Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.-Dante, The Divine Comedy
You are remembered for the rules you break – General Douglas MacAuthur
Better never to have met you in my dream than to wake and reach for hands that are not there. - Otomo No Yakamochi
The moonless night sky sparkled serenely as an early spring breeze, still chilled from its journey down the mountain slopes, rustled through bramble and tree. Creatures of the night stalked about with spring fever tempered by caution. The ancient game of life was starting another chapter in its annals, and night's children instinctively understood their roles, and played them accordingly. A mouse sniffed the air of its burrow tentatively, hoping to catch the scent of a mate instead of an owl. Several yards away, a lynx stood silent vigil from a tree limb, her keen eyes seeking the slightest movement within pouncing distance. Her cubs were not far, and she kept one ear flicked in their direction, listening for trouble.
A sudden silent burst of grey half-light tore through the heavens and barreled like warped lightning down to the woodland floor, stealing the night's maidenhead like a cavalier rake. The mouse cowered back into his burrow, and the lynx growled and leapt away as a swirling cloud of grey, ice cold and reeking of death and forgotten graves, coalesced into a suffocating fog. As quickly as it came, it vanished into the night, leaving behind a small female form that lay curled and shaking.
Her breath was ragged, and her lungs were drinking in gulp after precious gulp of air. Crisp, cool air, she noted with more than a little surprise. She opened her eyes halfway, slowly focusing directly in front of her, and shifted her eyes to darkvision with a quick blink. Blurry shapes lit up in her shadow vision, and she finally was able to make out the outline of a rock half covered by a crawling wormwood bush. Opening her eyes fully, she lifted her head, then began to feel the cool, damp earth with her fingers. This was not what I was expecting. Pulling herself into a kneel, she lifted her head and took in her surroundings. She was still shaky and felt like she had just wrestled a herd of trolls. This genuinely surprised her, as she was not expecting to feel much of anything, let alone be able to still ponder her predicament. Or is oblivion a seriously misunderstood concept? she wondered. As she looked, sniffed, listened, and touched, she began to realize that far from oblivion, she was most likely somewhere back on Faerun.
A deep, disappointed growl rumbled from her throat, and she scowled. So that's your game, is it, Kelemvor? she thought bitterly as her head sank. You knew what I was after, and rather than give it to me, you chuck me off your doorstep like last week's half eaten apple core onto this world which you gods use as your garbage heap. Is this your punishment, Lord Death, for me leading the fool's crusade, or is it now that I've served my purpose, you wish to discard me and leave me to rot here where I can't upset your beloved planar applecart anymore, instead of granting me one small favor for ridding the Realms of Myrkul's legacy?
She stood up, her bones threatening to snap under the sudden movement, and she let out a growl of pain. Her body still bore the wounds of her recent battles in the City of Judgment, but she resisted the urge to ruffle through her pack for a healing potion. Her physical aches and pains were a welcome distraction from the wounds in her soul, and she shifted to maximize the agony, letting out a shriek of welcome pain as she doubled over.
She glanced around, her face still a grimace as she took in her surroundings. From the looks of it, the death god had unceremoniously dumped her in some woodland scrub which seemed to blanket the foothills of a towering mountain range. Many of the trees were still bare, but some were showing signs of first budding. Early spring, then. She looked up in the sky and confirmed her guess by taking note of the constellations currently visible. Tracking the seasons by the stars was one of the few points of woodsman's wisdom she ever bothered to listen to from her foster father.
"Ok, you got me," she sneered up at the heavens between gasps of pain. "So you dump me back somewhere on Faerun, who knows why, in time to see the apple blossoms. I'm here now. The question is, where exactly is 'here'?" The heavens responded with deafening silence, and as she crumpled to the ground again, she knew she really wasn't expecting anything else.
Deciding she had enough of the pain and weakness wreaking havoc on her body, she undid her pack and snatched a healing potion. Drinking it, she felt a powerful wave of relief as gashes and bones knitted, muscles reformed, and bruises retreated. She tossed the empty flask and took in slow, deep breaths, flexing her hands and arms as the healing took effect. And as she noticed the deafening silence of the wood, she realized that for the first time in a long time, she was alone.
