Chapter Text
Aguefort Academy was built with one system in mind. Six to seven members, not typically more. A healer, a tank, someone with intelligence, someone with charisma, someone with dexterity. Someone with personality wasn’t exactly required- Charisma could just be knowing when to keep your mouth shut. This is why Astarion thought it would be easy to slip into the background of a party.
Everyone would remember a boastful bard or a strong barbarian- Especially if they were on the Bloodrush team, like most barbarians. But nobody would remember or miss a party made of obscurity. Nobody would recognize a rogue who’d lost his party so early on in the year- if only the party were as shut in as he was.
Preparing his rogue training before Cazador was the best decision Astarion ever made. He couldn’t remember a second of it, as much as he tried to strain his mind to recall whether it was a meeting in an office or a box checked on paper. Part of him wanted to know why he used to want to be a rogue.
Now it was for survival. Now it was of importance. He slipped into Aguefort Adventuring Academy before the sun fully rose and the gates fully opened. He saw the crowd of other rogues who’d followed this tradition, thankfully he’d kept this memory.
Have a great summer! (3345 - 555 - 555 ) in case you get a crystal!
P.S.: If you’re going to be a rogue, show up early on Freshman Year. The first one to find the rogue teacher can graduate early. Good luck! - :) Sebastian
Graduation was something dangled over Astarions head often, unachievable. An escape. Not that Cazador would ever let him get out.
He was perfect at bringing children to Cazador. Perfect at finding friendless and forgettable faces who were so happy to be greeted with kindness that they’d follow him anywhere.
Astarion wiped a bead of sweat from his cheek as he waited in the shadows of the school building, watching the swarms of rogues pass him. These students weren’t his prey, a party rarely needed two rogues. If they had two, it would be an oddity. It might draw attention. Attention would make them harder to disappear.
That’s the mistake Astarion had made last time. His heart beat faster in his chest as he grounded himself.
“There!” A student's voice broke him out of his trance. Black hair, larger frame. Glasses that didn’t suit his face shape at all. A black cloak of shadows covered his shoulders, similar to the one that kept Astarion safe from the sun’s rays. This student wasn’t a vampire though.
His family probably has money. Astarion frowned. Buying a shadow-cloak just to look cool. What a weirdo. “There! There’s footsteps.”
“That’s not footsteps.” Another rogue scoffed, a drow woman with light hair and purple-gray skin. She held herself higher than most of the rogues around her, almost positioned with the stance of a fighter. Popular. Oh, that’s great. Astarion thought. Yes please, let all these rogues have SO much personality. I’m sure they all have friends and adventuring parties already picked out and ready to go. Their yearbooks must be filled with numbers. “It’s a code.” She scoffed. “Look. The lines on the boots aren’t the same. It’s a pattern. Maybe she left it behind? Is it a cipher?”
A sophom*ore rogue stepped forward, craning his neck. “Mhm. Definitely a code of some sort.” He pulled out his crystal, and Astarion shrunk back from the light reflecting off of it instinctively.
Not the sun, dumbass! But it was too late, his flinch had given his position away to most of the other rogues. “Oh, hello.” A halfling beside him gave him a wave. Astarion rolled his eyes before awkwardly waving back.
I hate this school.
He didn’t notice when the hood was taken down behind him, he hardly noticed until he felt the burning, flaying hot rays of the sun crashing down on his unprotected forehead. And he fell to his knees. A flicker of dark light trailed above him as if a void had opened to take him to sleep. Or possibly the sun burning through his retinas.
Lae’zel ended up walking. Ta’kel had unfortunately, like most Githyanki adults, given part of himself to the mortal realm. He’d taken a job at a facility known as ‘Septem-XI’, a dispensary of frozen beverages and cheap snack food. She’d never expected her creche-mate to abandon her on the day of her most need to work, rather than bring her to the academy. Walking was her best option not to disgrace herself and Pah’zel.
Pah’zel and Ta’kel had left their required schooling two years before Lae’zel entered the Academy. Unlike most Githyanki, who are born within a several-month period of each other, Lae’zel was laid late. She was expected to hatch only a year later than her siblings, but something was wrong.
Ta’kel called her ‘runt’ often. The nickname was unfortunately accurate, Lae’zel was forced to consider as she huffed in an attempt to keep up with the road in front of her. She was shorter than most Githyanki, which meant that she had to use her fury to drive her farther in combat to make up for her lack of height. She let one thought guide her, her hand moving through the face of her opponent on her first day at the academy. The satisfying crunch of one's face being turned so quickly that bones snap in and out of place.
She would become known for that action. She could feel it. Electric, the excitement of merely getting the opportunity to prove herself. Lae’zel picked up her speed, going from a march to a dead sprint.
The githyanki would not give an enemy a chance of reaching a hand down to them. Pah’zel had stressed to her how these students used debts, owing each other, favors. Assert yourself first.
When Lae’zel arrived at the gates, she could hear the first bell ringing. Her shoulders fell in rhythm with her panting breaths. My queen. She cursed internally. Students had already started to enter other classes, if she struck now, there would be no audience to attend it.
It would be seen as a puny move.
She did not need to take such low attacks. Instead, she bravely opened her backpack and unfolded a paper ‘schedule’ handed to her on orientation.
‘Simple Melee Weapon Proficiency - First Period - Room 013 - P. Cliffbreaker / C. Jones’
Lae’zel scoffed. Simple? They thought so low of her already? She’d prove them wrong. She slammed the door open as she walked in, her eyes scanning the crowd of students for the most intimidating foe.
“...Right then, take a seat?” A stone-faced goliath- or maybe Genasi, man gestured towards a semi-circle of cafeteria chairs laid out in the center of the gym room. Lae’zel navigated to an empty one and examined the crowd.
