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Tavali was admiring the architecture of Bloomridge Park, so Karlach sensed the assassins first. They were making their way toward the fountain and trying to avoid a young couple near a statue. “There’s something going on here. I don’t like it.” Ten years in Avernus had given her quite the survival instincts. “Careful,” she said with a hand on Shadowheart’s right shoulder. “I smell an ambush.”
The cleric chuckled a bit. “Are you sure it’s not the flowers you’re smelling?” Shadowheart gestured to the autumnal blooms behind them, the scent carried on the wind. “You may be allergic.” But she sighed as they all checked their steps and looked around. “But better safe than sorry, I suppose.”
The trouble ended up being out in the open. They’d just reached a cart alongside a tree when they saw what indisputably looked like too assassins bickering at the fountain. They all blinked, trying to maintain an air of indifference, as a blonde woman coated in a thin red sheen berated a man for dressing “like a villain in a tragicomedy!”
And after seeing them, Astarion and Shadowheart spotted two snipers and another man hiding behind a large tree only feet away from them. He was glowing a similar subtle red.
They all pretended not to see the strange Bhaalists, demonstrating a reactivity that would be shocking if it weren't for the close quarters and combat they'd all lived in.
Astarion slid into position behind the tree, preparing to strike the crouching assassin with a brutal hit before he could do much damage. Karlach and Shadowheart took up defensive positions on the other side of the stairs near the unaware citizens.
They had a chance to surprise their enemy, and Tavali certainly took it. Astarion brought down the Knife of the Undermountain King, and Karlach tossed her trident into the arguing Bhaalists.
But Tavali and Shadowheart, for their part, took the first few seconds to shove and scream at the innocent civilians hovering nearby to get clear.
Even as the battle had only just commenced, she could hear Astarion swearing behind her. “They've got that bloody- protective- barrier!”
The half-elf knew what that meant. It meant the Bhaalists were using the trick they’d seen in the Counting House vaults; some sort of shield that protected them from the first few strikes and then reformed whenever they made a kill.
Damn.
Tavali wasn't deterred from spending another few precious seconds sprinting to the other side of the steps to holler “Run!” over the railing where she heard children screaming.
“We redden our steel by the light of day in His name,” boomed a deep male voice from below them.
Tavali didn't get a chance to look and see who'd spoken.
The blonde assassin at the bottom of the steps darted upward while the sorcerer was distracted. A stunning gaze caught Tavali full in the face, and she didn’t react in time to save her mind from the blow. She gasped as her head rang with white noise and her vision went black.
“Lady Orin asked us to test you, but I think you’ll fail,” the voice spoke again from the corner fountain, drawing closer with each word.
The knife sunk into her left side like a knife through butter. It had barely retracted from her ribs with a spurt of blood before its partner came in on her other side just beneath her right breast.
The sorcerer fell to her knees as the second blade withdrew from her.
“What say you, little lamb?”
Still trying to recover from the abrupt mental attack, she had no way to react and prevent her head from smacking against the ground. A new ache bloomed from the right side of her forehead that took the brunt of the fall. Her skin cracked open to release another stream of blood from the head wound.
She felt her lungs shudder and grow heavy, felt herself begin to drown in her own blood.
There were more screams around her, and then Tavali felt a warm, protective golden light fall over her. It was swiftly followed by a teal burst of powerful healing magic that stitched the deepest parts of the wounds in her sides back together.
As she came back into herself, it was in time to see Karlach throwing a dagger toward the pillar where an archer was readying a crossbow.
Tavali looked around and saw Astarion in an all-out dual-wielding duel with the Bhaalist at the tree, nimbly dodging and striking at the man in turns.
To Tavali's surprise and dismay, a trio of Flaming Fist came running up in the interim. She coughed up the blood that had filled her lungs while the leader addressed the gnomish captain, too far and too quiet to make out their words. But then the gnome’s mind lurched, casting about with the familiar sensation of a tadpole searching for connection, and Tavali groaned and spit away more blood as she braced herself. It was going to be an even worse fight if they had infected coming to back them up.