She stood up again, and wandered for a bit, calling out for her friends. Only the silence of the disturbed scrubland responded. Her calls became slightly more desperate, until she realized that wherever Kelemvor had dropped her, he had dropped her here alone. The fates of her companions she could only guess. Cold irritation curdled in her stomach and shouted towards the deaf heavens again.
"And where are they, Lord Death? Where did you send them, then? Have you cast them out of Hades to some forsaken asscrack in Faerun, or are you imprisoning them in your wreck of a realm for following me on the Crusade? Are they keeping Akachi company, or, in the case of Safiya and Gann, getting cozy in that trice damned wall you and the rest of the cunting gods of Faerun keep standing to threaten us pissant mortals with? And what about poor Okku? Where's the bad tempered talking rainbow bear god? Do gods look forward to the same as the rest of us, or is he a floating corpse on the astral like good ol' Lord Skull?" She giggled at her own foolishness. Like any gods, let alone Kelemvor, were listening. Like they ever really did. Like they ever really cared.
She felt a very small twist in her guts at the thought of her missing companions, but it was slight in comparison to the yawning emptiness that had been growing in her chest, slowly and deliberately consuming the remnants of her shattered heart. She had only known them a very short time. Not long enough feel the devastation she was consumed by in her chance meeting with Jerro in the Academy. When the warlock informed her that everything and everyone she had longed to reunite with was lost, buried under a heap of rubble in the asshole of the Mere. Nor did she allow herself to get too attached to them even before she discovered the fates of her friends turned family. She had already made the mistake of opening her heart, mind, and body to someone who in the end, took everything she had to give him and returned it to her in a shattered, arrow ridden heap.
Never again, she vowed calmly. Never again will I allow anyone to do that to me. Not that anyone else ever could, anyway. He was the only one who I ever would have allowed in. No one else could have gone there. And now, even that one is gone. Truly gone.
The mere thought of him opened a floodgate of sorrow, and the force of it all overwhelmed her. To learn of the indignant, lonely deaths of her friends was enough to send her spiraling down into despair. But then there was the horrific vision quest in the Coveya Kurg'Annis, which ultimately convinced her she needed to personally revive the Betrayer's Crusade, and fast. And it was Kelemvor, in the end, who's cold, unfeeling words damned her last bit of hope to the pseudo oblivion he had damned her lover and betrayer to.
Deep, low sobs wracked her body as she collapsed against a rock. The harsh sandpaper texture of its surface scraped her cheek and she felt a trickle of blood, but she barely noticed. Salty tears stung raw flesh and her teeth gnashed against her lips. Her arms were wrapped around her torso as if seeking to contain the low, pitiful moans of absolute despair that were escaping in abundance. Her murky amber horns tapped lightly against stone as her head trembled.
He had betrayed her, true. His price was his own freedom, and he gambled heavily for it. Gambled, it seemed, and lost. He wanted to be free of his past, free of his demons, free of obligations, and especially, free of his feelings for her. He had wounded her more deeply with that declaration than he ever could have with blade or arrow. But she could do no more than accept it as fact. Freedom was a thing she felt was worth just about any price. She had longed for it herself, but it was always out of her reach. When he ended up realizing that working for the Dark Side wasn't exactly going to release him to be his own man again, he turned on his new masters. And fled the scene. As she watched his form fade from sight, a bittersweet smile crossed her features. Finally your own man again, she had whispered after him. As you were meant to be, nature boy.
The bitterness at being abandoned and discarded so casually burned enough. But not as bad as discovering that his twisted gambit for freedom in the end had bought him nothing but a one way trip to the Kelemvor's screaming, twisted monument of the faithless. Fate decided that while the Knight Captain of Crossroad Keep and the King of Shadows had no further concern with him, death did, and on the threshold of a new life, the twisted hands of fate brought the collapsing, ancient ceiling down on top of him. And that in the end, he was forever bound to a mad god's sadistic construct as a bare, screaming, hungering essence stripped of mind and memory. And she watched it happen before her very eyes, and could do nothing but watch in confused horror.
