Mostly Nyx POV, Astarion POV towards the end then finishing off with Nyx POV.

She was fighting again, or rather grappling. Black sticky tendrils wrapped around each arm and she struggled against them. They were trying to pull her towards the black pit form which they sprang. She wasn't losing ground during the tug of war, but she needed to break free from them regardless. Otherwise, she'll be stuck here at an impasse, whatever place this was in her mind.

Nyx reached out to her mental arsenal and plucked out a memory to help her ward them off. She willed the memory to the forefront of her mind and as she did so, her fingers started to light up. The light spread down her fingers and into her palms. The tendrils snatched away when the light touched them and a screech emanated from the black pit beyond. She paid the sound no heed and she started her incantation to reinforce the memory while the light continued down her wrist, gradually freeing her from more of the tendrils.

"Why do you still fight me? My daughter, has it not been long enough?" a wispy disembodied voice drifted from the black pit. It didn't belong to any of Nyx's mental versions of herself.

Her heart jumped. She did not expect to hear that voice echoing in her mind. She hadn't heard it in years. Nyx made sure to reinforce her mind to prevent it from reaching her so easily. Her mental defences must have slipped and the voice succeeded in its distraction. The light memory fell from her mind. Black tendrils grasped at her arms again when the light snuffed out and they succeeded in sliding Nyx forward.

"Damn you.", Nyx gritted through her teeth and the voice laughed in skittering undertones.

"You are so tired. My child of the night. Stop running and let me bring you home.", it purred from the darkness. Nyx scrambled and caught the receding memory bringing it back up with new vigour and doubling her incantation efforts. She cannot engage with the voice; she's not playing its games - she needs to focus on the memory and the incantation. She will not be drawn into that layer of the abyss. Mental manifestation of it or not.

The light flared bright and blinding. More screeching as tendrils seared off her arms. Nyx blinked the aftereffects of the light from her eyes and continued applying layer after layer of magic to the light. The voice hissed in frustration. Nyx started to pull back. One step. Then two. The other tendrils flailing around her just out of the light's reach, seeking to reattach themselves elsewhere. Nyx poured a final effort of magic into the light and the last tendrils recoiled in agony.

"I will find you again!", the voice threatened.

"I always do.", it promised.

As she fell backwards Nyx re-established her protective layers, sealing herself away from the voice. Silencing it once more.

---

As she fled from that corner of her mind, Nyx jerked awake and involuntarily sat up. Everything remained dark. For a moment she wasn't sure if she had even awoken, but her heart pounded in her ears, and she could hear her own shaky breathing in the quiet gloom of what seemed to be a tent. She let out a breath of relief and fell back onto the bedroll. Puzzlement furrowed her features, wondering how her metal slate and clear skies had been replaced by a bedroll with a tent overhead.

She's not complaining, just confused. She took stock of her injuries. Some bumps, bruises, and the anti-magic migraine still in full effect, albeit bearable. All-in-all she's not at risk of dying anymore. Shadowheart's doing most likely. Thank you, wherever you are, and I hope to get to say this in person to you too.

Then other words started to whisper to her. I will find you again, I always do.

She ignored them and squinted through the migraine at the tent. It was small, barely large enough to house the bedroll she occupied. A quick glance suggested an opening to the side. She ventured a cautionary peek by lifting the flap a bit.

She could see the smouldering remains of a fire in the middle of the campsite. Tents dotted around; flaps all closed. Everyone likely asleep.

No more sleep for me. Not after that.

She opened the flap a bit more, popping her head out. The survey revealed that all was still and quiet. Probably for the best, considering she'll likely make for lousy company after all that transpired. Insistent words repeating themselves. I will find you again, I always do.

A shudder ran down her spine and she stepped out into the night.

Nyx stretched while taking a few steps away from the tent to better accustom herself with her new surroundings. Three tents to her right and an old ruin behind. One tent slightly in front adjacent a path on the right side of a clump of trees. There seemed to be another two tents behind the trees with the foot path returning on the left.

Six tents? Nyx recalls having seen (or heard) four people. She shrugged to herself; she'll likely find out come morning. Further left was another path leading to a lake. She followed this path to find the lake being supplied by a stream that bends around, back towards the old ruin.

