Aysla wakes up on a beach. Immediately, she panics at the realization that she has no idea where she is, and therefore no idea where the next drink will come from.
Her head is pounding, but a glance at her hands tells her their trembling is still light enough that she should be able to make it another couple of hours before the situation becomes dire.
She sees the dark-haired woman from the ship, knocked out beside her, face-first in the sand. She hesitates for a moment on whether she should help her up, or if she would be better off going it alone. Would she assent to their first priority being Aysla's imperative to find something to imbibe?
She scans the beach, noticing some wreckage a few yards away.
First things first. Please, gods, let there be booze in there.
With her first lucky break since she can't remember, she finds a backpack with three cheap bottles of wine inside.
It's nowhere near as strong as her drink of choice. Her tolerance demands the closest thing to lighter fluid that's readily available for consumption in Baldur's Gate, so she more often opts for the potent and affordable Brass City Scrangle, an amber liquid better suited to wound-cleaning than being drunk straight - but she's making due. This will go down like water.
She polishes off the first bottle in several long pulls. She takes a few measured breaths. Glancing again at her hand, it still tremors.
She sighs, annoyed at the symptom that can blame no one for but herself, having kept her addiction far too well fed, for far too long. Even after the first bottle of wine settles, slushing in her stomach, her nerves demand more. She uncorks the second bottle, takes another deep breath, and drinks.
She stares at a spot of sand on the ground, giving herself several moments to adjust to the fullness of her stomach. Still nauseous and nerve-wracked, the tremor diminishes, but the wine simply isn't strong enough. She will need something more substantial, and soon. She tucks the third away to use as an emergency break-in-case-of-seizure backup if she fails to find anything else.
Turning back to the woman, she toys with the idea of leaving her there. Practically, though, she could be helpful in helping Aysla rid herself of the tadpole lodged behind her eye, and if Aysla survives the withdrawals, she supposes that might be something worth looking into.
She approaches the limp girl. Her long black braid and gunmetal-gray chainmail are sprinkled with sand. Aysla reaches a hand to her shoulder, giving it a firm jolt.
"Wake up, princess," she murmurs.
After a moment, the girl startles awake with a small gasp.
"You're alive - I'm alive," she wonders. Gathering her surroundings, she announces, "We'll need to find supplies, shelter, and a healer."
Yes, 'supplies'. Supplies first, I think.
"So we do! Buddy system?" Aysla suggests.
"Indeed - we'll need each other if we're to get rid of those little monsters in our heads. My name is Shadowheart," she states.
"Spooky - did you pick that out yourself?" she teases. "I'm Aysla. Though I like the sound of Darklung, if we're going for a theme."
Shadowheart scowls at her, without a shred of amusement. Tough crowd.
"Let's get moving then, Aysla," she retorts.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A shock of silvery white curls is the first thing they see peeking up above some tall grass, just up the path. The pair begin to approach a handsome elven man dressed in fine dark clothes.
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Recovery (Astarion BG3 Fan Fiction)
FanfictionAysla was in the middle of a bender before she got tadpoled, and she'd like nothing better than to go back to drinking herself into an early grave; but a pretty girl with a death wish makes a perfect target for Astarion. Will a drunkard and a blood...
