ALERT! Please checkout my deviant art account (Link should be in the profile; name's Spydrouge) for a bit of art containing Xzar and Aegis drinking together XD.
This is Part II of Aegis's journey. Picks up from Nashkel as the group is heading to Beregost to find Tranzig and track down the Bandit Camp. But first! Fabulous Foster Father Flashbacks! (FFFFs)
The Road
Dry lightning. No rain. Dawn was breaking, but it was still night.
The caravan workers were sure the old man was mad. He perched like a gypsy at the back of his covered wagon, and did not retreat inward to seek the comforts of blanket and bed which he had paid so handsomely for. He did not appear to sleep, even. Perhaps he was an elf, and meditated; they knew little of him. He wore robes of gray and a deep hood. He rocked often, like a madman, clutching a torn piece of fabric that bore the sigil of Oghma in one hand, and muttering incoherently under his breath. They suspected he had paid not for comfort but rather for solitude.
He did not make eye contact. Even when he was muttering- praying?- he remained huddled around the bundle of tattered cloths and swaddling that he carried. They knew it was a baby, because from time to time it cried. But they had never seen it. He hoarded the child jealously to him and never set it down. When it cried, he would rock or sing to it, or feed it from a wineskin of milk he had no doubt preserved with magic. They believed him to be a mage. He was; or he had been.
There were others with the caravan; men and women who were traders or adventurers and who tried at times to speak with him, but he always rebuffed them with a silent, cold shoulder. Specifically, however, an elfin wet nurse traveled with them. When she learned of his condition, she approached him and asked to see the baby, and offered to nurse it for him.
The man slowly lifted his head, and the elf woman stumbled backwards. His eyes were a piercing, dangerous, icy blue; haunted and almost painful to endure. When the initial surprise of his gaze wore off, he looked to half dead. There were ill-healed burns from Anauroch's blazing sun on his face, and dark circles beneath his pink-rimmed eyes. Half dead, but not old. Though silver, his hair was as soft and elegant looking as freshly spun silk. Equally silver feathers bloomed between the locks, and it became readily apparent that he was an aasimar, a part-celestial.
"Do not come any closer. Do not concern yourself with her. And do not speak to, or of, me again. Please."
The elf was quiet for a moment. Then she nodded and disappeared back into the caravan. He was left with the creaking and rocking of the wagon as it rumbled along that evening, the lanterns swinging in the darkness. The aasimar knew this road. He need not make his way to the front of the wagon to know that he was almost there. In his arms, his precious cargo squirmed.
His daughter was in pain. She was always in pain, and there was so little he could do for her at present. There was only one person Gorion trusted to help her, or rather, to help him. If she had been fully healed, he might have taken her anywhere and passed her off as human. But in her terrible condition, the severity of her curse was immediately and horrifying apparent. Anyone of sufficient standing to heal her would have also been able to guess the truth.
"We're almost there," he murmured reassuringly to his injured babe. He knew she wasn't hungry, so he gave her his forefinger to suck on for comfort. "We'll know soon. We'll know soon. I promise." She lifted her fingertips without coordination towards him, the eleven, sharpened, ebony claws curling helplessly at the air. He lowered his head to shut out the world, and she managed to catch hold of his silver hair.
Waterdeep.
He closed his eyes tightly when the caravan eased to a halt, burying his face into his infant child's hair. She clung to him as naturally as any child, and his smell seemed to comfort her.
Please be understanding, my old friend. I need your help as I have never needed it before.
The weather turned sour in the late evening, so Aegis made sure Xzar had a purchased a new pair of hardy walking boots. She had no intention of making the trip to Beregost barefoot for the sake of saving her wizard's feet.
It began raining heavily with the dawn, and by the time they were out on the open road they found themselves in quite the torrential downpour. Aegis didn't mind. She had a few extra days to spend with her madman, and damned if she wasn't going to enjoy them no matter what the weather.
His cloak had been hers once. The exterior was a dull cream and the red interior lining looked rich against his green robes. She reached out and tugged gently at the sigil of her patron, Oghma, on the shoulder of his cloak. "In retrospect, I can't believe you voluntarily wear this. I couldn't do much worse dressing you in Mystra's red and blue."
