Enrolled in Epicness - A Baldur's Gate 3 Fanfic

14. Campfire

Back in the camp, Astarion let Shadowheart heal his arm and shoulder. It seemed he'd suffered a hundred different injuries since they'd met near the crashed nautiloid. As they walked toward the campfire, the rest of the team—Halsin, Jaheira, Karlach, and Wyll—welcomed them with big smiles. Scratch circled the party, barking excitedly and wagging its tail, but it was the sound of thudding paws and clacking claws that brought joy to Astarion's heart.

"Squeaky, you fiendish spawn of the nine hells!" He crouched with stretched arms, and the owlbear cub nuzzled him with his beak. "Yes, yes, that's quite enough," Astarion said, chuckle dying under self-awareness. "Let's not make it weird, feathered buddy."

"If only we could capture a picture of them," Shadowheart said to her blonde girlfriend. They were holding hands in a sickening display of affection, a harsh reminder that he was merely backup for bad days.

At least he got two blood draws out of that fling with the cleric. Swallowing his jealousy, he fluffed up Squeaky's feathers. At least he wouldn't abandon him on a whim. Meanwhile, Waterdeep introduced the two helpful drow to the party. Somehow, Bing-Bong had brought the mother's body to the camp as well.

Out of pure curiosity, Astarion asked Shadowheart about the imp's timely arrival. She showed her palm, where Raphael's imprint was already fading.

"The devil gave it two uses—reverse death energy and summon Bing-Bong. I couldn't tell anyone about it or the magic would've fizzled."

She'd played those moves well—better than himself, maybe. Afterward, they sat together for an early supper of omelets, olives, and salami, served alongside red wine, and beer for Karlach. Tales of Ketheric, Balthazar, the Githyanki patrol, and Raphael filled the evening air, although Astarion kept his words to a minimum. Yes, he loved getting attention, but the recent adventure left him... reflective. His eyes kept drifting toward Shadowheart, who was sitting with her hip touching Tav's, laughing at her every dumb anecdote and smiling at each inane joke.

It made him feel like a vampire spawn again, ephemeral and easily discarded... Stupid emotions! He sneaked away from the campfire and found a nice ledge to sit on, overseeing the lake. Nearby, Baldur's Gate sprawled like a giant, filled with dancing lights, bustling crowds, laughter, and groups of unsilenceable pedestrians.

A glass of wine offered the best company, filling his undead innards with loving warmth. He raised it bitterly. "To another day in this weird, tadpole-enabled existence, darling." Still, that beat seducing prey for Cazador's fangs.

Someone's cute ass landed beside him—Zelnira. He gave the drow girl a brief glance. "You have potential as a marksman or an assassin. Your father should send you to the academy in Menzoberranzan."

The words might've meant little to her, but he used a warm tone. Zelnira hugged his arm and gazed upward with adoring red eyes. The hunger immediately urged him to exploit her naivety. One bite, and he'd drain her veins until only a dry husk remained.

Astarion had a calming sip. "Run along now, darling. This spot is reserved for melancholic adults."

The edible drow brushed his hair instead, oblivious to his intent. Another show of affection, and it would be difficult not to dig his fangs into her delicate neck. He drank again from the wine, soothing the murderous desire. "Look, Zelnira, you're sweet, but I'm not the kind of man you want to—"

The drow laid a finger on his lips. "You... pretty."

Bite, drain, enjoy. Oh, for the love of Loviatar... He offered her the glass. "Yes, I'm amazing, but we're just sitting here—nothing else."

She accepted the wine, and Astarion used the chance to slide away a little. At the campfire behind them, Jaheira was hanging on Halsin's oaken arm, pining in vain for his embrace, and Wyll recited a poem to Mizora. She, too, looked at Halsin, who was talking—as usual—about his boring fascination with nature.