Road to the Horizon

by Ztin

It is about vengeance. It is about honour. It is about hate as much as love. It is about villainy and heroics. It is about quests and treasure. It is about the perfect combination of blacklotus and Baalor's root to get the maximum blast effect.

1. In and Out and In Again

Road to the Horizon

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything belongs to whomever really owns it. Though I am too lazy to point out who those people are, you know who you are.

Chapter 1

In and Out and In Again

Ah, I see what a discerning eye you have!

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There is but one absolute truth that exists between all the planes, regardless of whatever the laws are that preside within them. Shit happens. This one certainty manifests itself into countless forms, both obvious and unbelievable and thus for all that are real it is the one thing that truly remains common. It is what connects everything by barrelling through existence, striking all in its path unyielding towards the unforeseeable reaction that wallops it back to rebound into bewilderment and perplexity in order to start the process all over again.

What stones are knocked by the rolling ball? What ripples appear between the waves? The birth of one can affect many or the birth of many can affect one. We are the results of chance. Empires can fall in the face of an army. Gods can rise through the accumulation of power. Lives can change with a simple greeting.

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"So there is sanity in all this madness. If you are not in league with the evil that dwells in this unholy place, Yoshimo begs your assistance."

The party that stepped through the portal immediately put their guard up as the figure who spoke approached them. Jaheira raised an eyebrow as she appraised the man before her. His ink black hair, almond shaped eyes and dusky skin marked him as a being native from Kara-Tur. She silently gave a quick prayer to Silvanus that they were not actually so far into those eastern lands and were at least still in some part of Faerûn. He was wearing around his shoulders a short bow and a quiver full of arrows. Hanging at his side she could make out the distinct shape of a katana, which she had heard was the standard weapon of choice amongst his people. Judging from the leather armour he wore and a set of lock picking tools hanging from his belt, Jaheira could already guess what profession he traded in.

Jaheira looked back to see what the others thought of having the seemingly harmless thief in front of them. Imoen was warily regarding the newcomer while Minsc stared impassively back, seeming content to listen for any of Boo's squeaks of warning. Sadly, it was not supposed to be like this. Normally Imoen would be gleefully greeting strangers instead of treating them with suspicion. Minsc himself would have already introduced this Yoshimo to Dynaheir, proudly presenting her as his witch on his dejemma.

But Dynaheir is dead, her murder witnessed by Minsc. As for Imoen…

Child, it was not supposed to be like this.

The thief-turned-mage's eyes no longer held such a prominent gleam of innocence and mischief, her dirtied appearance giving her a more worn and tired look. Even Minsc looked as if the burden of his dejemma was forcing the full extent of all its weight onto him, his shoulders bared heavily with dejection fixed with naught but a grim determination. Thinking back, Jaheira could scarce believe how much could change within such a short span of time. At least she hoped that was all that passed. She truly had no idea how long they were held captive or if they were even still on the Sword Coast.

Beside Jaheira, their final party member finally answered Yoshimo, her voice clear though slightly wispy, as if she were not really speaking to any of them, "Ohhh, you do not have to beg for assistance, I mean not if you give us cause to fight you. You do not have a cause for us to fight you, eh? You are begging for assistance not a fight. Not like a fiend. Fiends are mean. You do not look like a fiend though. So I guess you are not a mean fiend. Fellows, he is not a fiend, right? So we do not have to fight this non-fiend who is not a mean fiend?"

Immediately all attention was centered on the young woman who had spoken. Like the others, she looked like she was used as a pillow in an all orc slumber party. Her dark cherry red hair was unkempt, sticking out at odd angles and definitely greasy. All over her ripped clothes and exposed skin caked dirt and grime with the odd blood splatter. Walking up to her, Imoen gently touched the half-elf's shoulder and said, "Geez, Pan, I still don't think ya recovered that well from… from our time… back there," while hiding her discomfort at the slightly glazed look in Pan's light brown eyes.