And many faces stared back at her.
Too many. They weren’t challenging her in battle, or calling her weak, but their expressions showed they understood some weakness of hers she had failed to hide upon her arrival. They whispered.
I’ll prove them wrong. Lae’zel felt heat race up her arms as she found it impossible to focus on what the teacher- Who had now written his name on the board as ‘Porter’ -was saying.
Until finally the word ‘Safety’ came into focus before everything else.
Her lips curled. They thought the students weak, no more even-footed than hatchlings. He was going over how to make sure a sword was properly blunted before training with it, and how only the weapons within the classroom were to be used within the classroom, the difference between adventuring weapons and sparring lessons. Some sharp weapons would be used apparently, but they were expected to stop once an enemy had been disarmed or wounded in a way that required treatment.
They wouldn’t be fighting at all- oh no, they’d be learning. Like their minds were still soft. Lae’zel couldn’t hold back a ‘tch’.
“Do you have something to add?” He invited comment, as the woman standing beside him started handing out forms. Lae’zel froze.
She knew what to say. She knew how to challenge him, but suddenly she became aware that those beside her were enemies in more forms than one. “No.” She said carefully, narrowing her eyes distrustfully.
Porter made a meaningless dismissive gesture. “...Okay. Moving on, Ms. Jones will be handing out contact forms. Please have these signed and turned in by tomorrow. And if you are going to forge them, be aware that Aguefort has security cameras. So just be mindful not to do it during school hours, alright?” The stone man turned his back to Lae’zel to write something on a board. It took all of Lae’zel’s restraint not to retrieve the dagger from her backpack and bury it into his back for daring to draw attention to her scoff. She could feel eyes burning into her at all sides. Then, she spotted him. A worthy opponent.
Tall, one-eye, obviously glancing in her direction and then trying to hide it when she refocused her attention on him. He pretended not to notice her staring in his direction, and her lip curled. To not even grant her the respect of a glance of acknowledgment. When sparring started, she would choose him. And she would destroy him in the smallest amount of moves.
His loss would be embarrassing, this human who dared to look at her with that expression.
Shut up. Please shut up.
Porter kept droning on and on and on-
Are you there?
Wyll forced his focus onto the clock in the front of the room, rather than having his eyes darting around obviously.
Someone had noticed him, and now he would do anything but meet her gaze. He had no idea what her problem was, but he already had one-
Wyllyam.
Wyll pretended not to notice the unwelcome presence in his mind.
Your quarry nears. You will have your chance sooner than you might think.
A difficult part of having a demon in your mind was the inability to think of anything but the demon in your mind. Even though Wyll refused to acknowledge Mizora, his thoughts acted against him. He immediately started picturing the smiling tiefling girl from the projection. She looked strong.
She’ll die tonight, won’t she?
By your hand.
But if I didn’t kill her, she’d die anyway, wouldn’t she?
I cannot predict alternate futures. I can say as things are heading, she could either die by your blade or suffer a long and painful living.
What if I don’t take her life?
As per our contract, you’ll find yourself a Lemure.
Wyll unconsciously considered that for a long moment, frowning. The fuzzy gray animals with long tails- what did they call them, prehensile? Living the life of an animal would be horrific, he couldn’t imagine his father's reaction to him going missing. Unconsciously, his hands gripped the fabric of his pants.
Not the primate. The demon.
Wyll blinked. Okay. A demon, that was worse. Of Wyll’s regrets, one of the largest was agreeing to the pact without reading every underlined word. He had grown accustomed to swiping ‘agree all’ to most crystal updates and magical terms and pacts, and this was the one he needed to have paid attention to. And it alluded him.
He gave in.
What does that look like?
Screams. Flames on the side of his face. A sharp pain in his arms as he could feel them warping backward and turning red, his forehead bursting open painfully as heavy growths reached up for the sky above him-
And then he was back in the classroom, sitting perfectly still. Nobody would notice anything had happened. Except for one green student sitting a row in front of him, staring back at him. Her eyes narrowed as she observed him sweating.
Okay. Okay. Got it.
Wyll swallowed.
Killing the girl is required.
Mizora was silent at that. Wyll waited out the clock as Corsica Jones spoke. He couldn’t even recognize a word. Tonight, Wyll would become a murderer. He’d killed in self-defense. He’d killed cultists. Tonight, he’d kill a girl whom he had never spoken to before.
…He was terrified.
Shadowheart had managed to keep her head up long enough to make it to cleric class. A dull throb in the back of her head from sleep deprivation. Selûne give me strength. She prayed quietly. Give me the strength to face them with my true name. Give me the kindness to forgive those who’d speak ill of me. The door was within her line of sight now.
Cleric class wasn’t very formal. She shrugged the backpack she carried further over her shoulder. There were many factions of clerics, those whose domains originated in the same areas were typically grouped, those from Pantheons of the Mountains of chaos in one class, those still discovering in others, the conversation she had with the werewolf guidance counselor- before the event that would have made her pause to speak with a wolf -had ended with her questioning that.
“Wouldn’t it make more sense for like, all the gods of the same domain clerics to be together? Like, so there would be less fighting between… gods that don’t get along?”
Jawbone adjusted his glasses in response.
“That would be very smart. You’re going to be attending an adventuring academy, and a necessary part of every adventure is conflict. While I don’t…. Agree with it, it’s how it works, Jenevelle.”
Now, as she pushed open the door to the Sharran and Selûnite classroom, she wished maybe she had chosen undecided.
Her parents would be disappointed, but she doubted she would find a kind face here.
