For Astarion, it's an almost-normal morning at the camp.
But his search for a fresh vial of blood will soon turn into an epic adventure with both friends and foes from Baldur's Gate 3.
A fanfic for the discerning reader, accompanied by AI images for...
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And the remaining ghoul was eyeing him.
"Go, get the bag!" Shadowheart said, summoning her goddess' energy. A bright light emanated from her, sending the two ghouls into a panicked flight—Turn Undead. Exploiting that small breathing room, Astarion quaffed a healing potion, and the rotting wound left by the beam began closing. He ran to the statue. The second necromancer pointed a bony finger, but that time he was prepared. With a swift shoulder roll, he dodged the ray, suffering only minor scratches from the floor.
The bag was soon within reach. Astarion opened it and huffed in frustration—the blasted thing was packed with scrolls. "Which one is Gust of Wind?!" he yelled, but the pod was too far. One by one, floor tiles became blighted as the poison cloud traveled in his direction.
Meanwhile, Liz got pushed back by Balthazar's ghouls. The necromancer must've raised one—or both—back into the fight with his magic. Near the pod, Shadowheart pulverized one ghoul with a radiant spell, but the other charged fearlessly, snarling, and clawed at her armor.
Astarion rifled through the parchments, pushing some aside and tossing others to the floor... Ah-ha! A sketch of blowing wind. He unfurled the scroll, cleared his throat, and read the arcane words aloud. In a moment, an ear-destroying blare deafened him. Spitting an ugly swear, he reexamined the spell title—Tasha's Terrible Trumpet.
Why did Waterdeep keep that on him?! Even worse, the ghoul had clawed Shadowheart, and she fell, paralyzed by its touch, with nobody protecting her tasty neck. His instincts screamed to flee, save his skin, find a place to regroup in... But alone, he'd be trapped in the Astral Plane. Besides, he sort of—hells forgive him—liked Tav and her band of weirdos.
One of the remaining scrolls had a stamped icon that he recognized—Conjure Ice Mephits. Tense but in control, Astarion spouted the words, and a magical portal opened beside him. Two winged, imp-like creatures flew out of it. He pointed one in Shadow's direction and sent the second to assist Liz.
The ringing inside his ears had finally subsided, but the cloud was only five meters away, and the unknown necromancer was staring at him in amusement. Curse Waterdeep and his dumb ideas! As the enemy spellcaster raised a hand, ready to attack, he yanked out the first scroll his fingers touched... Misty Step. Oh, how deliciously beneficial.
With a crackling puff of silvery mist, Astarion disappeared from his location, leaving the murderous cloud behind and avoiding another glowing ray. A second later, he reappeared just behind the confused necromancer.
A devilish grin spread across his face as he stabbed with the dagger, piercing the surprised man's back and skewering his heart. "Sorry, darling, but you've picked the wrong opponent." A hollow whisper left the necromancer's mouth as he crumbled to the floor. His ghoul remained, though, locked in intense combat with the mephit.
Astarion switched to Gandrel's Aspiration. With one eye shut, he aimed the crossbow—and loosed a bolt. It pierced the ghoul's neck. Enraged, the fiend slashed at the ice mephit, killing the unfortunate creature, and turned to glare at him, leaving the projectile in.
"The next will go through your skull," he muttered, but while he reached for a bolt, Shadowheart recovered from the paralysis. She launched a radiant spell at the ghoul, who fell on its side, burning.
The cleric clutched her head and whined. Getting paralyzed always left nasty headaches that could linger for hours. Meanwhile, Liz, covered in claw marks, cleaved Balthazar's ghouls with one mighty blow.
"The pressure plate!" Astarion said, waving to her.
"I KNOW THAT, FOOLISH SKA'KETH!" The Githyanki advanced, and Balthazar, seeing the greatsword was too near, misty-stepped himself out of her path. He prepared one of his spells—hopefully, not a second Cloudkill.
His two ghouls rose behind Liz, hissing for revenge. But they were too slow. She leaped onto the pressure plate, and Astarion hurried to activate the one on his side. A satisfying click echoed as it sank an inch into the floor. Then a part of the pod slid aside, revealing a shiny knob.
The cleric didn't need any guidance. With a twist of her delicate hands, the device opened, spilling its foggy blue contents. A second later, the long-haired mage reemerged, pointing a threatening finger at Balthazar.
"It's wizard time, asshole!"
Everyone in the party knew what that meant. Lae'zel had already jumped for cover when a bright projectile shot out of Gale's hand, and a beautiful Fireball engulfed the platform. Its deep rumble reverberated across the hall, and its shock wave knocked stones and dust from every surface. When the spectacle ended, the ghouls had been reduced to ash, and the necromancer was retreating with his clothes on fire.
"We're not done," he said with uncharacteristic anger. He clapped his hands, and a shimmering Dimension Door materialized behind him. Before any of them could act, Balthazar left the hall.
They converged next to the pod, breathing in relief. Shadowheart administered healing, starting with Lae'zel, and Astarion gave Waterdeep an acerbic smile. "You should've told me about that Misty Step scroll first."
"It escaped my mind. I just hope you didn't use Tasha's Terrible Trumpet. I'm saving that one for our next party."
He laid a hand on the annoying wizard's shoulder. "Waterdeep, buddy, I have bad news—" The floor shook under his feet. Everyone's eyes opened wide at the same time.
"It seems Balthazar has planned an immediate retaliation," Gale said. "We should leave."
They took about five steps toward the exit when a gigantic part of the ceiling came crashing down on the stairs, burying their escape route and raising a huge dust cloud. Astarion looked up—more pieces were dropping from above.
"Waterdeep, we need a plan B!"
"O-of course." The wizard grabbed his forehead. "To the pod!"
"You must be joking."
"No, I know what went wrong last time."
There was little room for arguing when the hall was crumbling down on them. With a soft, resigned sigh, Astarion joined Gale in front of the illithid object.
"It'll take a few seconds. Everyone, hold hands."
Lae'zel and Shadowheart sneered at Astarion. "No/NEVER!"
"Darlings, a little Astarion can only do you good."
"I WILL CUT OFF YOUR—" Ten meters away, an enormous rock smashed straight into the base of a column. The construct wobbled, tilting in their direction. "On second thought, we must survive."
Waterdeep continued intoning his spell, laying his fingers on the pod. Shadowheart took the mage's hand, and Lae'zel grabbed hers. After a moment's hesitation, Astarion touched the Githyanki's palm.
Then the crumbling hall faded into a spiraling, glowing whirlwind.