She threw her head back and bayed madly at the cold, black night sky. A stream of curses at the name of every god she knew of flowed steadily from her mouth. She swore, she screamed, she bellowed obscenities at the very essence of the divine, of the planes, of their "laws". Of their hypocrisy and cowardice. Of their blatant contempt for the reality that mortals were forced to endure, and the silly games the gods played with the lives of their "lessers". She cursed vilely, brought up every bit of blasphemy she had ever heard, and invented a few new blasphemies of her own. In the end though, it mattered little. She found that after a couple hours of pointless screaming at a universe that simply did not give a fuck about the mewling of an insignificant speck such as she, her voice had faded to a hoarse, crackly wheezing. All this bellowing had bought her nothing except a sore throat that could no longer break the dead silence of the chill night.
Her voice spent and her eyes now too dry to shed more tears, she heaved the last few dry sobs her body would allow, and then curled into a fetal position. Physical exhaustion crept in, and after a few last whispered curses and threats to the deaf gods, everything began to fade to black as the first light of dawn approached the sky, and her heavy lids started to close. Whether she was drifting off to sleep or death did not matter to her. She was too damned tired to really care.
Sometime later…..
The shadows vaguely fluttered as she drifted soundlessly through them. She wasn't sure how long she had been here or where "here" was, and for all she knew, she was traveling in circles. It had been six days, she judged, since her arrival and other than a lucky strike into a squirrel from her bow, she had not eaten anything else. Fatigued and tired, she still had no clue where she was at, nor how long she could continue on like this. She slept on bare earth with only her cloak as a blanket and pack as a pillow, and despite the cold, did not bother to light a fire except when she had shot down that squirrel. Fires tended to attract attention, and attention was the last thing she wanted until she knew where she was.
Eventually, she spied what appeared to be a trail, and she almost whooped in glee. Trails always led somewhere, and right now, anywhere was better than here. She followed it until it abruptly ended in what appeared to be a major road, judging by the amount of traffic going back and forth. It was the first time she had seen people in days, and she stopped to stare bleary eyed as merchants and travelers traveled in both directions. Humans, mostly, with a healthy amount of elves, dwarves, and halflings thrown in the mix, she noted. As she watched the parade of people stroll by, it suddenly occurred to her that she could stop someone and ask for directions. The travelers she had seen so far appeared friendly enough, and she had even seen some offer aid to others when bags, packs, or crates were dropped.
As she wandered onto the road, she looked around for someone approachable enough to risk asking. Further along, she spied a merchant wagon set up along the route, and as she approached it, her eyes grew wide and stomach grumbled ferociously. Crates of berries sat propped up against a collapsible table, on which was displayed an assortment of cakes, pies, pasties, breads, and nuts. The smell of a cooking fire assaulted her nostrils, and it was all she could do to keep from barreling into a small company of elves in her haste to get to the roadside delicatessen.
As she browsed the assorted pastries and fruits before her with genuine awe and reverence, a tall half-orc came around from the other side of the wagon with a steaming tray of fresh pies. He smiled broadly as he placed the pies on the table and brushed his hands on his apron. "Welcome, welcome!" He bellowed in a deep rumbling voice that sounded surprisingly eloquent in its simple greeting. "Coming by for one last bite before seeing the Gem of the North?"
She could not take her eyes off the assortment of hot food before her, and her eyes lingered on what appeared to be a raspberry tart. Gem of the North? What is he talking about? The last thing on my mind right now is looking at some shiny piece of rock.
She heard the half-orc chuckle as he continued "I'll take that as a yes, then. Just tell me what you want, and ol' Jesperth will sort you out good!" The man crossed his arms proudly over his chest, his tusks gleaming like pearls in the misty morning light.
She looked up at him, and her hand trembled as she pointed to a meat pie, the raspberry tart, and a cluster of poppy seed rolls. "I want these," she rasped, her voice barely a hoarse whisper. She tried to clear her throat and repeat her request again, but her voice would not cooperate.