Maybe Rennald… Her eyes darted around the room for the tiefling child she’d befriended, shoulders slumping as she realized his absence. He probably passed his ceremony anyway. He wouldn’t be Rennald anymore.
Students milled around Shadowheart, filling into seats. The classroom was painted black with the symbols of their twin goddesses on each wall. One-page written and drawn posters from previous years hung around them.
‘What I learned from my ceremony’
‘How Shar helped me’
‘History of Shar and Selûne’
Shadowheart frowned as she saw how often Shar was mentioned in the same vein as Selûne. Typically, she’d be separated from sharrans. They were dangerous, the type of people to worship a goddess of loss and pray for the day death would come. She’d avert her eyes if she saw them crossing the street towards her, and hold her idol of Selûne a little closer. Correction, Jenevelle would. She was older now, she had no reason to fear these people.
Her parents had disapproved of her new name after failing the ritual- Although they said it didn’t matter. It was just a tradition, and any new name would be fine. She could even keep her old one.
A combination of the adrenaline from the night and open wounds convinced her to choose the name Shadowheart, something that bordered on the edge of sounding Sharran. More common than elven.
A few sharrans entered. Shadowheart tried everything to keep herself from staring, but it was pointless. Most of them looked normal- maybe they could even pass for Selûnites, but several of them wore dark black clothing. Necklaces marking their allegiance covering their throats and half-crowns on their foreheads.
“All Sharrans worship Shar first, their Mother Superior second, and themselves last. They care not for each other.”
Her lips closed as she recognized one of the students. Not Rennald-, which she was thankful for enough, if he stood amongst the Sharrans she wasn’t sure how she’d survive. A girl from her collection, a year above Shadowheart. She had passed her ceremony, proving her devotion to Selûne. Shadowheart remembered sitting beside her and the just-slightly-older children at her party, and waiting for the day she could prove herself the same. Her lips curled inward with disgust.
The girl gave her the same look. “Jenevelle.”
“Shadowheart.”
“That’s not my name.” The girl jerked her head backward.
“No. I’m, I’m Shadowheart. It’s my new name.” Shadowheart shot awkwardly. She couldn’t not stare at the girl- Amara, that was her name- was it? “...Amara?”
“Dain is my name under Shar.” Shadowheart’s lips curled backward further in distaste. “You abandoned us?”
Dain stared through her for a long moment.
“You’re still with Selûne?” They finally spoke. As if Selûne was a person rather than a Goddess, something so vital to Shadowheart’s life she would not live without it. “As long as she gives me the grace to walk among the living.” Shadowheart shot back. “I see she is merciful to let one who prays to loss to live without it.”
“What the f*ck does that mean?” Dain took several steps forward, prompting Shadowheart to flinch back. The dark elf immediately stopped. “Whatever. Whatever. Our goddesses are sisters, should we not be sisterly with each other?”
“Our goddesses are also trying to murder each other, and I’d much rather leave that to the barbarians.” Shadowheart raised her chin.
A wisp of white- an air Genasi materialized at the front of the class. Her eyes darted over how quickly the groups of students had divided into pockets of mostly Selûnites and Sharrans who were familiar with each other, maybe even raised together.
Dain gave Shadowheart a long look. “Shadowheart is a sharran name, to be born of Shadows and loss.”
Shadowheart felt heat rise along the back of her neck. She stayed silent.
“I know the type of cleric you are- in another time I would have called you my sister, and I hope you find your senses soon enough.” Dain hissed, returning to the group of Sharrans she’d emerged from. A chair was left open for them, and they claimed it.
Shadowheart awkwardly turned to the two groups of Selûnites- she could recognize some older children from her collective at one edge of the classroom. As she turned to look at the rest of them, she recognized all their eyes on her. One caught mid-whisper.
‘-failed’
“If you are in this class, you worship our lady of loss or our lady of silver, the Moonmaiden.” The Genasi cleared her throat. Shadowheart raised her hand immediately.
“Yes?”
“Which do you worship?” She looked around the classroom.
The teacher blinked, looking down at the magical roster. “Well,” She paused, reading the roster. “Shadowheart, perhaps that’s a good question to start us off on.” She turned towards the board. Slowly chalking out the words ‘Who do we worship, and Why?’
“As Clerics, you are all devoted to your gods and goddesses- in this case, Goddesses. But that’s not your functionality within an adventuring party. Clerics can have many functions, if you have a druid or another primary spellcaster, you might be a great support or a force to be reckoned with magically. But more likely, you will be the healer of your party. So why worship a goddess of loss or a goddess of the moon rather than a god of life? A god of healing? A goddess that controls magic itself? Why do you, Shadowheart-” Her attention turned back towards the half-elf. “Worship Selûne?”
Shadowheart tilted her head. “She’s protected me my entire life. My parents worship Selûne, I am a Selûnite.”
“Is that the only reason?” The Genasi looked at her not quite challengingly, but genuinely questioningly. Shadowheart lowered her shoulders.
“Selûne… She represents the moon, she represents… guidance, she’s guided everyone in my life to be where they are now.” She swallowed. “She’s a good goddess.”
The white-wisp genasi smiled. “Now, does anyone want to stand and explain their worship for Shar?”
Shadowheart’s expression immediately faded into complete confusion and distaste.
Dain, the drow Shadowheart had spoken to moments before stood.
“My parents are selûnites.” They started. “My entire family are selûnites.” There was a pause. Shadowheart could assume it was coming from Dain deliberating on how much to share. “I grew up with most of the selûnites in this class. And… I needed help, I needed guidance. And I prayed to Selûne, I prayed to Selûne to bring my friend back, I prayed to selûne to find Rennald-”
There was silence. Shadowheart went rigid. Rennald… He went missing? Why wouldn’t they tell me? Mother had to have heard. Rennald- He’s probably fine.
