Praxis
"You don't realise it now," Praxis brushed back his hair, or would have done had his hair not abandoned him years ago other than a little triangular patch on his chin. Praxis was Thayvian, and a noble, but he'd never had any aptitude for magic like most of his cousins. Still he had managed to find a good place for himself out here on the western edge of the continent; people here had no idea how to manage their slaves.
"But in time you will thank me," he insisted as the slave who had bitten one of the Guards that morning cried out again, his body bending and distorting under the crack of the whip, but unable to escape shackled as it was to the wall. "Life will become so much easier once you have realised your place in it. It might hurt now, but just think of every strike as a new lesson learned…"
"Lord Praxis!" Two young slavers came rushing into the torture chamber. Praxis calmly turned to face them while the lashing continued unabated. "There's a… a problem with the latest shipment from Amn, sir," one of the young slavers said, twitching and sweating nervously in his black leather armour.
"A problem?" Praxis raised an eyebrow curiously.
"Yes sir… a problem."
Praxis sighed wearily. "Look, stop being pointlessly ambiguous and just tell me what exactly this problem is," he said.
"Well… they're all dead, sir."
"I see," Praxis thought a moment, "that is a problem."
Moments later he was outside in the courtyard watching the bodies being pulled out of the wagons and lain out side by side. Fathers, brothers, mothers still clinging to their children… all blue and bloated. Praxis poked one of them with a stick just to make sure they weren't faking it, but, no, all quite dead. They were just going to take them out again and chuck them all in that big ditch.
"What happened?" Praxis' nose wrinkled; you'd have thought he'd have gotten used to the smell by now, but it just didn't go well with the finer things he enjoyed in his quarters.
"It's quite funny, really," one of the young slavers sniggered.
"Really?" Praxis asked doubtfully; even he wasn't about to raise his expectations too high.
"Well, it turns out, one of the blokes we captured was actually a ghoul. And when they were all chained together on the ship he chomps on the bloke chained next to him and he turned into a ghoul, and then he chomps on the bloke next to 'im… and so on. Well, when we opened the hold and found they were all ghouls they had to be put down of course… still, you've got to laugh, eh?"
"No. Not really," Praxis sighed. The whole thing was quite annoying, really. He was hoping they wouldn't have to go on another raid this month, but it seemed now they had no choice. "We've really got to have stricter checks. Make sure all the stock is healthy and living before we ship it here."
Of course, after many years in the slave trade, he expected such losses. There was usually at least one slave dropping dead every day, mostly from disease. Several clerics had suggested that perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to pack so many of them together and leave them to basically wallow in each other's faeces and urine; apparently it might not be healthy. Others died due to having weak minds which cracked, and so were of no further use to anyone and had to be put down, and a very few took their own lives. Sometimes it took a whole tenday to notice that they were dead, but at least it all meant that the slaves who did survive long enough to go to market were the fittest and toughest physically as well as mentally which Praxis always tried to work into his sales pitch. You didn't want to spend a lot of gold on slaves who would be dead in half an hour, and his had already proven their survivability.
But to lose an entire shipment like this… very annoying.
"Did none at all survive?" He asked, not holding out much hope.
"Two did," one of the younger slavers nodded. Well, that was something anyway; if they were of particularly fine stock they might be able to recoup their losses from this trip after all. "They were kept separate from the others. Sisters; daughters of some Amnish noble or somethink…"
"How old are they?" Praxis asked, his eyes widening hopefully.
"One I'd say about fifteen or sixteen, other about nine or ten…"
Children! Praxis grinned broadly. Younger ones were easier to train and could fetch a high price, given that they could provide potentially an entire lifetime of service, and people could train them up however they wanted.
"Well," he straightened his leather jacket, "let's take a look at them."
The two new slaves in question were still in a wagon, a wooden crate on wheels with slits you could slide open in order to peer inside. Praxis' predecessor had bought it from a circus years ago; they'd used it to transport animals. Peering inside it now was the man who had bought these slaves to them, had even paid the slavers just to take them and break them and basically just do what they usually did. A man who wore the scars of many battles and whose dirty plate armour clanked as he turned to greet the slave master…
"Sir Anarg?" Praxis said in mild surprise. "My old friend. I had heard you were dead."
"Evidently not," the Fallen Paladin answered laconically. Paladins, even fallen ones, always made Praxis uncomfortable. He could feel the intensity of the man's gaze drilling into him, searching out his soul… Praxis turned away from it, nodding to his subordinates a silent command to get the wagon opened.
"So… what brings you here?"
"What else?" Anarg said with a wide smirk, revealing rows of yellow and black teeth. "Justice."
