Dorothea's brows jump up toward her hairline when Gale says he recognizes her, though his quick clarification has her nodding.
"I was--the both of us were--" she adds, gesturing to Shadowheart. "As far as spells going awry, it's hard to say. Most of what I know are enchantments and it would seem that mindflayers aren't susceptible to Otto's Irresistible Dance, unfortunately."
Sighing, Dorothea rubs at her face and shudders visibly, but composes herself quickly enough. She's holding it together remarkably well, in her opinion, but she'll never have peace of mind as long as a piece of her mind is being occupied by that grotesque little creature.
"We're on our way to try and find someone who can help us with out... unwelcome guests. You're more than welcome to come along--safety in numbers and all--but we have to move quickly."
"I thought I felt the spark of the Weave about you." One can hardly tell at a glance what sort of practitioner a person might be, but she doesn't have quite the same presence a sorcerer would thanks to their blood, and so he can only assume she's a fellow wizard. It would seem he's in good company.
"I would be more than happy to accompany you— I, too, am eager to find a solution for our little pest problem. You wouldn't happen to be a doctor, would you? Surgeon? Uncannily adroit with a knitting needle?" He smiles grimly; it's clear he's not making light of their situation in earnest, with the way it doesn't quite reach his eyes, but he does stop short. "Wait a moment, Arnault—"
He furrows his brow slightly, then his gaze lights up in recognition.
"Dorothea Arnault. The soprano? Of the Merryweather Opera Company?!"
It's not so surprising that Gale can detect the Weave on someone else, given his general aptitude. She nods when he agrees to join their party, though she blanches at the prospect of using a knitting needle to pry the creature out of his skull or anyone else's.
"I can knit, and quite well, in fact, but I don't have nearly enough nerve to try using such an implement on a person. I'm afraid we'll have to stick to the original plan--"
She has a few more words to say, but Gale seems to make some connection. Sudden excitement shines in his features, and she's genuinely shocked when he knows her, and not even from the place they'd actually met.
"I, ah... well, yes, that's me. I didn't expect to meet an opera afficionado out here."
"Nor should you allow it to go to your head," Shadowheart interjects, seeing how happy Dorothea is with the recognition. "We can scarcely afford any frivolous distractions, given the nature of our affliction."
"As thrilled as I would be to discuss the arts at length, I must agree with our cleric friend— there is a time and place for such things, and our current situation is rather urgent. I take it, then, that the both of you are well-aware of what's to become of us if it goes left unattended?"
They both seem to have the urgency in mind that their condition dictates, and Shadowheart is quick to confirm.
"We'll become mindflayers, which is precisely why we cannot let ourselves be distracted," she says sharply, earning a nod from the wizard in reply.
"Exactly right. Time is of the essence, and given that the pair of you have had more time to gain some knowledge of our surroundings, I will gladly follow your lead," Gale goes on to affirm, turning his attention to Dorothea with that last bit in particular. "Given how close we are to the shore, I imagine there must be a settlement of some sort nearby."
Although she can't help but feel a prickle of annoyance at Shadowheart, she's not wrong, either. Personal banter is a distraction they can't afford. The fact that they're still in the shadow of that horrifying nautiloid is also something she wants to remedy as expediently as possible.
"I noticed bodies in the wreckage, too--people who weren't on the ship. There was a man a few yards back with fishing gear on him. Let's find a road and follow it--see where it takes us." Not that Dorothea is entirely certain why both of her companions seem to be deferring to her judgment here, when it's already been established that she's an opera singer and probably the least well-equipped for leadership of their little venture.
Oh well. She supposes they'll see how that decision pans out.
They head north, scavenging what they can in the way of supplies and money from bodies and overturned carts. Dorothea spots a pale man with elfin features a little way up the hill, and he beckons to them when he sees them.
"Hurry!" he says, waving and pointing. "I've got one of those brain things cornered. There, in the grass. You can kill it, can't you? Like you killed the others. Can you see it?"
Dorothea grimaces internally at the prospect of more killing, but those things are better off dead than left to run around.
"I'll take a look," she says, peering into the bushes, but a fleeing boar is the only thing that makes itself known, fleeing with a squeal into the denser undergrowth. Sighing, she starts to turn back to the elf, but she's grabbed and pulled down with a yelp of alarm, a cold knife pressed to her throat. "What the hells?"
