Chapter Text
“The crew is all accounted for. We’re set and ready to go, captain Ravengard,” Karlach said with a shit-eating grin, buckling herself into the chair next to him.
“If you call me that again, I’ll send you to work for my father,” Wyll jokingly threatened. Karlach pretended to gasp and surrender, hands in the air.
Their ship’s intercom rang. They both stared at the blue call sign repeatedly vibrating on the ship’s windscreen. Wyll sighed and ordered the computer to open call lines. Best to get this over with.
A window popped up and widened to show a red-haired woman with golden adornments in her hair. Human disguise this time, Wyll noted. Seeing Mizora’s face on the intercom always left a sour note on his tongue.
“Wyll, darling, so good to see you! Whatever you’re doing, drop it. I have something far more important for you to do.” Her painted nails gesture into the air, pretending this was a friendly conversation, and not his boss making demands of him as always. “A journey to Mimas, one of Saturn’s icy moons, to pick something up. You’re close by, so it’s like a little gift! Easy money.”
“The Mars Rebellion is counting on our shipment,” Wyll pushed. “Let us head there first.”
Mizora laughed heartily. As if she’d let them take a month of travel out of the kindness of her heart. “Rebels have gone hungry for so long, a few weeks more won’t hurt them. My client insists on urgency, and I’ll not have him waiting. Unless you’re going to tell me no?” She pouted.
Wyll gritted his teeth. She knew he couldn’t.
“Such a good pet, that’s why I like you. Go to Mimas and look for a ship in orbit. It should be abandoned. Head inside and retrieve a cargo pod marked with this logo.”
The logo popped up next to her. A red moon, Wyll noted. A circle with droplets underneath. Blood moon.
“Abandoned? Why?” Wyll wondered. Ships, even small ones, were worth a lot for their parts. Abandoned ships never stayed abandoned for long.
“I don't like it when you ask me tedious questions, doll. Probably too expensive to repair. Return to my vacation home on Miranda to deliver the cargo to my client. You’ll be well financially compensated, of course.” She tossed her hair back. “And should you ask, there's more.”
“Quite kind of you. After we drop off the cargo, we’ll head to Mars right away,” Wyll said, pointedly ignoring her temptations for power. Again.
Mizora, clearly displeased, acted like she couldn’t care less, inspecting her nails. “Your loss, dear. Now, if you don’t complete this mission, I shall report the location of you and your little crew to the Earth’s government. Ta ta, pet!”
The call ended and Wyll let out a sigh of relief.
“I hear the Astral Sea is lovely this time of year,” Karlach said. Wyll snorted.
It was a running gag between the crew. Travel to another galaxy where Earth’s laws could not touch them, out of the clutches of Mizora and her ilk. But it posed a huge risk - a bunch of ragtag pirate nobodies starting over in a galaxy that looked down on outsiders with shady pasts. And their ship, the Tadpole, ran on duct tape and rusty nails already. It would not last the longest journey.
Still, he appreciated her trying to lift the mood. “Lae’zel would like that,” he noted.
“What would I like?” Speaking of the devil he didn't mind, Lae’zel marched into the cockpit. She may be the youngest, but you couldn’t tell from the way she armed herself to the teeth, a hefty gun slung around her shoulder and army knives in her boots. Wyll felt underdressed in his patched leather jacket compared to her.
“The Astral Sea. Or is it a galaxy too dangerous for you?” Karlach asked.
Lae’zel pondered the idea. “Prince Orpheus has successfully driven Vlaakith’s armies out towards the Material Plane, but there is no guarantee the githzerai would not consider me a traitor.”
“But you’re already a traitor to Vlaakith. How can you be a double traitor?” Karlach wondered.
“Mother Gith has taught us to be wary. I may know my own intentions, but others are not me. But come, let us leave. The journey to Mimas is far and the journey back even further.”