There was a nagging uncertainty crawling up the base of Shadowheart’s neck she couldn’t quite get rid of.
“To find any of the missing children, I asked her to lead me somewhere of worth. And she brought me to a clearing, in a forest- the same one I had been abandoned for at the night of my ceremony. When I arrived there, I was attacked.”
“Why does Selûne let bad things happen to good people?” Shadowheart had once asked her father. “That’s not her work.” He had responded. “Shar commits evil, Selûne does all she can to lead us away from it.”
They held their head high. “I was hospitalized, and when I awoke I could no longer speak to my goddess. But her sister spoke clearly to me, and held my hand in spirit, in grief, in loss, as I mourned them.” She took off part of her collared necklace to reveal a wound that was pale with the marks of magical healing. Two parallel tears through her throat.
“I know some of you judge me for my worship of her, for my new magic. But if I did not find the strength to continue living through Shar, I would not have at all.” Dain’s eyes flickered to Shadowheart. “I met with Mother Superior- I asked for her -from my hospital room, and converted the moment I was able to.”
Her eyes looked anywhere but at Dains.
She pretended not to know, not to understand.
Her ceremony had failed. If her father hadn’t saved her, her fate would have been the same.
She heard the call of the goddess of trickery and didn’t fall for it.
Yet she took her name. The name Shar had given her for surviving, and she hadn’t slept a night since.
~
It was after many other students had shared similar stories- except for a few Sharrans who were raised as wards of Mother Superior - that there was a sudden interruption.
“Does anyone here know healing spells? Healing word- Cure wounds- Something? Anything that isn’t light magic!” A small gnollish boy entered the classroom, his canine eyes darting around anxiously. The way he carried himself it was obvious he was a rogue. “A kid- He- He’s been burned badly, by the sun, and Nurse W-”
The cleric teacher ran to the doorway. “Where is he?” All heads turned to watch the interaction.
“Nurse Withers is-”
“Not the nurse, the student!” She snapped. “Is he still in the sun?”
“No! Some Rogue students moved him to the stairwell. I-I don’t know what happened, but his skin looks like it’s flaking off.”
Shadowheart overheard the same selûnite boy who was whispering her name speaking again. “Vampire. Bleeder probably deserved it.”
“Do they let those at this school?” A tiefling child beside him whispered.
“Yep. Vampires, Werewolves, and the like. They don’t care. You gotta watch out for yourself- Hell, one of the guidance counselors is a werewolf. You can’t let your guard down around them, Selûne let them be cursed for a reason.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Dain staring past the gnoll student.
Shadowheart felt fire brewing in her veins. Arnell Hallowleaf was a werewolf- one who had managed to successfully hide his identity for several years. She couldn’t imagine her father deserving to be spoken of the same way these children spoke of the vampire child.
“Selûne doesn’t control those things.” She turned, interrupting. “Shar does. Shar wanted to lead him from the righteous path, most likely, and let him be bitten.”
The students looked at each other awkwardly as she interrupted their discussion.
“I’m just saying. It seems pretty callous to say he deserved burning for something you know nothing about. And to blame it on our goddess.”
“You a vamp?” He raised an eyebrow. “My Dad said that you didn’t actually pass your ceremony, and that’s why you weren’t at the collective for four days, and why there was never a party. You’re a vampire, aren’t you?”
“No- I did pass my ceremony!” Shadowheart shot upright. “I am not a vampire! We are standing in a lit classroom, you saw me standing in the light outside moments ago-”
“You have a crush on the vampire boy, don’t you?” The tiefling girl spoke up.
“I DON’T EVEN KNOW HIM!” She snapped back. “I just think you are being- you- closeminded! I think you’re being close-minded. There is nothing wrong with being ILL.”
The Genasi teacher snapped her head up. “That’s exactly right, Shadowheart. Come with me.” She waved her over quickly. “Lead the way.” She poked the hyena-like student.
“SELUNE ABOVE!” Shadowheart covered her mouth with her hand. She had seen things- before, injuries, cuts, normal levels of burns. She hadn’t seen skin turned to ash. “Definitely a vampire.” The teacher sighed. “I think he took down his cloak of shadows- it’s a protective item that keeps them able to walk in daylight. Okay. Heal him.”
Shadowheart stood frozen.
“Shadowheart, you do have healing magic, do you not?”
She swallowed, raising her palms. “Cure wounds. I cast Cure wounds.”
Pale white light, like that of a moonbeam, came from her hands. She watched as it swirled around the vampire boy for several moments, reforming the ash and cracks running along his skin.
“Good.” The teacher remarked. “You may need to heal a party member as a cleric, well, you definitely will at least once. Seeing wounds like this are common during any adventure, I would have brought him to the rest of the class if they hadn’t already had their minds made up on the matter of the boy's condition.”
Slowly, the elven boy rose to sitting in the hallway. His expression was immediately on the defensive, as his eyes flickered from the teacher to Shadowheart’s. He tugged the cloak of shadows over his ears. “Who the hell are you?”
Shadowheart folded her arms. “Is that the correct way to respond to someone who saved your life?”
Astarion’s lip curled. “Oh, I’m sorry darling. Thank you so much for dragging me into this dark starwell with no prior context! I’m sure you and this adult I do not recognize only had pure intentions.”
“...Fair point.” She mumbled.
The Genasi teacher sighed. “You were found uncovered in the sun, not a good position for a rogue or vampire to fall into. A student carried you in here, and I came down to heal you. I need to get back to my classroom, and I assume you are fit to attend yours?”