The elf shushes her softly as he uses his tight grip on her hair to pull her head back, keeping her throat bared for his dagger, and she grabs ahold of his arm and his wrist, struggling.
"Not a sound. Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours. And you two, keep your distance. No need for this to get messy."
He'd been on the ship, too, and it takes a few heart-stopping moments for Dorothea to convince him that she had nothing to do with his capture, aided by their parasites connecting somehow. All things considered, it isn't even the worst thing that's happened to her today, but she scrambles back and to her feet as soon as he relinquishes his hold on her.
"And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards," the elf says in a shockingly casual tone of voice. "Apologies."
Dorothea scoffs and rubs at the back of her head.
"Apologies? Let's not jump to conclusions next time, maybe."
Gale's hands had already been half-raised by the time the pale elf ordered for them to keep their distance— he glances between Dorothea and her assailant as he stills himself, setting his jaw unhappily. Rather a poor way for their already unfortunate venture to progress, but he won't have one of his new companions' throats slit as a result of his own impulse. Shadowheart seems to feel the same, her expression hard and irate as she lowers her mace.
Dorothea, as it turns out, is more than capable of aiding herself, though he doesn't much like the fact that she'd had to. Gale relaxes only slightly once she's back on her feet and there's distance between herself and the stranger, scowling in the elf's direction.
"Considering that I doubt your position is any better than any of ours, I'm not so sure you can afford to be making enemies at the moment." Gale recognizes the elf's accent, frowning. "I would expect someone born and bred in Baldurian high society would know better how to treat a lady."
Apologies aren't quite enough, but he supposes none of them are at their best at the moment. The wizard glances towards the opera singer, concerned.
"Are you alright?"
Meanwhile, Shadowheart seems to be looking the pale elf up and down, scrutinizing, her mouth set into a hard line. "If he's like us, then he could be of use."
Apologies aren't nearly enough, but again, Shadowheart is right. The elf was on the ship like them, was infected like them. If he has any even remotely useful skills, which it seems like he does, then having him in their party would benefit them all.
That doesn't mean Dorothea wants to be within arm's length of him. Instead, she moves to stand nearer to Gale, dusting herself off for the second time today. (She swears she's going to lose her cool if someone knocks her over a third time, intentionally or not.) Of all the people she could have encountered, it's a stroke of luck that Gale is among them. He, at least, is a known quantity to her, someone she can trust not to try and kill her.
"I'm fine," she assures him, feeling an odd sense of relief at the look of concern in his eyes. "Men have pulled knives on me before. The life of a diva is more dangerous than you might imagine." Hmm. Maybe that's not the most reassuring thing to say, but she only means to show she's not too shaken (even if she is, because only a deranged person wouldn't be on the edge right now). Clearing her throat, she gestures to the elf.
"I suppose introductions are in order. I'm Dorothea, and this is Gale and Shadowheart. We've decided to travel together to find a healer who can help us with our little unwanted guests."
"My name's Astarion, and you seem like a useful person to know. I was planning on going it alone, but maybe sticking with the herd isn't such a bad idea. All right--lead on."
And so their party acquires a fourth member, but the day isn't done surprising them. They find Lae'zel, trapped by a pair of agitated tieflings, and Dorothea manages to de-escalate the situation and send the tieflings on their way. Lae'zel is irritated it took so long and immediately insists on finding a Gith creche, but there is more still to be accomplished.
They end up raiding an old temple and meeting some undead being before finally making camp with what little they have. Dorothea gathers enough wood to burn through to the wee hours of the morning and lights a flame with a snap of her fingers, then sits down to warm her hands.
She feels bone weary, and wary, too, of many of her new companions in spite of the fact that they all share a common goal and a common enemy. She shudders at the thought of the creature in her skull and what it's doing to her at this very moment. It's repulsive--has all her life been for this? All the things she'd suffered, and for what? To be turned into a monster? At least she isn't leaving any family behind to mourn her.
