TLV: IC Contact

[sixfeetofdirt]

Careful; I bite.

Comments

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Strange," Astarion says. "It's a very...limited form of necromancy. The body is animated, the memories within the mind can be used to answer questions, but the soul is still gone. There's no true intellect remaining. It's the difference between being able to read a book and question its author, you might say."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

It all sounds suspicious and weird and unnatural, but he has to push past that thought since he knows where it comes from.

"Did you get the answers you wanted?"

[sixfeetofdirt]

"We got enough to embarrass a local criminal investigator by doing her job for her. It was ultimately helpful."

He decides not to try explaining what Valeria is beyond her job. Hollyphants are...certainly something.

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"Good. Keep the cops in their places."

He whistles and Mae returns, panting and exhausted. She lies down at Jacob's feet and he kneels down to pet her. "That the only time you did it?"

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Me personally, yes. One of our companions questioned the father of a girl we found looking for him and her mother, out in the wilds. I don't really know why. Knowing who killed them didn't make them any less dead, and we weren't going to tell a young girl about her parents' violent murder."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

Seems strange.

"What did you learn?" he asks.

[sixfeetofdirt]

"They were part of a group of refugees we encountered earlier in our travels," Astarion says, for context. "We found that their leader had abandoned them, the group had scattered, and the two of them were murdered by a little coven of undead nurses."

There's something very tired and 'it's a long fucking story' in Astarion's expression.

"Arabella, their daughter, didn't take their passing very well but I imagine she's outlived me."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"Okay. Uh. So how much of this all surprised you when you actually went out on your grand fucking adventure? How much of this did you expect?"

[sixfeetofdirt]

"I can't say that the undead shocked me very much at all," Astarion says, bone dry. "And Baldur's Gate has seen more than its fair share of magical drama over the last two centuries, even if I only saw it from a distance.

"That being said? I certainly didn't ever think I'd be fighting against the manifestation of a god, or alongside the child of another. I didn't expect to travel between planes, or make deals with a devil. I knew these things were possible, but simply...existed outside of any life I'd ever live. "

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"Seems like a lot to contend with, you know. The unknown about - what the fuck is out there."

He waves a hand. "There weren't many mysteries like that left on earth. Stuff that shocked."

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion reaches down to give Mae a little fuss.

"Earth seems...smaller, than Toril. I don't mean that in a derogatory way, more that - well, we have gods and devils and races of other planes, using its people as pieces on some grand chessboard. Some of those people are made kings and knights, while others are simply pawns for strategic disposal. And that's without accounting for the power politics going on within Toril itself."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"Used to be different, centuries ago. But we got phones now. Devices like the ones here that connect us to everyone in the world. We have cameras and video and drones and everything else that makes the world smaller and less - wild," he explains. "Doesn't mean we had magic, but - shit used to be bigger. It used to have a reason."

He shrugs. "Just means you have to pick a better place."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"I wonder if that place exists sometimes," Astarion admits, quietly. "Though maybe here, we're working with a rather...biased sample."

Nobody seems to get to the Barge by living an even semi-normal life.

Gotta love when your tag gets eaten by your phone

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"Well, first you have to figure out what sort of place you're looking for," he points out mildly, though he nudges him gently with his shoulder.

I don't love that at all D:

[sixfeetofdirt]

"You're right," he concedes. "I can rule things out, but when I try to think about what I'd rule in..."

He shrugs, helplessly.

It really is the worst though

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"Start easy," he suggests. "What do you need? Not want - just...need. You gotta have a place that has something other than humans. A place with magic. A place with all the shit you like."

Re: It really is the worst though

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion hums. He doesn't disagree with any of that.

"What about you, Jacob? What do you need?"

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

To not be alone again.

He's said it already, but maybe it's something that needs reiterating, especially after Rosita.

"Someplace I can hunt, with animals I know or can learn. With places to live outside of cities. And where - I have people." A pack.

[sixfeetofdirt]

"How many people?" Astarion asks, semi-teasing, but also hoping that the desire to accumulate cults doesn't run in families.

(Wait, is that what he wants? Surely he should be in favour of starting a group of loyal followers he can control.

Hm.)

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"Enough that I'm not alone, but not so many that I can't be by myself," he snorts. "Three at the most. Two is better."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Rosita, myself and - do our pets count as a person, collectively?"

He's terrifyingly close to wondering if the fantasy of ascension to nigh-godhood is maybe...not as appealing as it used to be.

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"They can," he laughs. "Aylin certainly seems to think she's a person with all the times she tries to sleep between us."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"I think while I trance, I'm barely more than furniture to her," he sighs. "It's just as well she's never tried to eat me."

He thinks for a moment. Actively challenges himself to engage with the question. What does he need?

"I wouldn't want to be entirely out in the wilderness," he ventures. "But there are means both magical and technological to bridging that gap. Portals and the like. Having somewhere quiet might be...nice."

Somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe. He can...imagine the appeal.

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"Long as I'm not in a city, I don't think it matters. And Rosita, if she wants to come, needs space to go."

He smiles over at him. "You gotta have some sort of place to get all your nice clothes, huh?"

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Obviously," Astarion says, giving his shirt a bit of theatrical fussing. "Or at least, somewhere to buy fabric so I can make my nice clothes."