“Now hold on- I just woke up from having my skin burned off!” Astarion looked offended. “You expect me to just carry on to class! I was just injured! I could have died!”
“I healed you!”
“But what of my mental scars?” Astarion declared dramatically. The Genasi woman snorted in response, turning back up the stairs. “Oh very funny!” He yelled after her. “I could sue this school!”
(At the words ‘sue this school’ an illusionary Arthur Aguefort appeared. He spoke at length about the bylaws of the school and how technically they had signed up in such a way that suing was impossible, and any legal case would be lost. He disappeared after only five seconds of speaking in an almost incomprehensibly fast-forwarded voice.)
“Are you actually alright?” Shadowheart clarified.
“NO!” Astarion stood. “No- Gods you’re not that good of a cleric.” He groaned.
“Again. Strong words for the woman who saved you.” Shadowheart crossed her arms.
Astarions lip curled for a moment before his face settled into a mask of gratitude. “You’re right. Thank you.” He sighed. “It was very kind of you to save me.” There was a dark look in his eyes.
Shadowheart was quiet. “So what god do you worship?” She blurted out.
Astarion blinked. “Really?”
“I am a cleric.”
Astarion blinked at her again. Surprised by the brazen nature of her question. “What does it mean to you?”
Shadowheart narrowed her eyes. “My goddess's hands guided mine to heal you. I wouldn’t want her to have wasted her energy.”
“...I’m a rogue. It doesn’t matter.”
“It rather does to me.” Shadowheart leaned back. “I want to know who I just saved.” Just say you’re not a sharran, dammit!
“Don’t really follow any. Not many nice ones out there.” The young vampire boy's voice grew quiet. The shadows around the cloak seemed to grow stronger.
Shadowheart nodded. Paused. “So you’re just entirely a prick.”
“Strong words for someone you just met.” Astarion shot back, a smile at the edge of his lips.
“Touche.”
~
- Somatic components.
- Divination and Prophecy.
- Biology of Spyrian and Magical Creatures
Aligned.
- General Rogue Studies - Missed
- Investigation and Psychology - Missed
- Biology of Spyrian and Magical Creatures.
Gale preferred to think of things in lists. It helped to remind him when things were going well, and the pros and cons of decisions. He used them to stay organized and focused, most of his spells were arranged in list format.
Mentally, throughout the day he had made note of potential party members. A cleric or druid was required, and it couldn’t hurt to have another spellcaster in the party. He had a shortlist.
- Enver Gortash - Rogue or Paladin?
He’d witnessed the boy with the rogues earlier in the day, but he seemed to be lingering in the hallway with more martial classes. Clearly, he didn’t have any fighter or barbarian aspects, so Paladin seemed the most likely. The boy had a cloak of shadows, so probably had some money, which Gale knew he shouldn’t be considering but he couldn’t help but take note of it.
- K2 - Cleric
Kristen-Two was a recent transfer student from Hudol, joining at a sophom*ore level without an adventuring party. She was an extremely adept healer, and technically a simulacrum! The idea of which excited Gale, meeting someone forged by the greatest wizard of the ages, the elven oracle, Adaine Abernant! He would have to ask her to join his party, he simply had to. Sure, she could mostly only channel cantrips, but he had the utmost confidence in her ability, and with enough work and channeling divinity- perhaps a solution could be reached!
- Wyll Ravenguard.
A powerful, resilient, rich young adventurer who had already slew a number of cultists in middle school! He was pretty sure he was a fighter- or maybe a paladin? Not a barbarian, but he was practiced in weaponry.
Gale tapped his pen against his notebook. The hard part began here. Conversing with all of these individual people- who probably had planned groups of their own- and pitching himself as a wizard. Taara purred calmly on his lap. Her disguise as a regular familiar was apt enough. Although he was partially tempted to show Tara off as an example of why he should be considered strongly for a party. Look! I summoned a winged cat at an advanced level as a child! But he wasn’t sure if that was too pompous or… How that might be taken. Never mind the embarrassment of revealing she could speak.
He turned back to his earlier page of notes. Things of Mystra’s teachings. He clicked his pen nervously.
The last time he’d spoken to Mystra, he had been speaking with Elminster. Or well, not speaking to her. Praying. The last time he’d prayed to Mystra, it was the day before he had been suspended at Blackstaff. Elminster was Mystra’s chosen- Mystra’s chosen.
And he’d recommended Gale’s expulsion.
And he had no way to ever contact the goddess again.
- Mystra is the God of Magic and the weave.
- She is represented by A stream and six stars.
- The current chosen is Elminster
- The next chosen is going to be me.
He crossed out that last line many times, but it was still legible. He had written it in a moment of pride that he now worried doomed him- Mystra would never choose someone like him.
Taara perked her head up, casting Message.
Mr. Dekarios, there are thirty seconds left in this class period.
Gale glanced up, noticing everyone around him had already packed up. He rushed to do the same as Taara climbed onto the desk.
You haven’t spoken to anyone yet.
Gale ignored that comment. Anxiety coursed through his fingertips each time he looked at another wizard student. He was miles ahead of all of them- and he couldn’t think to say a word about it.
Message does include the ability to respond, as you are well aware.
Gale stiffened.
I have a list of who I’m thinking of inviting to my party set.
He responded, grabbing his bag. ‘Oof-’ Taara climbed onto his shoulder.
Am I to assume you’ve spoken to at least one of these contenders magically, Mr.Dekarios?
Gale shifted his weight to accommodate the large tressym as he made his way through the halls. I haven’t spoken to any of them yet- but that’s not important, in three periods we get time to choose the members of our party. I’ll pitch myself then. That gives me three periods to work on it.
