Work Text:
Astarion couldn’t whistle. The last two days, this had been the most mortifying factoid in his more than two hundred year long existence. ‘But Astarion, oh, you almighty and exceptionally good-looking vampire,’ a normal person capable of basic empathy would probably say, ‘your incapability of whistling sure couldn’t measure up to so many years of humiliating mindless servitude to one of the most despicable beings on this realm and possibly many more?’
Yes, it could, actually. Especially after he hadn’t been able to get Scratch in one of his play time moods to let go of his shirt without any holes in it - which in their journeys been narrowed into a minuscule number - after finally finding time to actually wash it, because their fearless leader had been to wise as to train him to respond to one sound, and only that one.
He’d groused to anyone who would listen about the - now unfashionably sleeveless - shirt up and down, and Shadowheart of all people had been the one to have the nerve to point out “Wait- Astarion, you can’t whistle?”
She’d had a good laugh about it. Wyll too, but he’d at least been polite enough to try to hide it, no matter how poorly.
Scratch had gotten his tug-of-war, his so called “friends” had gone to sleep with a mirthful smile on their lips, and Astarion had adamantly refused to admit how he started to suspect it felt being bullied at the playground as a small child.
All in all, that’s how he found himself now, out in the woods with the excuse of finding something to snack on. Jackal had - with some remorse, sweetly enough - declined to let Astarion feed on him last night, something to do with a coming fight he wanted to wake up not feeling drained for. Oh well, his loss. Still, hunger was itching in the pit of his stomach, so maybe the excuse was not that founded in dishonesty.
When he was sure he was far enough away from camp - looking over his shoulder once or twice just to be sure - he reluctantly tried pursing his lips like he’d seen the others do, blowing to make some sort of sound.
Nothing. Just air and spittle.
He grimaced to himself. Why was he even entertaining this provocation? To be able to figure it out in one go, since it obviously came so naturally to everyone else? To walk into camp, whistling a beautiful tune, to turn on his companions awed and astonished faces with a “A-hah! I successfully fooled the lot of you! I actually asked for the mutt’s help, you see, sleeveless is the new hot fad!”
Ridiculous.
He tried again, despite it all. A few more times, ambling between the trees, trying to reposition his tongue, use his fingers, like Jackal did. Not a single even tone came.
Just about to give up, find a squirrel and call it a day, a sharp sound - a deep thud - echoed his way.
Immediately, he crouched down, making himself as quiet as possible. If he was to be jumped by some poor soul out in the woods, well. He was already in a sour mood and feeling snackish, he could absolutely not be held responsible for his actions, if it came to it.
The thud came again, followed by something like a grunt. Well, now he started to get curious. Silently, treading the shadows and leaves, he moved towards it. Curiosity may kill cats, but he was not of the feline inclination, thankfully.
The thuds came more rhythmically the closer he got, intermingled with groans of - labor? After a minute, the unmistakable creak of a tree falling and landing made birds scatter and flee the area. Was there a rogue woodcutter excavating the depths of Cloak Wood? Their merry band had run into stranger beings, but still.
Eventually, a clearing opened up. A broad figure clad in all red, holding and swinging an impressive looking axe over their head had felled three trees and was well on their way in their fourth. They had a strange technique, seemingly mauling the trees before chopping them down as an act of mercy before continuing on the next one. Splinters lay everywhere, bark and branches littering the massacred ground.
This was strange, even for the strange people they always had the displeasure of running into. Astarion furrowed an eyebrow, took another step forward, and-
Snap. He winced, removing his foot from an errant twig. So much for the stealthiest person in their party.
The figure turned immediately. "Who's there?" They spoke loudly. "I heard that. Just come out, alright?"
Wait. He knew that voice.
Taking another step closer, lo and behold, Karlach was the now identified woodchopper. Her chest was heaving, out of her usual loose armor, her usual camp clothes on. She looked - well, exhausted. Sweat beading her forehead and lighting up the pulsing glow of her chest. Blood had dried in on her skin, probably a few hours old. Astarion guessed that couldn't come from her valiant fight with the local greenery.
She seemed to catch sight of his movement, shielding her eyes from the sun. "Astarion?" She said, confusion clear. "What're you doing out here?"
