Of all the gods to have ignored him, the Bitch Queen was understandable. Already capricious, Umberlee curried favor with direct donations. Much like Mammon- something Astarion never had the funds to achieve as a slave. Not to mention he can’t be drowned, one of her top fates to bring upon her favored celebrants.
However, a favor for a favor was good enough. It felt a bit special for Astarion to finally be the one in their group to be given a boon by a god. Even as minor as the skimpy robe the Wave Servants gave him. He does enjoy the swish of the little silky metal scales that slip over his skin like liquid, and the delightful sensation of it healing him whenever he steps into a puddle. Imagine his surprise to find out there's more to the gift that they wanted to give him!
“Meet the maiden at the sea floor, hear her words, accept her pearls and you shall be rewarded into perpetuity!”
As much as he appreciates the theatrics, the shouting is a bit much.
So too was lashing him to the ceremonial stone, he would have walked into the harbor directly off the beach just as easily. It was nice to be carried about on people's shoulders, though, and apparently the good people of Baldur’s Gate very much appreciated the spectacle. He’d never attended a First Tide festival, they always occurred during the daytime, but he could hardly blame them. Draped in Figaro’s softest silks- light enough to not aid in dragging him down to the seafloor and easy enough to swim in when the time comes- Astarion feels very much the part of Pretty Sacrifice.
“To the Depths!”
A resounding cheer goes up into the air and Astarion rolls his eyes as the stone and his body are hefted through the rear of the Wavemother’s House, upon the same dais the funeral Astarion and his companion’s had solved the murder there of.
Which somehow equated to a reward of being ritually sacrificed. But, of the party he truly is the best equipped and the only one guaranteed not to die. Also, there was almost certainly gold to be had, when it comes to Umberlee. Halsin calls him a little magpie for a reason.
He doesn’t feel like any kind of bird as he plummets through the air- the gauzy robes that barely covered his body flying up and whipping in the wind. Even less so as the gnashing waves buffet the cliff he’d just been flung from and pelt his face with sea spray as he falls.
He could misty step away, or dimension door if he had a scroll on him. The enchanted items he would have utilized are all back with his companions standing in the Wavemother’s house, being plied with booze and fresh fish in private rooms while the Wave Servants wait to see if he will return to the shore, or be consumed by their goddess entirely.
Of course he has no plans of drowning, he was incapable of expiring from it, and its certainly not his first stint up prolonged submersion. It's really only uncomfortable to fill one's lungs with water for the first few minutes, something most mortals don't have the opportunity to discover.
Honestly, water on the chest is much more pleasant than blood in the lungs- at least water didn’t try to clot up in your bronchioles.
The vampire is pulled from his idle musings by the impact. When one is particularly high up even water feels like landing on cobbles, how lucky he is that the ceremonial launch point isn’t too terribly tall. They’d even turned him so he wasn’t crashing through the waves with the weight of the stone on top of him, the carved marble breaking the surface tension of the waves as the foam reached up to embrace him.
They’re relatively close to the shoreline, he ought to have been immediately dashed upon the rocks, made to mince for the ocean to consume. Instead he feels his body jerk as a current catches him and drags him into the wine dark sea, frothing in excitement for this year’s sacrifice.
As soon as he feels he’s out of sight he slips free of the ropes binding him, even if they weren’t tied in expert sailor tight knots he would have been able to cut through them with his nails. The wonders of being so well fed, his claws have never been sharper- or glossier. The salt water better not dry him out too much.
The reef that comes into view is surprisingly colorful, for something so close to the refuse of the harbor and subject to pollution. Likely the Goddess’s influence. Strangely there’s no fish darting around the corals and stones, just the pretty fronds of wavering tubeworms and the beginnings of a kelp forest. Honestly, a flashing sign saying “Sacrifices go here!” would be more subtle.
Small plumes of sand kick up as his feet touch the seafloor, the lead weights tied around his ankles make it remarkably easy to stand upright as if he were still on land. The kelp billows with the currents, and the diaphanous robes around Astarion follow suit as well. Confidently he starts walking towards the thickest part of the vegetation, water providing resistance against his shins enough to slow him considerably.