Taara sneezed. If you don’t attempt to be friendly with these adventurers, they’re unlikely to select you for their party. She rubbed her cheek against Gale’s face. They’re just people. They won’t bite.
Gale didn’t respond to that. He knew well from his days at Blackstaff how dangerous other students could be. His hands twitched anxiously. Oh… Mister Dekarios. Taara curled her tail around Gale’s neck. The young wizard flicked it away.
He opened the door slowly, peaking into the classroom. It was empty- Thankfully, but the board read the correct class title. ‘Magic Creatures Bio. 1’
In the back of the class, different crates and cages were piled up. The tables were arranged on either side of the classroom, leaving a wide open circle in the middle. Gale gasped as he recognized it- Mystra’s symbol! He’d have expected Silvanus or another nature or animal-based god for a class like this- But this was the symbol of Mystra! His eyes lit up.
Your goddess handiwork. Taara smirked.
Can you please stop casting Message? It’s getting distracting. Gale waved her off, his cheeks flooding with heat. I am only trying to help. Taara made an expression that on a human would be recognized as a frown.
“Nice.” Sarcasm. “An empty classro- Oh. Hi.” A white-haired elven boy poked his head in, shadows covering his arms. “Is that a cloak of shadows?” Gale immediately tilted his head.
‘Hello, my name is Gale DeKarios, who are you?’ is typically a better introduction. Taara decided not to follow the wizard's request. He shot the cat a glare. The boy looked between him and Taara, not acknowledging the question.
“Yes, cats can be quite annoying.”
Taara hissed at the boy. I don’t like him.
The elven boy leaned forward, hissing at Taara back.
“Is she yours? Pretty little thing.”
Gale just shrugged. “Er- well, yes. Kind of.” Usually, Taara would disagree with him calling her ‘his’. They had a mutual connection. He realized how weird that sounded and quickly added- “I think she thinks of me as hers though, to be honest.” He shrugged.
“Some familiar then. Doesn’t know to recognize its master?” There was an odd expression in the young elves' dark eyes.
Really, Mister Dekarios? Taara glared. She rolled her eyes. Fine. I’ll be back later then if I’m that unwanted.
Stay safe. Gale tried not to seem relieved. He loved Taara- and loved her presence, but he could do without her voice in his head. He had enough of those thoughts already.
“She is- Oh, she’s leaving.” He said with mild disinterest as Taara sprinted out. “She is a familiar, isn’t she?”
Gale glanced at the clock. Shouldn’t class have started already? “Er, yeah. She’s my familiar.” He hesitated for only a moment. “I summoned her.”
The pale elven boy gave a nod. “Astarion.” He reached out his hand. “Gale- Gale Dekarios. But my friends just call me Gale.”
“I think I could’ve discerned that.” He teased, tilting his head. Gale realized what an odd thing it was to say moments too late. Of course, my friends call me by my first name, that’s… well. If I had friends. I guess Taara calls me ‘Mister Dekarios’ so I doubt that counts. I guess my friends don’t call me by my first name. I hope he doesn’t have Detect Truth Or Lie on. Well, cloak of shadows. Probably a rogue- or a bard? Either way, not many spells.
Gale cleared his throat. “Are you versed in Magic?”
Astarion narrowed his eyes. “Class definitely should have started by now.” He mumbled. “Something’s wrong.”
The young magician glanced around. “Maybe everyone’s just late.” He shrugged. “Aguefort’s weird.” Gale started to notice a trend with Astarion. He avoided direct questions. That was fine by him, he’d find other ways to get his answers. “Maybe we’ll try the rogue hallway.” He offered.
“Why would it be down there? It’s an animal handling class- and I’ve already been down there today anyway. Druid studies are in this hallway, so if it’s not here… Hm.” Astarion glanced towards the hallway. “Your cat- Maybe she’s a hint? She’s an animal, perhaps we’re supposed to follow her or something.” He smiled, a tooth poking over his lip. Gale had no idea what he was thinking.
“I think Taara would have told me if she was involved in this,” Gale mumbled.
“You talk to your cat?”
A pause. Complete silence as they stared at each other.
“No,” Gale said slowly. “I mean, she would have indicated to me.”
Astarion gave an unamused look. “Maybe she doesn’t like being under your control.” He took a few steps towards the open door. Gale frowned at that. “She’s not… under my control, she’s just a familiar. And she’s well taken care of, anyway. Here- I’ll figure this out. Give me your schedule.”
The lanky elven boy dug into a pocket of the shadows swirling around him, tossing Gale a small crystal. SchedulingStone. Gale took out his own.
“Oh. We have the same class, same room right now.” He mumbled. “And this is R65- Oh. It’s D65. We’re in the wrong class.” Gale looked up. “I’ll have to find Taara… She might get lost.” He grabbed his bag.
Astarion raised an eyebrow. “You’re going?”
“Yes? What else would I do?” Annoyance flashed across the human wizard's face. Calm down. You’re not in Blackstaff. Anyone could…
“Well. If I were you, I’d play up the new freshman card. Wait half the period and then show up to Guidance. ‘Mr.Aguefort, I waited most of an hour in an empty classroom that was labeled as the class on my crystal! I can’t believe nobody else showed up!’ Make yourself look like an idiot, and you get out of a class without a problem. Then just go to your next one. We could even get sodas downstairs while we wait.” Astarion suggested.
“...There’s cameras in every inch of this school.” Gale scoffed. “I don’t know how you plan on getting away with that.”
“Oh, and they’re going to check you? Hm? They’re going to pull up cameras to prove you were goofing off instead of being a responsible perfect student? Do you think Goldenhoard goes through that much effort?”
“Ketheric.” Gale corrected.
“Hm?”
