mystracal | 🔮 exsanguinated (with @sangwhine)

[After the charming reunion with Astarion's family it is, of course, only a matter of time before the matter of Cazador must be dealt with. Yet like most things in the adventures he's encountered over the past few tendays, nothing goes quite as expected. They gain entry to the palace by duping Cazador's thralls easily enough, but that is where it begins to unravel. The mysteries of the ballroom door lead him back to the kennels, to Godey, and the destitute dormitory where he spent most of his time while not out on the streets. The memories are unpleasant, but being able to return his tormentor to nothing but a pile of bones does bring some cold comfort.

Gaining access to the ballroom, however, only brings more questions to the forefront. Werewolves are not an alliance that Astarion would expect Cazador would make. It hints at something more, something beyond what he knows, what Raphael has deigned to tell him. He's still determined to find his master, to seize the power of the ritual for himself. Even as their discovery of the elevator down seems leaves a nagging feeling at the back of his throat of all he doesn't know. Of course Cazador would keep his own secrets, he was their master, after all. Servants had no right to know the full extent of his dealings. But nothing could have prepared Astarion for what he found below.

The sight of Sebastian shakes him more than he wants to admit. He thought he'd forgotten the targets from his earlier days of enslavement, that they'd all blurred into a mass of featureless shadows that only haunted him when he allowed them in. Sebastian's voice cuts straight through that delusion, wedging itself between Astarion's ribs and into his heart like a cold blade. He still felt guilt, back then, wished for a way to escape, to free himself from the sick torment of using his body to lure innocent fools to their death. That guilt is unearthed here, brought back just as fresh and hurting as the day he felt it those hundreds of years ago.

Astarion can feel his resolve crumbling, even if he won't allow his companions to see it. Sacrificing his siblings was one thing. They were always cruel to him. They looked down at him and disparaged him. He would gladly let their deaths be the sacrifice needed so that he might rise. Sacrificing Sebastian was nothing like that. So many of the faces he saw in the cages were those who had flattered him, smiled for him. They trusted him and showed him kindness even though it meant their undoing. What would he be if he returned that with more violence?

Yet, they were spawn. Hungry spawn, at that. Spawn who likely had not eaten in years. If he convinced himself that they were too much of a danger, maybe he could justify their deaths to himself. After all, he wasn't the one who had made them like this. The blame for that rested solely upon Cazador.

That anger, the indignation at what his master had kept from him fueled Astarion onward to the site of the ritual. He was going to take back what had been stolen from him, his revenge was at his fingertips—but he had forgotten Cazador was more than just a vampire lord. He had forgotten that a mere flick of a staff and a surge of arcane power was enough to render him utterly helpless, tadpole or not. Panic welled in his throat as he found himself held still, the arcane bindings piercing through his skin as they began to draw his power, and the power of all those he had brought to his master, into the ritual itself.

But he was not alone. He had Gale, he had their leader. This ragtag band of adventurers bound by nothing more than their unfortunate shared circumstances were enough to interrupt a ritual that had been centuries in the planning. All of Astarion's doubts and fear were forgotten the moment he felt the bindings release and saw the cloud of smoke that was Cazador seep back into the coffin that was his resting place. His time was now, the chance to seize his power, to cement his vengeance was at hand.

Yet he was not the only one whose mind had been tormented by the sight of the thousands of innocent souls whose sacrifice was necessary for the ritual to go on. It was a moment of clarity, of Gale's words breaking through the power hungry bloodlust that had consumed Astarion that painted his actions in stark clarity. There were two paths before him: to become something more than Cazador, something more twisted, more sinister, more evil, or to reject it. To be better. This was his chance to prove not only to Gale but to himself that he could be the man they had all hoped he could be. That small mote of potential was inside him. Not one of them above the other, but equals. That was what they had wanted.

So he turned the blade on his master. The moments blurred together in a haze of tears and blood. By the time they returned to camp, Astarion could barely even remember freeing the thousands of spawn, telling his siblings to take them to the Underdark. He felt like he was floating, walking through a haze that dogged his every step. His skin prickled with gooseflesh under the caked and drying blood even as he stood before the warm basin of water that had somehow appeared in his tent so that he could clean himself of everything that had transpired.

