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As he had every evening since he was pulled out of a portal by an eclectic group of travelers, Gale retreated to his tent—a tiny slice of paradise beneath a sprawling, perilous goblin camp.
It wasn't that he didn't want to engage in fireside chats with the others and get to know them better. The problem was that damnable orb in his chest. He hadn't told any of them about it yet. He was unsure how to broach the subject, and the idea seemed more difficult every day. It probably would have been best, he reflected, if he'd done so before they camped in their most dangerous location so far. Even here in the deepest depths, the faint sounds of cackling goblins sometimes echoed.
Gale sat cross-legged on the most comfortable pillow he'd found back in the blighted village. It wasn't particularly comfortable. Neither were his scratchy trousers, ever since his Netherese briefs went missing between camps. Least comfortable of all was his stomach, which twisted as he stared at the book in his hands.
Magical energy radiated from the unmarked tome—energy that warranted further investigation. He could feel the Weave coursing through its pages. As his finger dragged across the cover, there was an almost electric sensation that pulsed from his fingertip into his hand, up his arm. It was only a matter of time until—
The orb stirred. It started with a warm, fizzy feeling in his chest that traveled up his neck and behind his eye. Then it turned less pleasant, as though the orb had fingers and was using them to root around inside his chest as they sought a path that could cut through his skin.
As if the pain weren’t enough of a reminder of his folly, the orb was also sentient. To whom the voice belonged—some book-entombed spirit, Karsus himself, or perhaps a bit of Gale that had split off just to drive himself mad—remained a mystery.
Low and demanding, it spoke directly into his mind.
Feed me the book.
This volume is extremely rare. In fact, it may be the only one of its kind. To consume it would be unconscionable.
Feed me or I’ll explode.
I’m well aware of your needs. Allow me to find something else to sate you.
One hour.
Yes. I’ll find something within the hour or you can have the damned book.
As the orb’s essence churned in his chest and neck, Gale panicked. The last time this had happened, he'd been able to snag a magical ring from one of the tiefling children in the Emerald Grove. There had been plenty of artifacts there, and he would have bought more of them if he’d had the proper supply of gold.
Pickings were much slimmer at the goblin camp. Grat the Trader had a pair of boots that would probably suffice, but gold was once again an issue. He’d written to Tara in hopes the tressym would bring him either magical items or additional funds, but she was in Waterdeep and her reply would take time.
If he was going to get something suitable within the hour (aside from the book he really, really didn’t want to consume), Gale knew what he'd need to do. He'd have to steal it from one of his sleeping companions. Abhorrent, but necessary. They’d all been collecting things along the way. Certainly he could find an item of little value from someone unlikely to notice its absence.
Steal from the Gith.
Are you mad?
Come on. It could be fun.
Absolutely not.
The tiefling then.
Are you trying to get me killed?
Just keeping you sharp.
If anyone at camp had a nice selection of magical artifacts from which to choose, it would be Astarion, their resident thief. The elf spent an inordinate amount of time lockpicking chests and rifling through wooden crates. Surely he’d found something in the past few days that Gale could feed to his orb, and—more critically—he was still out doing whatever it was that he did at night.
His tent is ripe for the picking.
Boring.
Gale stepped across camp and popped into a tent that—in spite of its luxuries—was much less comforting than his own.
There was no sense of order to it, at all. Open books lay scattered across the ground, their pages—Gale took a deep breath—folded to mark where Astarion had stopped reading. Pillows rested atop jars and pouches that rested atop potted plants. When Gale lifted a decaying old blanket to see what was beneath, he found half a dozen bottles filled with something that looked suspiciously like blood. He lifted one to his face and gave it a sniff. Sure enough, it was bitter and metallic. In one final experiment, he dipped a finger in and brought it to his mouth.
It was blood, all right. He spat it out.
Almost immediately, Gale’s mind connected the blood with the puncture wounds on Astarion's neck and the fact that the elf disappeared late at night.
He's a vampire.
We could still have some fun yet.
Some shuffling noise sounded outside, and in a flash Gale was caught red-handed.
“Gale of Waterdeep,” Astarion tutted as he entered the tent. “Were you hoping to catch a glimpse of—” He realized what Gale was holding in his hand and his face twisted into a scowl.
“You're a vampire,” Gale said, his voice shaking as he set the bottle back down. For good measure, he muttered “vincit qui patitur” to cast Protection from Evil on himself. He sincerely hoped it was unnecessary.
Astarion put on his best indifferent face and dismissed the notion with a wave. “Don't be ridiculous. Vampires can't walk in the sun.”
“Unless they have an Illithid parasite, perhaps?” Gale stood to meet his gaze, his fingers curled in awkward formation, ready to cast spells against a potential foe. He shook his head. “I am many things. A fool even, on occasion. But we both know the truth.”
Astarion looked him dead in the eyes and sighed. “So it’s blackmail then?”
“No,” Gale said, emphasizing his offense at the suggestion. “We all have secrets. So long as you don’t plan on harming anyone at our camp, I don’t plan on mentioning yours. You would do well to at least cover your neck, though.”
Astarion squinted. “And what do you want in return for your silence?”
Yes. Let’s get something out of this.
Be quiet.
Oh, you like him. Disgusting.
“You are a deeply distrustful person,” Gale said.
“I’m not a person at all,” Astarion sneered. “As you’ve so shrewdly observed.”
Gale shook his head again. “Person or not, I’m not seeking any advantage over you—”
You’ve got to be kidding. Take advantage of him.