Well, the jig was obviously up. "Oh, me?" He put a hand to his chest to feign as much ignorance he could muster, moving out of the bushes. "Just out on a calming stroll in the woods! Heard it does wonders for the complexion."
Usually, she would had laughed at that sort of joke. At least a small chuckle would escape. Instead, she just rolled her fire-yellow eyes, gesturing to the other side of the clearing. "Well, if you could do that on, I dunno, the other side of it, I'd be real chuffed."
As he slowly sauntered closer, he could now see it wasn't just sweat running down her cheeks. The whites of her eyes seemed to bled more with her skin than usual, a little puffy and... Oh hells, he thought. She's been crying.
Every alarm bell in his head started going off. He could deal with a out-of-her-mind annoyingly cheerful Karlach, even a rage-filled pissed off Karlach. He particularly thought dealing with drunk-off-her-ass-and-won't-stop-talking-about-how-pretty-Shadowhearts-eyes-were Karlach was fun, but a crying Karlach? No. No, no, no, this was nothing he was either equipped with or had the urge to handle.
He should leave. She seemed to be getting through her emotions well by herself, at the cost of some poor bird families having the relocate, perhaps.
Still, that part of him that - despite his best efforts - had been slowly and begrudgingly over time made him... Godsdamnit, care for the others in their party, made it so much harder to turn his heels and walk off.
He sighed, closing his eyes briefly in irritation - mostly at himself. "Is-" he sighed, forcing himself not to swallow his next words. "Is something the matter?"
Karlach had already turned her back to him, both hands gripping the axe like a vice. She huffed, readying herself for another chop. "Gortash's dead." She said shortly, before her weapon came down with another loud thud.
His pale eyebrows did raise at that. "Oh! Well, well, suppose the bastard finally got what was coming for him then! Joyous news!" He tried. No response, just another thud. "R-right?"
"Right, yeah." She grunted, more as an afterthought.
"Another stone gathered, another soul avenged!" He continued, mostly to fill the silence that was getting more awkward by the second. "I'd half expect you to be down at the Mermaid, toasting to a battle well fought by now!" Oh, he was rambling now. This was embarrassing.
"Uh, sure. Maybe later." She responded without any sort of indication on following up on that promise. She ceased her work temporarily, leaning on her axe, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Astarion was beginning to suspect that whatever she wanted to hear, it wasn't anything he could possibly provide. A mercy in itself.
Just about to breathe out and excuse himself, the broad woman spoke again. "I just-" she cut herself off, searching for words. "I dunno- I dunno what the fuck I'm supposed to do now."
Her last words broke, just slightly. Infuriatingly, it tugged at his heartstrings somewhat awfully.
Before he had the chance to the respond, Karlach kept talking. "I mean- Yeah, I know, I got the whole revenge thing- I should be happy, right? I should be fucking high in the clouds right now. Sitting at the 'Maid and getting drunk off my tits, happy the bastards' finally dead and gone where he can't fucking hurt anyone else- but I'm just-" she broke off, pain evident she was trying to keep close to her chest slipping through the cracks. "Instead I just- can't stop thinking that my best friend is dead."
Oh shit. What in the hells had he stumbled into?
She kept going though, as if having started and not knowing how to stop. "A-and, yeah, no, he's obviously not my friend anymore, hasn't for a long time. I hate him. I hate him so unbelievably fucking much, he's the worst thing that could've ever happen to someone, he's the reason I've got this stupid fucking rustbucket in my chest, he's the reason I'll go blow up in a hot minute, and he's-"
Her voice was breaking more and more, fresh tears forming in her eyes. (Somewhere, Astarion wondered if it was some hellish miracle her tears didn't evaporate into mist the second they got on her skin.) She wiped them without any sort of tenderness, hissed and - as if a scale tipped over - screamed something that tore his own throat just from hearing it, and with an impressive feat of strength, imbedded her axe halfway through the trunk of the tree in front of her. All before collapsing to the ground, hunched over in stuttering breath.
Well. It wasn't as if he could leave now.
From what he'd overheard and what Karlach had let the group know, her and Gortash didn't have the… best past, as one says. He'd been sold as a child to Raphael, gathered some ungodly contact in his time with him, become a smuggler-turned-minor-lord in his adult life, took Karlach as a bodyguard, then sold her off to Zariel as if a way of continuing the cycle of horrid, life-destroying deals. She'd trusted him wholly, and he'd spat in her face in response. She had every right to want to grund him into paste on the precious stone halls of Wyrm's Rock.