The fronds of seaweed are slippery under his fingers as he drags them across a blade when he reaches them. The hold-fast at the bottom of the thing looks a bit like a clawing hand, or a tangle of roots. About a dozen meters into the kelp the ambient lighting fades significantly, until it's a dreary monochrome that indicates his darkvision has kicked in. A pity, the emerald green of the seaweed had been lovely.
Two more paces and something snags the weights on Astarion’s ankles, sending him lurching forward in the water. He can feel his hair floating around his face as he attempts to look at whatever has arrested his movement. As soon as he does another tendril whips around one wrist, then the other. The vampire recognizes the slimy touch of the kelp and confusion flares above the panic. Is it sentient somehow? It reminds him of their arrival at the Last Light, Jaheira’s vines ensnaring Tav while they attempted to plead their case.
Out of the gloom comes a flash of color, a vibrant red-blue-green strobe before flickering away between the towering fronds. Then again, closer this time, and brighter. He desperately tugs at the plants binding him, his claws bouncing off their stalks like rubber. Had he still had air in his lungs it would be streaming from him in frightened bubbles. As it is, he is left with the strange phantom burn of sea water cycling through his dead organs
A jet of water pressure glances his shoulder, trailing glittering plankton bio-luminescence behind it. He’s jostled back and forth, tangling him in the weeds even further.
Then he sees it. Or rather her? The pale face lit up in contrast by the surrounding plankton is beautiful. The Naiad giggles a cloud of bubbles then swims away too fast for his eyes to track. Several more shapes swarm past, and the whirlpool of weeds and turbulence that forms around him obscures all else.
Almost solid hands pet at him- strip him of the pathetically clinging robe- and make strange clicking sounds that must be some kind of communication. The water column before him ripples in a way that implies something very large moving very fast. The Naiads shrilly sing and flutter about and cause a general cacophony while twisting him more and more firmly into his organic restraints- the vine-like plants squirming like living things at the behest of the water spirits.
The song builds, ringing through the water and making Astarion’s head ache fiercely, until finally culminating in a snap like glacier ice cracking. The bubbles clear, the Naiads retreat, and through the tendrils of dark kelp comes a shimmering hand, lights flickering up and down in mesmerizing patterns that almost distract from the vicious looking claws that hook at the ends of its fingers.
It's the color of soft pink corals, dragging his eyes up its arm the pigment ripples as it drops the camouflage hiding it within the hazy depths. Astarion tilts his head as much as the kelp binding him allows- the delay of his curls swishing about obscuring his view long enough for the creature to fully reveal itself.
They’re beautiful- in the same way a lichen or fey is beautiful. Mottled and vibrant the creature swims forward, thin sails of fins rippling up their arms. It doesn’t swish when they move forward, a dorsal fin propelling them in an eerie glide that seems entirely separate from the bobbing ocean currents. He is shocked to see the strong coil of a seahorse, where Astarion expects a tail like a ray-finned fish.
As they move fully into the tangle of algae their peachy skin glows, and their strange boggled eyes flash with green fluorescence. They don’t speak in words, rather a rapid clicking emanates from their pointed face. The elf can make no sense of it, but the Naiads flutter about in excitement, their watery hands rearranging the kelp to give the mermaid room.
Yes, she is in fact a mermaid- if his admittedly sparse understanding of marine biology stands. He'd taken enough prey from the Blushing Mermaid to have heard all the bawdy jokes a sailor can possibly imagine- including their comparisons of Astarion's anatomy to that of a brooding male seahorse.
And this mare is excited. A slit opens where the humanoid meets the animal, letting her phallus slide out. It's rather pretty all things considered- jewel toned and translucent- but he doesn’t get much time to observe it as she presses close to him.
Belly to belly, the mermaid curls her muscular tail around Astarion’s bound legs, long enough to wrap around multiple times and sturdily anchor them together. The ovipositor - a voice that sounds annoyingly like Gale intones- retracts slightly before prodding forward into the gap between Astarion’s upper thighs and c*nt.