Though it looked like Imoen herself was still trying to get over what happened to herself as well, her pink hair having seemingly lost some of its colour, she set it aside in concern for her friend. They were used to Pan's frequent and usually pointless meandering sentences but never like this. Imoen began to fervently wish for the days that when Pan spoke irrationally it was to only because she so excited about a new potion she discovered that she could talk for hours straight about anything and everything to do with what it could be used for and even the trivial facts about its ingredients. Imoen began to tear up. She is not supposed to be talking in such a way like she would be easily stereotyped as having a conversation with a certified insane person.

Actually, now that I think about it she was always comfortable speaking to crazy people, Imoen thought, thinking back onto their past experiences with Xzar.

Ever since escaping their cages, however, Pan still remained slightly disconnected from their situation, as if she were marching through a rehearsed dream, causing concern amongst her friends that perhaps her scars ran too deep to be seen or healed.

Turning to her childhood friend, Pan spoke as if she had been caught doing something wrong, "What do you mean, Imoen? Did I say something I was not supposed to say to the fiend? Ooooh, was I not supposed to tell him that he is a fiend that we must fight?"

Jaheira sighed, noticing that unlike most people who would have startled at such nonsensical talk, Yoshimo took it in stride. "I am no fiend. I am Yoshimo. You know, THE Yoshimo?"

Everyone once again turned their heads to stare blankly at the thief who expected them all to jump with elated star-struck idolism. Only one met his expectations.

"EEEEEEE! By the gods, you are THE Yoshimo? Feared by ALL? EEEEEEEE! Iamgoingtofaint, Iamgoingtofaint, Iamgoingtofaint, Iamgoingtofaint, Iamgoingtofaint. Everybody! It is HIM, THE Yoshimo! Quick sign my robes!" Pan screamed, leaping forward to brutally hug Yoshimo around his neck with such force that the taller man had no choice but to bend his body forward in order to accommodate the shorter and deceptively strong woman.

Everybody looked on in surprise at the sudden change of behaviour from Pan and at the very alarmed and rapidly reddening face of Yoshimo.

"G-g-glad to…. to.. f-final-ack!-ly me-meet…. a fa-ohck!-an. C-could you possib-agh!-ly let me g-go?"

"Mmmmmm. Eeeee!"

Without glancing at the others, Jaheira stepped forward to look into the thief's slightly desperate eyes, effectively taking charge of the situation, "Forgive us if we are not so inclined to grant your request for assistance. As you can understand it would be foolish of us to accept strangers with us amidst this evil lair. How did you come to be here?"

"Ack! Em-embarra-assss-ingly enough… m-my prof-ah!-ssion does no-ot leave its-ah!-lf o-open to tho-oh!-se wh-who are not wary y-yet, someh-hooow I was cau-aww!-ght," at this point Yoshimo seriously thought that he was beginning to lose sight in his left eye so he decided to speed his story up a bit, "Aaaah-thkatla, Co-copper Cor-ohhh-net…b-b-bed, w-w-ake! up, stra-aaange room… sore he-head."

"Eeee, you smell nice but kind of funky!"

"Th-thank yooou?"

Ignoring Yoshimo's distress, Jaheira continued with her questions, "Do you think that we are in Athkatla?"

He was definitely starting to see black spots, "Don't know. Drug-grgle-ed. N-not… long enou-ou-ghhh t-to notice. Pleasehelp."

"How did you manage to escape?"

"Eh-explosion. Door o-open… World g-gett-ing dar...ker…"

Jaheira looked intently at the man. Finally turning to Imoen and Minsc she asked them calmly, "Well?"

"Well, besides the fact that he's probably gonna pass out soon, he looks kinda harmless."

"Minsc and Boo cannot leave the little man to fend for himself. Together we shall plant our boot heels into the backside of evil as we leave this place!"

Nodding, Jaheira gazed at the look of contentment on Pan's face. Perhaps new faces can cure new problems.