And now he was dead. From the mere fact that Karlach seemed to be the only person having come back from the mission, Astarion guessed she'd left in a hurry. Could probably not bear the sight of what had transpired for too long.
But what the fuck was he supposed to say to all of that?
"Maybe- maybe we should head back to camp, yes?" he said, trying to gesture to the direction he'd emerged from a bit haplessly. "I'm sure the other's will be back any minute-"
"Honestly, Astarion, thanks for the concern or- whatever." She spoke up, an edge in her voice now. "But- why don't you just leave, let me cool off and I'll- I'll be back soon, okay?"
Well. That wouldn't do. Not at all.
"Well, Karlach." He empathized, crossing his arms, now striding up enough so he could look down at her crumpled position more closely. "I know a thing or two about sulking around in the woods alone, and I've also seen you trying to navigate a map. You couldn't tell north from west, last time I checked, and we all there when you led us to 'that one place with fire whiskey on tap', and we ended up in a fey smuggler's den instead."
She sniffed, still not looking up at him. "I mean. They did have it. Just not on tap."
Astarion threw his palms up in exasperation, as if looking towards the sky would evoke some kind god that could remove him from this situation. "Not the point, and you know it." he tutted, shuffling from foot to foot. "Now, you can either follow me in friendly silence back to camp, or we can stay here and-" he sighed for what felt like the nth time in the last five minutes. "-We can, you know. Talk about it."
Now that made her look up with an unmistakable doubt written across her face. "Talk about it? Really?"
"I have many hidden talents." And just because this was not one of them, well. He'd already dug himself into this hole, might as well dig deeper. "So. Gortash is dead."
She closed her eyes, brows furrowing. "Yup."
"And you're feeling... conflicted about it?"
"That could- yeah, that could sum it up, sure."
"But... you hated him, yes?"
"Yes." was the short and firm answer.
"As well as- somewhere in your mind, you couldn't help but remember that you'd been close. Before."
"Uh, yeah." she huffed. "But like- I was seventeen when I started working for him. Then I spent ten fucking years in the arse-end of another plane of existence, so-"
"Alright." He put an end to what sounded like the beginning another long rant before nudging her hip with the side of his boot. "Now be a dear and scoot over. If I get splinters in these pants, that's all on you."
After a second or two, Karlach wiped her nose and moved over just an inch enough for him to sit down on the sun-scorched grass around them. A silence fell over them, Astarion searching his mind to say anything to put an end to this conversation that wouldn't end awkwardly for either of them.
Around them, faint birdsong could be heard over the carapace, along with the soft murmur of leaves crashing against eachother with the wind. It was almost peaceful.
When Karlach next spoke up, it was with an abnormally small voice Astarion couldn't really associate with the barbarian next to him. "How..." she began, almost as a whisper. "How did you feel. You know, after Cazador died?"
He wouldn't admit how the question knocked some air out of his lungs. Thankfully, he recovered quickly, as was one of his previously mentioned talents. "Oh, it felt wonderful!" came his answer before he could even reflect on it. "Two hundred years of servitude felt like nothing in comparison."
She glanced at him, just barely. "Really?" Her voice was hoarse now. Almost... disappointed. "It was just... that easy?"
Of course it wasn't. Of course he was lying. It came as naturally as breathing to him by now.
But this was Karlach for hell's sake. Of all people, he couldn't admit to her that being there, on his knees in the cold sanctum beneath what had been his home for so long, he hadn't been able to breathe. Not being able to speak or hear or see anything than the cold, unmoving body of the man who had starved, tortured and physically owned him for the past two centuries, and feel no joy, no sadness, no hate or love or anything in response. How his own throat had closed in on itself when all he's wanted to do was scream.
A bit like what he'd stumbled in on, here in this clearing.
Astarion had thought himself incapable of crying since about 150 years back. Seemingly, he'd been wrong. Of course, he hadn't noticed until Jackal had kneeled before him and oh, so tenderly wiped his cheek, an unsurmountable amount of empathy and sadness in his eyes.
At his side, the dagger he'd used to plunge into Cazador's chest was in it's sheath. The tar-black blood still left in it's crevices served more as a memento of the occasion than the weapon itself.