But whatever was spoken between them, it didn’t make them bosom companions. The Bhaalist gave an order, and one of the other Fist took two crossbolts immediately to her torso. She grunted in pain as she reeled backwards.
Another bolt shot to Tavali's left and she heard Shadowheart's groan of pain as it caught her.
The robed man in the corner stabbed the gnome twice before vanishing into invisibility.
And that, that was just-
Fury, potent and whip sharp as the willow tree in the windstorm, rose up in Tavali's blood.
Orin wanted to test them? She wanted to see what they could do?
Tavali would show the mad, psychotic bitch what they could do.
The sorcerer turned her focus back to the first woman, the one who had stunned and then stabbed her.
The assassin met her gaze from the bottom of the stairs with bloodlust of her own, but she did not see the danger in Tavali's eyes until it was too late to truly matter.
The chain lightning ripped out of the wild mage's hands as true as any storm. It blasted the woman full in the chest before arcing out to find her fellow cultists.
The robed man beside her, the one she'd been arguing with at the beginning, barely got out a scream before he was roasted into a blackened corpse.
The archer on the right side of the fountain met a similar grisly fate.
The lightly armored woman managed to stay on her feet, twitching and shaking as the lightning tore through her. But best of all, and according to Tavali's quick, shot-in-the-dark thinking, the invisible assassin couldn't hide from chain lightning. It sought and blasted him unprepared, sending him shouting into visibility and against the fountain edge.
The Fist captain sent out her own blast of healing magic, mending what remained of Tavali's stab wounds so she could stand fully upright again.
Astarion slew the assassin attacking him, but none of them were fast enough to stop the mage and the woman from turning to finish off the gnome. To Tavali's regret and frustration, the death did indeed recreate the protective barrier around the female assassin that blocked their attacks from hitting her.
But with more than half the Bhaalists defeated, the four of them made quick work of the two remaining.
Tavali panted for breath, leaning a little on her staff from the rush of adrenaline and rapid change from dying to almost fully healed.
She felt a hand on her left shoulder, and had to fight down an initial urge to drop a shocking grasp on it as Astarion's voice spoke an urgent “darling” into her ear.
She wasn't given much mental time to recover before a blonde-haired Fist came running up to them.
The four stared in horror as the fighter, who had been perfectly well and stable the first few moments she came up to them, started to twitch and jerk.
“This mind is,” she stuttered, “s-small. Fragile as an egg. Listen now.”
The Elder Brain was puppeting the woman like a bad marionette doll, beckoning them to kill Gortash and Orin and then join the Grand Design. All the while, the “vessel” bled from every orifice.
They all flinched backwards in disgust and despair when the possessed Fist collapsed mercifully dead to the ground.
“Gods,” Astarion swore, right hand gripping Tavali’s shoulder more tightly through her hide armor. “It turned her into a meat puppet. What the hells else can it do?” He asked sharply.
Tavali inhaled shakily, looking past the newest corpse to the scene before them.
The blood of the butchered Bhaalist soaked the stone work and trickled downward. From a distance, it blended so well with the autumn leaves growing along the platform that it wasn’t immediately obvious anything was amiss.
The fountain pool and mosaic tiles surrounding it were red, darkened by the leader of the assassins who'd fallen into it and the infected gnome captain of the Flaming Fist. The great axe-wielding fist who’d survived the assault was kneeling in front of her captain’s mangled body while her partner shouted and ran for reinforcements.
What reinforcements? Tavali thought bleakly. Everyone’s already dead.
The two archers lay dead upon their tall vantage points, and Tavali had to be glad that one had died of her chain lightning because the other had died from Karlach’s hurled daggers. She hung limply at the edge of the platform, arm dangling over the edge and crossbow broken at the bottom. Her blood had flowed in a grotesque waterfall toward the square stone tiles.
The blonde Fist who had run up just in time for the Elder Brain to seize her mind lay dead on the stairs.
Tavali's chain lightning had scorched the white stonework and painted tiles in a few places.
Hadn't Wyll and Astarion been talking about this park the other day as they passed it?