She doesn't find herself alone by the fire for long. While some of the others have chosen to keep to themselves— Shadowheart in her distant corner of the camp, Lae'zel clear across it and sharpening the edges of her blade as she anxiously watches the others, Astarion helping himself to one of the bottles of wine they had uncovered earlier that day— Gale approaches the fire that's been lit with a full sack in one hand and a questionable-looking pot in the other, salvaged from the temple they had rummaged their way through earlier on.
He casts a glance in Dorothea's direction before he drops the bag beside one of the logs that had been set near the fire to serve as a seat, offering her a wry and weary but hopeful smile.
"Do you mind if I join you? I thought I might make us something to eat. I think I can put something halfway decent together with some of what we found in our travels."
It's a relief not to be alone, if she's honest. Out of all her companions, Gale is the one who makes her feel the most comfortable with his familiar presence, though she wouldn't admit that to him after having professed not to know him back by the nautiloid. It would be embarrassing to have to walk that back now, especially if she had to explain shy she'd say such a thing in the first place, and her day has been demoralizing enough without having to rehash her teenage infatuations.
That being said, she's long past that now. They can talk and act as peers, can't they? And yet there are some things magic alone can't accomplish.
"I can help you, if you like. Although I've been told that my cooking is... somewhat lackluster, I can chop ingredients just fine. What do you say?"
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"I was--the both of us were--" she adds, gesturing to Shadowheart. "As far as spells going awry, it's hard to say. Most of what I know are enchantments and it would seem that mindflayers aren't susceptible to Otto's Irresistible Dance, unfortunately."
Sighing, Dorothea rubs at her face and shudders visibly, but composes herself quickly enough. She's holding it together remarkably well, in her opinion, but she'll never have peace of mind as long as a piece of her mind is being occupied by that grotesque little creature.
"We're on our way to try and find someone who can help us with out... unwelcome guests. You're more than welcome to come along--safety in numbers and all--but we have to move quickly."
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"I would be more than happy to accompany you— I, too, am eager to find a solution for our little pest problem. You wouldn't happen to be a doctor, would you? Surgeon? Uncannily adroit with a knitting needle?" He smiles grimly; it's clear he's not making light of their situation in earnest, with the way it doesn't quite reach his eyes, but he does stop short. "Wait a moment, Arnault—"
He furrows his brow slightly, then his gaze lights up in recognition.
"Dorothea Arnault. The soprano? Of the Merryweather Opera Company?!"
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"I can knit, and quite well, in fact, but I don't have nearly enough nerve to try using such an implement on a person. I'm afraid we'll have to stick to the original plan--"
She has a few more words to say, but Gale seems to make some connection. Sudden excitement shines in his features, and she's genuinely shocked when he knows her, and not even from the place they'd actually met.
"I, ah... well, yes, that's me. I didn't expect to meet an opera afficionado out here."
"Nor should you allow it to go to your head," Shadowheart interjects, seeing how happy Dorothea is with the recognition. "We can scarcely afford any frivolous distractions, given the nature of our affliction."
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They both seem to have the urgency in mind that their condition dictates, and Shadowheart is quick to confirm.
"We'll become mindflayers, which is precisely why we cannot let ourselves be distracted," she says sharply, earning a nod from the wizard in reply.
"Exactly right. Time is of the essence, and given that the pair of you have had more time to gain some knowledge of our surroundings, I will gladly follow your lead," Gale goes on to affirm, turning his attention to Dorothea with that last bit in particular. "Given how close we are to the shore, I imagine there must be a settlement of some sort nearby."
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"I noticed bodies in the wreckage, too--people who weren't on the ship. There was a man a few yards back with fishing gear on him. Let's find a road and follow it--see where it takes us." Not that Dorothea is entirely certain why both of her companions seem to be deferring to her judgment here, when it's already been established that she's an opera singer and probably the least well-equipped for leadership of their little venture.
Oh well. She supposes they'll see how that decision pans out.
They head north, scavenging what they can in the way of supplies and money from bodies and overturned carts. Dorothea spots a pale man with elfin features a little way up the hill, and he beckons to them when he sees them.
"Hurry!" he says, waving and pointing. "I've got one of those brain things cornered. There, in the grass. You can kill it, can't you? Like you killed the others. Can you see it?"
Dorothea grimaces internally at the prospect of more killing, but those things are better off dead than left to run around.
