Chapter Text
Saturday in the Quad should have been ordinary. Reina’s body disagreed. Brushing off the disquieted feeling Reina runs through her form. Staff twirling, body moving with lethal grace. The practiced movements should have quieted her mind. Allowed her to enter a meditative state. Instead, every pivot. Every sweep feels off. Her body feels at war with her intent.
Pain pulses behind her eye, a reminder of the concussion that landed her in the hospital two weeks ago. Stopping to gather her thoughts, Reina groans, rubbing her eyes and refocused, pushing the headache away.
Laying the staff down, she moves through the slower more mindful Tai Chi movements, willing herself to focus. Her mind quiets, and drifts into a peaceful state. But the trees, where are the trees? Is that a well? No, of course not. There they are, the trees are back. What was she thinking, trees don’t disappear.
The concussion must really be as dangerous as her doctor needs her to believe. Seeing things, never a good sign.
Sighing Rey picks up her staff and heads back home. The streets are crowded for a late Saturday morning, people wearing costumes? Is that orc holding a bloodied axe? Those tusks look real and all that green body paint and scars? Those scars look incredibly real.
Must be a fantasy convention going on, maybe I’ll attend. Shaking her head, the orc disappears just as suddenly as it appeared. A young child comes up to her, pulling her attention from the disappearing orc.
The child’s clawed hands reach out for her, as she asks for help in a foreign language, large golden eyes with black sclera blinking in fear. Where are her parents, Reina wonders. Reaching out to take the child’s clawed hand in hers. Rey realizes there is no child, just an old, dented garbage can.
Head throbbing, she decides it’s time to head home.
Pulling the door to her apartment open, the air changes, and the world shifts. The door closes with a groan of old weathered wood, instead of the metallic clang she is used to. Ignoring the warning her mind is screaming, she steps further into the studio and stops, mouth agape, staff in defensive posture. What is she seeing? She blinks and does a slow turn, eyes taking in the long wooden tables where her couch and TV should be.
A dwarven bartender stands behind a weathered bar, in her kitchenette? Taking a tentative step toward the bar and climbing onto a barstool she accepts the mug the kindly dwarf hands her, leaning into the concussion induced hallucination.
The movement calms her, this she knows, her friends acted out this very scenario last week. Just like Tom described but realer somehow. Incredibly real. Tieflings, Orcs, Humans, Elves all mingling together as a Dragonborn bard plays the lute. Two gnomes are engaged in what Tom calls 3-Dragon Ante. Just over their shoulder the door to her apartment is ajar, letting revelers in and out.
It’s gone. Her home is gone, replaced by this familiar scene. She decides to lean into the dream, placing her staff next to her, she takes a sip of the ale, its hoppy bitter version of her favorite beer.
A group of revelers part to allow a High Elf to enter the scene. He’s tall, lithe, and carries himself with the ease of someone who is used to getting what he wants. His eyes scan the bar, landing on faces. Dismissing them in quick succession. A gnomish male approaches two mugs in hand and attempts to give one to the elf. His smile is cruel as the gnome scurries away.
The elf continues his appraisal of the bar’s denizens, as a human man approaches him and they share heated words, with the human escorting a Tiefling male out of the bar. The elf watching them leave, his face a picture of loathing that he immediately corrects as he sees Rey.
He walks up to the bar, with a grace that makes her wonder if he too is a student of martial arts. He smiles and Rey’s inner alarm bells ring. Nightmare, this is a nightmare. She covers her drink with her hand, as this elf looks at her like she’s a treat, something to be devoured.
“Hello darling, you’re new, aren’t you?” he whispers, his voice slides over her skin like silk. Dear God, the man purrs.
She shivers reflexively, and he smiles, knowing his voice caused her reaction.
Turning to him, hand covering her drink, “Perhaps, perhaps not. Why do you ask?”
The elf hums lightly, “Because I would have remembered you.”
Smiling, she raises her glass to him, in greeting. He smells of brandy, and something floral which she cannot place. She takes in his practiced smile, red eyes, white curls, and thinks an albino Lolth-sworn Drow. How intriguing and dangerous.
“You smell positively delicious, darling”
“Do I? You smell like you drowned in brandy.”
He barks a laugh, “I like you, let’s move somewhere quieter. You fascinate me darling.” He offers his hand. Eyes never leaving Reina’s storm grey.
“And if I say no, what then?” she counters.
“Then my dear, I remain here. Forever captivated. By the mystery that is you.” He leaned back, amused smirk playing across his lips.
Rolling her eyes, “So assured you will win this gambit.”
“Won’t I?”
Shaking her head, Reina grabs her staff, and heads to the tavern door. Time to wake up she thinks.
He follows, her shadow, intent on pursuit. “Leaving so suddenly? Where are we going my dear?”
Turning towards him, she sees fear flit across his features, quickly schooled into poised amusement. “Why do you follow? What do you want?”
“I thought I made that quite obvious. You. You are most unexpected. I find myself enamored.”
“You don’t even know my name. Nor I yours. Why were you afraid?”
“My name’s Astarion. My fear? I do not wish to lose so delectable of a morsel such as yourself. Do tell me your name.”
Outside the tavern the landing has melted into a street, with floating willowisp lights, and cobblestones. Late night partygoers slip in and out of the tavern. The bard’s song flitting on the night’s breeze.
The scent of ale and smoke gave way to cobblestones and cool night air. Her head throbs as the night spins.
Strong arms catch her, “Gotcha, darling.” He’s close. Far too close for comfort.
“Reina call me Reina. Now let me go.”
“I’d rather not. That sounds so dreadfully boring,” he pouts. Eyes, lingering on her face, sweeping across her lips.
“Come, I’ll allow you to walk me home,” he teases, eyes narrowing. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. He hesitates, his eyes flashing red. It’s as if he received an order.
“Your eyes, they flashed red. What are you?”
“A trick of the light my dear. I am nothing more than an elf. I assure you.” His smile begs her to believe.
Stepping away from him, she assesses him. His posture, predator.
His eyes, fearful, almost feral.
Staff in hand, Reina moves on instinct. Crack.
“You wretched thing! My knee.”
“I’m leaving. Don’t follow. Next time I aim higher.”
Pushing him back, she heads towards where the stairs should be, willing herself to wake, when she hears screams in the distance.
The stars disappear as an Illithid Nautiloid appears. Reina stares. The elf runs past her.
Fleshy tentacles descend, grabbing all in its wake.
Reina fades from consciousness.