“Former Vice Principal Goldenhoard was banished four years ago after it was revealed he was the chaos dragon Kalvasus. We have Principal Aguefort and Vice Principal Ketheric now.” Gale corrected, remembering what he’d read in the school handbook. Although honestly, it was a tad confusing reading through the previous year. A lot of faculty changes in a very short period.
“Oh. Yes I…” Astarion looked confused. “I don’t know why I thought he was vice principal. Anyways.” His gaze traveled disdainfully to the sigil of Mystra on the ground. Astarion shook his head. His expression looked uncertain now, there was a strained look in his eyes.
Gale felt a bit of pity for the student. He must be new too, and he had offered advice. And annoyed Taara. Guilt panged in his chest that he had that listed as a pro. Sorry, Taara. “Let’s get that soda then.”
Astarion’s eyes brightened as he offered a close-lipped smile. “Amazing.”
~
“f*ck!”
Karlach dropped the axe she was holding, dancing in pain as she jumped backward.
“f*ck, f*ck f*ck f*ck- It’s like a stubbed toe isn’t it?” She seethed through her mouth. “A stab wound?” The Barbarian dueling her let his mouth fall open. There was her opening, one hand over her bleeding stomach she rammed her foot into his unguarded crotch. Leaning over grabbing the axe with her free hand and slamming the side of it into his head. Then, only standing on one foot, and failing to focus on many things at once, she fell backward.
“sh*t- Ouch- f*cking nine hells!” She seethed. Slowly, she came back up on her knees. Her opponent- a shortish half-orc with dyed bright red hair -couldn’t do the same. He rolled in pain on the ground. She huffed, letting the rage fill each part of her. And then dismissed it.
“Sorry. That was a poor move.” She offered him her hand.
He took it. “f*cking bitch.” He mumbled.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t go for the tail next time, and I won’t go for the gems.”
“Didn’t even hit you there!” He grunted. “Missed anyways!” The half-orc started to gather his weapons.
Karlach frowned. Was that unfair? The thought conflicted her for a moment. Nah. I’d do it again.
Caerlack Cliffgates instructions repeated in her head. “Fight fair, but the moment they go dirty- go harder. If they try to hurt you seriously, kill them. You’re strong. Do whatever you can, because if they start fighting dirty they’re not going to stop. Nothing is going to stop them.” Thankfully, it hadn’t gotten to that point. But grabbing her tail at the beginning of combat to offset her was… f*cking weird! And she felt very little regret about nailing that little creep in the nards. The head injury… That was expected. Nurse Withers could probably heal a concussion. Speaking of which-
She peeled back her hand, revealing the still red and bloody wound on her lower abdomen. Well, that wasn’t good.
“ALRIGHT!” Porter called out. “We’re switching over, A-L Barbarians face Paladins, L-Z face fighters.”
The barbarian teacher- Porter Cliffbreaker (Cliffbreaker, Cliffgate, funny coincidence. If she wasn’t from Avernus and he wasn’t from the Mountains of Chaos she’d check if they were related. That and him being a Genasi, and her being a full tiefling.)- gave her a look. “Should you see the nurse?”
She panted. “Nah. Tis just a fleshwound.” She grinned.
“You’re bleeding. Through your hand.” He frowned. “There’ll be plenty of fighting to be done next period. Go get a bandage.” He walked over to the shelf, tossing her a towel. “Apply pressure, and get going.”
“Nobody has a cantrip?” Karlach offered. “Just a quick heal? I can hop right back in-”
Porter waved her off. “Get going. Use the nurse.”
Karlach held back a groan as she stomped out of the gymnasium-like training room.
Stupid f*ckin’ Porter and stupid f*ckin’ duel. She thought to herself. I’m FINE! I could fight a hundred of those f*ckers holding one hand with my organs in.
“Karlach?” A familiar voice. She smiled as she turned. “ENVER! I was wondering when I’d see you, you awake at the crack of dawn with the Rogues again?” The boy adjusted his glasses, his cloak of shadows weaving around him in a way that made him look almost taller. Karlach could see through the illusion, she’d walked the shrewd boy home hundreds of times. Especially back in Oakshield, when kids would give him trouble for all sorts of random things.
“Didn’t sleep last night either.” The bags under his eyes spoke to the truth of that statement. “Night classes.”
Karlach scoffed. “What classes do they offer at night?” He shrugged. “Remedial sh*t mostly.”
Enver looked up at her. His eyes didn’t fully meet hers at any point, glancing away when she tried to hold eye contact.. “...Karlach, can you stay later today?”
She held her stomach a bit tighter, pressing the once-clean towel against it. “Nah. Needed at the shop.”
Enver blinked at the injury with alarm. “I-I have some rogue healing cantrips, just let me-”
“Rogues don’t have spells.” She turned away from him as he stretched his hands out. “Nice try, though. What’s going on?”
Enver blinked. “I got a scroll. Read it already, one use. I could heal you.” Karlach sighed.
He’s such a bad liar. Fine then, keep your secrets. “Yeah, okay. Get on with it then, if you insist.” She tilted her head though. You’re lying. Enver didn’t lie to Karlach. They’d been friends since like, kindergarten. Even when it wasn’t a close friendship, they’d at least known each other. She walked him home when things got bad. Hell, he was the reason she got into barbarian raging after thousands of pointless schoolyard fights defending the boy.
He held his hands out. Karlach watched as a dark mist poured out of his hands and her skin stitched back together. “Nine hells.” She breathed. “Sparring wound-” She clarified. “Don’t worry, I got the f*cker DOWN.”