"No. No, that's not right." he said, despite himself. "I felt... not much at all, in honesty. It was something I'd dreamed of for hundreds of years, and yet-"
"You felt kinda empty?"
He turned his head. The tiefling woman had also turned, looking at him with a hint of curiosity, as well as that overwhelming empathy that always seemed to shine bright through her eyes. It made his skin crawl.
"I suppose so, yes." he muttered shortly, hoping that was the end of her line of questioning.
She seemed to mull that over for a minute. Then, "Listen- you can cuss me out all you like over this but I just wanna-" she breathed out quickly, as it wanting to push the next words out forcibly. "You weren't, like... In love with him, or something?"
Something like bile rose in his throat. "What?" he spat. "No! Absolutely not! Why you'd even suggest it-"
"Okay, okay, fine!" she showed her palms in defeat, as if trying to calm a particularly stingy horse. "I just- I mean, I really wasn't into Enver like that at all either, but, you know." She bit the inside of her cheek. "Bad shit can come from people in every direction. You never know."
Astarion let out a shuddering breath, feeling a headache coming on quickly. "No, I wasn't in love or anything of the sort. And I should leave you here to get acquainted to the wildlife for a few weeks just for suggesting it." He shook his head. "Cazador... he saw himself more as a... a father to us spawn. Chiding us as if we were children and how he had 'raised us better than this' for every minor mistake we made." He was aware of how disgust coated his every syllable. Good.
"Shit." Karlach breathed, almost astonished. "I guess that's whole 'nother level of fucked up."
"It is." he said. Then, "Was." Closing his eyes tightly for a second, not wanting to face the answer of his next question, he persevering nonetheless. "Why do you ask?"
"I... Uh." She pondered, toying with one of the gold rings in her left ear. "Honestly, dunno. The way you talk about him- It's hard, I know. Hating someone so much you think you can just burst from it. But still not really getting away from the fact they've been the center of your entire life for too damn long. Wanting nothing but to settle some sort of non-existing score and ending up with just- a whole buncha nothing."
Astarion didn't answer. Since that day, the image of Cazador’s still, cold body had replaced the reoccurring nightmare of the same man reciting the set of rules he’d set for his spawn so long ago. Thou shalt not taste the blood of thinking creatures, thou shalt obey me in all things, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed, thou shalt know that thou art mine.
He’d worked hard on breaking every single one of those rules. Of course, that didn’t stop from the words to echo in his head whenever he gathered enough strength to rebel against them.
"Do you... ever regret not doing the whole ascension thing?" She inquired gently, sort of. As gently as one could ask something he'd had many sleepless nights over since it happened.
"No," he said firmly, after a beat, surprising even himself with the truth.
She eyed him. "But you still think about it, don't you? What would've happened?"
"Of course," The truth, again.
Jackal had pressed him about the very same questions often - or as often he could without being callous. Said that it was fine if he regretted it, that he'd rather Astarion was honest than keeping resentment over the fact that he'd been the one steering him on this path to begin with.
"It would've fixed anything," he spoke softly, a harsh truth he'd had to face the hard way. (which sadly had been, well, talking about it.)"I wanted the power that had been wielded against me. I wanted it so he couldn't have it. No heroics, mind you. I'd have wielded that power in the same way he would have. Wouldn't be able to help myself."
"Now that's a pretty fantasy." Karlach said. He'd expected some sort of flinch, a reaction at his admission. Nothing of the sort, just a humoring, an understanding of sorts. "Taking all he'd worked for all for yourself as a last big 'fuck you' for all those years." She smiled, just a small one, her black hairs tangling around her horns in the breeze. "Honestly, I would've blamed you. But- I'm glad you didn't. Not that it matters."
It probably didn't. He still couldn't help but feeling just a little bit more justified about the whole thing.
Silence fell once more. Karlach drew her knees to rest her chin on them, hugging herself to make her look so much smaller than what anyone who knew her was used to. It didn’t suit her, he decided.
Looking up at the tree in front of them, Astarion studied the marks left by the woman beside him. No real finesse, just a product of mindless rage and- well, grief. He supposed that was what it boiled down to. Criss-cross hatchings, bark barely clinging to the trunk to show the fresh wood underneath. Cut down and marred before it could ever grow as tall as it's ancestors. It would continue to grow, of course. But the scars would be there for the rest of it's long life.