Looking at Yoshimo, whose eyes began to flutter rapidly, no trace of emotion was visible on Jaheira's face. Finally giving a barely perceptible smile she said, "Very well, as Pan seems to have already accepted you. Join with us and we shall begin the journey out of here."

However the thief did not hear her, his body now sagging rather noodly against the relentless hugging of Pan's bountiful joy.

"Eeeeee, THE Yoshimo, I want your baby!"

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After reviving Yoshimo and giving a proper round of introductions the party finally began to make their way through the dungeon, fighting the odd group of goblins along the cramped corridors. The added skill of bow and arrows from Yoshimo proved to be a blessing for Pan and Imoen who now did not have to expend so much magical energy to take out enemies from distance. Still weak from their captivity, both girls could only cast the simplest of spells, mostly magical missiles and even then they could only cast a few at a time.

With quick successions of well aimed arrows striking goblin archers and Pan and Imoen covering their sides with their magic, Minsc and Jaheira were able to make quick work of the goblin fighters with two handed sword and scimitar respectively, without having to worry about being shot at or dodging a stray arrow. They were able to finish their battles faster and thus trekked through the dungeon much more quickly. A little hope began to rise within the adventurers at their progress.

However, it should be known that hope was never a requirement within a dungeon.

Since their meeting with Yoshimo, Pan's head began to clear itself little by little. She no longer felt like she had no idea what she was talking about with her head stuck in a fog and so quickly and subtly resumed leadership by implementing their new battle strategy. From her recollection of her time in the cage, Pan only knew fear, desperation and decay. Where were her friends? Why were there no other prisoners? Why is he hurting me? How come there is nothing but the sound of her screams? Spell after spell, taunt after taunt, blood and tears after blood and tears until finally the only way she could block the pain was to escape from herself. As they began their escape all Pan could wonder was as to why there was nobody else.

What if they were the only beings left alive here in hell? When they found Rielev, Pan came to a revelation. What if they were not really escaping? Escape would mean action but how did she know if they were really doing anything? They are not escaping because they are not real. What if everything is just in her mind and all she really was is a thought in a dead body, trapped in a glass tube waiting and wailing and pleading and suffering and dying over and over again until the only thing left for her was to accept and to ignore and to believe that it was real because the truth cannot set her free. She could not be here. The pain was too real, the loneliness was everywhere and everything. She could not be alive, no one would be cruel enough to let a living person go through this. She had to be dead. Being dead made more sense.

But if she was dead then she would not be thinking that she was dead because the dead do not think. Do the dead realize that they are dead?

The dead but not dead that lie in glass tubes does not get to meet new people. Perhaps they are allowed to meet djinn though, like the one who gave them her brother's sword. He was not so bad. He spoke to me like I was actually there, like I was not a dead body with a loud mouth..

But he is gone now. He got his lamp back. Hmph, probably lit his way home now. I want to go home. I do not like the glass tube. I probably would not like living in a lamp either. Perhaps that is why the djinni was allowed to interact with her. They were both trapped, restricted to a miniscule three-dimensional zone where physical escape is impossible. Their continued confinement was probably the common ground to their interaction where the meeting took place of the minds escaping the body.

So she really must be dead.

Until they met the dryads. So beautiful. Being dead was not so bad, seeing as how she could bask in the presence of the embodiment of nature. I love nature, so many things you can make from it that go boom.

It would have been so blissful, so wonderful, if only the sisters did not have such sorrow shrouding their being. Even eternal sprites such as dryads were unable to remain unscathed by the gloom of death. Even dryads must surrender to the inevitable decay that rots all hope of escape and life in this dank dungeon.

Possessions emulate their possessors. The dryads were losing life to the lifeless. She was lifeless. Imoen cried when they cried. Pan cried because she was dead and stuck in a glass tube. Then she felt nothing when they uttered his name. Irenicus. The one who made her die over and over again and only now can she give a name to her killer.