He grinned toothily. "Smells of Death," he purred. "Think it suits me? Think I could be a bard?" He affected a coy pose, though what exactly that had to do with bards was unknown to her. She laughed anyway, because his expression was doubly strange with the glasgow smile of his tattooed lips.
"Well, you definitely look less Zhentish, and a harlequin is no far cry from a bard! But if you're asking me if you should take up the harp, well..." she mused with a wink. "Let's just say: for some reason I just don't quite think it would suit your temperament."
"Has the Little Death thought of it?" he asked abruptly, and Aegis blinked. "Following father number two."
"Becoming a Harper?" Aegis asked, surprised. Then she shook her head. "I think it'll be quite awhile before I'm at a point in my life where I can actually decide what I want to do instead of having problems already all strung out in front of me that need solving."
"You've common... ideas. Philosophies. Altruism? Naivety. Penchant for running errands for hapless farmers?"
"We'll invite Manshoon and Elminster both to the marriage ceremony, then? I hope to see both incredibly drunk telling stories at the bar, but if Elminster polymorphs himself into a woman again I say we all get the hell out of there. And maybe send Mystra an apology note."
Xzar looked at her in horror. Then he broke out with a shriek of childish giggles, covering his face and hopped over to rub himself up against her. "These ideas!" he pleaded. "They come from where!? You burn my mind! You would burn their minds! You cannot be a Harper- never! You are too... too...! Ha! Hahahahah! Eyeballs in jars, indeed-!"
Aegis grinned at him. "Are you going to try and intercept Montaron when you go?" Still snickering, he nodded. "So you'll only be in Beregost the one night?"
Xzar looked skyward, moving his lips in thought. Then he turned a smile on her, pale green eyes curious. "Maybe two. Depends how fast rabbits travel."
"Will he try to kill you?" she asked with honest worry.
The necromancer shook his head. "Only want to. Rules. Not for discussing; another topic?" he prompted.
"Mm. Tell me what you are going to do with those ghoul claws I saw you gathering in Nashkel."
He blinked, surprised by the query. Then he smiled delightedly, his lids lowering halfway. He pushed up against the ranger and eased his arm under her cloak and around her back so he could lean into her without soaking either of them. "Wellll," he drawled playfully, "If you must know, Byatskhan Moaratuk..."
With Jaheira and Khalid departed, the group felt smaller. Branwen and Minsc were discussing the various ways to cook pork. Xan and Dynaheir seemed to have found a topic they could converse on involving spell components.
Imoen did not appear so sullen as before, but she was not her usual chipper self. She walked with Garrick, and although something had obviously happened between them the evening before, it was also equally clear the two were not 'together.' The bard was humming a half-composed ballad, and Imoen was gazing quietly out at nothing. Aegis still had no idea how to talk to her about what had happened with Montaron.
At the rear of the party, their Omega Wolf also did not look to be in very good humor. Aegis tilted her head to the side, wondering what had left Edwin more sour than usual. She could have sworn that his temper had been improving of late, although that had done nothing to dull his caustic sense of humor. Now he was unnervingly silent, and Aegis had never known Edwin to ignore the chance to complain about something. Even something as trite as walking in the rain.
Unlike the rest of them, he had no cloak, instead relying on magical protections to shield him from the rain. The sling over his shoulder, supporting his mending arm, was a strong source of his ire, no doubt. But then he'd been bantering fine just two days ago. Jaheira's words of warning echoed in Aegis' mind, and she remembered the body of Samantha and the blood splatters over the ground.
"I will keep an eye out for now," Xzar told her, as he'd noticed the direction of her gaze. "Later, Xan?"
Aegis nodded, looking to her sister when Imoen suddenly moved. The violet girl came sneakily up beside Xan, a quirk of mischievous cleverness apparent on her facial features. Aegis smirked hopefully, turning back to look at the road.
"I have noticed thou uses no physical reagents in thine spells," Dynaheir was saying.
Xan nodded. "It has taken me some time to work around certain limitations, but I have been very careful with my spellwork to eschew many components. The reason for this is that by eliminating the-"
"-invariably catastrophic-" Imoen interjected. Xan blinked at her, but continued speaking.