"These children wronged you in some way?" Praxis asked, genuinely curious. It must have been a pretty serious slight for Anarg to want to make them slaves rather than merely kill them.
"The children? No. Their father," the Paladin stomped heavily through the mud, until his face was right next to Praxis, close enough that the Slave Lord could smell him even above the stench of all the other slaves. This was not the Anarg he had known, or if it was he had really badly let himself go. No, there were enough Necromancer's in the Slave Lord's family for him to know that reports of Anarg's death had not in fact been exaggerated at all.
"I wish for him to feel what I once felt," the Undead Paladin went on, "to have those who had placed their trust in him dragged from him, their bodies broken, their wills sucked away, until his despair drives him to become as I have; an empty, soulless shell," he finished, slapping his face and squashing one of the flies now buzzing round him.
"You've lost none of your charm, I see," Praxis suddenly felt quite nauseous. He was quite thankful when one of the girls, the older one, managed to break free of her bonds as his subordinates tried to pull away from her sister and with a feral scream punched one of them on the nose sending him sliding and sprawling in the mud.
She had shoulder length, tawny hair and was clearly very strong for a girl her age. Spirited too, or perhaps just angry; they often were at first. More than that though, she clearly knew her way around weapons; as his men tried to restrain her she managed to get of one of their swords, wounding one of them. Where she to have faced one of his best subordinates, it might have been an interesting fight. But she wasn't, she was facing twelve out here in the courtyard alone, and half of them had whips. Very long whips. They could use them from well out of reach of the little sword she had, and they did so. One of the whips coiled around her neck and she was yanked back. Immediately after several Slavers piled on top of her, disarming her of the sword and then punching and kicking her a few times just for good measure.
"Enough," Praxis ordered. He'd seen it all before, of course. Most people resisted at first; his purpose, and the purpose of this place, was to change that. The girl obviously identified him as the leader and fixing him with a hate filled stare and screaming and snarling like a rabid animal, she struggled desperately to get to him and rip out his throat. But strong as she was, the men restraining her were much stronger and after a few moments she exhausted herself, slumping and bowing her head, only staying on her feet because they were holding her up. Praxis smiled, anticipating he was going to have a lot of fun with this one; he loved breaking the spirited ones most of all. It just felt so satisfying.
"… you… know who I am?" She said, panting.
"Who you were is unimportant," he informed her, "you should consider today the start of a whole new life. A life of service to your betters."
"My father is going to kill you!" She screeched, and resumed her struggles with renewed vigour. But, they proved just as futile as before.
"I've been doing this nearly thirty years," Praxis yawned a touch theatrically, "how many times do you think I've heard that?"
"Only… only has to come true once," the girl said, slumping and panting again.
The Slave Lord snorted, and turned his attention to other, younger sibling, with her head buried in hands as she sobbed and wailed helplessly. Sisters, eh? The elder ones remark had made him determined to make her life as miserable as possible while he could.
"Place them in separate cells," he ordered, "they might as well start getting used to being apart."
"No!" Both sisters reacted exactly as he expected, frantically twisting and clawing as they tried desperately to reach the other… again futile. Their utter desperation increased as they were pulled further and further apart.
"Vesper!" The eldest cried out, perhaps instinctively knowing her sibling would break easily, be unable to cope, without her support.
"Leona!" The child called back, her tears pouring all over the shoulder of the man carrying her.
For Praxis, it was all business as usual.
One month later…
Even with all the resources of The Order, and Nalia De'Arnise calling on every contact she had in and around Amn, it had taken one whole blasted month to track them down! Keldorn's whole body trembled with anticipation at finally being reunited with his children, but also with rage. Rage at the Slavers, Anarg, and also at his own failure to protect them and having done so taken an entire month to find them again… of course, he had no control over at least three quarters of that, but it was pointless trying to convince his brain of that right now.
"Why do we stand around?" Minsc said, echoing Keldorn's own sentiments exactly. "Over there is a den of unspeakable evil… although Minsc has indeed just spoken of it. Let us bash down the gate and trample our righteous boot prints all over their garden of evil!"
"'Cos, Minsc, if you go charging and bellowing across that field, the archers in those towers will have turned you into a big ol' pin cushion before you got within two hundred yards of the gate," Imoen informed him and to Minsc and Keldorn's dismay, she spoke the truth.
The fortress was well positioned, on top of a hill in the middle of a large plain. It was impossible to approach it without being seen. Keldorn bit his tongue as he ground down on his teeth, fighting his instinct to engage in what would in all likelihood be a pointless attempt to do exactly as Minsc suggested. But, no; although it contradicted every feeling he had it was vital, now more than ever, that he remember his training and be patient just a little longer.
