Ethemon stared directly at the person before him, completely speechless.
The pale-skinned elf, dressed in fine woolen robes embroidered with exquisite patterns, possessed a face that made Ethemon fall for him at first glance. His white, curly hair had tips that seemed to turn translucent in the sunlight, and a pair of red eyes resembled the most exquisite gems. With his high-bridged nose, thin lips, and even charming laugh lines, he was gorgeous. How lovely!
Seeing Ethemon approach, the elf, who had been shouting just moments before, immediately waved a hand. His slender fingers traced an elegant arc in the air, pulling the dazed Ethemon back to his senses. "Come quickly, I've cornered a monster."
He leaned forward, lowering his stance to make room for Ethemon. With his movement, the lingering scent of his perfume drifted uncontrollably into Ethemon's nose—bergamot, rosemary, and aged brandy, an intoxicating fragrance.
"Right there in the bushes. You can kill it, right? Just like you killed those other bugs."
Recovering from the shock of such beauty, Ethemon immediately realized that the elf either had been following right behind him on the Nautiloid all along or had been watching ever since he dealt with the intellect devourers down by The Cove. The elf had probably been tailing them for quite some time.
With this thought, Ethemon glanced at the elf's slender limbs, his expression unchanged as he casually drew his longsword. "A piece of cake. Stand back."
He had indeed suspected that this elf harbored ill intentions, but he hadn't expected this fellow to be so reckless.
With a casual sidestep, he dodged a dagger aimed directly at his throat. Ethemon glanced at the wild boar bursting from the bushes, then looked back at the elf, who was cautiously holding his dagger up to his chest, and smiled placidly. "Relax, elf. There's no need for us to fight."
"Is that so?" The pale-faced elf curled his lip into a sarcastic sneer—oh, beautifully so, even then. "I saw you on the ship, though. You were running around freely back there. You're with them, aren't you? Those tentacled—ah!"
Here it was again! Ethemon inwardly rolled his eyes, but having been through the experience several times already, he had grown accustomed to the bizarre sensation. Naturally, he began to view the world through another pair of eyes: busy, pitch-black streets, those bright yet blurred memories, and the terror surging from the depths of his soul. Ethemon wanted to search for more, but the elf before him had already quickly broken free from the chaos. "What was that? What just happened?"
The elf's crimson eyes fixed intently on Ethemon, his expression tinged with panic, like a startled cat.
"It's a Mind Flayer Tadpole. It's linked our minds." Ethemon put away his weapon, making the first move to show goodwill.
The white-haired elf watched Ethemon's action, raised an eyebrow slightly, and sheathed his own dagger as well. "Oh~ So those tentacled monsters are behind this. They implanted something inside us, and that's why we have this connection."
Ethemon nodded, a strange feeling rising in his heart. Although his mind was a mess, he knew quite a bit about the Mind Flayers that had been running amok in recent years. But why did this elf use phrasing as if he knew nothing about the Mind Flayer race at all, constantly referring to them as bugs or monsters? Was he some kind of wood elf hiding deep in the forest? His attire didn't look like it, though.
"So you were captured too? I... I just saw it in the vision," the elf said, an apologetic look crossing his face. "I actually tried to disembowel you just now. I'm so sorry."
That perfectly drooping expression, carrying a hint of naive grievance—even though Ethemon clearly knew there wasn't much sincerity in the apology, he couldn't bear to expose him.
It was just like the cat you raised knocking over your favorite vase, only to immediately and obediently trot up to you, opening its big eyes and meowing innocently; how could you ever find it in your heart to scold it further?
Not to mention that Ethemon had ulterior motives.
"You can't really be blamed. I'm looking forward to meeting new... companions."
The white-haired elf instantly broke into a smile. "Ah, it seems we see eye to eye, then~" He tilted his head back, and Ethemon could see the sunlight streaming across his face, making his skin look almost translucent, down to the finest, clearly visible peach fuzz. "My name is Astarion. I was snatched up by those monsters in Baldur's Gate."
"Pleased to meet you, I'm Ethemon." Ah, another Baldurian. Come to think of it, did he forget something?
His disconnected brain struggled to recall what he had forgotten, but Astarion's question immediately pulled his attention away. "So, do you know much about these bugs?"
"As much as I hate to admit it," Ethemon shrugged, "if we don't find a healer soon, within seven days at most, those bugs will transform us into Mind Flayers."
"What?!" It seemed Astarion truly knew nothing about Mind Flayers. Hearing Ethemon say this, the astonishment on his face was entirely unmasked. Then, seemingly thinking of something, he let out a helpless, frustrated chuckle. "Oh, I suppose that figures. It really was going to turn us into monsters after all. I was just hoping for too much." His voice gradually lowered, and Ethemon didn't quite catch the end of his sentence. Just as he wanted to offer words of comfort, the elf had already adjusted his mood on his own.
"So, we need to find someone capable of controlling these worms before the transformation sets in..." Astarion's gaze met Ethemon's, his face the picture of innocence.
Ethemon understood, letting out an involuntary chuckle. "So, want to join forces and travel together? There's safety in numbers, after all."
"Well, how should I put it?" Astarion lightly brushed a hand across his cheek, smiling captivatingly. "I originally intended to handle this on my own, but teaming up with everyone doesn't seem like a bad idea either. Lead the way. By the way, that's your half-elf companion, isn't she?" He even found the time to offer a polite bow.
Ethemon: ......We're doomed!
He whipped his head around like a sunflower tracking the sun. Not far away beneath a tree, Shadowheart stood with her arms crossed, watching. Seeing Ethemon turn, she offered a chilly smile. "Oh, finally remembered me, did you?"