She walked out towards the lake, staring across its tranquil moon lit waters. Nyx wiped at her hair and found it caked with grime. She pulled a face as she studied her soiled hands. She slowly noticed how she was caked in soot and who-knows-what-else from the crown of her head to literal toe. She pulled a face of disgust at her condition. Yuck!

She absently reached over her shoulder for Clive. Clive wasn't there.

Oh, yes. Silly me, I forgot. I thought he's being awfully quiet. He's probably in a foul mood by now after being left in the astral plane for so long... How many days has it been?

She looked at the moon and recalled the phase it would have been in when she was in Baldur's Gate.

Four days!

She confirmed it on her fingers. She was notoriously bad at math with a mild migraine, but it added up. One day (give or take) for the Nautiloid incident and her 'crash landing', being rescued the next day and then today. So come morning would mark the start of the fourth day since she dismissed Clive into the astral plane. She wasn't looking forward to summoning him, but she's not going to get clean without him lest she risk her modesty in this unfamiliar place.

"So, she lives. Fancying a midnight swim darling?," came a smooth drawl from behind.

Nyx startled, but managed to suppress her squeal. Seems she's not the only one who was still awake. She heard a wry chuckle, and she turned her head to find an outline regarding her from the shadows. Her migraine must be worse than she gave it credit for, for him to sneak up on her like that. Experience has taught her that being caught unawares was rather dangerous. Fortunately, few could match her night vision and she made out his features in the shadows. A tall, lean elf with alabaster skin and even whiter hair. He was slouched against the tree, studying her just as carefully.

His lips were moving again. "Be a dear and spare the rest of us, by adding some soap while you’re at it.", but he made no motion to leave after making his suggestion.

What? Was he planning on... watching?

Nyx made a face and he grinned rather satisfied at her unease. So, the silky voice belongs to a creep.

Wonderful, what did she expect anyway?

However, this was a game she could play too. She just plays by her own rules and keeps her cards close to her chest, so to speak. She turned back towards the lake, keeping her peripheral awareness on him and she recited the summoning spell.

--- --- ---

A summoning incantation flowed from the half elf's lips; her hands join in harmoniously with slight gesturing. Astarion straightened. Unless she's actually summoning a bar of soap, which was highly unlikely, this could turn out to be rather problematic.

What the hells is she doing?

He readied himself, just in case this does, indeed, prove to be problematic. Alarm became confusion when he swore he could hear a string of curses in a deep rolling accent emanating from the amorphous pool of summoning magic. The glowing blue mass congealed into - a backpack? A cussing backpack? And here he taught he'd seen it all.

The woman held out her right hand while the backpack dropped from its height in front of her. She caught the backpack by one of its straps, all the while various creative profanities escaped from it. She shifted her weight to her opposite leg and placed her free hand on that hip. Waiting patiently while the backpack continued its barrage, now in different languages. Some of which Astarion didn't even recognize.

"Clive.", she eventually said in an even tone.

And apparently the backpack has a name too. This just keeps getting more bizarre. As if our tadpoles weren't enough to deal with already.

Clive blatantly ignored her.

"Clive", she repeated more firmly, "You remember what happened the last time you carried on like this?"

Clive stopped abruptly and made a disapproving growl, "Aye, I do. But I am still pissed off at ye! Why did ye take yer sweet feckin' time like that?"

While he was complaining, the woman hoisted the backpack up grabbing the remaining strap with her free hand. She swivelled the backpack around to face her. The front of the backpack sported patterns that upon closer inspection; looked like it was arranged into a scowling face.

"I was somewhat indisposed.", she said onto the backpack.

"Har!", it barked, and the patterns moved appropriately face-like, "That had better be some story or - " it stopped mid-sentence and seemed to look her over. "Well, aye, ye do look like shite."

Astarion added from his shadows, "And smells the part too."

The patterns on the backpack blinked at hearing Astarion. Its eyes landing directly on his position. It stared at him in the same unsettling way that paintings do.

"Who's the arsehole?", it asked the woman. Its beady eyes not leaving Astarion's.

