Author's Note:

First the boring disclaimers—this story is fanfic based on the game and characters from Baldur's Gate 2, which I, alas, neither own nor profit from. I have taken liberties with them nonetheless. In addition, a certain aspect of Mekrath's magical specialty was suggested to me by a wonderful game mod, Romantic Encounters—I don't own it either. Darn. And my planar slang was lifted for the most part from Voila's Dictionary of Planar Cant, which is just a google away for those who are interested. Even the story title is borrowed from the names of Haer'Dalis's swords.

Q: Well, gosh, Sings, did you actually contribute anything at all? Anything?

A: Why yes, Dear Reader, I am responsible for the smart-alecky (if clueless) heroine and the puerile smut. Heh heh.

This story is my 2008 NaNoWriMo entry. After a futile attempt at a serious story, I turned to smut—and managed to churn out my 50,000 words, as well as learning a valuable, if demeaning, lesson about myself. Ahem. I expect to issue a censored version for the fanfic site and one with full smuttiness for adultfanfic. Be advised that even the censored version is rated a strong M for language and sex.

Comments and reviews are a huge incentive for all us fanfic writers, so please feel invited to sling one my way! (Rotten eggs are okay too.)

Chapter 1…Girls' Night Out

Once or twice a ten-day, Nalia organized what she called a Girls' Night Out. Aerie, kind-hearted sap that she was, found this an indicator of Nalia's Essential Loneliness and took us each aside to urge us to participate. Me, I saw these outings as an indicator of Nalia's Essential Bossiness as well as a poorly disguised attempt to spoon feed us peasants some culture. But hey, I'm not opposed to rubbing up against a little culture. Particularly not when Nalia led us to places where I could rub up against valuable and easily pilfered trinkets of culture.

Ever since the disaster that landed us in Amn, Jaheira, who normally despised my light-fingered ways, tacitly approved them by serving as my banker. We'd been robbed of everything. Athkatla was an expensive place to live and I, according to Imoen, had been born with a hole in my pocket. I don't know about that but I had to admit that gold in my care tended to transmute itself into vapor.

We all took odd jobs where we could but Athkatla was a tricky lock to open. Unless you already looked wealthy or had patronage, decent paying work was hard to find. Almost every coin I scraped up went into Jaheira's safekeeping, until we could earn the staggering sum required to pry Imoen's location from the Cowled Wizards who had taken her.

I usually went along with Nalia's entertainments, in the hopes of stumbling into opportunity. Tymora doesn't favor those who sit on their asses and moan about their disasters. I balked at going to the theater however.

Growing up in Candlekeep, every cold, wet winter was made drearier by the plays put on by the monks. Obscure bardic texts, lengthy odes to Oghma, enthusiastic amateur performances and rock-hard benches—ah, the memories. Throughout the interminable performances, my father, Gorion, nailed me to my seat with spiky looks. To seal the hideousness, Imoen and I were never allowed to sit within giggle range of each other.

Imoen had usually been clever enough to arrange symptoms of a suitable illness a couple of days in advance. I, however, have always been disgustingly healthy. Besides, I was never as convincing a liar as she was.

The thought of voluntarily sitting through an entire play (thus exposing myself to Nalia's spiky looks) did not appeal. I coughed and tried to look pale.

Jaheira flat-out refused the invitation. When Nalia pressed her, she claimed an urgent need to clean her weapons.

"My dear Jaheira, how much cleaning does a quarterstaff require?" Nalia raised her brows. "Wouldn't a quick rub with a damp cloth suffice?" Jaheira gave her a thin smile.

"The wood is stained by the splattered brains of the last person who questioned me."

Nalia bit back whatever she was going to say. Emboldened by this, I refused as well, despite Aerie's huge pleading eyes.

"I can get us backstage to meet the actors," Nalia said. By her tone, that was meant to be an inducement.

"Why?" I asked bluntly.

"Haven't you heard of the leading man, Haer'Dalis? He's the talk of the town. He's a tiefling, as are several other members of the troupe."

"Oh, a real live tiefling from another plane?" Aerie practically clapped her hands. "It sounds so thrilling. I'd love to meet him."

Oh boy.

"I don't know much about actors," I said, "But every bard I've ever met was a conceited twit. Why would I want to meet another one?"

"Haer'Dalis is said to be extremely charming and attractive," Nalia said. "I thought it might be fun to check him out."

"Fun for whom?"

"Why, fun for you, Minette," Nalia cooed. "I thought you had an eye for a comely male."

"Who, me?"

Jaheira snickered. She wasn't close enough to kick so I ignored her.

"I don't know why you say that. I've practically sworn off men."

Aerie giggled behind her hand. I ignored her too. I'm not man-crazy. I'm really not. It's just that I have the worst luck with men. Perhaps my tainted blood is the reason Sune and Hanali Celanil curse me with short (if intense) relationships. Not to mention the fact that I end up with far more than my share of scoundrels.

"If I wanted to make eyes at some arrogant conceited twit, I wouldn't have to leave the Copper Coronet. I could stay in and let Anomen buy me drinks," I said. "I wouldn't have to dress up first or walk across town."

"Dinner and drinks on me!" Nalia said in desperation. "The Five Flagons Inn has every kind of drink."

