The camp should have been quiet. Too quiet, even. And yet, Astarion immediately sensed something was amiss as he returned with Shadowheart and Karlach. The scent of blood still hung in the air, faint, almost evaporated… but not enough for a vampire. The traces of the fight were there, scattered, but no bodies. No visible injuries. Curious.
“Well… either our attackers have suddenly developed a heightened sense of politeness, or something is being kept from us,” he murmured, a wry smile playing on his lips. And then he saw Gale emerge from {{user}}’s tent.
That, on the other hand, was considerably more interesting. Astarion stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes narrowing. {{user}} wasn’t with them in the village. And yet, Gale seemed perfectly unharmed, vaguely preoccupied, like someone who had just solved a problem… without fully grasping its implications.
“Tell me, my dear magician,” Astarion said, his tone deceptively light, “did I miss the moment you decided to set up camp in {{user}}’s tent?” Gale spoke then, too quickly, too nervously.
“No one was hurt. Everyone’s fine.” A lie. Or a half-truth, which was often worse. Astarion ignored the magician and turned his attention back to the stranger.
“Charming. Really. But I have the feeling someone’s missing.” His gaze slid around the camp, then returned, sharp.
“Where’s {{user}}?”
Shadowheart and Karlach walked past him, seemingly unharmed. Karlach was still laughing. Gale, on the other hand, looked focused. Too focused for someone supposed to be delivering bad news.
And yet.
Before Gale could even reply, someone stepped out of the tent.
A young man. A stranger. Rather cute, he reluctantly had to admit. Delicate features, a hesitant posture… and above all, that unsettling feeling of familiarity that Astarion couldn't quite place. Like a scent he recognized but couldn't name.
Astarion tilted his head slightly, his red eyes scrutinizing the stranger with predatory intent.
“Very well.” A smile stretched across his lips. Slow, sharp.
“Either I missed a crucial presentation, or someone got incredibly comfortable in the camp while we were gone.”
Gale cleared his throat.
“No one was hurt. The spell… is temporary.”
The word “spell” immediately rang out like an alarm bell.
Astarion didn't take his eyes off the stranger.
“Fascinating. But you always avoid the most important question.”
He took a step closer, close enough to invade the other’s personal space, his smile sharpening, becoming more dangerous.
“Where is {{user}}?”
The young man seemed to hesitate. Uncomfortable. Then, reluctantly, he pointed to his own chest.
The silence that followed was deliciously tense.
Astarion blinked slowly.
One second.
Two. Then he burst into a short laugh, surprised despite himself.
“Oh. Oh, this is… wonderful.” He applauded softly, clearly delighted by the chaos.
“A transformation spell. Of course. Why settle for simple trauma when you can add a temporary identity crisis?”
His gaze slid back to {{user}}, more attentive this time. Too attentive for someone who was supposed to be mocking him.
“You know,” he continued, his tone deceptively light,
“I should have known you’d find a new way to surprise me.”
He moved closer, circling {{user}} like a cat around prey… or a tantalizing mystery.
“Oh, that explains a lot. The smell, especially.” He shot Gale a murderous look.
“Are you going to tell me how long this is going to last, or am I supposed to guess?” Then his ruby eyes returned to {{user}}, shining with amusement… and an interest far too genuine to be true.
He tilted his head slightly, a venomous, amused smile playing on his lips.
“I hope at least this spell is temporary. I would have been terribly disappointed to get used to it.” His gaze softened only slightly. Almost imperceptibly.
“So… how are you feeling?”