"-need for material components, I've found I am-"
"-doomed-" Imoen piped up.
"-able to hold my moonblade in one hand-"
"-in vain-"
"-and use the other for forming my-"
"-also doomed-" a violet thief added.
"-somatic... compon- are you going to continue doing that no matter what I attempt to say?" Xan asked, perplexed.
"No! You see, I am training you," Imoen told him conspiratorially, "to do the exact same thing to me when I am talking to random people! It will result in all sorts of comic misunderstandings and terrifying predictions! But you sound much more convincing when you do it than I do. You should give it a try!"
"I see," the elf considered this, a not-smile-but-close tugging at his lower lip.
"Exactly! Observe. Aegis!" Imoen called. "I think you should know that this entire adventure is completely and utterly-!"
"-Doomed," Xan said with a great heaving sigh containing all the melancholy and drama he could muster, which, given that this was Xan, was a tremendously undeserved amount.
Dynaheir's eyes widened and she quickly put a hand over her mouth, not certain if it was appropriate to mock the despondent elf's personality in this way. But Branwen burst out laughing and Imoen threw a companionably arm around the elf's shoulders, grinning playfully at him, and in general it seemed things were alright. As morose as Xan preferred to be, managing to elicit their first real smile from Imoen since the incident with Montaron did give him a strong sense of accomplishment. Furthermore, he also wasn't perturbed by her hug.
"Aegy!" Imoen laughed slightly. "We are keeping the elf forever!" the violet thief announced. He has humor! I've found it!"
"Blasphemy!" the ranger girl called from the front. "I disbelieve!"
"Apparently the self-depreciating kind," Xan sighed, "as I am sure the more delicate nuances of elfin jokes would be lost on you."
"You can tell jokes?" Imoen asked.
Xan considered the prompt. "Ah. No," he agreed. "I can't. Nor do I sing, or frolic, just in case you were wondering. And that thing you do where you squeal and leap up and down clapping your hands? No, not that either. I much prefer to be left to realism. We are not a large enough party to take on the upcoming bandit camp, and we are clearly lacking in the healing department with but one cleric- no offense, Lady of Isle! Does our valiant leader have some kind of plan, or are we all marching to certain death?"
"We need to recruit new people," Aegis answered. "We've got Minsc and I for the front line, but shields are definitely not his thing. Even when Xzar and Garrick are gone, that leaves me with three... wizards... to defend..." She paused, a look of dread overcoming her face. Then she started walking again. "This trip is going to wreck havoc in my allergies, isn't it? Alright. So I need at least one additional healer and one or two front-line fighters. But absolutely no more wizards."
"I thought thou were starting a wizard collection," Dynaheir asked. "Color coded and such?"
"Where am I going to find that many meat shields for so many wizards!?" Aegis exclaimed, horrified. "No! I can't do it! I wont'! There will be wizards getting shot at left and right! My heart can't take it! I'll break out in hives, and then there will be absolute chaos I tell you. Chaos! And every time there's chaos, I end up covered in something else's organs! I won't have it, I tell you! I hate smelling of decaying offal."
"You're starting to sound as frazzled as Xzar," Imoen complained mirthfully.
"Chaos!" the necromancer agreed.
Their first indication that they were under attack was the arrow flying past Garrick's head as the bard rolled swiftly out of the way. His bard's song produced nearly the same effect as "BANDITS!" might have on the party, as Branwen, Aegis, and Minsc scrambled to shield the team. Dynaheir looked rapidly around, and then a mocking sneer appeared on her face when the first hobgoblins emerged on either side of the party. "Qomorah vith nos-" she began to mutter.
"Give her space!" Imoen shouted, dragging Xan backwards as the elf thew up his own self-defense spells. It only took Dynaheir few seconds. Aegis stepped in front of an oncoming arrow, and when the tip hit her it bounced backwards and green and black energy temporarily twisted over her breastplate. She grinned. Thank the gods for paranoid necromancers and their totally bizarre Protection from Evil spells!
"-veyl sot viidost!"