Hadn't Tavali been thinking only a few minutes ago how lovely it was, Steel Watch notwithstanding, with the leaves changing to red for the fall and the townsfolk gathering to relax at picnics?
Shadowheart took her by the right arm while the two remaining fists were distracted. Tavali met the other half-elf's eyes. “Let's get out of here,” the cleric hissed.
So they did, moving quickly away from the park and the sound of more Fist until they reached the lower city market again and had time to breathe.
Tavali's heart was thundering, but her friends barely had time to recover before the other half of their group found them all again, and they had to recap the fight for them.
And then somehow, that turned into an insistence that Tavali needed better armor.
“I just got this armor,” Tavali protested tiredly. She put a hand to the Feywild hide, feeling the cool damp patches of her blood and the two newly formed holes. “It can be patched like before.” The sorcerer had already had it repaired after the battle with Cazador. Surely it could be-
“It isn't good enough,” Astarion's hands fell on her biceps and shook her minutely. His expression was fierce. “They made you a pin cushion in six seconds. What more would they have managed if Shadowheart hadn't covered you with sanctuary?”
“But I can’t just change up armor,” Tavali argued, feeling penned in as a few of her friends surrounded her near the beige stone wall of the lower city. “I won’t be used to the weight.”
“You will get used to it, the same as I did, Astarion said unyieldingly. “You're already wearing hide armor. We'll find you something lightweight but in steel.”
Tavali opened her mouth again, ready to point out that they were busy and it could wait, when her friends joined in.
“Please, Tavi.” Karlach said from behind Astarion’s left side, standing behind a few of the others due to her extra height. Her golden eyes were molten with emotion. “You’ve gotten the snot beaten out of you the last few fights.”
Tavali frowned, mouth opened to object to that, but Shadowheart cut her off.
“Ketheric.” Shadowheart said gravely from where she stood between the rogue and the tiefling. “Cazador.” Astarion’s fingers flinched around Tavali's arms. “Now these cultists. You need better armor, Tav,” the cleric said in a tone that brooked no argument.
This all felt a little unfair. It wasn't that Tavali wouldn't like more protection. But Gale and Wyll were still wearing light armor, for gods’ sake. Why was everyone so focused on her?
“We have not recently slain a foe with armor worthy of you,” Lae’zel contributed from Astarion’s right side where she stood with Wyll. “Or that you could wear without issue,” the githyanki added. She turned to look back out over the marketplace. “But when our enemies do not provide, we may judiciously rely on the craftsman.” She knocked her fist against her own flawed helldusk armor, made by Dammon with the infernal iron they’d looted across their journey. On her head rested the helmet they’d taken from the Grym. Lae’zel was particular about her gear; she wanted armor and weapons that highlighted her victories.
Tavali was taken to Karlach’s friends then, the two vendors happy to see the heroic adventurers the Baldur’s Gazette had unwillingly trumpeted. She wasn't particularly impressed by anything the armorer offered, not because he didn’t have anything good but because her enchanted hide simply had benefits the other armors didn’t.
But then Astarion held up a rare piece, something Fentonson started glorifying the second it was in the rogue's hands.
He needn't have bothered. Tavali's eyes fixed on the beautiful armor before it was even completely laid out for her.
The gardbrace and top of the breastplate bore swirling golden vines that trailed down to a small sun blooming over the wearer's heart.
The cuisses were ornately shaped to look like leaves, complete with gold detailing to outline the edges and “veins.”
It belonged to a knight of the forests. It looked like something even Sylvanus or Mielikki would approve of, metal or no.
It looked like something a fey warrior would be proud to wear.
It looked heavy, but when Tavali took it into her hands, it didn't weigh more than the half-plate armor she'd already tried on. But that meant it was still twice as heavy as her sharpened snare hide.
“I'll be slow as a turtle in this,” the sorcerer muttered as she turned it about and started undoing the clasps to get an idea of the fit.
“You won't, lass,” Gloomy countered happily. “It'll feel light as leaves once you have it on. And the enchantment won't let it slow you down. It's the same as that hide you've got, but even stronger.”