Everything that has happened, is happening, will happen is not real, could not be real. To the dead the only real thing is death, right? Cold stone after cold stone, each step taken emphasizing an echo forgotten into eternity, fading away into ancient memory. The freshness of memory is an ideological nonsense where the perfect angst is but imagination of a world without boundary.

I am not real. There can be no such existence as the one portrayed by the vastness of endlessness. I cannot feel anything but the thrill of the blood I spill. Murder was real. The smell of the freshly spilt still remains with her. Thus it echoes within her, a voice she cannot place yet for every life she took, grew louder, more… happy. The more she killed then the clearer the voice became and so she wanted more and more death if only to reach that voice, the only one thing that seemed true within this fog. One desire cannot make a life or else there would naught be anything but instinct. If all she was, was instinct, then there is no alive for her.

So, how in the Nine Hells, can I explain Yoshimo? He seemed real enough, even to a girl stuck in a glass tube like her. He acted real. He reacted real. He looked at her real. He even smelt real. He felt real and when he said that he was THE Yoshimo, she knew, without a single doubt or care in the world that he really, really is THE Yoshimo. He is real and the longer and the tighter she held on to him, the more alive and warm she felt.

The dead did not get to feel heat. The dead did not get to meet THE Yoshimo. This Yoshimo was too lively to be dead. She is not dead.

Yoshimo found them alive. He led them back to life. Their guide, their sanity. Her reason.

Until the end of her days, Pan would be forever grateful for the light of hope he unwittingly shone upon her. She is alive.

It was not just her, for the others too, felt relief wash over them that amidst this stone hell there were people just like them seeking that glimmer of something other than darkness. Imoen was a bubble of giggles again and Minsc found it necessary to describe to Boo about Yoshimo's virtuous aim with a bow and arrow. Even Jaheira afforded a grim smile though her eyes continuously shone with a hidden worry.

Eventually they came across their first challenge as it literally flew into their face. Jaheira was tending to Yoshimo's face which bore fresh scratches courtesy of the mephit that attacked them as soon as they opened the door leading into a large room leaving them scrambling to put up a hasty defence. Once they got over the shock of the attack, Minsc soon made short work of the assaulting mephit and a dozen of its other friends.

While exploring the room with Imoen in search of any equipment they could use, they were accompanied by a colourful stream of cursing in Kara-Turan. Despite the light moment Pan could not ignore the slight uncomfortable feeling she got every time she saw Minsc slice through a mephit with her brother's sword. Even with losing most of its menacing enchantments and the fact that it was Minsc that now wielded it instead of her brutal half-brother, seeing the Sword of Chaos draw blood once again. At least she never had to worry about those golden eyes boring down on her ever again.

She caught the smile Imoen sent her way as she rolled her eyes at Jaheira's harsh chastisement of Yoshimo's habit of unwariness. Things were definitely beginning to look up. However the laws of the universe seemed determinedly set against her as she approached the table set at one end of the room, her world once again, came crashing down.

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Khalid.

First came the howls of denial, then the screams of rage directed at her companions and finally there were cries of anguish before Jaheira calmed down enough to send a prayer for her husband's soul. In that moment she ultimately let her tears fall, stroking the cold skin of his face, murmuring things only meant for between him and her.

Khalid's name became a continuous echo through Pan's mind as constant as the grieving sobs coming from Jaheira, who was cradling the broken remains of his body. Pan could only stand to the side in quiet shock, unable to tear her eyes away from the bloodied face of her friend. Minsc was facing away trembling with rage with Yoshimo at his side trying to calm the huge Rashemi down from entering his berserker state. Glancing at Imoen, Pan was surprised to see something she thought she would never see in her friend, something almost akin to fascination.

Troubled, Pan approached the girl, "Come, Imoen. Leave them alone together."

"I saw him do this."

Pan froze, eyes widening at what Imoen said. Minsc and Yoshimo were staring at her and even Jaheira paused long enough to hear what she said.