Which was all too much heavy handed of a metaphor for Astarion's tastes. And he could even admit to enjoying the books of poetry Gale had gathered over their journey, on occasion. That man's love of purple prose was frankly disconcerting.
"Look," he began, already regretting speaking up. "We can talk up and down how similar or not Gortash and Cazador were, but it's not going to change the simple fact that we're alive and they're not. Fine, there's the looming threat of an elder brain about to fuck over the whole Sword Coast any minute now, but they're not here to even see the end of it." He huffed a short laugh. "If anything, they should be thanking us for taking them out before they could see the world in ruin. Do you think Jackal still has one of those Speak With Dead scrolls? I'd be very happy to rub it in their faces."
Karlach laughed weakly at that, which surprised the elf. "You seem pretty pessimistic over the future, huh?"
"Just being realistic, darling."
She paused then, reaching to toy with the dry grass at their feet, digging a sharp nail into the ground. "I guess you're right." she mumbled without much conviction. "Guess I'm mostly just, I dunno, pissed off still. My whole damn life, I've tried to make at least some good life choices. And even with all that revenge stuff sorted out, no one's gonna be here to say they're sorry for making me go through it all. I had this- this fantasy. I'd walk into Enver's office, I'd say my whole little speech about how he's a dickfuck asshole and that I'd fuck his whole shit up, and he'd just- fall to his knees, explain that it was all a mistake, how he never meant to send me away, that he'd been forced by Zariel or whatever. Beg for forgiveness." She sniffed. "I'd still kill him, mind you. But, still. Guess that's dumb."
Astarion swallowed, something hurting in his chest. "It's not dumb, Karlach. A little... improbable, that's all." he said softly. The words seemed to fall more effortlessly off his tongue now. Maybe there were something to this whole 'comforting a friend in need' thing. "I'd be lying if I'd say I'd never entertained the same line of thought myself."
"Going around waiting for apologies that'll never come." She was smiling now, even if her eyes started to get glossy once more. "Two peas in a pod, us two."
"Oh, don't start." He said, getting some bravado once more. "You know my hair is much better than yours."
Now there came a real laugh, finally. Once again, she looked at him with such utter- affection. He didn't know what to do about that.
To distract from it, he spoke up again. "All I'm saying is- looking back at the people who hurt you gives them too much credit. We could all die tomorrow and just hope that Shadowheart has enough in her to bring us back at the end of the day. And if you're planning on spending that time- felling more trees and sulking, then be my guest." He paused, decidedly not looking her in the eye. "But there's so many more fun things you could do instead. Pleasurable things, even."
She shook her head, despite her lips curving up in a hesitant smile. "I'm still gonna die, y'know. Pretty soon."
Astarion didn't want to think about that. He really, really didn't. In their short time together, he could always feel her lack of presence around the camp when she was off doing gods knew what. Just the other week, she'd run into a friend from childhood, and ended up spending the evening at her and her husbands place for dinner and probably joyously familiar conversation. Things had ran as smoothly as usual. Gale had cooked dinner, Halsin had volunteered to take care of the dishes, comfortable silence intermingled with quiet chatter had continued as normal until Karlach came back late in the evening, a little tipsy but with a shining smile on her face.
He was sure he wasn't the only one who noted her absence like a blank space something was supposed to fit into. He hadn't felt much remorse for it in the moment, but something like relief settled in him when hearing her stumbling into camp again in the small hours. Karlach was a part of their whole, now. Maybe that could be said for everyone in their strange lot. Not knowing what was out of place until it was glaringly obvious and in your face.
He didn't want to imagine those quiet nights without her. The very thought sent something painful roiling through his sternum.
"Well, you seem pretty lively as of now." he concluded, burying whatever fears he himself held for the future somewhere in the recesses of his mind. "And we've all still got work to do. Don't you dare lag behind thinking of 'what-if's and whatever horrid future is ahead of us, you'd never hear the end if it."
She chortled, impressive shoulders bouncing slightly. "What, from you? Thought you liked slacking behind."
He bristled. "Just because our fearless leader insists on running literally everywhere we go, doesn't mean I have to like it. Or approve of it."
