left high on his throat. It was a poor attempt, honestly.

"You know which one I'm talking about. The fancy, magic one."

"I do. You probably misplaced it, that's all. Let me take a look." Tar'eon did his own round of checking pillows and drawers, even rifling through Astarion's pack. "You know what? Our packs look the same, aside from my flute always sticking out. Maybe you simply..."

He reached into his own pack and made a small sound of victory.

"There. You probably put it in my pack on accident the night prior."

Astarion frowned as he took the dagger, tucking it into his waistband. He wanted to agree with the tiefling, but he knew for a fact that he had placed it beneath his pillow last night. How on earth did it end up in Tar'eons pack?

"Ready to go now?" Tar'eon smiled softly as he fixed a wayward curl, tucking it behind his pointed ear. "Now that you have your pretty dagger?"

"You're my prettiest dagger, darling." Astarion drawled, sarcasm heavy in his tone even as he batted his lashes. Tar'eon laughed, tucking his cloak in more securely. Astarion wore fine things well, and the cloak, crudely gifted to him or not, was very fine on the vampire, indeed.

"I think that title belongs to you, ph myirz." He countered.

"You still haven't told me what that means, darling. Don't you think it's about time?"

"Mm...no. I don't think so. You have the book on Infernal at your disposal though. That should keep you occupied for a couple of hours, don't you think? I know you hate being bored."

Astarion laughed.

"You cheeky little pup." He narrowed his eyes at him playfully. "Alright. I'll play your game. I'm quite the studious pupil when I'm curious. Will I get a reward for my efforts?"

"The reward will be the knowledge you obtain." Tar'eon said sagely, but Astarion quirked a brow, challenging him to dare leave it at that. The tiefling gave a grin, a rare thing. "I'll buy you a new, shiny, pretty thing in Baldur's Gate. Happy?"

"Very." Astarion purred, smirking as he turned and slipped out of the room, the tiefling following after him with a fond shake of his head.

****

Astarion wrinkled his nose as they traversed further into the castle. It smelt old, like decay and rot, and copious amounts of dust. Tar'eon had managed to get them past the guards at least, and though he insisted he was simply that persuasive, Astarion knew from the expression on their faces, they just didn't want to anger a 'True Soul' that looked as intimidating as the tiefling did.

One of these days, Tar'eon would realise he didn't need to lie, because he was terrifying if one did not know him personally. Even Astarion had been unsettled by his appearance in the beginning. Now, though...he was quite fond of his looks.

Astarion set towards the doors, where they'd meet this 'Z'rell' everyone was mentioning, but Tar'eon hooked his hand into his elbow and veered him to the right. He groaned, already knowing that Tar'eon wanted to take a peek at everything before meeting this woman. How tedious. Hopefully they'd find something pricey to loot, or fun to kill.

Astarion quirked a brow as he looked around the kitchen they had entered.

"Gods, I don't want to know what Gnolls are making." He remarked with a grimace.

"Don't turn your nose up just yet. Might be something you'd like. Something bloody." Gale jested and Astarion gave a sarcastic, drawn out laugh before glaring.

"Don't talk to me."

"Of course. Not everyone can have the patience for stimulating conversation."

"Tar'eon, please tell me I can kill him."

"That would not be in your favour, I'm afraid. Or anyone else's, for that matter, my friend." Gale chuckled at his own gallows humour, not that the rest of them would get it.

"You can't kill him, Astar." Tar'eon placed a hand on his hip, looking at Astarion. "Can't you rein in your murderous delights for foes instead?"

"Just a bite." Astarion insisted, acting coy. "On his main artery. With my pretty dagger as substitute for my fangs."

"No." Shadowheart chuckled at Tar'eon blunt response.

"Ugh, you're such a wet blanket." Astarion clicked his tongue, and Tar'eon rolled his eyes lovingly, ignoring his pouting in favour of approaching the woman in the kitchen. She looked less likely to eat him than the Gnolls, though they were being strangely...docile. She was also the only one wearing the Absolutes uniform.

Information was information, enemy or not.

"One moment, True Soul." The woman - a gnome, perhaps? - with dark skin and short, thick locked hair was keeping her attention on the Gnoll before her. "You use a spoon to stir the soup, Barnabus. Forget the axe, my darling." She spoke to the creature like one would a small child, using the voice of a teacher.

Tar'eon watched this 'Barnabus' give soft, almost hooting sounds, coming out rough in its voice. He frowned. It was not typical Gnoll behaviour, from what he had encountered on the road.

"Now! How can I help you?" She finally turned to him, voice pleasant. He couldn't take his eyes off the Gnoll though.

"'Barnabus'...?" He queried, and she smiled.