Wyll nodded. She was right. He gave the command for everyone to strap in for take-off. It would take a half week to reach Mimas. Days like these he wished he could afford the latest Warp drive, and that was every day.
This had better be worth it.
The ship was near invisible with its opaque black coating. It hovered near the dark side of the moon Mimas, thrice as large as the Tadpole and infinite times more intimidating. Through the window, Wyll read the silver letters on the hull. The Szarr.
“That’s an odd name,” Shadowheart remarked.
Karlach snorted. “I bet it’s the captain’s name. Gortash would also name ships after him, like the soggy toast git he is.”
“Did she say where we could find the cargo?” Gale asked.
“She never does,” Wyll said, prepping his weapon. He turned a metal handle around, checking for any damage. With the push of a button, the slender blade popped out, a red plasma-beam ready to cut. He had this blade for so long that even his nickname was based on it. Blade of the Final Frontiers.
Wyll shook himself out of it. This was not the time for a walk down memory lane. “Let’s do the usual. Split up, leave your comms open and keep your eyes peeled for a pod with a blood moon logo.”
Gale sighed. “Computer, oxygen level?”
“Oxygen levels inside and outside at zero percent,” a cheerful voice helpfully informed them.
“That rules out anyone alive from the original crew,” Shadowheart said, already grabbing her silver spacesuit. Unlike the ones from history museums, the suits were form-fitted and stretchy, allowing for excellent mobility. Almost no different from their clothes, were it not for the helmets. Long live technology, Wyll thought.
“Not scavengers. If you see any, tell them we’re only here for one thing and they can have the rest.” Wyll hoped that would be enough. Their previous encounters with scavengers left them with bruises and the other party with broken bones, but that was on a planet with plenty of air. He hoped the lack of oxygen deterred violence.
Suited up, they waited for the Tadpole to dock with the Szarr’s port. The ship was more cathedral than vehicle, spiked towers jutting out, massive arched windows covering every wall. Even the port was an ornate door, decorated with metal swirls that resembled long-thorned roses. Eerily similar to the European churches Wyll had seen on Earth.
“Sparkles, you’re with Wyll,” Karlach decided. “Forehead, Guns, let’s have a girl’s night out together, yeah?”
“Why am I Forehead?” Shadowheart complained. “At least call me Doc, or Needles, like the doctor in Star Treacle.” Ah, her favorite show. She only watched it every day.
“We’ll workshop it,” Wyll said but couldn’t hide his snicker. Shadowheart folded her arms. “Remember, first sign of danger, book it. No risks.”
“Aye aye!” they all chimed. He didn’t need to say it, but he always did.
They hopped over the dock, playing with the weightlessness of space - Lae’zel immediately chastising them - and Wyll glanced back at the Tadpole over his shoulder. It may not be as magnificent as the Szarr, but it was all theirs, dents and all. It resembled an Earth’s froggy tadpole, hence the name, and on the hull each of the crew added their own spray-painted flair. Shadowheart drew an elegant silver crescent moon, Karlach added some sick flames, Gale used his magic to place a perfectly symmetrical circle rune, Lae’zel painted a crude mindflayer head and Wyll did his best to add a mythical dragon in the middle of it all.
It was messy. It was art. It was unmistakably theirs.
When they arrived, Wyll took out his blade handle, reading to cut open the port's metal door. To all their surprise, the door opened up. Slowly, fighting what had to be years of rust, creaking something fierce. But a massive convenience still.
“Can't believe the tech still works. I can smell the age,” Karlach said, running her gloved hand on the archway before heading in.
“Built to last. Expensive,” Lae’zel noted. She already eyeballed the ship, ready to scrap it for parts. She was not the only one.
Yet, Wyll considered, it made less sense for it to be abandoned. And even less that there were no other ships busy salvaging it before they arrived.
Inside, the stench hit them all like nautiloids crash-landing on their faces. The walls and floors reeked of metal and rot, and Wyll cursed whoever didn't add a scent filter to their spacesuits. Multiple people must have died here, yet no trace of a single body. The long hallways were clean, reflecting what little light they have from the torches attached to their chests.
