Astarion and I hit the road bright and early that morning, continuing where we left off the day before. From there, we follow the road up and out of the nautaloid crash site, putting distance between us and that sprawling landscape of debris. And thank the stars for that! I breathe a sigh of relief as that burning hell-scape disappears beneath the foot of the hill, and off into the distance, closing that little chapter of my journey behind me. It will not be missed.
As we forge ahead, looking for civilization, I drink in the beauty of the nature around me. It's so peaceful. So calming. A far cry from the dreams of terror that haunt me, and from the red fantasies that consume my mind. I wish that I could hold this moment in my mind forever, but in an instant, the peace is destroyed when Astarion stops so suddenly I nearly ram into his back.
"What in the hells?" I gasp under my breath.
"I see something over there," he points to a cliff face up ahead. "What's that?"
I step forward, squinting my eyes to peer past the hazy glow of the morning sun, and then I see it too. A sigil. A swirling, purple vortex of magic, the center of it a black void like a portal, twisting unsteadily along the rocks.
"What's going on with that rune?" I ponder, more curious than afraid. "It looks unstable somehow."
"Careful," Astarion cautions. "That doesn't look safe."
But I don't heed his warning. Instead, I approach the sigil on the stone. Magic glitters and swirls from it erratically, as if malfunctioning. It looks slightly dangerous. I should probably leave it alone. But for some reason, I reach out to touch the sigil.
"By the hells, woman," Astarion groans in exasperation. "Must you touch every questionable looking thing you come across?"
I don't have time to respond, before a disembodied hand suddenly juts out from the center of the sigil, reaching out as if looking for something to grab onto. Then a voice, which I presume belongs to the body that the hand is attached to, speaks.
"A hand? Anyone?"
I raise an eyebrow suspiciously. "Who are you?"
"Oh, just your average traveler stuck between realms," the voice says facetiously. "Pull me out and we'll get properly introduced."
I know I should grab the hand, and help pull this strange man out of the sigil that he seems to be trapped in. But dark fantasies cloud my mind again - the satisfaction of hacking off the hand, and listening to its owner's melodious cries of agony while their blood and viscera splatters to the earth in rich, red, globular chunks.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Astarion asks impatiently. "We don't have all day. Are you going to rescue this man or not? I don't care either way, but we don't have time for contemplation."
I shake my head violently, pushing away the dark thoughts, ignoring the urge to maim. I reach out, grab the hand firmly and pull. And I pull with all my might. The person attached the arm is stuck fast, whatever magic is going awry, it's strong. But I keep pulling.
"That's it!" the disembodied voice encourages. "Go on, keep pulling!"
"Put your back into it, darling," Astarion cheers from the sidelines, pretending to be helpful but of course not offering an ounce of real assistance. "You've got this!"
I roll my eyes and keep pulling. I dig my heels into the dirt, square my shoulders, breathe in deep, and with the rest of the strength that I can muster from the core of my being, I pull. The hand finally breaks free, and along with it, the body its attached to.
"Ooft!" The man grunts, as he flies out of the sigil, sails through the air, and lands with a hard thud on the ground at my feet. It didn't sound like a pleasant landing, but he recovers quickly, clamoring to his feet.
He's a wizard alright. Or some kind of user of magic, although from the look of him, I venture to guess that he's a wizard. He has the same, self-important air about him that all wizards seem to exude. He seems human, just like me, but who knows with magic users? He looks rather unassuming for a wizard, however. His shoulder-length brown hair is smoothed back, and his beard is nicely trimmed. His earlobes are adorned with a pair of silver earrings with images that resemble stars, and his body is draped in a purple robe.
"Hello," he says awkwardly, as if that entire thing that happened just now did not, in fact, happen. "I'm Gale of Waterdeep. Apologies, I'm usually better at this."
"At introductions?" I joke bitingly, folding my arms across my chest.