Tavali could tell he was right as she put it on without doing up the straps. Heavier, but not unbearable.
“I don't want to hear a single word,” Astarion said with quiet, only partly teasing menace, “about the red underlayer.” His ruby eyes flashed. “You can dye it and be happy without getting stabbed every other day.”
Tavali balked severely at the price. She didn't think she or any of her friends had ever paid so much for a single piece of armor. But they managed to barter and haggle Fentonson down to something more reasonable, at no small number of weapons traded to him for his wife to sell, so Tavali parted with the nearly three thousand gold.
After the rest of the day getting supplies, buying dye, and meeting Jaheira's children of all people, now the half-elf was at their camp along the river. The Armor of Agility was spread out around her in pieces as she prepared to dye it with the bottle of Feywild green and dun dye.
Shadowheart sat beside her with two canteens of water and a few rags. The sun wasn’t so heavy now that fall had actually begun, but the humidity of the port city was still trying.
“Thank you for helping me. Ready to get started?” Tavali asked with a chipper smile. “Shouldn’t take us too long to get this done.”
“Let’s get to it,” Shadowheart agreed with a soft smile.
(Karlach didn't consider herself to be well-read, but she had her own areas of expertise.
Killing demons and devils? She was a master.
Throwing pointy things at bad guys? A champion. Throwing bad guys at other bad guys? Ditto.
Carrying a wounded friend to safety? Few could outdo her.
But what she also had was a particular skillset born of prowling the streets as a knuckleheaded kid, guarding an ambitious political climber, and surviving ten years in Avernus as Zariel’s pet.
And that was the ability to see an insult coming from a mile away.
So when she saw Tavali sit down with a bottle of brown dye and her new armor, shiny with silver and coppery lining in the early autumn sunlight, Karlach knew what she had to do.)
“Tavali,” Karlach said with unnatural stoicism. The half-elf looked at her, a little surprised to see the foreboding expression on the tiefling’s face. “I get it,” the tiefling went on. “You love nature, you love druid-y stuff. It’s your thing.” Karlach waved her hand up and down Tavali’s body as if to capture that statement. The sorcerer was currently wearing a green and blue shirt above her brown pants. “But if you dye your metal armor brown,” the barbarian explained with a clawed finger pointing at the proffered breastplate, “that is not what people are going to get out of it.”
Tavali frowned down at the smelted steel, taking in the breastplate that she’d already dunked into the Feywild green and dun dye. It was a deep, shiny brown with gold lining now. “But,” she started slowly, “the fabric is going to come out green. I’m pretty sure-”
“Tavi,” Karlach said again. “Do you know what kids are going to say when they get a look at you?”
The half-elf looked back up at Karlach and cocked her head in confusion.
“Can’t say for certain,” Karlach said with a bob of her head from side to side, “but the first thing that comes to mind? The Shit Soldier.”
Tavali’s mouth parted. No sound came out. To the right, Tavali heard Shadowheart inhaled in a hiss.
“Maybe Shit Sorcerer, if they catch you slinging spells. But you get my point.”
Another beat. Two.
“That’s not- that’s completely,” Tavali looked back down at her dyed armor in dismay. “It’s embellished with gold,” she protested back up at Karlach. “It looks- it looks like chocolate if anything.” The sorcerer looked around at Shadowheart for backup.
The cleric looked at her, but only thinned her lips and didn’t offer any support. Tavali’s lips parted anew.
“Sorry, wild thing.” Karlach was completely unapologetic. She put her hands authoritatively on her hips. “Gotta give you the brutal truth. Loads of kids are devious little ankle biters. You don't want to get on the wrong side of one who’ll start yelling to anyone who'll listen that you look like shit. Literal shit.”
It was a little ridiculous, Tavali knew, how put out Karlach’s comments made her feel. But Tavali had been thrilled to find a dye named for the Feywild. What little of the green it had created so far had been beautiful on the armor’s fabric.
“Now that she says it,” Shadowheart spoke at last, “I can kind of see it, Tav.”