She inclined her head, eyebrows raised in agreement. "Hey, I'll cheers to that." She wiped her eyes once more, then stretched her legs out in front of her with a small groan, reclining back on her palms. Giving him a curious look, she pressed. "He's been pretty good to you, yeah?"
That vampires couldn't blush, he was eternally grateful for in this particular moment. "I-" he started, stumbling enough to make Karlach giggle in response. He sighed, straightening himself. "It's- it hasn't been just his influence, I'll have you know."
Horribly enough, that just seemed to make her even happier, a real smile as sharp as her teeth emerging victorious. "Aww, fangs! You're getting all soppy on me now!"
Before he knew it, a strong red arm was around his shoulder's and neck, drawing her in to her frankly piping hot chest, her other hand having gone on a mission to completely mess up his impeccable white curls. Giving him a noogie, for all the hells' sakes, were they teens again? It wasn't easy to forget just how strong she was in comparison as he protested wildly with "No, you're messing it up- Karlach- how old are you actually-?" while she just laughed loudly in response.
"Never thought I'd see the day, Astarion the almighty vampire spawn admitting he actually cares about people other than himself." She chuckled, finally releasing him, leaving him to immediately card fingers through his hair so assess the damage. The palm of her hand stayed on his shoulder though, it's unnatural warmth seeping through his shirt. Comfortingly.
He hissed, though without any malice. "Will the miracles ever cease?" he huffed, straightening his clothes.
In response, she just smiled brightly. No more signs of tears, apart from a bit of a sniffle as she rose from her spot, extending her hand to him. "C'mon. Bet the other's are back at camp by now."
Astarion took it, getting lifted from his spot effortlessly. Dusting himself off, telling the tiefling he'd be royally pissed if he were to discover any grass stains on these pants while watching her wedge her greataxe out of the young tree.
While walking away, Astarion took one last glance at it over his shoulder. Damaged, yes. But would still continue growing, in his own mind in spite of the previous damaged caused. Heavy handed metaphors be damned, something about it all sat right in him, nestled in the small but warm part of his chest that, despite his best efforts, had grown quite a bit over the past few months.
Slinging a well-muscled arm over his shoulder, the pair started making their way back to camp, talking about all sorts of nonsense. How Karlach had apparently had a bet fall through, now her and Wyll were going to find the Gate's famous tiefling-oriented jeweler to get their horns all decked out. How Astarion had been secretly been drawing various phallic illustrations in the margins of Gale's spellbook when he was sleeping and was just waiting for the day he finally noticed. How they might be able to convince Shadowheart to dye some streaks of now stark white hair pink, or purple even, to 'liven up her broody look' so to speak.
Once they could see the approaching tents and the steady hum of the city approaching, Karlach turned to him, suddenly something a bit shy about her. "Hey, look." She began, drumming her fingers against the shaft of her weapon. "Thanks. For like- not just walking off and stuff. Can't imagine you do this sort of stuff very willingly in most cases."
"Oh, enough with the flattery." he scoffed. "But, just so we're clear, this never happened. And if it looks like I'm about to go talk to someone about their warm and fuzzy feelings again, stop me. I've had enough for a lifetime after today."
Karlach grinned, setting two fingers to her forehead as a salute. "You got it, boss." Before bounding off, seeing that Jackal, Wyll and Gale was, as predicted, seated at the campfire to take her place beside them.
To himself, Astarion couldn't help smiling. While he rightfully thought he could count this up as his 'one good deed a month' checked off, he was, in a way, also glad he'd stayed. That he could count Karlach - or anyone for that matter - as one of his friends was- strange. But a weird, good kind of strange.
Jackal looked up to see Karlach jogging his way, his face immediately lit up with equal amounts concern and surprise at her good mood. As if knowing he'd be there, he caught Astarion's eye right behind her, a questioning look in his dark eyes.
Astarion just folded his arms in a shrug and a soft smile, feigning innocence. Like he'd said, this stayed between Karlach and him. Nothing like a few innocuous secrets to spice up a relationship, right?
The other tiefling seemed to narrow his eyes just slightly, but just quirked his lips in a slight smile before turning to Karlach, his focus shifted.
With a mental pat on the back, Astarion strode back into camp, looking at everyone in their strange gang accounted for. As it should be.
Though, at the sight of seeing Scratch snoozing happily in his tent, not before coming to the horrifying realization that he still couldn't fucking whistle.