Wyll made the gesture and they split. Tried to get used to the stank, hard as it is.
In every hall, the same symbol came back, cast in silver and inlaid between the windows. A circular moon with droplets underneath. Beneath were statues of blindfolded gargoyles, their arms raised, to pray to the symbol. The light of flickering lanterns on the ceiling reflected upon them, making them impossible to miss.
“This is a cult symbol,” Shadowheart said through the comms, answering Wyll’s question.
Wyll almost asked if she was sure. But Shadowheart knew cult symbols best. An effective cult shows you every day who you belong to, she told him.
Damn Mizora, sending him into another cult ship. The only good that came from such a mission last time was Shadowheart. With luck, all the cultists are dead, because he did not want to deal with that bullshit again.
While Wyll discussed his thoughts over comms, Gale continuously took samples of the air or ship with a little tweezer and dropped them in the test tubes of his holopad.
“These are no ordinary cultists,” Gale stated and pointed at his holopad. “See these lines? Necromancy was used here, combined with transmutation magic.”
Wyll frowns. “Necromancy? But that has been outlawed in four out of five galaxies.”
“Illegal does not mean it doesn't happen, my friend. We need to be on our guard. Zealotry and forbidden magic are a potent mix. There might be something worse below the surface.”
Wyll could not retort that. Gale too knew that topic better than him.
The hallways wound on forever it felt, with no doors to be found. Something was not right,
“Wait,” Gale said. He cast a quick cantrip with a spin of his finger, then pushed his hand against the wall. A door shimmered into view and Wyll wanted to smack himself. Of course the doors were hidden. After seven years of missions, you'd think he'd know all the tricks a spaceship could harbor.
“Let's see if-”
The metal grid beneath his boots buckled and dropped down with a loud clunk, Wyll along with it. Both men gasped as Wyll vanished into a dark space.
The low gravity saved Wyll from a deadly fall but the smack his bottom made with the floor still left him dizzy. His torch flung itself off into the air and broke somewhere, leaving him without light. Hells damn it.
“Are you alright?” Gale asked, the silhouette of his head visible above the hole.
“What happened?” Karlach quickly followed up.
Wyll got up and rubbed his backside, pride more hurt than anything else. “I'm quite alright. The ship shows its age and I fell into a different room. I'll try to find my way out.”
“If you wait, I shall bring the rope,” Lae’zel said.
Wyll scanned the area. Though it was pitch black, the devil's sight blessing he received from Mizora allowed him to see objects nearby in monochrome colors. One of her useful gifts, as she would say. Wyll would gladly trade it for her never contacting him again.
He found barrels, boxes and crates with nothing in them. But when he pushed a crate away, he found a pod, taller than him. One with a large blood moon drawn on the lower end of the glass.
Wyll inspected it up close. He had assumed the symbol was drawn on with paint of some kind. But the smell was unmistakably metallic. Blood. Wyll made a face. What kind of client were they working for?
“Good news everyone. I have found the pod.”
“Oh thank fuck, let's get out of here, this place gives me the creeps!” Karlach said.
“Let's not be too hasty, there are plenty of parts we can use for our ship,” Shadowheart added and Wyll could hear Lae’zel banging her hammer against metal.
“Can we get Wyll and the pod out first?” Gale snapped. “The sooner I get back, the sooner I can study these magic anomalies and you can continue your tomb raiding.”
Wyll chuckled as his friends repeated the same old arguments. His hands roamed over the pod. Smooth and oval, very unlike the rest of the ship. Like all escape pods, they were shaped like bullets so when launched they’d travel far in case the ship exploded. This one was quite big and heavy, which worried Wyll. If they couldn’t find a way out that wasn’t a rope through a hole, this would be a struggle.
Wyll tried to peer inside. He thought the glass opaque, but when he pressed his face against the glass, he could make out pale humanoid features. Shit, Wyll thought, his eyes widening. Was there a person inside?