"Oooohhhhh, sounds like you're coming down with something nasty," Jesperth said as he grabbed an oven mitt and scooped up her selections onto a large, wooden platter. "I got some elderberry tea brewing in the back, and with a dollop of honey, it will clear that nasty croup good as anything!" He handed her the platter. "Here you go! You just sit down right over there at one of those tables and I'll bring you the cup of tea. Before the platter was fully out of his hands she was already furiously devouring the hot meat pie, and she heard the half-orc chuckle as he disappeared around to the back of the wagon.
She sat down at one of the small, portable battered oak tables and by the time Jesperth returned with a large, steaming mug of fragrant tea, she had already gone through both pie and rolls, and was digging into the tart with ravenous abandon. "Well, well!" the half-orc roared heartily as he plunked the mug onto the table. "I've seen dwarves with flimsier appetites! You sure must have been hungry, lass!"
She took a deep swig of the tea, and true to his claims, the honey and elderberry tea felt like silk as washed down her raw, scratchy throat. The half-orc watched with wide eyed amusement as she devoured the raspberry tart and finished the tea with gusto. After letting out a deep, rumbling belch, she looked up at the half-orc and asked, her voice a little less scratchy, "How much do I owe you?"
Jesperth chuckled. "For the sheer spectacle of watching a little thing such as you devour my wares like a half starved bugbear, three coppers. The tea is on the house."
"No, seriously, how much?" she asked again, reaching in her pack for her coin purse. "That was the best damned meal I've had in ages." And you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you it has been the only meal I've had in ages, she added silently. Since she awoke almost four months ago in that damp, dark barrow in Rashemen, her body refused any and all food she tried to eat, often in violent fits of vomiting blood. The spirit eater curse allowed her no sustenance by normal means. She had been living off a steady diet of willpower, undead, and the occasional hapless spirit she was forced to consume to stay alive, and to finally taste real, hot food was the first pleasure she had experienced since before the siege of Crossroad Keep.
"Three coppers," he repeated with a smile, and added, "You're the first customer of the day, so consider it an advertising boon."
She fished out ten gold pieces and thrust them in his hand. "And you have no idea what a boon you have done for me just being here with your roadside cafe'." She pointed to the weather worn sign that stated "Jesperth and Rilada's Hot Eats and Treats on the Go" and added "And give my regards to Rilada, too."
His eyes brightened as he eyed the ten gold pieces in his hand, studying and weighing them carefully before pocketing them. "Well, if you insist….for this kind of money, you just help yourself to anything else you want from the table!" The half-orc walked over to the displayed food and brought back another platter of meat pie, poppy seed rolls, and another raspberry tart, which disappeared almost as quickly as the first lot had, and Jesperth continued to shake his head in amazement.
She sat back in her chair and loosened her belt a bit. Her stomach, denied its rightful due for so long, bloated out like a miraculous pregnancy. She hoped that she wouldn't puke from being too greedy, and she rubbed at her swollen abdomen in an attempt to appease any thoughts of vengeance on behalf of her digestive system. The half orc returned with another mug. "A belly tamer," he explained as he offered it to her. "One of my wife's recipes. Some old elven home remedy for tummies in revolt."
She nodded her thanks and sipped the beverage, which tasted curiously like a mix of peppermint and ginger, and something else. She drank it lightly, hoping that it would do the trick, and after ten minutes, her stomach begin to calm, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
"So," Jesperth asked as he took a seat opposite her at the table, "If you don't mind me asking, where are you headed off with an appetite like that?"
She watched him for a moment, and said quietly, "That's a good question. To be honest, I'm not sure. And to be brutally honest, I don't have any clue where I am at right now." She shrugged and looked at him hopefully.
The merchant frowned slightly as he studied her. "You don't know where you are at right now?" he asked, puzzled. "Surely you must, as there are only two places you could have come from to be on this road, lass. Silverymoon or Everlund."
Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. Silverymoon? Everlund? I'm in the Silver Marches? She glanced around, incredulous. What in the Nine Hells is going on? "You're joking, right?"
"Afraid not, lass," Jesperth replied solemnly. "What, aren't you supposed to be here? If you didn't come out of Silverymoon or Everlund, then how did you get here?" He glanced around, his features furrowing heavily. "Did you get on some wizard's bad side and get teleported here, then?"