"At magic." He doesn't sound amused by my humor. Not that it was meant to be funny. "Say, but I know you, don't I?" He goes on. "In a manner of speaking. You were on the nautiloid as well."
"Yeah, but nevermind the nautiloid," I say. "How did you get stuck in that stone?"
"Well, I don't know what transpired exactly," he explains. "But the ship broke into pieces and I suddenly found myself in free-fall. As I was plummeting to certain death, I spied a glimmer quite near where I estimated my body to impact with less-than-savory propulsion. Recognizing this glimmer to be magical in nature, I reached out to it with a Weaving of words and found myself on the other side as it were. How about you? How did you survive the fall?"
I remember the strange magic that caught me right before I hit the ground. But I don't really know how to explain it. I don't even know if I want to explain it, because the explanation will lead to more questions that I am neither willing nor able to answer. So instead, I answer simply. "To be honest, I haven't a clue."
"Fair enough," Gale replies. "But even so, I have the unfortunate suspicion that your survival is still very much in jeopardy. Back on the ship, you too were on the receiving end of a rather unwelcome insertion in the ocular region, were you not?"
"Couldn't have phrased it more repellently myself," I nod.
"No use sugarcoating it, is there?" Gale agrees. "The insertee we speak of, this parasite - are you aware that after a period of excruciating gestation, it will turn us into mind flayers?"
"I mean, I'm not well versed in the details, but I think I have the gist of it," I reply.
"It's a process known as ceremorphisis," Gale explains. "And let me assure you: it is to be avoided. You don't happen to be a cleric, by any chance, do you? A doctor? Surgeon? Uncannily adroit with a knitting needle?"
"Honestly, I was going to ask you the same question," I say plainly.
"Then it looks like were both starved for answers," Gale sighs. "We're most certainly going to need a healer, and soon too. How about we lend each other a helping hand once more and look for a healer together?"
It would be useful to have more people on our side - more people like us, infected with the parasite. I glance over my shoulder at Astarion, making sure he's okay with an addition to our party as well.
"I suppose it couldn't hurt," the elf responds to the pleading look in my eyes, sounding more exasperated than anything.
"Alright then, sounds like a plan," I say. "You're welcome to join us."
"Most excellent," Gale replies excitedly. "A parasite shared is a parasite halved. Or something to that effect. Oh! But before you think you're about to embark on a journey with a most ill-mannered a man: thank you for pulling me out of that stone." He reaches out and takes my hand in a brief, firm handshake. "It was an act of foresighted kindness I assure you, for I have the feeling ample opportunities will present themselves for me to return the favor."
"Uh... don't mention it..."
---
"So, we've picked up a wizard who managed to get stuck in his own portal?" Astarion remarks to me after we've commenced our journey along the trodden, dirt path. "Hardly a promising introduction."
"I'm right here, you know," Gale complains within earshot. "And you can't tell me you wouldn't have done a better job if you had been put in my position. A brand new host to a parasite, hurdling a million miles an hour toward your demise, having mere seconds to conjure up a spell on the spot to save your life."
"I don't know about that," Astarion replies haughtily. "I feel as though a wizard should have his instincts, just like everyone else. Only with... magic."
"Speaking of," Gale says, turning to me. "You're not versed in magic, are you?"
"Not really," I reply blandly, figuring it was obvious enough that he shouldn't even have to inquire. "Why do you ask?"
"No matter to worry the unlettered over. If you meet any elder wizards, let me know. There is a matter I'd like to seek advice on from a master."
Yep... he's a wizard alright, and he sounds a little full of himself. Even if it isn't his intention, his words hit me wrong. I can't help but feel as though he might be looking down on me for not being a magic user myself. But then again, I am a wretched thing, who deserves looking-down-on.
The rest of our journey is continued mostly in silence. The three of us strangers, not knowing if we can trust each other, but at the same time needing to rely on each other in order to get through our ordeal. The ultimate cosmic irony. I only have to wonder what else awaits us on our travels ahead.