He told Mizora. No trafficking of any kind. She agreed that would not let him trade anyone with a pulse. For her to go back on her word made him seethe.
He patted his pockets. He had an emergency pocket breather, which was good. Gale didn’t measure any pressure difference inside this ship compared to the tadpole, so this would do until they could fetch another suit.
Only Mizora wouldn’t be pleased with opening the ‘cargo’.
Wyll only hesitated for a second before searching the pod. On the side, almost hidden by the curves, laid two buttons. He pressed one and nothing happened. He pressed the other.
With a hiss, the pod opened, releasing warm fog all around. Wyll did not expect a guttural scream, one that sounded on-going, from the figure that launched itself upward. They clung to the pod’s edge with both hands, red eyes as tiny as the furthest stars. A pale man, an elf with white wild curls and a pale thin frame with the ribs too clearly defined.
The pale elf wore nothing but a tight collar that pressed into his skin. Black, with white letters threaded in them. Astarion.
“Astarion?” Wyll gently spoke. The handsome elf turned to face him and started to shake. Wyll held out one hand without touching him. “I have a breather, I-”
Astarion jumped up with unnatural dexterity, his toes turning into claws, holding the pod’s edge. He hissed, revealing long fangs that startled Wyll and made him stumble backwards. Astarion’s face contorted along with his limbs, bones cracking as they bent and grew, his skin stretching out so far it had to be painful. Soon there was no elf in front of Wyll, but a monstrous humanoid-bat, larger than the pod could ever contain.
Wyll had heard of them but never seen one before.
Vespertilio Mortovivente.
Vampire.
The monstrous Astarion stepped down, raising his wings to make himself even bigger, hissing louder. Wyll bent down, but didn’t run away. There was no point - Astarion would be on him in a blink.
“It’s okay!” he called out, trying to be heard over the hissing. “It’s alright. I’m not here to hurt you. I must have scared you, didn’t I?”
Astarion snarled but remained where he was.
“Wyll, what are you doing?” Gale yelled from above, his voice echoing.
“Wyll, what’s going on?” Shadowheart asked over the comms. He ignored them.
He tried again, showing open palms to the beast. “You’re hungry, aren’t you? You must have been in that pod for a long time. It’s okay. You can come with me. Let me help you.”
If anyone was with him, they’d call him insane. Batshit insane even. Because that was what he was going to turn into, devoured by a bat and then turned into its shit. But despite the hissing and baring of teeth, Astarion didn’t jump forward, didn’t come closer. He kept flapping his wings, despite being able to easily overpower an average human like him.
And somehow, Astarion’s flapping became less erratic and his beady red eyes stopped staring, darting from him to the wall.
“Let me help you,” Wyll repeated, taking the smallest step towards him. “You don't have to suffer anymore.”
Another ear-piercing screech nearly tore through his ear-drums, causing the ship to vibrate. And it did not come from Astarion, but from deep in the belly of the ship, below Wyll’s feet.
“Shit! Something woke up in here!” Karlach yelled. “Hang on Wyll, we're rushing!”
“No, get out of here!” Wyll yelled, and waved to Gale above. “You're sitting ducks!”
“And you aren't? Gods, Wyll-” Gale started but loud, dull bashing against a nearby door or wall interrupted him. He got up and fled, cursing the star pantheon as a whole.
Good, Wyll thought. With everyone safe, he could hide here as long as Astarion didn't reveal his location. The bat Astarion watched the walls with great interest as the other screeches became louder.
That's when something burst through the wall behind him. Wyll flung himself forward, covering his head to avoid the flying debris. He rolled onto his back to find there was another vampire. However, this one looked nothing like Astarion. One wing had grown too big, tore itself apart and long spiky bones protruded where they shouldn't. One leg was bent the wrong way and it had five small eyes across its whole face. When it tried to fly forward, it stumbled, flailing and screaming.