"I've shown Barnabus a kinder way. A kinder name is only fitting." Tar'eon felt something hot lick up his spine, something akin to anger flushing the back of his neck at the very idea. Changing someone's name, their identity, all because it wasn't as nice as what they thought it should be...

"That is the gift the Absolute gave me, when I stood before Her. To rewrite the lives of Her faithful - make them believe they are something better." He gritted his teeth as she continued to drivel on. He wasn't quite sure where the intensity of his anger came from, but...it was fuelled by pure loathing for this woman who changed others names and lives with no consequence, without consent.

"I thought the Absolute accepted us all as we are." He challenged.

"She gathers many threads for Her Design - but it is still Her Design. And Barnabus has found his place in it. Observe," She turned back to the Gnoll and sweetened her voice, less like a teacher and more like an owner. "Barnabus, sweetie! Come show what a good boy you are." She turned back to Tar'eon with a smile.

"What would you like him to do?" Tar'eon stared her down with contempt, jaw flexing, and she simply laughed.

"Indecisive, are you? Let me decide then..." She turned back to the creature, and Tar'eon could feel her will being forced upon the Gnoll, her voice sickeningly sweet as she made the creature dance, praising it's efforts even as it whined.

"Oh, this is just sad..." Astarion murmured from his right, and Tar'eons tail gave an aggravated whip against the floor, scratching grime off stone. Barnabus growled and shook his head, obviously displeased at being pulled about like a puppet on strings, and the woman scowled.

"No, Barnabus! We've talked about this."

Tar'eon looked at the Gnoll and found instinct led him to reach out to the creature. Killing the woman outright himself may cause him some troubles later on, but having her 'puppets' do it...Well, he was doing them a favour.

He pushed past her will, inside Barnabus' mind, forcing himself into its place until she was practically thrown out of the Gnolls head. In her place, he reached into the Gnolls mind and dragged forward the urge to kill, to maim their master. The desire to be free.

Take what you are owed, Tezik Bloodfang.

He let the Gnolls true name surface, letting the identity he once had return to him. The autonomy to make the choices he wished, good or bad. The connection snapped, and Tar'eon retreated, smiling to himself as the Gnoll hunched in on itself, like the beastly creature it was. The woman's voice cracked as she attempted to regain control, to draw upon the 'Barnabus' she had created, but he was no more.

He watched in satisfaction at the Gnoll attacked, bloody and savage.

"Good Gods." Gale muttered, grimacing in disgust at the blood that spurted onto his shoes. Astarion chuckled.

"That was you, wasn't it, darling?" He looked beyond pleased. "I do love when you get that bloodthirsty look in your eyes."

"She's getting what she deserved." He said coolly, taking out a rag and handing it to Gale who awkwardly wiped at his boots. Tar'eon didn't care for a bit of gore on his own. His boots had seen everything. "Nobody should have to change their name or the way they are; not unless they want to. Tezik did not."

The Gnoll in question turned to them, and Tar'eon could feel his blood lust pulsing off him in waves. He craved more. Astarion reached for his dagger, and Shadowheart her spear, Gale's hand beginning to flicker. Tar'eon did not move though, and tilted his head when the Gnoll grovelled before him with a howl. Not in forgiveness, but in awe.

"Lord...baaaaack." The Gnoll was attempting to communicate with him, and Tar'eon listened intently. "Many-many die."

"I'm...back?" He frowned. "Have we met before?"

Tezik did not answer, only laughed, high and piercing like a hyena. Tar'eon pursed his lips but nodded to the creature in respect, and then gestured to the fellow Gnolls.

"There will be blood coming soon in a matter of days. If you want your revenge on the Absolute...wait for my call."

Tezik did not look pleased to wait, but he moved along to his Gnoll brothers, and escaped as Tar'eon watched. He had a good feeling he'd see them again. Allies were always welcome, even if their intentions were less heroic in nature.

"Well, would you look at that..." Astarion had his hands on the woman's skull, slipping the wriggling tadpole into a jar and slipping it into his pack. "I do love when others do all the hard work for us."

Tar'eon squinted his eyes at his lover.

"I can trust you to carry that, can't I?"

"On my honour!" Tar'eon doubted that since he didn't have any. "I don't like the idea of tentacles, darling, it's really not my thing...I'm not taking my chances until you do."

"Good. That'll be never." Tar'eon smirked and continued further in, curious to see all the castle had to offer.

He'd expected a lot of things, but the Drow woman was not one of them. He couldn't say he'd met a lot of Drow, and given the few he'd met had been a woman hellbent on attacking his people, and a man who killed slaves carelessly, well...It wasn't a good record. He tried not to be unreasonable though. If a Githyanki like Lae'zel could sit at their table, and even he with 'foulblood' could be a hero, then a Drow could earn themselves good conversation.

He regretted assuming as much near instantly when she began talking like he was beneath her, while somehow also showing respect. A confusing mix. One had to find charm in the natural superiority of a Drow woman's tone.