His mind raced through a few strategies to get them entrance; perhaps they could pretend to be slavers themselves, or potential buyers at least… although it was still very risky if no-one was due that day. They were quite likely to just shoot at any stranger that approached, and not bother to ask any questions about it later. As he stared out from under the trees, the old castle which now the slavers home still felt like a thousand miles away…
"I might be able to help again, there," Nalia said, approaching them on her black horse and was then helped down by her handmaid. It was her efforts, rather than The Orders, that had located this place. It seemed she had a spy in the home of one Lord Valegard, a minstrel who, while he was entertaining the Lord and a few guests, overheard snippets of conversation about two Amnish noble girls being taken.
This was all quite normal; every servant in every noble household in Amn earned a second income by passing on bits of information to every other noble house. The nobles knew this, but what could they do? They couldn't just not have servants to prepare meals, lay tables and dress them every morning, or their own private minstrels to keep them entertained after a hard days feasting. They wouldn't survive, and even if they did it would be no life worth living.
Anyway, Keldorn would be sure to inquire about this Valegard's involvement with slavers later. Right now he was very keen to hear what Nalia had to say (which anyone feeling vindictive might say was a first for her).
"It's not such a common practice now," she explained, laying out a large sheet of parchment on a log they were using a makeshift table, "because of them often caving in and taking half a wall with them, but, a few hundred years ago when this castle was built, they all had a secret entrance or tunnel underneath them in case of a siege."
"For escape?" Aerie asked.
"No," Nalia smiled, a tiny amount of sadness still present in her eyes, "no Noble would ever abandon their home in such a situation. It's so that if they're under siege they can go out and raid the enemy camp for supplies. Anyway, with Tymora's blessing I suppose, I came across the architect's plans for this particular castle buried deep within the Council building in Athkatla."
"But might the slavers not know about this tunnel?" Imoen asked, "it might be guarded, or they might have even sealed it up."
"Since they may merely moved in long after the original owners had left, there's a good chance they don't. And, anyway, it's better than being a pin cushion, right?"
"Right," Keldorn nodded. Right now it seemed their only chance. He would just have to pray that Torm blesses him once more. "We will wait until cover of night before we begin," it pained the old knight greatly to lose another day, but if he lost his cool now he would lose everything. "I suggest you all spend the rest of the day preparing yourselves for battle."
"Veal mongering guttersnipes," Imoen spat, planting another arrow into the target. She missed the centre of it, again, but she was under no illusions that she was some kind of outlaw hero who could split an arrow with another arrow. At least they were all landing quite close to the centre of target and not, as had happened a few times in the early days, through a window about fifty yards to the left of the target. "You just let me at 'em! I'm gonna go crazy in there…"
"Imoen… child," Jaheira smiled gently, and a little mockingly,"if you had ever intended your 'going crazy' to be some kind of threat, you might have considered holding some of your craziness back before now."
"Bullseye!" Imoen pumped the air with her fist suddenly, an arrow having landed smack bang in the centre of the red dot.
"Impressive," the druid nodded, surprised but genuinely rather impressed.
"Ah… it was easy," Imoen turned away, waving off the compliment nonchalantly, "I just had to imagine your face in the middle of it, is all."
Aerie had spent most of the afternoon sparring with Nalia. The noblewoman was a lot bigger, stronger, faster and heavier than she was, but Aerie was more skilled and, in battle at least, more focused, so the contest was actually quite even. Besides, she was used to sparring with Jaheira who was an awful lot bigger, stronger, faster and heavier than she was. And Imoen; but Aerie refused to let her matches with Imoen count, since Imoen always cheated.
"Sir Keldorn?" She said softly, really asking for permission to approach having found the old Paladin in a clearing on his own, the Slaver fortress just visible through the line of trees. He was kneeling before Carsomyr, his great sword, its blade piercing the ground so that it was stood in front of him like a holy totem or icon.
"Please, Aerie," he said, turning his head and smiling at her in a warm, fatherly manner, "just Keldorn will do. You know me more than well enough to dispense with formalities."
"Um… y-yes si… K-Keldorn," the blonde Avariel flushed in embarrassment, "Eh… M-Minsc said you wished to see me."
Keldorn stood up, pulling his sword free from the ground as gusts of wind created little ripples through his grey hair.
"You were a slave," he reminded her, "you've been inside a place like this before."
"Y-yes," Aerie nodded, "well… we all have. When we raided the base in the slums… a-and Jaheira's work as a Harper has taken her to such places many times."
