Their mysterious visitors had left about as quickly and mysteriously as they had appeared, though Astarion's mind had quickly moved on as he'd heard about the ship vanishing from their skies sometime in the afternoon of the day after he had spent some time with their alien visitor.
Perhaps nothing would come of the encounter. Or perhaps he would gain something later. It wasn't worth dwelling on for now.
And life certainly quickly got busy afterwards. Dealing with the brain. Fighting against seemingly impossible odds.
Astarion supposed that they were lucky that the brain had disintegrated on its own rather than turn the whole of the Chionthar and the ocean immediately outside the harbor into Netherbrain soup. Of course his mind had quickly turned elsewhere- chased from his mind were thoughts of the damage in the city. Chased from his thoughts were the Netherbrain, the mind flayers, all he and his companions had experienced as he had been chased back into the shadows.
Huddling someplace dark where the sun couldn't reach him until the fall of night.
The worm was gone. The brain. A cult left in shambles much like the city. And he was left alone with a familiar hunger. But at least Cazador was gone. Being a vampire spawn still had its risks, but as safety went Astarion was probably safer than he had been in a long time. Eventually he thought he might follow his siblings into the Underdark.
But for now he remained.
His new nocturnal schedule was awful for staying informed though- the news that the ship and the strangers from the stars had returned didn't reach him until many hours after the ship's reappearance in the skies. Done reporting back to whatever civilization was out there, perhaps. Showing off the primitive folk. Returned for reasons yet unknown to Astarion.
On this particular night, he was seated in one of the booths at the back of the Elfsong- glad his favorite tavern had made it through the crisis without too much damage. He had a glass of wine in front of him, a folded broadsheet with news on the table, pushed to the side so that Astarion could read a book he'd brought along. Taverns really were the best way to listen in on gossip.
Plus it was nice to be able to sit around and do nothing besides looking pretty with no master, no crisis, and- somewhat sadly and a tad less nice- no companions causing mayhem around him.
no subject
Perhaps nothing would come of the encounter. Or perhaps he would gain something later. It wasn't worth dwelling on for now.
And life certainly quickly got busy afterwards. Dealing with the brain. Fighting against seemingly impossible odds.
Astarion supposed that they were lucky that the brain had disintegrated on its own rather than turn the whole of the Chionthar and the ocean immediately outside the harbor into Netherbrain soup. Of course his mind had quickly turned elsewhere- chased from his mind were thoughts of the damage in the city. Chased from his thoughts were the Netherbrain, the mind flayers, all he and his companions had experienced as he had been chased back into the shadows.
Huddling someplace dark where the sun couldn't reach him until the fall of night.
The worm was gone. The brain. A cult left in shambles much like the city. And he was left alone with a familiar hunger. But at least Cazador was gone. Being a vampire spawn still had its risks, but as safety went Astarion was probably safer than he had been in a long time. Eventually he thought he might follow his siblings into the Underdark.
But for now he remained.
His new nocturnal schedule was awful for staying informed though- the news that the ship and the strangers from the stars had returned didn't reach him until many hours after the ship's reappearance in the skies. Done reporting back to whatever civilization was out there, perhaps. Showing off the primitive folk. Returned for reasons yet unknown to Astarion.
On this particular night, he was seated in one of the booths at the back of the Elfsong- glad his favorite tavern had made it through the crisis without too much damage. He had a glass of wine in front of him, a folded broadsheet with news on the table, pushed to the side so that Astarion could read a book he'd brought along. Taverns really were the best way to listen in on gossip.
Plus it was nice to be able to sit around and do nothing besides looking pretty with no master, no crisis, and- somewhat sadly and a tad less nice- no companions causing mayhem around him.