"W-what?"

"Khalid was dead when our captor started… doing those things to him."

Trembling, Jaheira spoke up, "You saw this? You watched as it was done?"

As if in a trance, Imoen continued, "He… he showed me. He cut and… and showed me. He forced my eyes open and made me look as he… said I should see, so I would understand, but I don't know what he wanted! He would cut and say 'Do you see?' Cut and say 'Do you see?'" nearly shouting at the end.

Silence followed, the only movement being Jaheira as she calmly walked up to Imoen until they were face to face with one another.

PAF!

Imoen looked back up in shock, her lower lip trembling, touching her hand to the side of her face that Jaheira just slapped, the older woman looking sorrowful and helpless, the two things the group had never before seen the druid as.

Then slowly, as if unsure herself, Jaheira embraced the motionless younger girl. In that still moment, grief replaced emptiness and shone within Imoen's eyes and bit by bit she raised her arms until she gripped the druid fiercely, burying her face in Jaheira's chest effectively muffling her wracked sobs. Imoen shook and trembled as she cried and cried and cried, the horrors of the past few days finally catching up and proving too much for her to handle. She wept for Khalid, for Dynaheir and for her lost innocence. She cried in hatred at the name that was the cause for all of this. Irenicus. She wept for all the things she lost, all the things that were turned into lies and for all the things revealed. She struggled, she complied and she bared her soul for forgiveness and witness.

All the while Jaheira held her firmly, gently stroking the girl's pink hair, staring impassively ahead and becoming the strength for Imoen to become strong.

"Never again, child. Never again."

Without acknowledging his presence, neither woman moved when Minsc enveloped both in a firm hug, Boo quietly making his way onto Imoen's shoulder, squeaking pitifully. The giant ranger's grief was palatable, his whispered Rashemi prayer for the fallen barely audible. Even Yoshimo stepped forward to place a comforting hand upon Jaheira's shoulder, expressionless, yet his presence meaning something.

All the while, Pan remained unmoving, her gaze remaining fixated upon the death pallor of Khalid, the thoughts of death and blood and chaos, dancing through her head.

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The progression, after discovering Khalid, was a sombre one. Leaving that oppressive room there was no more idle chit chat or small talk. When they came across of a group of enemies, whether they are goblins or duergers, they dispatched them quickly and efficiently. Any items that could be looted, were, and then they continued on. All of them simply wanted out of this cold darkness.

They soon after came across a long hall with distinct mural designs set all along its length towards the other side. The hall seemed designed like a lobby, with various pillars, some broken, lining the sides. The naturally keen eyesight of Pan and Jaheira could make out some sort of large monument at the opposite far end. Pausing to take in its depth, Pan wondered warily why there were not any beings inside such a prominent area.

Suddenly there came a shout from one side of the hall. Turning, Pan soon saw three hooded figures emerging from an adjacent passage rushing towards them, short swords visible in their hands. Jaheira heard Imoen mutter at her side, "Obviously the only other humans we meet in this place and they're tryin' to kill us."

What alarmed Jaheira was the fluidity of their movement and she knew they would be no pushovers like the goblins were. Their speed was incredible and it looked as if they were forming into some sort of battle pattern. Jaheira grew increasingly concerned.

"Ooh, they move pretty!"

Jaheira's concern was momentarily replaced with frustration. A quick glance towards Pan once again showed the girl's absurd aptitude for daftness displayed with her fascination with the opposing figure's "pretty" movements when she should be far more worried about their own continued safety.

Before she could tell the others to draw up their weapons, one of the would-be attackers stepped upon a mural designed with bright orange and red pieces. There was a loud click and a fireball, seemingly out of nowhere, whooshed with fearsome speed, striking atop the hooded figures, followed instantaneously by a deafening explosion. The shockwave was so great that everybody but Minsc was knocked off their feet.