Oh, if you only knew, she wanted to say, but instead, she explained "I think I was in some hills wandering for a while, and I found a trail that stopped on this road. I had no idea where I was." She shook her head in dismay. The Silver Fucking Marches? What game are you trying to play, Lord Death?
She found herself inexplicably amused, and suddenly, she erupted into a fit of laughter. "Oh, Nine Hells, Kel ol boy," she cackled maniacally at the god of death, mocking him with every syllable. "Silver Marches? The Sword Coast is that way, you stupid bastard!" She jumped up and pointed westward and continued laughing. "Were you trying to send me home, you shit eating excuse for a deity? I'm no fucking ranger and I could have even pointed you in the right direction." She was now shouting, and people along the road were stopping, staring at her with sudden wary interest. She continued, paying them no attention. She was far more amused by what she perceived as a serious geographical mistake. "For a supposedly superior being, your sense of geography stinks. But, I suppose, when you're up there lording it over the rest of us, one spot on this flying mud ball is as good as another to your divine insight, is that the case?" She collapsed into hysterical giggles, and added "Ah, the irony. The fucking Irony of it all!"
People on the road were now watching her suspiciously, and a couple made warding gestures against evil and madness. Even Jesperth had backed away slightly, his eyes wide as he watched her rolling in the mud, cackling like a psychotic hen. She looked around, and saw that people were backing away, grabbing amulets and whispering prayers to their gods. She glared at them. Save your friggin breath, you idiots. The gods could give two shits less about you.
She felt strong arms wrap around her shoulders and hoist her up back into the chair. Jesperth whispered emphatically, "Get a hold of yourself, girl!" She couldn't stop giggling, and out of the gathered crowd, a small group of men stepped closer, their cold eyes watching her with an intensity and interest that made her cringe, and her laughter died down as she stared back at them, threateningly. Their lips began murmured prayers of their own, but the expressions on their faces were not of fear, concern, or distaste, but of holy rapture and reverence.
The half-orc growled and charged the men, swinging an empty wooden platter at them. "You filthy degenerates just get the hell away from my wagon," he roared as the men backed away. They scattered like rodents back in the crowd, but he managed to clip one in the back as he fled. The men gone, Jesperth returned to the table and slammed the platter down. "Where's the patrols when you need them?" he growled to himself as he sat down at the table.
After a moment, she turned to face him. "Who were those guys anyway?" she asked quietly, glancing over her shoulder warily, watching as the crowd slowly dispersed and traffic slowly returned to normal.
He snorted in disgust. "Cyricists," he answered, his voice loaded with contempt. "Filthy degenerate Cyric worshiping scum. They have been banned in Silverymoon, but there are rumors of an underground cult both there and in Everlund. You see them milling about occasionally, and they are easy to spot, because not a one of them are playing with a full deck of cards." He looked at her, and sighed. "I guess your little…um….outburst there must have been enough to lure them from hiding amongst the masses."
She frowned. "Why?"
"It's part of their twisted religion. They see madness as a blessing from their god, and when they see it happening, they have to come out of the cracks and holes to thank Cyric allowing them to witness the 'divine miracle' of insanity." Jesperth shrugged. "Don't ask me. That's only what I've seen and heard myself, and I've never been too interested in finding out more. I chased them away, because they were about to try and touch you to see if your 'blessing' might rub off onto them. Hells, knowing that loony lot, they would probably follow you around like some sacred prophet or something."
"Cyric and any other gods better keep their hands and blessings off me," she snarled. "I've had about enough of them and their games." She began rubbing her temples to ease the growing headache, and stopped when she saw that the half-orc was watching her with a concerned frown. "What's wrong? What are you looking at?"
"Well, to be honest lass," he began slowly, "If you have been wandering lost in the woods for a spell, you probably haven't really had a chance to get a good look at yourself, lately." His eyes dropped to the table, a bit of embarrassment creeping into his features. "I didn't want to say anything earlier. When I saw you coming over, I thought you were one of those disciples of Ilmater, who go on those holy pilgrimages of suffering and sorrow to get closer to The Crying God. See them coming down this road every now and again. Nice enough people, really honest and humble, proud of their dirt and scars and filth. I assumed that's why you were looking like you are, so I didn't press the issue." He looked up, and his eyes, a deep shade of blue, regarded her cautiously. "But after you mentioned you have no idea where you are, and after your…." He stopped, searching for the words. "Um….burst of unexpected joviality, something tells me you aren't exactly the type for painful religious pilgrimages."