Upon seeing Wyll, it started to drool, big globs gushing past its chin, and clawed itself forward with its mouth wide open, showing multitudes of deformed fangs.
“Shit!” Wyll jumped up and tried to find a door. The space between the creature and him narrowed within moments.
Just as the creature hooked its wing-claw around Wyll's ankle and dragged him down, Astarion slammed himself on the intruder, digging all his claws deep in the back and shoulders of this new creature. The creature yowled, releasing Wyll to fight back, but Astarion easily dodged its malformed wings.
Wyll pushed himself against the wall. Astarion’s fangs grew impossibly large and plunged down, the other struggling and wailing in vain. Wyll watched as Astarion drank and drank, black blood slowly leaking out of his mouth and on top of the creature, who stopped struggling, the light dim in its many eyes. And when finally Astarion had his fill, he pulled out and licked his long bloody fangs.
He should be afraid, Wyll knew. Only a few steps from him was a beast that could kill him without remorse. But he remembered the scream and the frightened look from the man that was inside this monster, mere moments ago.
Father always said he was naive.
More screams in the depths. Wyll heard scratches, grunts and screams coming closer. This ship was not abandoned at all. Of course Mizora lied.
Gale’s voice rang into his ears. “Stay where you are Wyll, Lae’zel is going to break open the wall beside you.”
“I hear you,” Wyll responded. He looked at Astarion and held a hand out, beckoning him closer like a street cat.
“Come with me,” he tried one last time. “We have a ship, you can join us. You’re not alone.”
The great bat Astarion cocked his head, as if he were now the one to call him crazy.
“Htak'a!” Wyll heard, and soon Lae’zel blasted the wall open with her plasma cannon. The noise made Astarion jump, becoming airborne. When Lae’zel and Karlach peaked their heads through the opening, their torches shining in, Astarion flew at them with great speed. He moved so fast, he was a blur as he passed over their heads, vanishing into the hallway.
“Holy fucking shitballs!” Karlach yelled as they ducked. “What the fuck was that?”
Lae’zel eyed the dead bloody creature beside Wyll with great concern. Its back ripped open, a gorey feast. “Are you injured?” she asked him.
“No, I’m perfectly fine. Astarion saved me,” Wyll said, getting up.
“Who?” Lae’zel asked, but got interrupted by Gale’s screams.
“By Mystra’s veils, there is a whole army of monsters climbing out from the decks below towards us!”
The trio wasted no time running back to the Tadpole. Gale wasn’t kidding - the ship shook from the movement of what felt like a thousand footsteps. The walls cracked and hundreds of beady red eyes glared at them, claws poking out attempting to get through to take a swipe. He kept a look out for Astarion, who was nowhere to be found.
After a long sprint, they saw the dock, with Shadowheart and Gale on it. Gale had erected a magical barrier while Shadowheart used her laser gun to shoot the beings trying to jump on the Tadpole. Every shot had them flying back to the Szarr, only to try again, never falling. There were so many, Wyll noted, all like the creature that tried to eat him. Broken wings or lop-sided faces, enlarged feet or ingrown claws. All malformed vampires that could barely move, barely fly, not one like the other. None of them like Astarion.
A mad dash over the dock ensued. Lae’zel blasted one’s stomach into orbit, and to their dismay the vampire flew off with a large gaping chest cavity.
What magic is this?
When everyone was inside, Wyll ordered the computer to initiate launch lest they get overrun. The dock retracted itself. As the Tadpole slowly drifted away from the Szarr, the monsters flew back to the ship that was their lonely home. Wyll couldn’t help the guilty pang in his chest as he stared at them through the ship’s windows.
“Is anyone harmed? Wyll?” Shadowheart grabbed everyone’s arms to inspect their uniforms for breakage.
“I’m fine, I swear, I’m fine,” Wyll said as the adrenaline in him subsided. They failed to pick up the cargo. Mizora was going to be furious.