"Araj Oblodra, trader in blood and the sanguineous arts. It is a pleasure to stand before a True Soul. And your pale companion. I'd like to offer my services, if you're willing?"

"What exactly does a 'trader in blood' do?" Tar'eon frowned. His question seemed to spark a flame in her though, allowing her to speak more on her profession.

"I trade in blood and the potions that can be wrung from it. I'm more than happy to make you one, if you'd honour me with your blood. With one drop, I can brew a rather potent potion for you. The rest, I keep for myself." Tar'eon wasn't exactly sold on the idea. Not when she would be keeping a vial of his blood around. Her work almost sounded witch-like, and he didn't really want to mess with another hag, if he was honest. It always spelt trouble. But he was curious.

"What kind of potion is it, if you don't mind me asking?"

"No idea! But it will be unique to you - your blood essence and the Absolute's blessing intertwined. We can learn exactly what that means together, hm?"

Tar'eon looked away from her gaze, unsettled by the way she looked at him. He knew of the Drow society, that men, while soldiers, would report to the women, and could own no status of their own without their wives or mothers involvement. He couldn't tell if she was looking at him like that because she wanted to make him kneel beneath her boot, or because she wanted to devour him like a spider.

"And what exactly do you do with the blood you keep?" Tar'eon didn't trust her one bit. But a potion made his own blood...it would enhance him, wouldn't it? Make him stronger. He'd choked down Ethel's hair to become stronger, and he was open to being convinced to give his blood away for the sake of a potion that could make him even stronger. Any addition to his strengths would be mandatory if he planned to go up against Cazador when they reached Baldur's Gate.

"Research, naturally. A little experimentation, perhaps - I have an innate curiosity for all things sanguine." Tar'eon thought about it, uncertain, before he sighed. If he was not definite in his answer, then the cons probably outweighed the pros, and it was better to listen to his gut.

"I'm not interested. I'm afraid my blood is to be used for better means." Tar'eon huffed a soft laugh, quirking a smile at the Drow. All the talk of blood only made him more aware of the dull ache of the wounds on his chest, hidden beneath his armour.

He hadn't been able to leave the Urge unpunished after all. Not after what he did to Astarion.

"I'm here, should you change your mind." She sounded disappointed, before flicked her gaze over to Astarion. "Although perhaps there's one more thing we could discuss. Your friend."

I don't think friends typically share a bed, but sure...

He quirked a brow at her, waiting for her to continue.

"He's a vampire, no? Or one of their spawn, at least."

"Oh, don't worry. We're all friends under the Absolute. I won't bite." Astarion smirked, seeming to enjoy himself as he acted as a comrade rather than the traitors they were to this 'Absolute'.

"Oh, I'd prefer if you did." Tar'eon looked at the Drow sharply, eyes narrowing as he tried to decipher her intentions. Her response managed to shock Gale so much he forgot how to stand upright and almost crashed into Shadowheart who glowered even as she shoved him back onto the flats of his feet.

"I assume he belongs to you?" The Drow turned to Tar'eon, looking a touch sceptical. Tar'eon was sure if he was a woman, she'd have no doubt in her inquiry, but as it was, Shadowheart was standing furthest away from Astarion, and looked more like she owned the bumbling wizard than the vampire.

"Excuse me?" Tar'eon scowled. "He does not belong to me like a sword belongs to it's wielder, nor sheath. He's his own person."

She laughed.

"I'm sure he really believes that. How utterly adorable." Tar'eons brow twitched, and his hand wrapped around the hilt of his shortsword. He was feeling particularly bloodthirsty today, and unfortunately, every target seemed to be deserving of it, despite his wishes for little bloodshed. "Do you have a name, spawn?"

The phrase struck Tar'eon as odd. Did not all spawn have names? Astarion had mentioned remembering little of his past prior to vampirism, but...surely people did not forget their own names. Did they?

Astarion sputtered, looking completely taken aback by the turn of events.

"Astarion, but hold on-"

"Good. Now, Astarion," He hated the way she said his name. "I've dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a young girl."

"I-I'm sorry? You want to be bitten?" The disgust was obvious in his disbelieving tone.

"To feel your life's blood slipping away? To dance on the edge between life and death? Yes. I want it." Tar'eon could understand the appeal considering he was bitten near daily by Astarion, and it was a very pleasant thing despite the initial pain, but he didn't like the way she spoke of it. She wanted to make use of him, and it rubbed Tar'eon the wrong way, the way she dismissed his obvious contempt for the idea.

"I'll even compensation you - a potion of legendary power that forever increases the strength of the one who consumes it. It's not for sale, but it's yours if you bite me."