The lights in her skin strobe with delight and she thrusts her member eagerly against his slit, It only takes her a few moments to catch on his opening and start sliding in. He seizes in her grasp and she coos and clicks at him, smoothing his hair flat to his head with her fingers.
Her hips are flush against his- the rough texture of her skin grinding against his small co*ck as she wiggles deeper and deeper. The muscles in her stomach flex, and Astarion processes just how round her belly is.
She looks… Gravid.
With a sigh, something warm spills into his c*nt, quickly overfilling him and blooming around their connection into the surrounding seawater. The Naiads swipe their hands through the cloud where they can- and trill with pleasure. Some of the dark fluid floats up through the water and into the pointless caverns of his lungs.
It tastes sweet, and it makes his head go delightfully hazy. The mermaid snuffles her snouty face into his neck and warbles out a tune the sea spirits around them echo. Her co*ck pushes to Astarion’s limit, oozing and prodding and relentlessly thrashing about inside him.
A curious numbness spreads from his groin outward. Not quite that of paralysis, more like all the muscles in his body have been commanded to go lax. Thank the gods he had no mortal bowels to worry about voiding in front of a representative of Umberlee. A tingle of magic lights up the elf’s spine and he hears in the back of his head-
Accept Her Boon.
The tapered tip of the ovipositor slips past the numbed ring of his cervix to plunge into his womb, doing something to lock itself inside until her clutch is fully unburdened. The mermaid's belly shudders and the chorus of the sea spirits rises once more as he feels her shaft bulge against the lips of his c*nt, before a lump rolls down and into his hollow clutch.
For a while he floats as she cradles him, her ovipositor occasionally jostling as she arranges the eggs in his womb. After a length of time he feels the pressure of where their torsos are touching reverse as the dome of her stomach shrinks and Astarion’s grows.
How many eggs would she lay? It feels never ending, inescapable as she continues to implant her brood. His co*ck throbs between them, whatever hormone laden fluid she's pumped into him floods his system with heat. It’s not quite ecstasy, but it's certainly not painful.
Her tail coils up and down his legs like a massage and he drifts in a pleasant bubble of sensation as a goddess plays with him through her proxy. Deliriously he thinks to himself, it's nice to finally be noticed.
Then as quickly as it started, its finished.
The mermaid unwinds herself from him and floats backwards, her hands skimming down his body and gently untangling him from the kelp fronds. They fall away like nothing, and he bobs in the water column as the Naiads pick at the knots holding the lead weights to his ankles.
There's the bizarre sensation of a handful of little eggs following her shaft out and popping out into the water. They’re beautiful, like translucent little agates.
The mermaid dutifully captures them and stuffs them back inside Astarion, pushing in past her wrist to force them into his overfull womb. The shock of being penetrated once again really shouldn't be all that impactful, considering the buzzing overstimulated mess she’s left him. Her brow furrows as she looks around the cove- colors flashing across her skin too quickly for him to follow.
Astarion is struggling to keep his eyes open, he feels like a dead weight, quite literally so. The muscles of his abdomen are screaming, over stretched far too quickly- he's sure that if she hadn’t numbed him first he’d be in agony. As it is he’s left squirming in his own skin- trying to puzzle out how he’s going to be able to swim to shore when he can’t feel his legs and his belly is bulging out so cumbersomely.
Squeezing pale thighs together Astarion manages to roll his eyes around to where a new set of lights flitter about in the shade of the kelp forest.
They’re smaller, softer, than the mermaid in front of him as they appear from the gloom. Brightly decorated mermen with curling tails and pouched bellies. They bustle against each other and boast their coloration- their pattern replication, chirping songs to catch the maid’s attention.
She studies the group for a moment, idly petting Astarion’s hair before calling out a unique vocalization and a series of clicks- a handful of the mermen drift forward with that same eerie grace as the mare. Astonishingly she pauses, and tilts her head down to meet Astarion’s unfocused gaze, gesturing towards the peaco*cking studs.
Is she asking his opinion?
Apparently so.
Well then, if she’s giving him the option he may as well make the most of it. Squinting against the dim lighting Astarion scrutinizes the five subjects lined up before them. They’re relatively similar, but they each display unique colors and patterns- some nearly neon- others more subdued and focused on nuanced designs.
