Blood & Shadow // Astarion x FM/ MM

Prologue - The Newborn

Dictionary:

Eladrin - High Elf

Mithral / Ruar-tel-quessir - Star elf

Sildëyuir - The isolated twilight realm of the star elfs

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Azrielle was once an Eladrin of the Ruar-tel-quessir, a high elf of the stars. That's all she could remember of her past life. Decades have passed, surely even centuries. Everyone she once knew, could very well be dead. Not that it mattered, she didn't remember their faces anymore, or their voices. Every morsel of what she used to be was now replaced with endless, ravaging thirst. A thirst that could never be quenched– a thirst for blood.

The memory of her death, however, still lingered...

The Mithrals had isolated themselves from the rest of Faerun for thousands of years before they migrated out to the rest of the world. Azrielle traveled to Baldur's Gate, young, hopeful and full of adventurous lust. However, the star elves were a rare sight to many. And unfortunately, people do not take well to foreigners that they otherwise know little of.

In Sildëyuir, she looked almost like everyone else. Typical Mithral features graced her. Fair skin and silver hair. The rest, she couldn't tell you. Not anymore, she couldn't remember the color of her eyes before, though she had read that star elves often had lilac or gray eyes with golden flecks. Azrielle hadn't seen her reflection in... Decades?... Centuries? It all felt the same after a while.

Beautiful, nevertheless, at least by human standards. Perhaps even striking. At least something enough to have her catch the attention of those guards that night. Azrielle had been walking home to the town house where she had been renting a room until she gathered the funds to get a place for herself. The landlord was a half elf named Eredin, he had shown Azrielle kindness in a city otherwise filled with prejudice and contemptment towards her kind. It felt unfair. Other high elves were usually treated with exceptional hospitality. While Azrielle was treated more like a drow, without the history of violence to speak for her. Eredin and Az had grown close, perhaps even close enough to consider it a friendship. He had made it possible for her to consider this place her home. But she never made it back home that one night.

It was a beautiful starlit winter night. Azrielle's skin glowed faintly in the moonlight as she walked home with her arms crossed over her chest– an attempt to keep warm. Her radiance drew the attention of five human soldiers who were guarding the streets. Their main purpose was to keep peace in the city– The devastating irony of that.

After she kept ignoring their tasteless calls and attempted flirting the men got more riled up. Azrielle tried to politely decline and keep walking, but she was cornered– Trapped, like a prey being hunted.

She tried to push past them, but two men grabbed each of her arms. Azrielle kicked violently and landed a crushing blow in one of the guards crotch. He roared in pain as he fell to his knees, cupping his jewels in his hands.

When he had mustered to look back up at her, the fury in his eyes was of pure hatred. "Elven scum" He growled in anger as he signaled for the men to take her with them to the place that was soon to be her grave– A dirty, old dead end alleyway.

Fearing for her life, Azrielle cried with her face pushed into the soil. "Please, no please... Don't kill me." She whimpered through strained breaths. Little did she know that death would have served as sweet relief of what she was soon to endure. But she would not be granted that luxury.

A firm hand was keeping a steady pressure on the side of her head, keeping her down as the men undressed her. She writhed and twisted, but to no avail. The ruthless caress of the cold midnight air on her now fully exposed body was only apparent in the spiky pebbles on the surface of her skin as her mind shut it out completely.