Tar'eon grimaced. Now, she was bribing them. The selfish part of him wanted that potion, if only to benefit them down the road, especially against Cazador - Hells, he'd let Astarion have it if he wanted, considering he was the one doing the biting, but...

"I will have to decline." That was the only answer Tar'eon needed. If Astarion didn't want to do it, then Tar'eon would not ask it of him. Astarion was a glutton for blood. If he was declining, it was for a good reason.

"Excuse me?" She scoffed. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and you're squandering it."

"I gave you my answer." Astarion snapped, glaring at the woman, bristling at her continued pressing.

"Can't you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?" Tar'eon narrowed his eyes. He glanced to Astarion, quirking a brow.

"It is unlike you to turn down a meal." He curious to know why.

"Will you excuse us a moment?" Astarion chuckled, all false bravado as he grabbed Tar'eons arm and turned them both away from the drow. "Are you actually asking me to do this? Trading me in for some- some potion?" He looked royally pissed.

"No." He wouldn't trade Astarion for anything. "I just want to know why."

"Well, I have the quite the fill with you to begin with, given how delicious large you are as prey, but her?" He turned his nose up at the very idea. "There's something wrong with her blood. I can smell it from here - it's rank."

"What do you mean? What's wrong with it?" He hadn't considered that other races could have unappetising blood. Did it depend on the person? Did all races have different tastes? Did every person differ?

"I can't say. It just smells wrong. Unnatural. Drinking it wouldn't kill me, but it would not be pleasant."

Araj sighed, "I don't have all day, True Soul."

"I won't make you do it. I never intended to from the start. You have every right to say no to her. A potion is not worth your discomfort." Tar'eon stood firm in his decision. If Astarion didn't want to bite her, then so be it.

"All right...Uh, thank you." Astarion seemed pleasantly surprised by the answer, standing taller as he turned back to the Drow. "Ah, it's still a no, I'm afraid."

"How very disappointing." She bit out, eyes narrowed at the pair.

"Thank you. I...appreciated that." Tar'eon smiled fondly at Astarion and reached up to caress his cheek, thumbing along his cheek. He had vowed to protect the man, and he would, even outside of battle.

"Good...because I'm going to kill her now." Tar'eon withdrew his shortsword and swiped at the drow woman across the face without a moments hesitation, Araj falling against the table in shock.

"You will pay for that!" She hissed, and Tar'eon knew that drow women were often raised as warriors. If he wanted to kill her, he had to make it quick.

He didn't let anyone else interfere, Gale and Shadowheart occupied with the bystander as Astarion watched, fascinated as Tar'eon spilt blood in his honour. The smell of it was even more rancid when it bled to the surface of Araj's skin, but it was well worth bearing the rotten scent to watch Tar'eons hand wrap around her throat and pin her to her desk, her potion bottles smashing onto the floor as she thrashed, slashing at the tieflings face with a dagger before he sunk his blade into her chest.

The drow gave a sharp gasp, a gurgle of blood escaping her lips, likely filling her lungs. Drowning in it.

In a last ditch effort of revenge, she smashed a potion against Tar'eons face, the tiefling letting her go with a shout of pain, holding the left side of his face as hunching in on himself. Araj's body took its last breath and she slumped, Tar'eons sword still buried just below the space where her collarbones met.

Astarion rushed to his side, pulling his hand away to get a good look at it, and he winced at the blistering, burnt skin, rotting into a deep red, almost black colour. The smell alone gave away it's cause. Acid - and so close to his eye too.

"You idiot, letting that woman get the final blow." Astarion growled, fishing out a healing potion as Shadowheart made her way over.

"Gods, that looks nasty." Even she had to admit it, bringing a glowing hand to his face. "This will hurt." She warned only a second before pressing directly to the wound, the bright blue glow enveloping over half of his face. The tiefling groaned, blinking a couple times as to adjust the sight of his left eye. It was a touch fuzzy, but he could see a lot better than before.

"Drink up," Shadowheart nodded to the healing potion in Astarion's hand. "My magic can only do so much, and you will not want any lasting affects of acid to the eyes."

"Thanks." Tar'eon sighed, touching his face. It was still tender, like burning yourself on a hot pot. He wiped away the drying blood with the back of his glove. He took the potion from Astarion, missing the mark ever so slightly before he focused his eyes on the task. His depth perception felt rocky, but he would quickly adjust. He shot back the potion and groaned softly in relief.

"I can't believe you attacked the drow." Gale looked tired already, wiping sweat from his brow. "Don't go giving me such a scare again, getting injured like that. I have a weak heart, you know?" The wizard sighed. "Well. Shall we continue?"

"Yes. I think we're done here." Tar'eon agreed. There was still much to do after all. He waited for Astarion to loot the drow, taking his sword back with a grunt and a tug, before they continued deeper into the castle. They would leave no stone unturned.

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