One in particular draws the elf’s eye, and his c*nt throbs as he traces his eyes up the merman’s frame.
He’s slim, but his skin pulses an incredibly familiar shade of purple, the sight of it relaxing Astarion ever so slightly. The mermaid notices, and she seems to approve of his selection. A whistle sends the other mermen scattering back into the weeds and the purple one remains- boldly flaring his fins and dancing in lovely circles.
He makes his way over to the couple, nuzzling up under the mermaid's chin once he reaches arms length. The shades of indigo and violet ripple down his arms and little sparks of fuchsia dance almost like fireworks at the touch of the mermaid’s fingers on his skin.
Astarion loses focus for a moment, then the merman is in his face as well. The sea creature stares at the bloated vampire with massive black eyes, his webbed fingers press against the dome of Astarion’s belly and the stud blows bubbles with a sympathetic sound at the state of the elf’s straining skin.
He’s expecting another co*ck- perhaps smaller but there all the same- when it occurs to Astarion that this ceremony probably is not their typical mating behavior. How does this even work, exactly?
Thankfully the mermaid takes the lead, slipping her shimmering hand to an opening at the apex of the male’s lower stomach. She massages the outer skin for a moment before dipping inside his pouch. He shudders and moans and Astarion watches with curiosity as she withdraws with a handful of… Goo? Slime? Some strange gelatinous sem*n most probably.
The logical leap of where she’s planning on putting that handful doesn’t quite connect till she’s already knuckle deep once more and massaging the gel directly into and through his cervix. He’s still numb from her fluids but tightening progressively as time goes on.
She’s holding the three of them together with her tail twined about them, and she goes about dutifully dipping her hand between the two men- scooping and stuffing until the massive clutch is properly fertilized and padded in his belly.
The touch has Astarion’s brain scattering to the tides and he lets his consciousness fade to the chorus of Naiads and merfolk celebrating having completed Umberlee’s task of rewarding him for the party’s good deeds.
The chatter of voices rouses Astarion from his unconscious bubble, waves lap at his toes and when he pulls himself up onto hands and knees his stomach hangs full and heavy nearly down to the sand. The elf’s consciousness is wavering already- but before he can collapse the now familiar hands of the Wave Servants reach out to tend to him.
“Rise, and be rejoiced! Welcome our newest Umberlant and the Wavemother’s freshest clutch!”
At least this time the shouting is in relative private, as is the sight of his waterlogged body when he’s bundled from the surf and into the healing pools waiting further back in the grotto.The next hours are a blur, he’s swaddled in a robe that smells like palm fruit and brought back into the Wavemother’s House.
Nameless followers of Umberlee scrub at strange inky stains that Astarion can now clearly see cover him from the sternum down. The pigment comes away in a glittering cloud, probably some other mystical goddess bullsh*t that Astarion is simply too tired to process at the moment.
They clean him, carefully washing the seawater from his chapped skin and thoroughly moisturizing him till he smells like sandalwood and coconuts. They bring him a living shark, and he drains it in less than a minute. He looks up from the rough skin of the massive fish and meets the relieved and curious eyes of his companions peeking around the shell bead curtain to his chambers.
Immediately Astarion frets over the obvious swell of his belly, what will they think of him? There’s no other clearly visible ‘reward’ near him, and he’s not quite sure he understands what happened well enough to explain it.
But he has no cause to worry, Jaheira shoos the nosey cluster of their friends and assures him they’re in the room right across the hall whenever he needs them.
“Glad to see you survived a Drowning by the Queen of the Deep Wilds. Though I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sacrifice come back in this condition. You’ll want to lay those before they hatch, cub”
The old crone laughs at Astarions incredulous look back at her.
She does however end up helping him off the floor and into the linen covered bed in the back corner of the room, uncaring of his mostly nude form as the robe he was given falls open around his bulging stomach. The eggs rolls against one another inside him as he changes position again.
It's not until he’s falling back into trance in one of the temple's lavish spare rooms, well appointed and dry that he thinks to himself-
How in the hells is he going to get them out?