“—though I wouldn’t be opposed to some camaraderie.”
“Ah.” Astarion nodded, seemingly in understanding. “Everyone wants something.” He began loosening the strings on his shirt. With his eyes, he motioned at the tent’s opening. “Go on and close things up. I assume you prefer privacy.”
Yes.
No.
Gale did not want anything requiring privacy. Instead, he rushed through an array of gestures that began with pinching his index fingers and thumbs together, transitioned to pushing his palms outward, and ended in an exasperated and perplexed shrug. “Do you not know what the word ‘camaraderie’ means? I’m talking about friendship.”
Astarion secured his shirt strings, seemingly unbothered. “In context, I assumed you were using it suggestively.”
“In what context?” The pitch of Gale’s voice became almost comically high.
Astarion laid it out for him. “You come to my tent in the middle of the night. You warn me that you know a terrible secret about me that no one else knows. And when I ask what’s in it for you, you say… friendship? That’s just not how the world works.”
“And how do you think the world works?” Gale asked.
Astarion explained. “Those with power take what they want from those without.”
He’s right.
“That’s one paradigm. Allow me to offer another. I know something about you, so you should know something about me.” Gale proceeded to recite the long, tiring tale about how he’d come to have a realm-endangering Netherese orb in his chest. He didn’t mention its sentience, but he did mention that it would explode if it didn’t consume magical energy, or if Gale himself died—for example, by being drained by a vampire.
Astarion flashed his fangs. “That sounds like a story someone would conjure the moment they realized they’re in danger.”
“I conjure many things. Stories aren’t among them. Trust me. Just as you need to consume blood, I need to consume magical items.”
Astarion eyed him suspiciously. “And that’s why you came to my tent while I was away?”
“Precisely,” Gale said. “The orb needs to consume something soon.”
“You wretched little thief,” Astarion laughed.
“I wasn't my first choice, believe me. The orb needs to consume something soon.”
“What counts as a magical item?” Astarion bit his lip.
“Typically, items enchanted by wizards, which would contain a bit of the Weave’s essence.”
He’s wearing one.
Where?
Yes, wear.
By Mystra’s limbs, I cannot wait to be rid of you.
Astarion was staring at Gale like he was a moron. “Are you alright?”
“Pardon me for being, ah, untoward, but I believe you’re wearing one such item.”
“You believe?” Astarion blinked.
Gale sighed. “The orb is somewhat… sentient.”
Somewhat? I should detonate right now.
If you detonate, I’ll never be able to feed you.
“Sentient,” Astarion said, almost in disbelief.
“It has a mind of its—”
Astarion interjected with a dirty look. “I know what sentient means.”
“Yes. Well. In any case, the orb says you’re wearing a magical item right now.”
Astarion rolled his palm out with flair. “It’s not wrong, but you won’t like the truth.”
“Which is?” Gale asked.
Astarion reached for his trousers and unfastened them slightly. He pulled them down a few inches, revealing a sharp, pale hipbone and just a bit of purple fabric, embroidered with white flowers.
That’s hot.
Even though it spoke the truth, Gale ignored his orb and broke into a shout. “You stole my underwear!?”
“Borrowed,” Astarion corrected. “You did just leave them out in the open.”
“Why!?”
“I don’t know why you did that,” Astarion said. “Surely you could have cast gust of wind instead of using a drying rack.”
Gale clenched his fists. “Why did you take them?”
Astarion elaborated, but only slightly. “They’re very warm. I am not.” He cast a pointed glance between Gale’s legs. “You don’t seem to mind.”
Gale ignored that and held out his hand. “Give them back.”
“So you can consume your own briefs?” Astarion asked.
“In lieu of any other enchanted artifacts…” Gale sighed. “Yes.”
Astarion raised a finger in objection, then dropped to the ground in front of a small chest. “I’d like to propose a trade.”
Gale glowered at him. “What?”
“You let me keep the briefs for now. I enjoy whatever you’ve done to them that warms my nethers. Meanwhile—” Astarion rifled through the chest until he found what he was looking for. A ring, which he presented to Gale. “I’ll let you have this.”
You could kill him and take both.
I’m not killing him!
You like him.
More than I like you, that’s for sure.
“Deal,” Gale said.
Astarion casually tossed him the ring as he rose from the tent floor.
Gale fumbled it for a moment before finally settling the ring in his hand.
“Thank you,” he said with a bow before turning to leave. He much preferred to perform the process of feeding the orb in private.
“Gale?” Astarion’s voice called out softly.
Gale turned. “Yes?”
“I’m not a vampire.”
Gale rolled his eyes. “We’ve already been over this—”
“I’m a vampire spawn,” Astarion amended. “I know a thing or two about having another voice in your head, commanding you to do things you’d rather not.”
“You have a master,” Gale surmised.
“Mhmm.”
“Is that something you want to talk about?” Gale asked.
“Now? No. Go feed your orb.” Astarion’s face softened. “But should you ever want to stop by my tent again, there’s no need to sneak about. You can do it while I’m here.”
Gale flashed him a smile. “The next time I stop by, I’ll be retrieving my briefs.”
“You may have to pry them off of me,” Astarion warned in a foxy tone.
I'll feast from his pale loins.
Can you just be normal?
Why? You're not.
A fair point. Gale eyed Astarion from head to toe, lingering for a moment on the spot where his enchanted briefs still peeked out. “I accept your challenge.”
With that, he retreated toward his own tent.