"Every kind of drink? What does that mean? That sounds impossible."

Nalia shrugged.

"That's what the innkeeper claims—he says he has every kind of drink."

Now that sounded like something worth checking out.

Well, I don't know about every kind of drink but the Five Flagons certainly had a dazzling variety of beverages, ranging from the mild and commonplace to the exotic and toxic. Nalia commandeered a table and I asked the halfling barkeep to set us up with something different every round. Once we were sufficiently anesthetized, we stumbled down the stairs into the darkened playhouse. Nalia had given a boy a copper to hold our seats for us.

I thought a performance by a professional acting troupe would be more—well, more professional. At first, it hadn't been so bad. But from the moment the leading man walked onstage, what little interest I had in the story evaporated.

I gave Nalia a clout on the shoulder.

"This is your comely tiefling?" I hissed. Not that the fellow was hideous, but I certainly wouldn't rate him as charming and attractive. I wouldn't even rate him as much of an actor. The awkward delivery of his lines turned dramatic moments into farcical ones. Hells, he didn't even seem to know half his lines, judging by the growing consternation of the rest of the cast.

The restlessness from the cheap seats at the rear of the theater told me I was not alone in my disapproval.

Nalia shrugged in embarrassment. The small theater didn't have boxes, so she had decided the choicest seats were close to the stage. This certainly gave us a good view of the dagger looks that passed between cast members. It also placed us in imminent peril from flying critique.

The first missile—a moldy head of cabbage—passed over our heads and hit the stage with a wet thump. Come on. Who thinks to bring these things? Does any normal person walk around with rotted produce in their pocket? Sheesh. I felt under-prepared.

"Oh, dear," Aerie said.

"Oh, crap," I said. "Let's get out of here before they get to the eggs."

I hustled them up the stairs, overriding Aerie's yips of protest.

"Back to the bar?" I suggested.

"Sure, why not?" Nalia said, despondent at her spoiled plans. Just as well, really. Getting sloshed sounded more fun than going backstage. I reconsidered when I realized it was Aerie's turn to pick the drink. She pointed to an unlabeled bottle on an upper shelf.

"Ooh, I want to try that pink stuff," she told the barkeep. His surprised grin made me nervous. I started to point out the fact that bright colors in nature are signs of high toxicity but hells, why not? There was a temple around the corner with a healer always on call.

"I can't understand it," Nalia said as we eyed the drinks. The barkeep poured out a scant two fingers of liquor into tall glasses and more ominously still, set a pitcher of water before us. "I'd heard such good things about Haer'Dalis. I expected a better performance."

The bartender had been hovering nearby (probably to see our reaction to the pink decoction) but at this he swiveled his head towards Nalia.

"Is Haer'Dalis back then?" he asked. "And nobody told me?"

"What do you mean?" Nalia asked. "He plays the part of Rodrigo, does he not?"

"Oh, aye, but his understudy was supposed to be standing in for him tonight. Haer'Dalis has been missing for a couple of days now. Poor Raelis—if he doesn't show up soon, she'll have to shut down the playhouse."

"If I shut down the playhouse, the Sigil Troupe is ruined," a rich voice proclaimed behind me. "Ruined and destroyed."

I turned.

Now that's exotic.

I could practically feel the whiplash of male attention snap through the room and center upon the woman in the gorgeous red gown. Her hair was swept up in an elaborate coif that accentuated her small horns. There was a light spattering of spots along her forehead and temples. The spots were too large for freckles but they appeared to be natural markings, not cosmetics.

"A tiefling," Aerie breathed beside me.

Oh, yeah. The woman's energy prickled against my skin like a disturbance in the Weave. Was she a wizard? Or something else? I wanted to ask Aerie, who was a more experienced mage than I. I was betting on the something else.

"Samuel, my friend," the tiefling said. "I had to stop the performance. The audience became…unruly. I'm afraid they've left a bit of a mess."

I was thinking she'd made a bit of an understatement. By his sour look, the barkeep agreed.

"This can't go on, Mistress Raelis."

"No, you are quite right."

"You need to go to the city guard," he told her. "This is Athkatla. Wizards can't go snatching up people here and get away with it. The guards will help you get Haer'Dalis back."

I'd been listening idly but at that my ears perked up. Wizards certainly could snatch up people here, and no one knew that better than I did.

"The city guard helps the rich and the influential," Raelis said with bitterness. "We are strangers here and we cannot afford Amnian 'justice'. The Cowled Wizards will not so much as listen to my plea."

My ears perked up further.

"In that case, let me send for my old friend, Mazzy Fenton," the barkeep said. "She runs an adventuring company in Trademeet. I'm sure she'll be willing to help you."

"Yes," Raelis sighed. "I suppose we must hire someone to remonstrate with the wizard. Alas, Haer'Dalis was the intrepid one amongst us." She sighed again. "I can only hope and pray that we can keep the playhouse open for the time required. How long will it take to send a message to your friend and receive a reply?"

The barkeep frowned. That was my cue.

"Excuse me," I said. "Did you say 'hire'? As it happens, I have an adventuring company of my own."

Or I could put one together, with a little persuasion.

And that's how I ended up in the sewer. Just me and my big mouth.