Chapter Text
You look around at the group before you, standing in the ruins of some long-abandoned building, the steady red glow of hell’s burning skies leaking in through the broken windows. Wyll is smiling at you, and Shadowheart watches you warily. Halsin stands still and stoic as ever, arms crossed over his barrel of a chest, but you think you can see a glint of satisfaction in his expression. You hear a buzz of arcane energy behind you as Gale steps through the portal, which then disappears with a resonant hum. You notice those missing, too. No Jaheira, no Minsc, no Lae’zel, although the latter is hardly a surprise - you doubt her fight on the Astral Plane gives her much time off for happy little reunions.
“So… what in the literal hells is going on?” you ask. “Where are we? Why are we here? How did you know to get me out? What is this—“ You reach for the unknown something perched on your head, but freeze when every one of your companions shouts some variant of ‘no!’ at you.
“You obviously have a lot of questions, and we can answer most of them, but it is important - nay, imperative - that you do not take that circlet off.”
“Noted, but why? What is it? What does it do?”
“It’s a rather ingenious combination of gith and illithid psionic magic. It should free you from Astarion’s control. We got the idea from our old stowaways,” says Gale, tapping the side of his head with a finger. “Astarion was freed from Cazador’s compulsions once he was tadpoled, wasn’t he? We figured this would work well enough with a bit of tweaking, even against an ascended vampire. Some of it was guesswork, of course - there’s not exactly any literature on the effects of ascension—“
“You created this?” you ask, interrupting Gale before he can get too lost in the technicalities. He looks mildly annoyed at either the interruption or the question itself, and the expression is so familiar to you from your days of travelling together that you can’t help but find it incredibly endearing.
“Alas, no. I did not. Artificing has never been my favoured method of channelling the Weave. Your circlet was a joint creation of Roland and Lae’zel, who had guidance from a var'ith'n she’d recruited in her crusade on the Astral Plane. Although, let me assure you, my talents have been put hard to work on other equally important projects.”
“I’m sure,” you say, grinning. You decide not to mention the fact that you’re not sure you understood half of what he just said. “I just— I’m overwhelmed. This is so much to process. Where are we?”
“Avernus,” says Wyll, “but about as far from the front lines of the Blood War as we could manage. Apparently, the portal in The Devil’s Fee used to lead straight to Raphael’s domain, but he’s moved it since we gave him the Crown. I'm not sure what this place used to be - the whole realm is covered with ruins like this now.”
His voice is so smooth and level that the news that you are within any distance of the front lines of the Blood War seems somehow less shocking than it probably should. It may speak to how miserable you were before, but the concept of being close to the greatest battle between two of the most evil forces known to exist isn't even particularly horrifying to you.
“To answer your earlier question,” adds Halsin, “we've known we had to get you out of Astarion's grip since he used his control over you for his own entertainment at your wedding. The fact he then cut you off from us entirely, coupled with what Gale saw in his occasional glimpses of you, only filled us with greater concern. But… he is not an easy man to move against. What he lacks in tactical thinking he more than makes up for in ruthlessness, viciousness, and an utter disregard for any life other than yours or his own. Still, we must all beg your forgiveness that it has taken us so long to get you out.”
You shake your head, about to object to his apology, but you are interrupted.
“And as for why we're here,” says Shadowheart, "I would have thought that's obvious. We're here to kill an ascended vampire.”