The sorcerer sat back on her calves, feeling vaguely defeated. The tiefling took a seat at the armor’s feet, picking up a still-silver cuisse. “Good rule of thumb? Don’t do brown on metal. It looks okay on hides or clothes, but people expect that to be brown. Metal's gotta be something different. Gotta be something shiny that looks like it should be shiny.”
“But it can’t be too shiny,” Tavali complained. “It's hard enough to sneak about in clanking armor. If it catches the light too much, I’ll be exposed every few steps.”
“You make a good point,” Karlach conceded, tossing the cuisse between her hands. “We do do a lot of sneaking around.”
“You could go with gray,” Shadowheart offered with a tap to her gauntlets. “Keeps the light off of me somewhat. But I don’t think that’d quite suit you.”
Tavali quirked her lips to the side. “Maybe not. And I’d like to get the sleeves and leggings green,” she said quietly. She held the partially dyed armor aloft. “Red isn’t quite my color,” she said, some of her more playful tone coming back as they brainstormed.
“Heh. Nah,” Karlach agreed. “Leave that to your rogue.”
Tavali grinned briefly at the tiefling's quick understanding. Then she sighed and reached back into their chest of dyes. There should be a few bottles of remover she could rely on.
Minsc and Jaheira came over at one point, curious about what colors they were using. They'd kitted the enormous man in some dwarven-made heavy armor they'd stolen from Moonrise that no one had been wearing yet. He was eager to make it his own as well.
The druid looked at the Armor of Agility while Tavali dyed her leggings green, and pointed to the breastplate. “Be careful not to let that detailing stand out,” she cautioned while Minsc and Boo inspected the other dyes. “Otherwise, you will give your enemies a bullseye,” she tapped the pale-yellow sun, “directly over your heart.”
Tavali blanched, looking around and immediately agreeing. That was how they decided to just give up and leave the breastplate its original silver and pale gold detailing. Her leggings and sleeves were a solid green, lighter on top and darker on the bottom, and that was really all she needed to be content.
When she finished and admired the combination of colors, Tavali could only grin brightly at her new gear.
Birthright was still swamp green, and her gloves of dexterity were now brown with green accents. Her violet cloak fit well against the other colors.
And lastly, Astarion had surprised her with the new scarf the other day, thinking it was just a token of affection and unknowingly reducing her to a blushing mess.
“For you, my love.”
Tavali turned from the stall she was examining for cheap camp clothes now that they were in the city. Rags had served them well enough, but she and her friends would need sweaters soon.
Astarion appeared at her side with an excited grin. He brought up his right hand in a twirling flourish and then bent his back slightly to hold the something aloft like a courtly gentleman.
Tavali looked at him, looked at his hand, and realized he was holding a purple scarf out to her.
A purple. Scarf.
Her eyes went wide and her mouth parted in surprise as her heart surged. Her face colored a deep red so rapidly that Astarion's happy expression faltered and he straightened slightly.
“You-” the sorcerer squeaked. “You- you don't, you probably don't,” she stammered. Her hands fluttered up between them, torn between taking the scarf and pushing it away until he understood what this looked like.
Her high elf just looked confused and had just shifted into crestfallen when Tavali finally got her mouth back under control. “In Cormyr,” she said halting. “Giving someone a purple scarf,” and now she did let her left fingers settle on his still proffered right forearm. She avoided touching the scarf itself. “It's a courting gift,” she swallowed a little.
Astarion blinked twice.
“Purple scarves, like mine,” Tavali reached up and hooked two fingers in her thoroughly worn-out scarf, now more brown than purple, “are used to tell people if a girl was single and available. I would never wear it like this if we were there,” she added hastily and dropped her right hand back down. “But the west doesn't keep that custom so I haven’t worried about it. But, back home, it's also,” she fumbled and gestured to the new scarf again with her free right hand. “A gift lovers give to each other. Purple scarves to, uh,” her throat tightened in embarrassment. “To show their devotion.”