"But not like you. You were actually inside as a slave," he peered at her, "what was it like?"
Aerie trembled slightly. This was certainly a first for her, having more knowledge and experience of something than the others. The truth was though that the memory of being in such a place, of the punishment and torture and the constant stench of death everywhere, was so horrible that her subconscious had created a whole new department within itself in order to hide it from her. But she couldn't tell him that… not now. On the other hand, as a friend, perhaps she should prepare him for the fact that his children, should they find them in there, might not be the way he remembered them.
"Keldorn…" she began, choosing carefully how much she should tell him, "people… people change in places like this. I-it's what they're for… they… they try to make you forget all about who you were and who you knew."
"But… you survived?"
"Y-yes," she had never really thought of herself as a 'survivor' before, but she supposed in a way she was. There were lots who hadn't… "But… V-Vesper and Leona are strong," she said, quickly, noting Keldorn's suddenly sad, distant and, most upsetting for her, hopeless look, "I-I'm sure they will both be fine. After all, a-at least they have each other in there."
"That is true," he nodded, "so long as they are together they will help each other through this…" Keldorn looked back at the fortress; Aerie knew she could see a small tear forming in the corner of his eye, but he quickly wiped it away.
"Er… forgive me," he said.
"For what?" She asked.
"Asking you to come here… to this place. The memories it drags up must be especially painful for you."
"You didn't ask me to come here," she rightly corrected him, "I-I came because I wanted to help."
"Thank you, Aerie," Keldorn said, warm fatherly smile again as he patted her shoulder, acknowledging the truth of her words, "you've always been an honourable person. You might have a very good Paladin, if you were…"
"B-bigger? Stronger? Heavier?" She sighed and smiled back. "It's alright; I-I think I've done quite well for myself despite all those… disadvantages. Besides, J-Jaheira has taught me that not being six foot tall with reflective, brightly polished armour to mark my presence anywhere on a battlefield can be an advantage in combat as well."
"How are you getting on with her now?"
"W-with Jaheira?" Aerie thought. It made sense to change the subject; there were still several hours left before they could begin the assault, and no point in either of them dwelling too much on what they might find in there. "Much better, I suppose. She beats me up all the time, b-but then I do ask her to," she admitted, speaking of their sparring. Always very one sided contests and it was hard for anyone observing them to gather what Aerie was supposed to be learning from them other than how to land softly on her arse… although if they thought about it, that small thing alone could make the difference between dying and not dying in battle.
"A-at least she doesn't seem to hate me anymore," the Elf sighed.
"I don't me believe she ever did, Aerie," Keldorn sighed as well, "like me, she's always realised your potential. Nalia belongs on a different battlefield, and Imoen… well," the phrase 'train wreck' popped into his head for some reason, but since he didn't know what a train was he dismissed it. "Anyway, that is why she's always been harder on you than on them. She knows you have the ability to surpass her."
"She… w-wants me to surpass her?"
"I think that it is what all parents wish for their children, although they cannot always admit it," of course they all knew that Jaheira was not, in actual fact, anyone's mother, although it was accepted that she assumed such a role in the group. A very strict mother who knew her way far more around a scimitar than she did a kitchen, but nevertheless…
"We certainly never want to outlive them," Keldorn lost himself in thought again, "you know, it makes me feel guilty in a way, Aerie, talking to you."
"Why?"
"Because you feel more like a daughter to me than my actual daughters. Don't worry; I can hardly blame you for that. It's not your fault. It's mine. I kept putting off spending time with them, telling myself just one more quest after this one, and then I will retire. But there was always one more quest after this one. I think I have always been afraid to retire… I don't know how to be anything but a Paladin. I've not even been too good at that… I should have anticipated something like this would happen. That a coward with no honour like Anarg would attempt to strike at my family… I should have been prepared, taken precautions…"
"P-please forgive the boldness of this cliché, Keldorn, b-but, there was nothing you could do. Well… y-you could have kept you family under guard the entire time, I suppose, but would have them to feel like prisoners in their own home? Besides, w-wouldn't there still just as much chance of something terrible happening to one or all of them. Y-you certainly couldn't have predicted Anarg would come back from the dead."
"Even so, Aerie, the number of enemies I've made… I should have been ready for this…"
"Perhaps," the Avariel sighed, "but then, p-perhaps instead of focusing on what you should have done, it would be more… productive… to concentrate instead on what you should do, now."
"Aye… sage words, sage words indeed," Sir Keldorn nodded and smiled again, "you truly have grown much since the wide eyed, scared and confused child I met just a year ago."