Ignoring Ethemon's attempts to open his mouth and explain, Shadowheart stepped forward and greeted Astarion. After introducing themselves, the two of them quickly struck up a conversation. Listening to the long string of unfamiliar place names, Ethemon belatedly realized they were talking about architecture in Baldur's Gate. Ah, when two locals meet, they naturally warm up to each other in no time.
Astarion easily picked up on the shifts in other people's emotions. Seeing Ethemon suddenly sink into gloom, he spoke up, "Don't be so depressed, little one. I was just chatting with my half-elf friend about the scenery back home. Smile."
The teased Ethemon cast a dark-lined glance at the elf before him, trying to guess his age from those handsome features, but to no avail. That was the damn trouble with long-lived races; someone who looked young on the outside could very well be several centuries old.
"I am of age."
"Mmhmm," Astarion nodded soothingly, though he certainly didn't take it to heart. "An adult who loves wandering around and is keen on scavenging little trinkets everywhere."
"Shadowheart, what on earth did you tell him?" Ethemon asked with a sour expression.
Shadowheart didn't care at all about Ethemon's darkened face, laughing brazenly. "Just a few little anecdotes to help our new companion understand you better." Ignoring the stomping, disgruntled young half-elf, Shadowheart motioned for Astarion to follow her back toward the cove they had just visited. "Come with me. I need you two to help me move a stone. I think I found a hidden treasure chest."
Watching the two people who had abandoned him in an instant, Ethemon let out an unhappy huff, his gaze drifting back to Astarion's retreating figure—such a strange elf.
His build was slender, and while somewhat thin, it wasn't the thinness of a skeleton. He loved incorporating exaggerated gestures into his speech, yet whenever he made them, they looked as though they had been practiced countless times, making them thoroughly pleasing to the eye. There seemed to be a faint fragrance lingering in the air around him, and his pale, almost sickly skin... what if it were paired with a dazzling red? Say, a corpse lying in a pool of blood......
"Ethemon! Keep up!" Shadowheart's voice instantly snapped Ethemon out of his fantasy. As if forgetting what he had just been thinking, Ethemon hurried to catch up with the other two, though as he passed by Astarion, he couldn't help but lick his sharp canine tooth.
The spot Shadowheart had found was the small beach where they had just washed up. Tucked between the rocks was a patch of land piled high with stones, and beneath a massive boulder bearing traces of artificial wear, the silhouette of a black box was faintly visible.
Working together, the group shoved the boulder aside and pulled out the box. Inside, alongside a few gems and healing potions, lay a book and a scroll.
It was a somewhat worn map. Through many hands, other regions had become indistinct, save for a specially marked area called Moonrise Towers, next to which a small crescent moon was drawn in the forest with the words "Hidden Point" written beside it. It looked like a treasure map.
Still, the name Moonrise Towers sounded remarkably familiar. Wasn't it somewhere around Reithwin Town?
Seeing that neither of his companions spoke up, Ethemon didn't ask further. He picked up the book—it was a *Harper's Handbook*. Inside were a bunch of damp, blurred file reports, and one could only faintly discern that the text frequently mentioned the blasphemous acts of Selûne's worshippers.
Selûne, the Moon Maiden, goddess of light and warmth.
Even her peace-loving, devout followers had started dabbling in blasphemy?
Tossing the handbook back into the chest, they took the gems, potions, and treasure map along with them.
Seeing his two companions lost in silence, Astarion had no choice but to speak up. "So, can we leave now? Honestly, right now I just want to find a place to rest as quickly as possible. I'm tired and thirsty, and a down-filled mattress would be the icing on the cake."
"Ha, we're stranded out in the wilderness and you're still dreaming of a feather mattress? That's noble life for you." Shadowheart snapped out of her gloom and chuckled teasingly.
"Please, a person has to have aspirations. With a feather mattress, I could finally get some perfect sleep."
"Well, we can ask around for you the next time we run into a merchant. Maybe they actually sell them."
"Oh~ thoughtful Ethemon."
Chatting casually, the three of them passed through the still-burning wreckage of the Nautiloid. Aside from ordinary fishermen who had been caught up in the disaster, they also found goblins who had been hauled up and killed in the crash. The gear they carried was quite plentiful, allowing the three to heavily supplement their supplies.
"So, we have food and weapons, but what's next? Does anyone have any good suggestions?" Astarion tucked two daggers into his belt and asked the other two for their opinions. Please, he was just an ordinary person who had lived his whole life in Baldur's Gate; how could he possibly know the first thing about wilderness survival?
Ethemon climbed to a higher vantage point to survey the surroundings. Half the wreckage of the Nautiloid had crashed into the sea, while the other half crushed the land. In the opposite direction lay a forest. Remembering that they had previously found traces of human activity, there had to be a gathering camp nearby.
"Let's head toward the forest. We aren't sure of our exact location yet, so we need to find a local and ask properly."
The three of them explored deeper into the forest, and sure enough, along the way they discovered quite a few traps meant for catching small animals. It seemed a settlement wouldn't be far off.
"Um, not that I want to interrupt your pathfinding, but doesn't that magic rune look a little off?" Astarion poked Ethemon's arm, pointing at the blackish-purple vortex twisting incessantly on a nearby stone wall.
An ancient rune circle. Its creator and the time of its creation were no longer verifiable, but its utility was immense. As long as one left their signature essence upon the rune, they could use it to make short-range, rapid leaps—though of course, not just anyone could use it; one had to at least be able to channel the rune's power.
The rune, which should have been quietly etched into the rock face, was currently undergoing violent fluctuations.
Ethemon raised an eyebrow. Could it be that some poor soul got stuck inside while using the rune and couldn't get out?