Brilliant white energy burst forward and backward from the wizard in a tremendous and instantaneous bolt. A dozen black and charred bodies later, and it became abundantly clear why it was a silly idea to jump a Wychlaran in a rainstorm.
"Kill the wizard!" the Hobgoblins shouted to each other, but they were too late to rally to this new target. Branwen covered the Wychlaran on one side and Xan, now fully shielded against arrows, stepped forward as a magical shield to block her other side.
"They want to do WHAT to Minsc's Witch!? BOO! Go for the eyes! GO FOR THE EYES! RAAAAGH!"
"WRONG ANSWER!" Aegis agreed with a shriek, bolting forward from her defensive stance, her axe in hand as she bowled through the oncoming hobgoblins. She threw her large shield up a half foot, grabbed the alternative grip, and then swung the weapon's edge forward like a club, braining the first hobgoblin that got in her face. The second met her axe.
Xzar darted after her, his fingers shimmering with blue energy. The next fool to try and close with her had his entrails frozen solid within his body cavities, and fell backwards with an agonized howl. On the other side of the part, Minsc was sending hobgoblin components flying with huge swings of his greatsword. A few of the hobgoblins got into the center of the party, but Xan calmly charmed two and out-traded the last one with his sword, stabbing the brute twice before grasping the blade two-handed and slicing off hobgoblin's head with a swift horizontal strike. By the time he was done, Imoen had shot the remaining bowmen full of holes.
"I'm glad I sent Jaheira off in the Ankheg plate," Aegis muttered as Minsc pulled the newest arrow out of her shoulder and Branwen held her steady. "Much as I would have liked some at the moment. The road is much safer for them both this way. Ow. Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow..."
"Perhaps we need more shields that don't break off running into the brush shrieking for blood at the first sign of enemy aggression," Xan observed dryly. "I'm afraid if I am left in charge of party defense while you two are off cracking skulls, everyone is going to end up very sorely-"
"-sprinkled with cookies!" interjected Imoen. Xan looked at her. "I am offering a counterbalance to your negative energy," the violet thief told him sagely.
"-dead. And disappointed," Xan was amused. "Aegis?"
"That's not fair! They said something about killing wizards!" Aegis protested. "Okay. Well. Maybe having me rage so hard in Nashkel Mines familiarized me with bad habits. You're right. I'm going to try and make sure I am more cognizant of my... defensive placement... in the future."
"Thou truly can handle the sword," Dynaheir remarked to Xan. "I am impressed. May I credit thy mastery of such disparate but complementary skills as enchantment and swordsmanship to thine age?"
"Mastery? If I were more clever, I would have specialized in abjuration," the enchanter remarked. "But I repeat that defense is not my specialty."
Edwin came up beside where the rest of the group was waiting. Imoen glanced up to see that he had mage-armor cast upon himself. Then in retrospect she didn't remember him adding any of his spells to the battle. Apparently she wasn't the only one who had noticed this oddity; the other wizards were all eyeing the Red Wizard uncertainly. Edwin had many flaws; but a refusal to pull his own weight when it came to showing off his spell casting mastery was not one of them. What was going through his head?
He didn't answer their stares except with his own. He emanated an aura of silence. Bitter, hostile silence.
When they had started walking again, Xan leaned closer to Dynaheir. "Do you think he is planning something?" the elf asked in a minute whisper, though in walking at their side Imoen was close enough to overhear.
The Wychlaran shook her head unknowingly. "He does still have his fire protections. He could be waiting till evening... Be cautious, nothing more. He is not particularly resilient to charms."
Imoen lifted a brow. They hadn't figured it out? Of course they hadn't. And that was the way he wanted it, no doubt, calculating and manipulative jerk that he was.
Was that what Edwin had wanted to talk to her about at the Belching Dragon? Ho, must have been! He was paranoid at the best of times, and he must have discovered the problem when he'd been casting abjurations on himself the evening before.
Well, he'd sure been a selfish jerk about how he'd approached her, but the fact that he'd come to her to talk sent a warming sensation through Imoen's buttery heart... right up until she remembered she'd dumped a goblet of wine over his head. And why.
With great bitterness, she remembered the caustic, teasing, verbal barbs he'd driven under her skin. She'd been so angry with him, and she was sure that he'd nearly lit her up like a match for it. Montaron would have called me an idiot for messing with such a dragon-!
A drained feeling washed over Imoen, and her expression became washed out, gray. Why? He'd tried to slit Aegis' throat. He'd almost gotten away with it too. Was that only two days ago? Feels like forever. Imoen owed her sister's life to none other than the insane necromancer comparing hobgoblin organs at the front of the group.
What were men capable of if Montaron had been able to show her affection in one moment and able to try murdering her sister in the next? The halfling had been Aegis' wingman during the underground lake battle! It didn't make any sense! And how was Imoen supposed to keep something like this from ever happening again? She'd read everything wrong.
Imoen felt Garrick's touch on her shoulder and realized that she'd stopped walking. The bard was looking down at her in concern. She blinked rapidly, sighed, and then gave him a tentative smile. "I'll be fine," she told him. He knew it was a lie, but he nodded and kept walking. She followed some distance behind. Weirdly enough, she didn't want to confide in someone she'd been with.
This isn't fair. Feeling like this isn't fair. She wanted her friends all around her and someone to hold her; and yet at the same time she wanted everyone at arm's length, and her skin crawled at the idea of sharing her heart with another person again. I'm angry, but it's making me bitter and mean and... and...
-and prone to dumping wine on her least-forgiving friends, apparently.
He's not my friend. He's a horrible creature who promised he'd betray us. And Imoen absolutely was not going to stand for another round of that! He has the same exact coldness inside him that makes hurting other people 'okay.' He's evil. It's just a matter of time before-
But then a sensation of dread worked its way up in her, because laying back and accepting that was not okay either. Not necessarily even just because Dynaheir, Imoen, or Aegis might get die! The thought of facing down Edwin Odesseiron made her panic; and not because she feared fire. Imoen never wanted to see one of her friends on the other side of the fence ever again, for so long as she lived!
He's not my- Oh, balderdash. He's not my friend, except that he is. He is, and I said it out loud to his face, over and over, and over again. And then, sigh, I threw wine at him. And he didn't even really do anything wrong that wasn't, well, normal for him. Nope. In fact, he might have been asking for my help. Just in the dunder-headed jerk way.
Soft footsteps came up along the road beside her, and she realized she'd stopped walking again. A few moments later, the Thayvian came level with her. The Red Wizard didn't breathe a word as he turned his baleful, blank, and unchanging stare on her, but he did stop walking. Imoen gave him a slow smile. His eyes narrowed slightly.
{I had a thought!} she proclaimed on the realization that Edwin hadn't spoken to anyone in over a day. She used her best Mulhorandi; There was one thing that could usually start Edwin talking no matter the scenario, and that was treating him to a conversation in his native language.
{Not a word to me, harlot, or Kelddath Ormlyr and his Sirines will be reconstituting your skull from a pile of ash. Move.}
Imoen beamed. Bingo. She started walking again with a little skip to her step. He eyed her darkly, but then continued moving and kept pace with her. For a long moment she was silent, but she really was busting at the seams. {Do you not want to know my thought?} she finally demanded.
{No. Your pronunciation is disgusting, and I am enjoying the silence.}
{I think I probably should not sleep with any more of my party members,} she laughed.
{You are off to a rousing start, little whore,} the conjurer gestured at Garrick with his walking staff.
{Hey! He doesn't count; he is leaving,} Imoen teased in protest. {No, but I meant: I do not think I want to be that close to someone again for awhile.}
The Red Wizard looked at her. Being forced to converse with her was wearing on his very last threadbare nerve. Imoen grinned at him and walked in silence for a bit.
Then: {You are not left-handed,} she said at last. {It is a specific quirk of your personality; you would never voluntarily imagine yourself crippled, so you'd have no reason to exercise your off-hand. How agile are your fingers?}
A snarl of draconic, and then a Burning Hands spell that flared up his left arm, and the flame-wreathed fingers had stopped inches from her face. He glared at her. {So...} she winced, pausing a moment and then walking a little further from him, {The only spell you feel comfortable showing off... is one of your oldest and most familiar?}
Eyes widened at her, brows knitting in hatred.