Enver smiled, but it was edged with something. A front. “You’re acting weird.” She couldn’t hold it back. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
Enver Gortash was a horrible liar. He was a good friend though. Karlach could tell by the look in his eyes that he had only the best intentions.
“...Look- you need to trust me.” He swallowed. “Just- After classes end- and I mean all of the classes, meet me near the boiler room. Please? I promise it’s nothing weird.”
Karlach’s eyes narrowed. “I told you. My ma wants me back at the shop tonight.” His insistence was starting to annoy her. “Is someone bothering you? I can deal with that now. Right now. Set an end to that.” I left my damn axe in the classroom. f*ck! I’ll have to get it later.
“It’s different.” The waves of the cloak of shadows curled inwards. How the hell did he afford a cloak of shadows? Karlach had met his parents before, but they definitely couldn’t afford to get him one. They were usually bought by those kids who needed them, skin conditions and stuff. Although they were really useful for rogues. “Look- If you’re not there, I might not be here tomorrow.”
That was the truth.
“What did you get yourself into now?” She let out a sigh. “Fine-Fine. I’ll… I’ll get someone to send a Sending to my ma-”
“Don’t tell her it’s me again.” Enver sighed. “Your parents already hate me enough already.”
Karlach grinned mischievously. “Like they could ever separate us.”
~
You’re late.
Wyll didn’t respond, continuing his sparring. The words sunk in. Moment late.
What?
Your chances have just gone down 50%. Let me remind you of the consequences if you fail.
Wyll blinked. ON IT! He dropped all pretense of form, slamming the training sword into the side of his opponent's head. The barbarian had been deflecting more of his careful moves, channeling their rage into advancing. Wyll had every intention of striking them when they’d let their rage get the most of their mind-
But Mizora’s words brought him back to earth. He had a goal. The sword clattered to the ground as he sprinted from his felled opponent.
Where?
You’ll see.
~
Astarion leaned against the vending machine. He was so glad he followed the moment he saw the poor nerd heading into the empty classroom. Everyone knew the druids spent their first week outside, everyone except for Gale, that was.
“Mango soda okay?” The vampire offered. “Hm? Oh, yeah, sure.”
Astarion stared at the machine. “...Are you going to get it?”
Gale narrowed his eyes. “Seriously?” He pulled a few copper pieces out of his robes. “You offered to get soda.”
“I offered to show you where the vending machines were. I never said I’d pay for them.” Astarion rolled his eyes. He was so… Strange. That cat wasn’t ordinary either, he could relate to being controlled by someone he couldn’t stand. He could imagine the relief the small cat might feel the moment the strings were cut.
He wasn’t sure how familiars worked, but he understood how spawn worked. Gale had just moved here, so no friends to miss him. He doubted the young magician even had close family in the area. Cazador would reward him for such a catch.
“How did you afford a cloak of shadows if you can’t afford a soda?” Gale mumbled.
“I have a skin condition. It’s prescribed.” Astarion told a half-truth. I was rewarded with it- wasn’t I? Yes. I did something, and I was allowed to go outside. He didn’t devote too much time to locating the true origin or memory, as it was probably forgotten for a reason. “Oh. That’s neat.” Gale handed Astarion the soda. “Er- Not that you have a condition, obviously that’s not neat at all, that’s terrible. Well, not terrible-”
“Well, I’m terribly offended,” Astarion remarked sarcastically. “I can’t believe you’d say something so hurtful.”
Gale sighed, rolling his eyes. He popped the tab on his soda.
They heard the sound of footsteps before they saw their source- A young human man in a dead sprint through the hallway.
“WYLL!” Astarion jolted as Gale called out. “Wyll Ravenguard- Wait-”
The boy didn’t stop. “sh*t- He’s going to be in my party, I should see what’s going on. Well, not going to be, but I'm going to ask him, anyway.” Gale handed Astarion the open soda. “It was nice talking to you, maybe we could be in the same party?”
Astarions eyes glistened as he watched his prey slip through his fingers. If he got into a party with Wyll Ravenguard, a known rich boy, definitely of some high importance… There’s no chance of this boy disappearing without a trace. People would come, and there would be questions. If Astarion returned empty handed things would be as bad as if he returned with an important corpse. An important corpse needed disposing of, and if any of it tied back to Vampirism, it wouldn’t be long before there was some testing. Once that was discovered, it would be discovered that every child under Cazadors care started exhibiting the symptoms… After that,
They’d be culled.
“WAIT!” Astarion set the sodas down. f*ck the sodas. “WAIT UP!” He charged after Gale.
~
Lae’zel huffed as she watched Wyll Ravenguard (As she had learned his name was) leave the room. She had hoped to be paired up with the warrior, he would be a defeat she could truly be proud of. Pah’zel and Tak’el’s orders hadn’t been heeded yet, and the longer she waited the worse it felt. Her palms itched. She had sparred with some smaller students, but it wasn’t worth it to waste her strength on goblins and kobolds- She could take them down easily. “I feel ill.” Lae’zel turned to the instructor Jones. “I’ll be at the healer's office.”
She gave her a nod. “Just be back quickly.”
Lae’zel shut the door behind her as she left, taking careful steps to avoid making too much noise. Now that the cacophony of sparring had died down, she could track that warrior. Lure him back into a space with a crowd, and smite him. Proving herself as a Githyanki and proving the honor of Creche Kil’lir.
~
Shadowheart sat in her study of magical animals class, absentmindedly filling out an introduction form, one that would typically be given to much younger grades. Her eyes grew heavier as the colored pencils she had taken from the shelf seemed to be enlarging and reducing faster than she could adjust her grip. Or was that just her vision? No, it was just her vision. She blinked faster but her eyelids seemed committed to making her fall into the darkness now.
Shadowheart.