Cazador was gone. The power that the ritual promised was forever lost to him. Yet as soon as he turned his thoughts to it, he only felt a heavy weight in his chest that threatened to drag him down through dirt and stone until he was buried again. He stared at the water, watching the steam wick from its surface, utterly at a loss for what to do next.]

[To say Cazador's palace was a place of nightmares is an understatement. Beneath the aristocratic facade and decadence were the kennels where Astarion was tortured by the malicious Godey, the prison where thousands of spawn were kept in perpetual agony and hunger... and further down, Cazador himself, and the ritual he'd been preparing for centuries. From the moment they entered the doors, Gale had stayed close to Astarion not only to support him, but to keep his own anxiety at bay. He wasn't sure it could get any worse than when they found Astarion's former prey - hundreds upon hundreds of victims, many of whom remembered his face, his name, what he had done to them - in cells beneath the palace, all kept there for the sake of the profane ritual they were there to stop.

No, not stop. To seize control of so Astarion, rather than Cazador, could become a vampire ascendant. Their sacrifice would allow for his ascension.

For Gale, the most horrific moment came when they attacked the vampire lord himself. Astarion had rushed forward in anger, only to be bound by arcane magic, hurled into place for the ritual to commence. Gale felt his horror overcome by furious determination: as their companions spread around them, the wizard crossed the platform in an instant with magic, placing himself at Astarion's side. Unfortunately, he hadn't a chance to help him before being attacked himself by a lycanthropic Gur; he barely got his staff into the creature's mouth before it snapped, its fangs the size of daggers. They were not going to let anyone disrupt the ritual.

And Gale was not going to let Astarion die, be sacrificed for this vile spell. He'd called lighting to his hands, flashes of crackling energy all around him as bolts rained from the air above, the electrical force tearing through the bodies of Cazador's minions. It wasn't until they were dead at his feet - some smoldering, some sparking, but all corpses - that he felt he could breathe. He'd then turned and set Astarion free while their leader dealt with Cazador.

But it wasn't the end. Someone had to deal the killing blow, and only Astarion could do that. Only he could finish the ritual, take power for himself, gain that freedom he'd craved for so long... but if he did, what would he become? Though his heart hammered in his chest as the rogue took up the blade, poised to the kill, Gale believed wholeheartedly that Astarion had the capacity for good within him to not just be a better vampire than Cazador, but a better person than he realized was possible. However, with the haze of blood, the torment resurfacing, and the danger of releasing thousands of hungry spawn on his conscience, Gale wasn't entirely certain of what Astarion would do - what choice he would make. They all knew he'd be sacrificing his siblings, but the unspoken cost against his soul was yet to be seen. All he had to do was complete the ritual.

But... he didn't. He instead lashed out against his former master, ending him once and for all; he freed the spawn, his siblings, sending them into the Underdark to a fate unknown - but a fate where they might have a chance. He denied himself the ritual, and with it, any hope of power, of being free of his thirst, of being certain he would see the sunrise each day for the rest of his existence.

The journey back to camp was long, but uneventful; Gale hadn't heard Astarion say a word the entire time, staying close until he was ushered into his tent. Wyll had gotten him a basin, Karlach some water, which she warmed - even Lae'zel had moved her tent to be within eyeshot of Astarion's, keeping an eye out for him during the night, just in case there should be any retribution from lingering remnants of Cazador's loyal servants.

Finally, everyone returns to their bunks. Wyll offers to make dinner for the evening, allowing Gale and Astarion some time alone. While Gale thanks him for the gesture, he can't think of what to say to Astarion. He's simultaneously incredibly proud and profoundly sad on his lover's behalf, pondering over what he must be feeling; however, it's not something with which he's sure he can ever truly empathize. That power he so coveted is out of his grasp forever.

And Gale's not sure what that means for him down the road with the crown. Reasonably, he should continue to seek it, to gain its power so he can become a god people deserve, one who will help... but at the same time, he remembers what he told Astarion, the loose vow they made to one another. They would be equals.

He steps inside, letting the flap close behind him before he speaks.]

What you did today... that was not easy.

[Another understatement, one just as grievous as any charitable assessment of Cazador's palace.]

[Astarion seems startled to hear Gale, as if he didn't notice his entry. Gale had been at his side on the path back to camp, hadn't he? It feels like a blur now. Astarion turns to look at him, the hollow anguish written on his face for a brief moment before he looks away to steel himself. Though after a moment he holds a bloodied hand out to Gale, beckoning him closer.]