“Warning,” the computer called out. “Irregular lifeform detected on board.”
A holographic screen projected in the center of the ship. They all saw a large bat flying into their small storage bay, before squeezing underneath a pile of Mars-bound crates.
Astarion, Wyll thought happily.
“Aw fuck!” Karlach yelled out loud.
It took Wyll everything he had to convince Karlach not to grab her gun-axe and barge into their bay to take out Astarion.
“He is the cargo. I swear, he is. I opened the pod and he was in it,” he admitted.
“You opened the pod by accident?” Lae’zel asked, giving him an out. But Wyll kinda smiled, kinda shrugged, because he couldn’t lie to his friends.
“I asked him to join us.”
“Wyll!” Karlach exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “What were you thinking? What if he eats all the food for Mars?”
“He is a vampire. He only drinks blood,” Gale pointed out.
Shadowheart tugged at her braid in thought. “That’s good, right? We can keep him locked in there until we arrive on Miranda.”
A sound plan, except it didn’t sit right with Wyll. “When I first saw him, he was an elf, like any other. He only transformed because he was afraid. I want to give him a chance.”
Lae’zel scoffed. “A chance of what? Drinking us dry?”
It was a good question. Wyll mulled it over. “To be himself.”
Karlach sighed. “Wyll… You know this is a terrible idea, yeah? Even if that monster is a person, he’s still part of our mission to get him to Mizora so we can get paid. You can’t get attached.”
“He’s already attached,” Lae’zel guessed correctly. Wyll felt punched to the chest.
“Aren’t you curious why he was in that infested ship, or why we had to pick him up? I think that once he calms down, he can tell us,” Wyll insisted. “You know I’d do the same for all of you.”
That got through to them. They glanced at each other, their arguments still on their tongues.
Karlach sighed. “Fine. But at the first sign of you becoming vampire food, I’m telling the computer to gas you both to sleep and getting you out.”
Fair enough, Wyll mused. While Karlach babysat him, Lae’zel went to install the new parts she managed to scrap. Gale and Shadowheart busied themselves with the samples of magic from the ship. It might lead nowhere, but they had two weeks to burn, so there was no harm in divulging curiosity.
When he entered the bay, doors sliding closed behind him, he was met with oppressive silence. Vampires didn't need to breathe, he realized, and should have realized when he didn't immediately shove his pocket breather on Astarion. The only hint that Astarion was in the room was a pile of fallen crates stacked on each other.
Wyll sunk down to peer into the gap. A pair of glowing red eyes peered back.
“Hey,” he attempted. “I'm glad you came aboard. We won't hurt you, I promise.”
Maybe he had glanced at Karlach behind the window a few too many times, because Astarion started to hiss. Wyll groaned. This would have been easier with some blood. But when he asked Shadowheart for a blood bag, she glared at him like he’d asked her for the Netherese crown.
Exhausted from their narrow escape earlier, he decided to leave Astarion with pain in his heart. Maybe sleep would give him fresh ideas.
The next day he came right after breakfast. He sat down, made himself comfortable and decided to treat Astarion as the person he was.
“Sorry for being rude, we haven't introduced ourselves. I'm Wyll. And well…” Wyll leaned against the wall. He waved at the paint-stained corners. The ceiling lamps that blacked out on occasion. The chipped and scratched floors. The home he had come to know and love. “You’re on the Tadpole. Our ship. We had it since Karlach and I stole it from the Imperial Martian Fleet.”
He chuckled, recalling warm memories. “I had just met Karlach and she told me she wanted out from the army she had been sold into. Lucky for her, I’ve gotten very good at shipjacking. You’d like her, she never keeps secrets and is a force to be reckoned with in battle. There’s no one else I trust as my first mate.”
Karlach smiled through the glass. Astarion didn't move, but stopped hissing which Wyll considered a win. A ‘wyn’, if you will, he'd say and make his crew groan.