You can say that again, buddy, she mused. She hadn't given her appearance much thought lately, as darker things occupied her mind. She assumed she was quite a mess, not having had a bath for weeks now, and the crypt-stink of the City of Judgment still clung to her. She was certain she had ceased to notice how bad she smelled, and as she ran her fingers through her hair, she knew she had enough grime there to keep the Wall of the Faithless supplied with mortar for weeks. "Guess I must look worse than even Cyric's flock," she said at last. She looked at the half-orc's expression, and it told her everything she needed to know. "Ok, then. How bad am I?"
Jesperth sighed sadly and said: "If you like, I can fetch my mirror from the wagon. I always keep one handy. My wife always tells me no one wants to buy food from a grubby merchant, especially a half-orc one, and I use it to keep my appearance as salubrious and wholesome as possible." He smiled briefly at her, then asked: "Do you really want to see?"
She wasn't too sure now, but she nodded faintly anyway. Jesperth disappeared and returned with an oblong mirror, quite large, she assumed, to accommodate his impressive size. She took the mirror from his outstretched hands, and taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and braced herself for the worst. And when she opened her eyes to face her reflection, she almost dropped the mirror in horror. Worst simply could not cover this.
Her slender oval face was partially obscured by the greasy tangle of dark hair that was a rich, dark shade of bronze when it was clean. She had to push it out of the way to see her face fully, and wish she hadn't. Her skin, normally quite pale on its own, was a ghastly shade of white that reminded her of bloated corpses. The stark whiteness of her skin accented sharply the deep grey-blue circles that ringed hollowed out eyes. Her cheeks looked like strawberries with their motley patchwork of scrapes and scratches, still raw and tender, with dirt still imbedded in some of the deeper cuts. A thin gash dissected the small, narrow bridge of her nose, and she noted with disgust that dried green mucous had crusted itself around her nostrils and upper lip. A thin coat of green slime covered her face in patches, and she guessed it was from the wet, rotting vegetation she had slept in over the past week. Her horns were caked in filth, and only a hint of their dark, ambry color escaped the crust of dirt that encased them. Lips both cracked and white trembled as she absently licked at them. As bad as her face was, it was nothing compared to the eyes that looked back at her.
In better times, her eyes had been her most noteworthy feature. Sharp and slightly almond-shaped, they were, as someone once told her long ago, a shade of green somewhere between jade and swamp moss. A curtain of dark lashes often shaded them when she did not feel like looking at someone directly. At one time, they often flashed with a light of their own when she was amused, excited, angry, or curious. But the eyes that stared back from the mirror were hollow, haunted looking pits whose color now resembled corpse mold more than swamp moss. Red blood vessels crisscrossed the whites in a savage weave. Dull and near lifeless they stared back at her with a shifting blend of horror and apathy, longing for the day when the last spark of light could forever fade from them, and they could close for good.
"A shell," she whispered, studying the alien reflection and feeling the strength drain from her limbs. "Just an empty shell." She had once, in what seemed like ages ago, been many things. Some good, some bad, some just plain insane. But the tiefling girl that stared back at her was none of these things. She had been emptied of everything, and now, a pathetic, empty husk was all that remained. I am nothing now. Am I finally free? Is this what I sought for so long; this sorry wretch, drained of everything she ever was?
She laid the mirror down on the table and stared off into the distance. She wondered about the curse. Did she defeat it soundly, as everyone claimed, or, in fighting and reassembling the shattered man Akachi had once been, had the curse had the last say and devoured whatever was left of her worth saving? Why not, she thought blandly. Everything else is gone. Why not finish the job and destroy whatever was left of me? Her eyes closed, and as the mirror image filled her mind, one thought persisted. The woman in the mirror reminded her of the tortured, screaming faces of the souls she encountered in the Wall of the Faithless.