I imagine I couldn't have done it if I was on my own. Without you there. Without the faith that you've had in me.

[Gale reaches for that offered hand without even a second's hesitation, but seems to realize belatedly he hasn't even removed his gloves, blood still flecking both their leather as well as the violet cloth of his robe; he yanks them off haphazardly, tossing them aside as though frustrated by the delay before clasping Astarion's hand. His other hand reaches for his partner's cheek, cupping it gently, tenderly.]

You're stronger than you know, and you always have been. You made that decision, Astarion - you abandoned all that power you've wanted for so long.

[His mouth curls in the barest smile.]

I'm so proud of you, my love.

[Astarion's sword hand is still drenched to the wrist in Cazador's blood, so it's not as though he would have minded. He's pliant against Gale's touch, turning into the hand at his cheek with a sigh.]

It hardly feels like strength. Only emptiness. A hollow, gaping hole that held all my hatred for him, my desire for his power, to avenge myself and all he took from me.

I suppose I understand how Dame Aylin felt now. I feel...adrift. Lost.

[Ah, the fear he was going to feel like Aylin after the incident with Lorroakan rises again; Gale frowns, knowing that nothing he says will fill the void left in the wake of Astarion's wrath and despair. He can only stay by Astarion's side, keeping him company as he tries to find the shore.

He rubs a thumb along Astarion's cheekbone, glad he took his gloves off so he could feel his skin.]

You'll have to now find who you are without that hatred. It may not feel like it yet, but you're free.

I suppose so.

[His voice is so small, so quiet. He looks down to where his hand holds Gale's, to the other one stained dark with Cazador's blood. They both seem so far away, but they're both right here, in this moment. Together.]

Who knew freedom could be so terrifying?

Terrifying, and thrilling.

[Or maybe that's just the blood all over Astarion's hands talking. He gives the one in his grasp a squeeze.]

We should get you cleaned up, but I'll have you know that watching you claim your freedom from Cazador, setting those people free, walking away from that ritual despite what it offered you... [He shakes his head, sighing.] I didn't know I could be more in love with you. Come what may with your newfound freedom, I am with you.

[That at least brings a faint smile to Astarion's lips. He softly squeezes Gale's hand in reply.]

And here I thought I already had all of your heart.

[There's a pause as he looks down to their joined hands, to the waiting basin.]

What would you say to helping me get rid of all this blood?

Gladly. You might feel a little better once you're no longer drenched in his blood.

[If nothing else, it will take Gale's mind off the fact that Astarion is painfully, incredibly, undeniably handsome when coated in it. He's not a violent man by most measures, but he can't help how his heart beats just a little faster at the thought of his beloved reveling in a victory on the battlefield. If only he'd had the chance to do that this time.

There will be other battles - they still have an Elder Brain and the Chosen of the Dead Three to deal with. For now, Gale focuses himself entirely on Astarion's comfort, on helping him feel whole again. He undoes his robe, sliding out of it and leaving it draped over a chair, rolling up the sleeves of his undershirt before grabbing a washcloth.]

It was very satisfying when it spilled from him. Less so now.

[Astarion sets about stripping. There's only the barest amount of finesse to it, his motions are much smaller, more controlled than what Gale's used to. He folds both his shirt and pants into a neat little pile that he sets aside before approaching the basin again, looking to his bloodied hand as he rests it on the lip of the tub.]

Though I wonder...if I were to taste his blood now, could I still become a true vampire?

[Gale pulls the chair toward the basic, taking a seat and dipping the cloth in to soak it. His eyes also land on Astarion's hand before trailing up to his face. His voice is soft with uncertainty.]

Is that what you want?

To have the power to turn someone myself? To create my own spawn?

[He frowns, then drops his hand into the water before climbing in.]

No. I want it off me.

[He sighs in quiet relief, letting Astarion get settled before he sets the cloth on his back, wiping away the traces of Cazador's demise.]

Think of it this way: any spawn you made would just get in the way of us. How am I to monopolize all your time if there's someone else in the picture?

[He dips the cloth again, wringing it.]

[When Astarion does settle, it's with his knees pulled to his chest, his arms loosely holding them in place. He rests his chin atop them, staring forward at the fabric of the tent.]

I don't think I want to imagine what it would be like.