“There’s Lae’zel. Born and raised to fight for Lich-Queen Vlaakith. We found her on a broken satellite around Venus. She demanded we bring her to the nearest githyanki outpost. The shock on all of our faces when they called her a traitor! Simply because she was the only survivor of her unit. Took a lot out of her to unlearn her whole life, but she's more open-minded than a galaxy guardian. The only gunner I trust not to shoot me in the back.” He winked, but Astarion might not have seen it. Or cared.
“Let’s see… Gale, of course. Absolutely brilliant, that man. One of the best techno-scholars in the most expensive university you'll find in this galaxy. He was this close to unlocking the hidden magicks of Karsus for his goddess Mystra. Unfortunately, also quite forbidden. When they removed his title and locked him up, Mystra wouldn't come to aid. But we happened by chance to see the injustice unfold as he was escorted to a prison colony, and whisked him away.”
Wyll hugged his knees. It was quite cold on the floor, and he hoped vampires didn't need to stay warm.
“Shadowheart joined us last. We had to go to Pluto, to retrieve some kind of artifact. I knew Pluto had been conquered by the followers of Shar, but I had no idea how bad it was. Poor Shadowheart was an initiate who had to choose; slaughter her parents or a celestial being.” Wyll stroked his stubble. Was it right to detail such grim circumstances to Astarion, already afraid of everything? “No one should have to go through that. Shadowheart was loyal, so why? We got her out, but her parents sacrificed themselves to stop the Sharites from following. It was one of the worst missions I’ve ever done.”
Wyll touched his stone eye. Mizora was furious at them. At him. But instead of jail time like he expected, she took his eye. The pain was indescribable - her claws marked his skin forever - but he wouldn’t have done anything different.
“Nowadays, she keeps us all alive and tells us off for being reckless,” he chuckled, trying to lift the mood. “So as you can see, we’re a bunch of misfits that have had our troubles. One day, you should tell me your story.”
Silence was all he got. His body reminded him he was way past due lunch and Wyll surrendered another day.
Karlach opened the door for him. “You didn't talk about yourself,” she said.
“It's not that interesting,” Wyll lied. Karlach didn't push him.
After a few days of stares and getting nowhere, Shadowheart finally gave him a blood bag. She claimed it to be a lapse of sanity, but Wyll knew she liked the idea of someone going hungry as little as he did.
The reaction he got when he stepped into the cargo bay was immediate. The boxes above Astarion shifted and a bat snoot sniffed the air fiercely. Some may have thought it terrifying but Wyll considered it adorable.
He placed it close to the crates and took a few steps back. Karlach watched him, tense.
The crates flew and fell with explosive violence as Astarion shot out. Wyll had forgotten how big his bat form was, easily towering over him with closed wings. He dove for the blood bag, punctured it, and drank greedily. This time, he did not let a single drop spill, holding the bag up so any leakage poured straight into its mouth.
As he drank, he slowly changed. Flesh retracted and bones broke themselves again into a shape Wyll knew. After what had to be an excruciating transformation, what was left was the pale elf he remembered, panting and shivering. Without clothes, Wyll could see how taut the skin was around his bones, paired with an incredible amount of bruises and scars. The worst ones were on his back, shaped in a circle. Carved in deliberately.
Wyll’s blood boiled.
He didn’t think when he took off his jacket, walked to Astarion and covered him. It startled the vampire, who jolted backwards.
“Sorry, sorry,” Wyll said, trying to make himself less threatening by crouching. “How are you feeling? I can bring some clothes-”
Barely did he speak before Astarion burrowed himself back underneath the crates, taking his jacket along, showing incredible strength for someone his stature. Wyll swore for his carelessness.
But he had made a bit of progress.
He wasn’t sure if Astarion was more beast than man, regardless of his appearance. An inkling of doubt entered his mind, telling him this was a waste of time - he had a week left and he wasn't getting anywhere fast.
He rubbed his wrist. Perhaps it was time to do something drastic.