The smell of brimstone and burnt flesh permeated the air as Pan struggled to her feet. Where the figures once were, were nothing left but a large scorch mark and settling ash.

Pan gulped, "Well, at least we know not to hold a banquet here."

"Boo believes that the food would not be all that good for us here anyways," Minsc replied in a rather serious tone.

For the next half hour while the rest of the party rested by the door, Yoshimo crept along the wall where the fireball came from, methodically examining and disarming all the traps that were set in place. When he returned, he triumphantly displayed his trophies that he collected, "Ingenious really, the mechanics you Faerûnians manage to employ in your security measures."

"We are truly honoured by your fascination," Jaheira remarked dryly, "So what is it that we have here?" her last question directed towards the two mages.

Holding one of the three objects that Yoshimo gave to her in her hands, Pan carefully examined it all along its length. It was about a foot length of red wood, about three fingers wide, the intricate design carved into it like some sort of serpent head. Looking at Imoen who had just finished her own scrutiny, she finally answered, "These are wands, that much is for sure. The one I hold feels warm to the touch and is probably the one that surprised our unexpected visitors. Ooh, this is real good one, see how it is still so bright, eh? It still holds much power. Such heavy enchantments. Did I ever tell you what the process is for making a wand?"

Before Pan could get into a lengthy lecture about the properties of proper wand making, Imoen quickly interrupted, "Yep, they're definitely wands and they probably came in a set too, 'cause the one I've got is kinda chilly. Three guesses as to what this one can do to ya."

"What of the last one?"

The wand in question was a pink egg shaped bulb fixed upon one end of a golden rod, quite unlike the elemental designs of the first two. Pan shrugged, "I do not know though I imagine it would be quite a thrill to find out."

Deciding to take the corridor the hooded figures came out from, Pan led the group down the torch lit path. They made their way slowly, not wanting to stumble across more hooded groups unprepared, Yoshimo checking for traps along the way. The further along they went, a distinct odour grew stronger.

Scrunching her nose in distaste, Jaheira immediately knew where they were. And she was not particularly happy about it.

"We will soon be emerging into a sewer."

Surprised Yoshimo questioned, "How can you be so sure?"

"Mother Nature would not allow herself to let go so much."

True to her word they found themselves standing within a dry though painfully smelly sewer. Yet they did not continue on. They stood there for a bit, each lost in their thoughts, mostly all concerning about what they were leaving behind. Pan knew it was silly but she could not help but feel as if she were leaving some things behind. Some people. Could we really go on?

Deep within herself Pan believed that they would be leaving with an incomplete party. From now on they would be without Khalid's kindness and Dynaheir's stoicism.

D-do the right th-thing. It's the only thing y-you can do now.

Follow thy path. That is thy duty.

She shuddered, quickly glancing to see if anybody else had heard what was just spoken to her.

Jaheira had closed her eyes as if fighting with something within herself. Minsc only stared back at the way they came from, Boo sitting quietly upon his shoulder. Imoen had her eyes on the ground and Pan could only stand there wondering if they were actually abandoning her fallen comrades. Unable to come to a decision she looked towards Yoshimo who was looking at her, his eyes slightly guarded as if he were examining her but not allowing her to do the same to him.

Noticing her looking at him, Yoshimo gave a small, rather roguish smile. Quietly, though forever she would never know why, she asked him, him of all people whom she barely knew, "Can we move forward?"

Giving no indication that her posing a question to him was surprising, he grinned only a little wider and seemed as if he were about to speak when he suddenly stopped, turning towards the end of the sewer tunnel.

And then she felt it.

Like a warm breath, it washed over her, banishing the coldness around them, the rotting smell of sewage soon replaced with a freshness she thought long denied her. The others too turned towards the wafting breeze, each lulled with a longing for its gentle caresses. Acceptance and reaction whispered through their hair and all that was ever felt was reciprocated with enlightened air.

Revelation is but realization. Who we are, are but the pooling of actions and consequences. An answer given from nothing in the face of nothing reveals desire and desire commits ourselves to ambition to assurance to dedication to loyalty.

