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Magistrate Astarion
No... this could not be happening ... Astarion thought in agony. Once one of the most important magistrates of the city, he lay in the street like a common dog abandoned to his fate. The robes of expensive silks and delicate trimmings were torn and stained with his own blood; and his facial features, chiselled by a master sculptor, were now broken, bruised and full of wounds that had left him almost unrecognisable.
The Gur... those good-for-nothing savages had come for him in the night, like the cowards they were, clashing in an unbalanced group against him, using brute force, the only language they knew.
Astarion crawled slowly, trying to find help quickly, because he was going to start a political war against them and did not want to waste a second, but his strength failed him. His vision began to blur and the taste of blood in his mouth prevented him from swallowing easily.
Then, before him, he caught a glimpse of shoes. And even in their condition he could see that they were of excellent quality. Slowly, with difficulty, he looked up, hoping to find the help he longed for.
—Poor boy, haven't they made a mess of you, humm? —A soft, cold voice, with a strange, yet slightly familiar accent, chilled what little blood he had left. The red eyes were the only clear image she could make out and she unconsciously raised a hand in his direction, asking for help, and he gently took her hand. I could help you. I can save you and give you your revenge, you just have to be willing to pay a small price....
Fangs, large and sharp, peeked out from Cazador Szar's macabre smile. Next came a prick in his neck.
Cold, night, earth.
Magistrate Ancunin was dead.
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The Magistrate Spawn
Astarion was familiar with death. Not only had he executed it countless times, he had also experienced it once. Well... sort of. For a long time he wished he had died before Cazador had been able to cajole him, but breaking free of him and breaking the circle of terror had made up for everything.
He had family and a purpose in life. He had expectations and renewed hope.
And as was inevitable for an immortal like him, he had also buried many loved ones. His family, in every sense. And though he thought grief would eventually consume him, he had moved on calmly, keeping the memory of them all alive.
So when death found him in the comfort of his home, with all his sins atoned for and his soul forgiven, he received it calmly and gently held out his hand and let the cycle continue.
With a last kiss from the sun, Astarion the vampire went in peace...
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The Ascended Magistrate
Astarion was familiar with death. He had experienced it once and provoked it so many times that it was impossible to remember them all. He knew what it felt like, how to postpone it with agony, how to provoke it by speed and how to outwit it.
Being the ascended vampire had given him the false sense of being immune to death. Drunk with power, he acted as if he had defeated it and bent it to his will, just like his army of ghouls, and that had made him very careless.
In disbelief, he saw the blood gushing from his chest, felt it trickling down his ear and felt it coating his body. He felt his strength failing him. His legs trembled, his eyes clouded... and he laughed. He laughed as he had never laughed before. An icy cackle that echoed throughout Baldur's Gate. In broad daylight, the entire city was paralysed for an instant.
Astarion the Ascended was defeated.