Excuse me?, but before Astarion could speak the words out loud, she snorted, amusement colouring her voice, "Some creep who wants to watch me bathe."

"That's preposterous!", Astarion protested indignantly, "I'd have you know that I've far more refined tastes than watch-"

"Save it, arsehole.", the bag cut him off and turned its attention back to the woman.

Astarion seems to have been dismissed - by a backpack? A talking, cussing, gods-ugly backpack of all things!

He was seething and he's not in the least bit interested in being insulted by some blow-in and her idiot backpack. He decidedly stomps off.

--- --- ---

Nyx and Clive watched the man disappear around the corner back to camp proper. She turned her head back to Clive; they exchanged a wink.

Clive looked her over again, "Prestidigitation scroll coming up."

"Thanks."

"Nah, don't mention it." He paused for a moment, "I am glad ye didn't die on me, Nyx."

He only used her name when he was being serious, and he's always been far too perceptive. It does make for easier conversations without lengthy explanations.

"Getting sentimental on me Clive?", she teased, "The feeling is mutual.", she finished sincerely.

He harrumphed and his face went still. The flap flew open, and a scroll sprung up from the opening. She set Clive down while she prepared the scroll and summarized the events of the past few days for him. The tadpole, ship, nightmare voices - since neither had he the patience for lengthy explanations.

"Aye, now that is quite the story.", he agreed sagely, and all the time he had to wait in the astral plane seemed to have been forgiven. "Yer plans with the squid in yer head then?"

"Tadpole.", she corrected.

"Same bloody thing.", he huffed.

Her smiled turned into concern, "I have no idea. It’s likely connected to me hearing her voice in my dreams again."

I will find you again, I always do. She shuddered.

While he made his thinking face, she applied the scroll's magic onto her clothes and person.

That is so much better, being clean was the next best feeling to being well rested. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, enjoying the sensation.

"Bodes unwell.", came Clive's voice, "and the rest of them clowns?"

She snorted; he always had such a way with words. She considered it while she untangled her hair and redid her braid. They may have some information on her unwelcome guest and why it seems she remained surprisingly free of tentacles. However, that could just as easily be her influence, because it’s not like she'll want Nyx to fall into the hands, or rather tentacles, of mind flayers.

Can you imagine? The thought alone would likely make her die of shame. She grinned to herself, not that Nyx would mind if the owner of the dream voice did indeed die of shame. She briefly mentioned it to Clive, and he barked out an equally amused laugh. She methodically wrapped her braid into a bun at the base of her skull. She's made up her mind then.

"I'll likely stay until morning and hear them out. Depending on the answers I get, we'll take it from there. It's messy either way if she is coming after me again.", those last words were enough to drag them both into a brooding mood.

"Aye, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Deal with yer soon-to-be squid situation first. Ye may not be the prettiest of lassies, but I don't think that tentacles-fer-looks would suit ye any better."

Ah Clive, always the charmer.

She gave him a blank look and then feigned being wounded by his words, "And here I thought you only put up with me because you get to leer for entertainment."

"HAR!"

It was impossible to insult Clive even though he had no qualms with dishing it out or trampling on her feelings. Nyx learned very quickly not to take any of his insults to heart, since being a backpack has likely made him socially stunted in that regard. Not that she would ever mention the latter to him no matter how infuriating he proved to be sometimes.

She wrung her hands, wondering what to do with herself until morning. Standing about worrying; would only drive her to obsessing over how poorly any number of future scenarios may or may not play out. She doesn't want to do that; it just gave her more nightmares and anxiety - no gain in actively seeking out more of either. She needed more solid information, then she could plan instead of worry.

Her stomach grumbled; it's made the decision for her.

"Alright.", she declared, "I'm going hunting, then eat and hopefully the sun is up by that time."

Clive made a sound of disinterested agreement and the patterns returned to their resting places on the backpack. She opened the flap so she could exchange her clothes for gear. She found a mostly private spot to get dressed and retrieved Clive afterwards. Securing him tightly to her back across her shoulder blades, well clear of her mid and lower back.

Let see what the forest is willing to offer tonight, longbow in hand she set out.