Astarion stared at her for another long moment. Crowds of other people continued to slowly mill past. Vendors called out their wares and, somewhere, a Steel Watcher stomped about. Tavali heard it all very distantly as she remained fixated on his eyes.
The corners of those eyes crinkled as a slow, sensual smirk curled his lips.
Oh gods.
“Well in that case, darling,” Astarion's empty left hand came up to her neck. He curled his fingers where hers had been in her scarf and started to tug. It slipped free of her hide armor and the slight breeze met her neck.
She didn't think that was to blame for the gooseflesh that broke out over her, though.
“Let me do the honors,” Astarion purred. He tossed the old scarf over his shoulder with a flick of his wrist. Then he brought up both hands to take the thin violet scarf and wrap it slowly around Tavali's neck. The rogue didn't break eye contact with her, his ruby eyes smoldering and hooded as he looped the cotton and brought the pieces together in her usual knot.
Tavali was breathing a little heavily when he was done, lips parted and watching him like it would be a sin to look away. The high elf released the scarf but then seized Tavali's face with both hands at her jaw. He dragged her forward the half a foot separating them and smothered her mouth with his.
The sorcerer didn't even try to contain the moan that he swallowed and met his tongue with hers for many long, burning seconds.
Aster. Aster, repeated in her head as her arms came up to wrap around his back. Aster.
He pulled away, and it felt like minutes had passed when she knew it could only have been seconds.
“Can't leave you with any doubts,” Astarion panted with a roguish grin as he gave her a final peck and then stepped back. He dropped his left hand entirely, but let his right fall back to her collar where her new scarf sat. “Wear it every day,” he said in a low passion. “My love.”
Tavali felt her eyes actually prick with joyful tears and had to smile or she would cry. “Every day,” she laughed as she said it, reaching up to hug him again. Chastely, this time.
His arms came around her, and he turned to whisper into her left ear. “Did you think telling me any of that,” he said slowly and mockingly, “would make me take it back?”
Tavali's inhale shuddered a little. “No, but, it would've meant too much to me” she confessed. “So I needed to be sure you knew, too. Or it would've felt weird.”
“‘Weird,’ hmm?” Astarion echoed. He pulled back from her and put his right hand to her chin. His fingers were possessive as he gazed down from his slightly taller height. “You'll have to tell me other Cormyrian courting traditions, then, so I can fulfill them all.”
Tavali huffed into his shoulder. Her heart felt too big for her chest. “Deal,” she murmured back.
When she put it the full set together the next morning, Tavali could not deny that it was a relief to have forged steel between her ribs and the next person who tried to run her through. For all that she'd been worried about having to get used to the extra weight, it was worth it. They'd be scouting for the Temple of Bhaal today, and that almost guaranteed she'd be dodging more expert assassins.
Her pleasure only increased at the way Astarion's eyes outright darkened when he saw her. “Gods below,” he murmured as she tightened the brown straps around her waist. “And how am I supposed to focus on killing our enemies,” He slid his left arm along her right waist and dipped his face into her neck. “When you're standing there looking like this?”
“You said that,” Tavali giggled, arching her neck to the left as his lips tickled her. Her skin was still bare without her purple scarf to cover it and her puncture scars. “About the Feywild hide, too. And you're one to talk.” Her hands came up to hold his vambraces. “You still look like a rogue prince in a fairy tale.” Even with the feathered Helmet of Grit, which Astarion had started to wear after some slight prodding because he didn't want to look like a “plucked parrot.”
“Yes, my love, but I can hardly distract myself, can I?” He nuzzled into her right ear, and she was grateful neither of them had put on their headgear yet to spoil the fun. “And you're far more focused than I. You can afford to be a little,” he nipped her earlobe, and she jumped a bit, “diverted.”
“Hah,” Tavali breathed, squeezing his arms before mustering herself and starting to push him back. “No distractions today, I'm afraid.” She reached up to brush his curls away from his forehead. “Only sewers and more cultists.” Her grin turned wry at his wrinkled nose and pout.
He grumbled, but when she offered up her scarf for him to tie it around her neck, his face smoothed back into delight, and he happily took up the task.