"I am… still wide and often very confused, Sir. And scared; always scared. But I think I've come to accept who I am; Aerie, the wingless winged elf. Witch, explorer, adventurer, and, to borrow one of Imoen's epithets, 'all round great gal'," the blonde haired Avariel said with a wide, facetious grin.
They stood together for some time, watching the sun setting behind the Slaver Fortress.
"Naught to do now but wait," Keldorn said, his gauntleted gloves tightening around the grip of Carsomyr.
Sir Anarg patrolled the walls and corridors of the fort, as he had been doing restlessly for the last month. The vile creature he had made a pact with hadn't specified how much time he had to enact his revenge, whether this body would actually decay or not, but he would prefer it if Keldorn were to show up sooner rather than later. He wondered if he should have left a few more clues as to where he was going around the Firecam's home, rather than just the message he had left with Keldorn's failure of a wife after he had beat her… but no; the Paladin would find him, and he would be waiting.
Normal narrative structures insisted on there being a single dramatic and traumatic event in Anarg's life that caused the fallen Paladin to turn away from the path of good and order to lust for power and evil… but real life just didn't really work like that. There was nothing you could point it to say that this was the moment everything changed. He'd always been a little bit selfish, and he'd always considered himself a little bit better than those around him. At first he had genuinely wanted to help those less able than him, but as he grew older his selfishness and egoism grew and grew until he decided he really deserved more of a reward for all the good he was doing. People should show him gratitude. And then some time after that he thought that if he wasn't going to be offered a reward he might as well just take one anyway; he deserved one, after all. And then one wrong decision after another until without realising it he had become totally morally bankrupt. And when he did realise it he found he just didn't care; he was getting what he wanted, and that was all that mattered.
And then he died. For most people, that would have been the end of their career, but his soul was restored to his body by a necromancer, some fool Keldorn had crossed early in his career, and all he wanted in return was for Sir Keldorn to suffer. It seemed like a pretty good deal to Anarg at the time.
The manner of his resurrection however meant that he wasn't truly alive. He was undead, much like a Vampire. While this was potentially very useful, being undead did have quite a few disadvantages as well, like the smell. He smelled dead. And that smell was constantly attracting flies and other vermin to try and scavenge on his body. At first he had tried to cover up the smell with perfume and flowers the same way Vampires did, but had given up after the first tenday. It didn't matter; there was only one thing he wanted to do with his undeath. Destroy Keldorn and everyone close to him.
As he swatted another one away, he heard a bell… the alarm. Suddenly slavers were all around him scrambling for their armour and weapons, shouting about intruders. Could it be, finally?
Clever. They must have entered through the secret tunnel into the cellar, the one Anarg hadn't bothered to tell the slavers about. He wanted to face Sir Keldorn, see his despair, before killing him.
"Beeswax!" Imoen gave voice to the frustration they all felt as she silenced the slaver ringing the bell with an arrow. Up until that point everything had been going well; they'd found the tunnel exactly where Nalia's plans said it would be, and it had been completely unguarded. However, they must have gotten a bit complacent, because they then stumbled quite stupidly into a group of Slavers, most of them drunk it seemed, but one of them had managed to slip away while they were fighting the rest and started ringing the bell. "What do we do now?"
"They're still panicked and confused," Jaheira said, "they don't know from where or how we got in. So we waste no time; we split up and we find them."
"We may be able to tip the odds even more in our favour by releasing the other slaves as well," Keldorn suggested.
"Agreed," Jaheira nodded. "I will make my way to the dungeon. The rest of you search the other levels."
There was no further discussion. Everyone knew they had to do and so went their separate ways and did it; Keldorn and Imoen went one way, Minsc, Aerie and Nalia went another while Jaheira started making her way to the dungeon, fighting and blasting away with magic any slavers unlucky enough to get in their way.
"Psst! Over here!" Imoen nodded her head excitedly a while later, having peered inside one of the slits on one of the doors. Keldorn dislodged the body of a slaver from Carsomyr and hurried to her.
He gazed inside for a long time, scarcely believing it at first. His heart stopped, then started as wave of different emotions, relief, love, joy, especially joy, washed over him and drowned out even his Paladin training.
"Leona!" He roared, tears falling from his cheeks. Not waiting for Imoen to try and use her thief skills to unlock it, he stepped back and charged forward, his weight in his full plate and his momentum blasting it off its hinges.
"Leona!" He said again, but the girl, which was definitely her, didn't respond. She was curled up in a ball in a corner of the room not reacting at all to anything. He leant over her, gently pulling her eyes away from her face… his heart, which just a moment ago had been lifted to the heavens, now sunk to deepest depths of the abyss. Those eyes, so utterly devoid of anything, sadness, joy, hope…
"Leona… can't you see me?" Keldorn tried desperately to reach her. "Don't you know who I am?"
"… dream…" she said almost silently. Still, at least it was a response. The tiniest spark of hope at least.
"Where is Vesper?" He pleaded. "Where is your sister?"
"Vesp… Vesper?" She turned her head, slowly, and looked blankly at him. "S-seperated…"
"I'm sorry, Keldorn," Imoen said, standing by the remains of the door to watch the corridor. "Aerie… she tried to warn you this might happen. We really shouldn't hang around."
"Come on," the old Paladin said, picking up the girl between his arms. He didn't bother to question how Imoen knew what he and Aerie had talked about. But he could take some solace from the fact that, although without saying it, the Avariel had also told him something far more important; that they could get better again.
"Just like old times, huh?" Nalia said, sending another slaver to the afterlife with a blast of freezing cold air into his lungs.
"Got to say, I'm still not really enjoying this as much as much you seem to."
"R-really?" Aerie smiled sweetly as a Slaver on her side of the battle shattered into a thousand pieces. "You… you seem to be handling it quite well."
"I'm just trying not to die here."
"That's all we ever do, " Aerie's magic missile went right through that last one and blasted off the head of the man standing behind him. Quite impressive. "W-why did you come, Nalia?" The elf asked. Nalia had retired quite early from adventuring, returning to her keep to pursue a political career, feeling that was where she could really make a difference, and she honestly didn't get the same rush and thrill out of combat that she'd heard Aerie talk about.
"To show you the way in, of course," The Noblewoman answered, "and, since I was here, and since it's a four day journey back to Amn, I thought it would be rude not to come in with you."
"I'm glad you did," Aerie smiled again as she reminisced. She missed those 'old days', sometimes, just after she had left the Circus behind. She was even less sure of herself then, and constantly baffled by just about everything, but that made it all exciting. Every day brought some new experience. Anyway, in the present, it seemed they were starting to run out of slavers to kill.
But then a whole new bunch marched around the corridor, and immediately launched a hail of crossbow bolts in the adventurer's direction. Most of them bounced quite harmlessly off the magical protections the elf and Nalia had put up, but one of them did nick Minsc on the cheek. He became quite furious about it.
"You dare to mess with Minsc's beautiful face? RRRAAARRGHH!" He roared at them. The sight of him rushing them with his crazy, blood shot eyes and huge sword swinging wildly in all directions, caused the squad to break and scramble over each other as they all attempted to flee.
"Minsc!" Nalia yelled a little angrily as he disappeared down the stairs.
"He's gone," Aerie said, her blonde locks bouncing as she shook her head.
"Should we go after him?"
"No," the Avariel sighed, "he… h-he'll find his own way back to us, eventually."
Nalia's eyes widened suddenly when she turned to look at Aerie… she was about to shout a warning, but it was too late. The Elf did notice her look of surprise and spun herself about, avoiding the full force of the blow aimed at her. That may have saved her life, but she was still knocked sideways quite a distance, and knocked out, cold. The bald man with the little triangular beard dropped the huge club he was carrying as he turned his cold hearted gaze to Nalia.
"More 'heroes' come to try and stop me," he sneered, "you're not the first. I assure you, you will not be the last either."
Whether it was instinct, intelligence, intuition or whatever, Nalia somehow perceived that this man was a far greater threat than all of the other slavers and so wasted no time on talking. She chanted her spells, launching a fireball which she hoped would carry him outside over the balcony and then blow him into a million tiny pieces. But after finishing the spell, she realised he was gone. And then she gasped, suddenly feeling a strong hand clamp around her throat.
"I never had much skill with magic, myself," Praxis said as he started to choke her, "but, I am Thayvian. I know exactly how to deal with the likes of you."
Using all her strength, Nalia managed to break free of his grasp and spin about, just in time to dodge a swipe from his sword. She back pedalled furiously as he continued to press her, making her use all her concentration on trying to avoid being cut to pieces and unable to think at all about casting any kind of spell.
She quickly started to sweat. It was bad for her. Really bad… and that imbecile Minsc had gone and left her and Aerie was unconscious. She was clearly no match for this man in terms of skill and although she had been fine with all this adventure when it had seemed to be going all right, she now thought that she really should have stayed at home…
"Sir Keldorn," Anarg hissed slowly, as if trying to say the name in such a way that it rhymed with 'complete and utter bastard'.