Imoen smirked and lifted her hands innocently. {Calm down. I'm your friend, remember?} she told him jovially. {Dynaheir can't hear, and Xan can't understand, and I'm not about to tell either of them.}
The Thayvian watched her for a moment more. Then he turned his gaze out at nothing, his hand lowering subtly. Imoen frowned, looking to the road briefly as she circumnavigated a puddle. She heard a dark chuckle and looked up again. {Are you really?} he asked mockingly, softly; both amused and disgusted by her. The word 'friend' had little to no real meaning to him at all. {Are they frightened?}
{Yes. You are doing a fabulous job terrifying people who have no idea you now botch half of everything you try to cast,} she rolled her eyes at his paranoia. {Happy?}
He grimaced, dismissing the Burning Hands spell and then grabbing her arm and dragging her around to look at him. {They mutter scared about me, and you drop back to simper apologies?} he laughed in an incredibly unfriendly voice. {You insult me, little whore.}
{You chauvinistic, eastern jerk,} she scowled. {Why would I ever apologize to you? You were being cruel. I hit you back for it. Fair's fair.}
{My, my, such insults,} he purred dangerously. {But you don't see me whining and chattering pretending to be your, ahem, 'friend,' now do you? Move. We are falling behind.} He was being nasty but she knew the peacock dragon was merely acting, and to prove it she reached over and snatched up his hand. Eyes darted to her and he glared violently, jerking back. She held fast to the limb, and she had both hands to do it with!
Imoen grinned, knowing he couldn't cast while she had control of his fingers. {If I know what is really going on, why would I try to suck up to you for Xan and Dynaheir? Honestly, your head goes in too many knots for me to follow sometimes, dragon.}
The appellation was not lost on him, but it seemed to make him angry. {Release my person, wench,} he told her in a low voice. {We are falling behind. I can no longer even see the party for the rain.}
{Edwin, come on, what is bothering you? Everyone messes up. Even people made of cake and sparkles like me!}
His fingers closed against hers, his nails driving into the skin. He stepped up to her, leering down at her as his fingers of his dominant hand twitched unseen within the sling. {Do you think I will submit one instant to the whims of a manipulative, thieving, little slut? Let go, before I insist.}
Imoen lifted a mischievous brow. Then there was the thud of something against flesh and the force drove her into him. Her mouth opened in surprise and then there was another thud, another unintentional lurch, as a second arrow bloomed from her back.
Edwin's eyes widened in surprise and he grabbed her shoulder almost reflexively. Then he released her, looking at the treeline where two surviving hobgoblins were moving towards them and nocking fresh arrows.
"Mithil do yolos..." he muttered rapidly in Draconic, and tried to ignore feelings of elation when the flaming red bead of light began to twist naturally under his gesturing fingers. He didn't feel Imoen as she collapsed to the ground; she didn't exist. Obey me, weave for me...
Edwin must have managed the spell, because Imoen heard the rush of air as the fireball came into being, and the howls of two thoroughly cooked hobgoblins who did not survive the throw. She was shaking, and her arms felt weak and heavy, like lead.
Imoen rolled onto her shoulder, and the cobbles were so hard they almost kept her from moving. Her fingers searched her belt for the healing potion and drew it out trembling. She was going to be okay! Everything was going to be-
Clawed fingers snatched the vial out of her hand.
Imoen twitched, looking up to see Edwin Odesserion crouching beside her. He held the healing potion just slightly above her; still technically within her reach, but perhaps beyond her strength.
"E-edwin...?" she asked, confused. But he merely stared at her, his face blank, and said nothing.
Imoen was getting dizzy. She could feel heat and shock and pain where the arrows were embedded in her. She could feel dampness, warm dampness, and smell iron. Still the Thayvian did not move or call out for help.
"D... did I really h-hurt you that b-badly?" she asked him, and she was having trouble keeping eye contact because she couldn't hold up her head. Then she remembered the brutal answer Montaron had taught her: sometimes there wasn't a real human reason, just a quick calculation.