I am here. I. I am free.

[Gale watches him, taking the washcloth down his shoulders, along his arms; the fabric comes back stained red, and into the water it goes.]

Yes you are, Astarion. Free and a wonder.

[After wringing, he gently grasps Astarion's arm, getting the blood off his hand. He gets the other hand while he's there before moving up his other arm.]

[Before Gale's touch leaves his hand, Astarion reaches out to grab his wrist. He stares down at it, pale skin with flecks of blood still in the creases of his fingers and nails against the clean, darker skin of Gale's hand.

He's free of Cazador. Free of the slavery that took so much from him. And what's more, he has Gale. He has love, faith, a man who cares enough to gently wash the remains of his former master from his skin. He blinks at the sight, his vision suddenly blurred. It's all too much.

He bows to press his forehead to the warmth of Gale's palm, eyes pinching shut as his shoulders start to shake.]

[Gale recognizes that touch, that need to stay close; he leans forward and slides his other hand around Astarion's cheek to the back of his neck, pulling him closer so that their foreheads can meet. The blind could see that Astarion needs time to process what has happened, what he has now, what future there will be for him as an eternal spawn - never to be a true vampire, but unable to ever return to the man he once was. Having to abandon everything he worked for and desired, left with an uncertain future and a hollow emptiness in its wake—

No, Gale doesn't know what it feels like. He can only relate to what are similar sorts of hurt. He has no words, nothing that can help in any real way - just the silent promise that he is there, no matter what Astarion needs.

He presses a kiss to Astarion's forehead before resting against him again.]

[It's the kiss that breaks the floodgates. A choked, inarticulate sob pulls from Astarion's throat as he grabs at Gale's shirt, pulling him closer so he can bury his face in the crook of his shoulder. He feels so small and pathetic in this moment, but there's nothing he wants more than to be held, and there's nothing he can do to stop the flood of tears staining Gale's shirt.]

[Gale pulls Astarion into his arms over the rim of the basin, one hand alighting on his back between his shoulders, the other wrapped in the silver locks of his blood-flecked hair. His shirt is immediately dampened from a mixture of water and tears, tinted red with the blood that's been washed from Astarion's frame. None of that matters. Nothing but Astarion matters in that moment.

He murmurs some words of encouragement and comfort. Though nothing can change what happened, nor what Astarion feels, it's all he can offer for the moment.]

Shhh. It's all right. I have you. I love you. I'm here with you.

[Astarion can't reply except with a whimpering cry. He clings to Gale, the weight of everything that's come to pass too much for him to hold to on his own. It's all overwhelming, too much all at once. Gale is the only thing that keeps him anchored, that grounds him. He tries to swallow against the tears, to find his voice again, but the sound he makes is another shaking sob.]

[With his heart aching on his lover's behalf, Gale holds Astarion for as long as he needs, rubbing soothing circles into his back as the vampire chokes and sobs against his shoulder. When he finally feels he can pull away, he doesn't go far, his hands remaining on Astarion's cheeks as he pulls back just enough for their eyes to meet. They are full of hope and sadness, but also love and warmth, sympathy and compassion carving into the rest of his features.

He'd insist Astarion get clean sooner so he could better comfort him, but it won't be soon enough, he things. He'll just have to close the gap himself.]

Here. A moment.

[With one hand still in Astarion's reach, he pulls off his boots and steps right into the basin himself, using magic to ensure it's big enough for them both. It's still a rather tight fit, but enough that he can sit down - and more importantly, that he can hold Astarion, should he want that. His clothes are plenty wet as it is.]

[Astarion's entire world feels fuzzy and out of focus once his tears are gone. His eyes burn. His throat is raw. His face is a mess, he's sure. But he doesn't want Gale to leave all the same. When Gale pulls away he reaches after him, his movements sluggish.]

Wait—

[The word is a fractured, broken thing. Not unlike Astarion himself. But once he realizes what Gale's doing he scoffs quietly, even as he rests himself against Gale's warmth again.]

Your robes are all wet, dearest.

They'll dry, I assure you. Besides, I know someone who might loan me some clothes for the night.

[He pulls Astarion closer, wrapping his arms around him; it feels better with them closer.]

[Astarion curls up to Gale, resting his head against Gale's chest to listen to the dual beat of the orb and his heart.]

Before long they'll all carry your scent.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject