*Author's Note: This fix-up is a sequel of sorts to 'Those that are Fools': a collection of short stories that was so rudely interrupted by life. I intend to finish this story... and some new ones as well. That, however, is a tale for another day. It is good to 'see' you again, folks. :) *

I. Prologue

Another day, another bard. It was quite amusing, actually, how often a return would render the journey useless. I have seen scarred warriors retire only to discover that peace was nowhere to be found... Only to awaken in the middle of the night screaming, plagued by the very same nightmares that robbed them of their sleep while they still wandered the roads. I saw people arriving to Candlekeep in a desperate attempt to find shelter among it's books, within it's walls. They, too, were given no such mercy - the emptiness made them remember, the silence intensified their doubts and regrets. In such places, guilt was as common as dust; like mushrooms sprouting in the dark. Try as one might, their past would seize them sooner or later, it would take all they gained in their escape... leaving nothing but the hollow comfort of it all being familiar.

So it was with myself... a fool who lost her battle, a victim who failed to kill her torturer. I gained nothing but powerful enemies in this odd trip from Brynnlaw to the Underdark. As for what I had lost... well, among other things, there was the miniscule matter of my soul.

Here I was, then, empty and withering, knowing that I would die, yet devoid of the will to prevent it. "You need to confrot Irenicus. You need to gather new allies and rally those whom you still have. You need to kill Bodhi and find the Rynn Lanthorn." Those were the things I would repeat to myself over and over - things that would evoke an emotional response just a few short weeks ago. Today, I had nothing. I could not laugh, yet I was not capable of going insane. Shivering between two lives.

Here I was... at Mithrest again, this jewel of the Promenade. A return. I was not sure to what exactly. There were changes. Spilled blood, broken vows, power lost. And a different bard sitting next to me, as talkative as I was taciturn, as living as I was dead, as full as I was hollow. A Planewalker of blue hair and as many tattoos as he had scars.

'My dear and silent raven, am I to understand that you truly went to Underdark and back?', he asked, leaning towards me. The candlelight gleamed on his rings, one for each finger, set with stones that ranged from a simple fire agate to what appeared to be a star sapphire. I noded my head, shifting my gaze from the bard's hands to the empty stage.

'I have. There was a price to pay for this trespass.'

Haer'Dalis clapped his hands, knocking his glass over. Wine spilled from the crystal, sinking into a tablecloth of deep blue. My favourite color, I reminded myself. Favouring anything seemed a distant memory. I stared at the table, hoping my enthusiastic companion would not insist on more words. Speaking was tiresome. The happenings of days past seemed unimportant. Recounting them would be a dull task, like reading the diary of a dead stranger. What difference would it make?

'Ah. That is all, I presume... Well, dear raven, as much as I would love to jump into the fray on your behalf and ask no questions other than how gloriously I shall be written of after meeting a gruesome death... Know that we mercenaries demand a price for our services. Since the beautiful Raelis paid for your assistance, I do not consider myself indebted. As you know, I have an outstanding knowledge of magic, fine swordplay and the subtle art of thievery...'

His stage expertise showed even as he spoke - a different role for every skill: a superior air of the mage, a warior's boisterousness, a thief's whisper. All these masks, donned and tossed aside in the matter of seconds. In the past, I would be entertained, envious, impressed... today, I just was.

'I shall pay you handsomely for all of your talents.' Gold, at least, was not a concern. An alliance with Aran Linvail had an advantage, after all.

The bard chuckled, as if pleased by some private jest. When a theatrical, sinister grimace took place of his half-smile, I thought I could guess what this jest was.

''Tis so, they say I am venal', Haer'Dalis spoke, confirming my suspicions, 'but it is not for money that I will sell myself to beautiful women. I want other recompense... I want other recompense!'. With another grin, he dropped his act. 'Before you kill me with the knife from the table and wrench the safe-conduct from my cold dead hands, let me assure you, my raven, that I want no other currency than a tale. A tale of your origins, a tale of how we got here, a tale that would explain the sadness in those beautiful eyes...'

Poor fool, took emptiness for sorrow. Still, the last one I could easily explain.

'I lost my soul. Quite... literally', I stated, knowing that I should have felt anger, fear, bah! Rage even, that such an admission meant that I should be seeking my tormentor this very moment, never resting until I regained what was mine and took all that was his. So it should have been, yes. Instead, I just... settled. Realized that with each day I was losing more of myself - the mysterious powers, the dreams, the way the pommel jewel of the Sword of Chaos would gleam, recognizing my touch. Lost...

The actor smiled with polite interest and noded, expecting me to continue. It was only after a while that the full weight of my words and all this answer entailed hit him. He blinked, leaning even closer towards me, as if to ensure he heard correctly.

'You... what?'

'A part of it, anyway. A vital part... it is rather convoluted', I added with a sigh, unsure myself of how the mage's ritual stole Bhaal's essence from me.

'I... well, I cannot say I understand', Haer'Dalis replied, regaining his elloquence, 'And yet, this does explain at least some of your reactions... or lack of them.'

I sighed, yet again realizing how tired I was. Still, I owed him the story. A few words for a worthy ally - this was a trivial price, even if somewhat bothersome to pay. I needed a companion; someone to watch my back, to offer a different point of view. Someone capable of feeling... the blind required aid, as did I. Haer'Dalis' life seemed to be an odd one, odd enough for him to be capable of believing my tale without question, without demanding detailed explanations of how losing one's soul was even possible. He has either seen such occurences before, or just could not be bothered by such trivial details. Both options boded well.

'It does. I was... quite different before', I stated, 'And I intend to return to what I was. With your help, if you are willing to offer it.'

'You know my price, raven. Details, details. And... an answer to a rather personal question, if you will.'

I turned my gaze to the stain on the tablecloth. It spread into a shape of an irregular circle. For a moment, I was quite sure I spied an outline of a skull in it's center; a silly notion I dismissed within a heartbeat.

'Ask away.'

'What does it feel like?', he whispered, and I wondered briefly whether he contemplated joining the Sensates prior to his becoming a Doomguard. In the years past, I deeply envied Eldoth's talent to describe the void that existed in the hearts and minds of those betrayed, humiliated or defeated. Now, when I was in a position to write it from the experience, I realized that there was absolutely nothing to depict. I had no words of my own for Haer'Dalis... yet, while Irenicus took my soul, he left, quite mercifully, all the memories and knowledge I had. The words of another, then, in the absence of mine...

An answer came after not too short a time; 'twas my turn to speak in verse. I looked him in the eye... and found myself vaguely envious the sparks of life that danced there.

'Vast and empty is the sea.'

And, oddly enough, 'twas at sea that my tale began.