"I'll take a look," she says, peering into the bushes, but a fleeing boar is the only thing that makes itself known, fleeing with a squeal into the denser undergrowth. Sighing, she starts to turn back to the elf, but she's grabbed and pulled down with a yelp of alarm, a cold knife pressed to her throat. "What the hells?"
The elf shushes her softly as he uses his tight grip on her hair to pull her head back, keeping her throat bared for his dagger, and she grabs ahold of his arm and his wrist, struggling.
"Not a sound. Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours. And you two, keep your distance. No need for this to get messy."
He'd been on the ship, too, and it takes a few heart-stopping moments for Dorothea to convince him that she had nothing to do with his capture, aided by their parasites connecting somehow. All things considered, it isn't even the worst thing that's happened to her today, but she scrambles back and to her feet as soon as he relinquishes his hold on her.
"And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards," the elf says in a shockingly casual tone of voice. "Apologies."
Dorothea scoffs and rubs at the back of her head.
"Apologies? Let's not jump to conclusions next time, maybe."
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Dorothea, as it turns out, is more than capable of aiding herself, though he doesn't much like the fact that she'd had to. Gale relaxes only slightly once she's back on her feet and there's distance between herself and the stranger, scowling in the elf's direction.
"Considering that I doubt your position is any better than any of ours, I'm not so sure you can afford to be making enemies at the moment." Gale recognizes the elf's accent, frowning. "I would expect someone born and bred in Baldurian high society would know better how to treat a lady."
Apologies aren't quite enough, but he supposes none of them are at their best at the moment. The wizard glances towards the opera singer, concerned.
"Are you alright?"
Meanwhile, Shadowheart seems to be looking the pale elf up and down, scrutinizing, her mouth set into a hard line. "If he's like us, then he could be of use."
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That doesn't mean Dorothea wants to be within arm's length of him. Instead, she moves to stand nearer to Gale, dusting herself off for the second time today. (She swears she's going to lose her cool if someone knocks her over a third time, intentionally or not.) Of all the people she could have encountered, it's a stroke of luck that Gale is among them. He, at least, is a known quantity to her, someone she can trust not to try and kill her.
"I'm fine," she assures him, feeling an odd sense of relief at the look of concern in his eyes. "Men have pulled knives on me before. The life of a diva is more dangerous than you might imagine." Hmm. Maybe that's not the most reassuring thing to say, but she only means to show she's not too shaken (even if she is, because only a deranged person wouldn't be on the edge right now). Clearing her throat, she gestures to the elf.
"I suppose introductions are in order. I'm Dorothea, and this is Gale and Shadowheart. We've decided to travel together to find a healer who can help us with our little unwanted guests."
"My name's Astarion, and you seem like a useful person to know. I was planning on going it alone, but maybe sticking with the herd isn't such a bad idea. All right--lead on."
And so their party acquires a fourth member, but the day isn't done surprising them. They find Lae'zel, trapped by a pair of agitated tieflings, and Dorothea manages to de-escalate the situation and send the tieflings on their way. Lae'zel is irritated it took so long and immediately insists on finding a Gith creche, but there is more still to be accomplished.
They end up raiding an old temple and meeting some undead being before finally making camp with what little they have. Dorothea gathers enough wood to burn through to the wee hours of the morning and lights a flame with a snap of her fingers, then sits down to warm her hands.
She feels bone weary, and wary, too, of many of her new companions in spite of the fact that they all share a common goal and a common enemy. She shudders at the thought of the creature in her skull and what it's doing to her at this very moment. It's repulsive--has all her life been for this? All the things she'd suffered, and for what? To be turned into a monster? At least she isn't leaving any family behind to mourn her.
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He casts a glance in Dorothea's direction before he drops the bag beside one of the logs that had been set near the fire to serve as a seat, offering her a wry and weary but hopeful smile.
"Do you mind if I join you? I thought I might make us something to eat. I think I can put something halfway decent together with some of what we found in our travels."
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That being said, she's long past that now. They can talk and act as peers, can't they? And yet there are some things magic alone can't accomplish.
"I can help you, if you like. Although I've been told that my cooking is... somewhat lackluster, I can chop ingredients just fine. What do you say?"