the morning sun
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"Come with me to Avernus," Wyll says, easy, like he’s asking Astarion around for tea. Right. The Blade of Frontiers is the Blade of Avernus now. Sworn to cleanse the Hells of the devils that threaten the Sword Coast or some such rot. What an absurd idea. For a moment, Astarion imagines several ways to kill him painfully. Go there. To the place of her worst nightmares. The place she refused to return to despite his pleading. After everything that's happened, to step foot in that place, without her. It felt like a mockery of his pain to even suggest it.
The sun rises after the fall of the Absolute and Astarion burns first. Overcome with grief from the death of the first person he truly cared for, and haunted by her memory, Astarion accompanies the Blade of Avernus to Hell.
Series
- Part 1 of the morning sun
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“Are you sure you’re all right?” Wyll cups the side of his face with a warm palm, peering into his eyes, and Astarion lets out a soft moan before he can help it. Wyll’s eyes go wide. He swipes his thumb below Astarion’s mouth, smearing the tacky blood there, and Astarion lets it fall open, panting lightly. “Did you drink from her?” Wyll asks, sounding alarmed.
“Uhh,” Astarion says.
Wyll looks equal parts exasperated and amused. “Did you not consider the effect the blood of a sex devil might have?”
Astarion drinks the blood of a succubus. There are consequences.
Series
- Part 2 of the morning sun
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”Astarion, I don’t think this is the place,” Karlach snorts, her eyes wide, taking in the shop’s offerings with amusement and more than a little curiosity.
It most definitely isn’t the place they’re looking for. Gods damn it. He was sure this was it. The mask on the sign seemed a clear indicator. And now that he thinks about it, he’s almost certain he’s heard people talk about a tailor on this street. But unless Figaro has changed careers and become a smut peddler, this is not Facemaker’s Boutique; it’s a sex shop.
Astarion and Karlach find a sex shop. Imagine…
Series
- Part 3 of the morning sun