Ishta: Blood Huntress of Baldur's Gate

Chapter Eight: True Souls

The peace of the evening was interrupted by Lae'zel's voice, breaking the tranquillity with her presence. "A fine evening, don't you think? The moonlight shines warmly on us. The breeze caresses our faces," she commented loudly.

Moonlight bathed the campsite, shining down through a wide opening in the ceiling of the spacious cavern they had set up their tents in, competing with the light cast by the twisting flames of the campfire.

Ishta looked up from her meal to see Lae'zel standing over her, arms crossed and fierce features illuminated in the firelight. She looked around, as if searching for who Lae'zel was addressing, and noticed Astarion peeking up from his book with mild curiosity.

He was lounging on a pile of plush furs and cushions outside of his tent, reading through one of Gale's recovered crypt manuscripts. He took a sip from a silver goblet that glinted in the light and Ishta hazarded a guess that the red liquid sloshing around inside it was most definitely not wine.

She couldn't help but silently pray that no one would notice his brazen consumption of blood - while also feeling frustrated with his reckless behaviour.

She turned her attention back to Lae'zel, giving a hesitant smile as she fidgeted with a half-eaten rabbit leg. "Um...good evening, Lae'zel. Yes, it's a lovely night," she replied cautiously.

But Lae'zel's response was far from positive. "Hideous. All of it," she spat, disdain evident in her curling lip as she surveyed the campsite.

Sighing softly, Ishta put her plate down beside her on the wooden bench. She steeled herself for an argument as she turned to face Lae'zel.

Here we go, she thought resignedly. "Faerûn isn't so bad. Give it a chance. I'm sure even a Githyanki can find beauty outside of the Astral Plane," she advised, trying to sound patient despite her frustration.

"I see naught but cowards cowering in their groves and grottos," Lae'zel retorted, her eyes narrowing as she spoke. "Flowering meadows and fecund soil have softened their minds and muscles. They rely on strangers' swords when they should be forging their own. The Tieflings do not even possess the courage to meet my eyes when they speak to me."

"They were probably just trying to be polite and not stare too much," Ishta suggested, rubbing her neck and attempting to diffuse the tension with a conciliatory smile. "You do look... unusual. Githyanki are rare in these parts."

"Yes, I expect I am your first," Lae'zel said, her expression unreadable.

"I know of Githyanki, but I'd never met one before the Nautiloid," Ishta admitted, her voice softening with genuine curiosity.

Lae'zel's tone was cold and dismissive as she replied, "Of course you haven't. They would have cut you from navel to neck if given the chance. You are no less alien to me than I am to you. I know of your kind, but I do not often encounter them. That large, fleshy nose of yours looks like a mistake."

Ishta's eyebrows raised in surprise and her cheeks flushed with a mix of irritation and dismay at Lae'zel's words. She heard Astarion snort into his cup before bursting into a fit of coughing behind her.

Turning to shoot him a dirty look, she saw him holding a cloth to his face, struggling to suppress his mirth as he unapologetically met her gaze above the red-stained fabric.

"Yes - best to keep quiet, lest any drivel leak from your lips," Lae'zel sneered. She sniffed haughtily before adding "No matter. I do not intend to stay long in this place."

Trying to keep her composure, Ishta turned back to Lae'zel and said through gritted teeth, "Lae'zel, I am truly sorry - for so many reasons - that you are stuck down here with us."