"Anarg," Keldorn's face contorted in disgust at the unholy stench of the creature before him, as he gently place Leona all the ground. "What have you become?"
"What you made me, fool."
"Um, guys? I… I'm here too, y'know," Imoen put her hand up, pining for attention.
"Be silent, you snivelling brat!" Anarg immediately spat at her.
"Well… that's just rude," Imoen sniffed, clearly very hurt.
"Even in death you can't accept that it was your own choices that led you to this?" Keldorn shook his head sadly, "pitiful creature. This time, I will put you out of our misery for good. Imoen; please take Leona to safety, and find Vesper if you can. I will join you all soon, but first I have to finish this."
Imoen was about to protest, but the look he gave made her think otherwise. She took Leona's hand, the girl not resisting at all as she led her away. Events in the real world were still barely registering with her. She didn't know her father was about to engage in a to the death duel with a man who was already dead.
Keldorn held aloft Carsomyr. Although his body was old, wracked and worn from many, many battles through the years, the swords power throbbed through him, invigorating him, giving him the strength he possessed when he was less than half his age. Opposite him the undead knight held up his own dark, twisted blade.
The first clash was thunderous.
"Mages," Praxis spat on Nalia's face, "take away your spells and you're really nothing, are you?"
Nalia De'Arnise lay on her back and knew she was about to die. She thought she would have felt a lot worse about that than she did, but, actually, once she'd accepted it as inevitable it was really quite serene. She had tried to fight it, of course, but after being kicked and pummelled and stomped on and her own efforts to fight back only ending in her own situation getting a lot worse, she had no energy left. She gave up. All she could do now was wait for the final blow. But fate had another cruel twist in store for her for, having only just accepted it and achieved a peaceful state for mind for what she assumed would be the entire remainder of her life, Aerie decided to ruin it by ramming the Slave Lord with her shield.
He staggered back while Nalia propped herself up on her elbows, Aerie stood between her and the man she'd been battling with, adopting exactly the same fighting stance as Jaheira. After a second or two her brain started working normally again and Nalia sprung to her feet, and then immediately wished she hadn't because she ached all over. She angrily said some words, taking advantage of the lull in combat to finally cast some magic,sending an orb that shimmered with all the colours of the rainbow gliding hastily. Both women gasped, mortified, as it passed through the bald headed man doing nothing.
"I told you before; I am Thayvian," he tutted, "I am well prepared for any sort of magical attack… which, unfortunately for you both means that you will have to fight using your own strength if you wish to have a chance of leaving here alive. I should say that it's a very, very small chance."
Aerie closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself as she decided what to do. Nalia hadn't fared well against this man, which on the face of it meant that she shouldn't fare well either. On the other hand though, she had something that Nalia didn't… she had tried not to think about it too much since arriving here, but at the sight of him it all came back, all those memories, a whole human lifetimes of rage and anger at the cruelties and injustices inflicted on her, that she'd seen inflicted on others, again and again. She usually had managed to contain them, but she letting it out, on the proviso that it all be directed at this man, this Slaver Lord… Praxis.
"Go," she told Nalia. The Noblewoman was going to protest, but then she caught at the blue flames behind Aerie's eyes. Her friend wanted this, and wouldn' t forgive anyone for getting in her way. Besides, one of them had to keep searching this place for the children, and since giving up or backing down clearly couldn't be further from Aerie's thoughts right now, she was definitely the one who was going the fight.
Nalia withdrew, just as the Slaver Lord's first lunge was deflected by the Elf's shield. She wondered if the poor fool had any idea what he was getting himself into.
Keldorn had more skill than his opponent, but, being undead, his opponent didn't tire. He did. He had cut and sliced Anarg many times but it wasn't slowing him down, while even Carsomyr was started to feel heavier and heavier in his hands. Eventually he slipped and lost his balance, only slightly, but it was enough for Anarg to suddenly gain the advantage, forcing Keldorn back. And then he lost Carsomyr, surprised by the raw power of a blow which sent the blade spinning from his hands.
"You'll be spending the rest of your life in pain, Sir Keldorn," Anarg grinned, choking the older Paladin against the wall with one hand. "I had planned to prolong your suffering a lot longer than the minute and a half you actually have left. But I've been getting impatient waiting here for you to find me…"
"Not so fast, numbnuts," Imoen literally appeared out of nowhere, having escorted Leona to a place of safety and cast invisibility on herself before returning. Before Anarg had even started to turn his head, she had buried her short sword deep into his side. He looked at it there. Then he looked at her, his brow furrowing into a V shape. She could tell he was slightly annoyed by what had transpired, and tried to grin and shrug in a 'well, it was worth a shot, weren't it,' kind of way.