Jesperth suddenly spoke up, his voice soft. "Look lass, I'm kicking myself. I should have done it earlier, but now I know better, I'm doing it now. I'm packing up shop and taking you to Everlund. You don't need a mirror, girl, you need a healer." He began grabbing chairs and tables and tossing them onto the back of the wagon. He glanced over at her and seeing she was blankly staring off into nowhere, he repeated himself for emphasis. "No question in my mind now. You are definitely coming back with me to the city. Your state is worse than I thought. Who or whatever did this to you, girl, needs to pay, and I'm going straight to the authorities after I've taken you to straight to the temple, and then I am going to the authorities to report so they can catch whatever bastard has done this to you."
A wisp of a smile crossed her cracked, bleeding lips, but her blank expression did not change. "I wouldn't bother with the authorities," she said softly. "Trust me, this one's way out of their league. Thanks for the thought, though. As far as the temple goes, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not."
"Hmph," he mumbled. "Guess you really aren't the religious type. Judging by your apparent heritage, I suppose I don't blame you. No offense meant, of course. I have nothing against those who got a bit of the 'dark side' in their family tree. Hells, I have no room to talk!" he chuckled as he flicked his tusks for emphasis. His face turned more serious. "But you are going to a healer, regardless. It just so happens that my wife is very skilled in the white arts, and she isn't affiliated with any temple. So one way or another, you're coming with me to Everlund, and that's final!" He returned to loading up his wagon, removing any further opportunity for debate.
She instinctively was about to tell him that she went where she pleased and when she pleased, when she stopped herself and snorted. She hardly had the energy to argue, and as she watched the traffic of the main road drift by, it suddenly occurred to her, that for the first time in her life, she really didn't have anywhere to go. "Ok," she agreed. "You win."
Jesperth nodded smugly and loaded the last of his gear into the wagon before closing the back gate. "I knew you'd see it my way," he said, and went around the other side to hitch up the horse. She looked down, and realized how far lost in the void she was. The table and mirror that were in front of her were gone, and she couldn't even remember when they had been taken away. She stood up, picked up her chair, and slung it over the top of the wagon.
The draft horse hitched to harness and wagon, Jesperth hopped up into the driver's bench and circled wagon and horse around to face south. He patted a spot on the bench next to him, and she pulled herself up to sit down next to the burly half-orc. "To Everlund, then!" he smiled as he wiggled the horse's reins. The wagon lurched forward, and he started to laugh. "Gods, won't Rilada be surprised when she sees what I'm bringing home. And several hours earlier than she's expecting me, to boot!"
An hour later, she saw the distant walls of a city come into view. She hadn't realized how close they were to an actual city, and felt incredibly stupid that she had not found her way earlier. Looking at the surrounding foothills, she judged she could not have ever been more than a two days walk from it. And I thought Kelemvor was geographically challenged, she thought ruefully.
The half-orc turned to look at her and asked, "By the way. All this time, you bought my pies and pastries, went a little funny in front of an impressive crowd, and I'm now talking you home to meet my wife. Yet all this time, you haven't given me your name." His face erupted into a warm grin. "So, do you have a name that I can call you buy, other than lass, girl, or Tiefling Gone Bonkers?"
She looked away, and for a while, said nothing. My name? Yes, I have a name. Or had one. But that name belonged to the girl from the swamps, the Butcher of Ember, the Knight Captain of Crossroad Keep, the Kalach-Cha, the Spirit Eater, The Wolf, and a thousand other things I once was but am no longer. That name is a curse on the lips of many, and the last time I ever truly heard it spoken, it was from the lips of one who I still loved before he was lost forever to the construct of a mad, dead god. No, that name will die with him.
Jesperth looked over at her expectantly. "Well?" he pressed. "Do you have something I can introduce you to my wife by, or am I stuck calling you lass or any other descriptive?"
All that I once was, is gone, and all that I had is but a memory. But there is one thing, oh bastard gods of Faerun, that you left me with, that shall someday come around to bite you all in the ass. You can never take it from me, no matter how hard you try, and it will slither from my lips as I take my dying breath to curse you all.
"Yes, I have a name," she said, a bitter, vengeful smile growing on her face. "You may call me Faithless."