"You just wait your turn," he told her, and then knocked her out with a single backhand. The distraction however had at least bought Keldorn time to catch his breath. He shoulder charged the Fallen Paladin, lifting him slightly as he forced him back across the room knocking over a brazier. Anarg screamed wildly and in agony as his sleeve caught fire, and the dry skin on his arm cracked and turned to ash almost instantly.
Keldorn retrieved Carsomyr, and watched for a few seconds as Anarg rolled across the floor, desperately trying to extinguish the flames.
"Allow me to help you, my friend," he said, and cut off the arm that was burning. Anarg then found that had only been the start of his problems, as he now found himself without one arm or any weapon, having to crawl backwards from the man whose family he had tried to destroy. Keldorn knew however that pausing to gloat or make some long winded speech about justice at this point was often what snatched defeat from the jaws of victory for people. Anarg had already struck at him where he was most vulnerable... no, no reprieve. No mercy. He had to make sure this would never happen again..
There was one last scream of rage from Anarg, and then his head bounced and rolled away on the cold, stone floor.
Praxis was starting to panic.
This blonde elven girl carried a shield and had a tougher defence to break through but, really, he shouldn't have had much more difficulty with her than with the other one. She was tiny. He was big. It seemed like something you shouldn't even have to think about.
He used his superior size and weight to knock her back and to the ground several times, but each time she managed to get back up just before he could finish her, the same cold, unyielding hatred in her eyes… what the hell was she? Why wouldn't she just stay down?
And then he misjudged a swing, and she ducked under it, striking him on the jaw with the edge of her shield as she stood back up. And now that he realised that this tiny, blonde, elven girl could actually hurt him, maybe even embarrass him, he really started to panic.
He became desperate now to end this fight as quickly as possible. He slammed into her, twisted round her, and flung her clean across the room. She was surprisingly light, even for a girl her size.
That had to be it now, he thought. She'd been through a wardrobe, which had smashed and splintered. Her body was battered and broken. There was no way she was getting up again.
But, as he watched on, utterly mortified, he saw the faint blue glow of divine power wash through her body, closing all her wounds. She stood up and assumed a fighting stance again. She said nothing, but her intention was clear; this was a fight to the finish.
"You… you just don't know when to quit, do you?" He panted, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Heh," she was panting as well, and wiping away some of the blood dripping from her lips, "e-every… every strike, a new lesson learned," she said with a wide, facetious grin. Praxis felt a chill creep all down his spine, although he knew not why.
Screaming, he lunged at her. It was his second to last mistake. Aerie was ready for him, catching his sword arm under her shield and disarming him; Jaheira had taught her how to do that. She then went on the offensive, mercilessly raining blow after blow on him, pummelling him with her shield, fists and just about everything she had, finally forcing him back all the way outside, onto the balcony, where he at last collapsed, bloodied and utterly beaten.
Aerie now had her glass sword held under his chin. Unfortunately, she hadn't planned this far ahead and had no idea what to do next. She stood there, chest heaving heavily, gazing deep into his guilt-free eyes. The thought of ending him weighed heavily on her mind; how many lives he stolen through the years? How many families had he tore apart? She doubted he bothered to try and keep count. Wouldn't justice be served by her killing him? It felt right… but at the same time, it didn't. It was too quick and easy a solution. Maybe he should find out himself what it was like to live behind bars and be treated like an animal…
After staring at the elf through his blood stained eyes for a very long moment, unable to gauge which way she would go, Praxis breathed out in relief when she pulled the sword away and turned from him. But that was when he made the very last mistake of his life. The moment she had her back turned, he summoned his last remaining energy and lunged at her with the dagger he'd had in his boot.
Aerie didn't turn around. She merely said the word, and a V shaped formation of highly charged bolts of magical energy fell on him from, her having removed the belt that offered him any protection from them during the fight; Imoen had taught her how to do that. At least twenty of them fell on him in quick succession; to anyway not able to see, it would have sounded like a lot of firecrackers going off. By the time they were done, the boots and the dagger where just about all that was left of him.
It had been self-defence, although the Avariel wondered if perhaps it was a little bit overkill. It didn't matter at this point; she could 'hear' Nalia's voice pushing through her thoughts, communicating telepathically to say that she'd found Vesper, and others had found Leona, and the slaves Jaheira had freed had taken over most of the Fortress. There were only a few pockets of resistance left. Aerie was glad, and she didn't feel quite so angry any more.
It seemed they were pretty much done here.