I do not exist, yet I am still here because I hurt and hate and cry and laugh and love and feel. I am alive, whether real or not.

They all knew that an answer was given. Yoshimo smiled, looking into Pan's eyes, her unshed tears glistening from the faint torchlight.

"It seems that permission is granted, neh?"

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After they had just barely escaped from being crushed beneath the collapsing tunnel and emerging into daylight, Pan thought that they were truly safe. Once again, she found herself jumping from the pan straight into the fire.

"You dare attack me here?" the demanding voice cold and slightly amused. "Do you even know whom you face?"

While the rest of the party immediately scrambled for cover amidst the debris, Pan and Imoen froze, instantly recognizing the voice. For them, it would take a dozen lifetimes to forget the emotionless taunts and commands of Jon Irenicus.

He stood there, like some sentinel of a dark mythos, his spike studded leather robes sweeping around him, stirring an air of foreboding and malice about his figure. Unlike most who pursue the arts of magic, mostly physically weak or frail people, his body seemed more befitting of a warlord. He was tall, practically a head above Minsc, with broad shoulders and noticeable muscles tattooed with some unreadable arcane runes. Yet he moved with fluidity and grace, his every action a firm decision. When he spoke, it was with clarity and purpose, practically courteous despite the emptiness of emotion. All in all, Irenicus modelled the perfect gentleman of nightmares.

Though he gave no indication of having noticed them, they knew that he was very aware of their presence, his tall form moving slightly to the side, allowing them a clear view of those he was addressing. It was a large group of people all dressed similarly to the three who had attacked them earlier, their black hoods covering the top of their heads and parts of their faces, though this time their attention seemed for more focused upon the imposing figure of their captor.

As if listening to some hidden signal, three of the assassins charged Irenicus, short swords out and screaming war cries while the other five shot arrows. With a simple wave of his hand, the arrows merely bounced off a translucent globe shimmering around him. With another simple gesture, he threw two glowing green orbs at the charging attackers, disintegrating one each and petrifying the other one.

Growling in frustration the five shooting arrows drew their own short swords and advanced in a sweeping movement, semi-encircling the powerful wizard. Perhaps it was the mask he wore but Irenicus remained looking bored as with an almost lazy flurry of arm movement and chanting he devastated the attackers.

Two assassins were turned to stone and immediately shattered. One was struck by an acid arrow that virtually melted the flesh from his bones. One looked as if her brain had exploded from the inside, blood and matter just gushing from her eyes, ears, nose and mouth. The final person looked as if a giant hand had dropped out of the sky only to smash him into the ground. Pan noted that his remains looked remarkably similar to what happens to flies.

The group could only stare in horror at the futility of the attacks and the almost careless ease that Irenicus dispatched them with. After all those amazing feats of magic, he was not even breathing heavily. Imoen fearfully murmured, "None o' them even had time ta scream."

Casually, Irenicus walked up to the last remaining assassin he had petrified initially. The frozen attacker could only stare hatefully at her enemy.

Pan could not understand how the assassin could glare into Irenicus's dead mask and not flinch. Irenicus stopped in front of the woman, his ice blue eyes staring impassively down, his face hidden by the arcane runes covering the mask. The look he was giving was something like he was examining a curious insect.

It was his voice that spoke volumes, a clear, calm voice devoid of malice or rage or any emotion whatsoever. Irenicus gave his chilling judgement, placing his palm against the assassin's chest.

"You will suffer. You will all suffer," and with a blast of magical energy, the woman's heart exploded through her back, flying several metres before it bounced to a rest. Pan imagined that she saw it beat a few last times before it remained still.

Not even pausing to look at the woman's collapsing body, Irenicus turned his attention to where Pan and her party stood. They raised their weapons though they knew it would not be enough against his powers. Pan saw the determination in each of her friend's eyes and knew they would give him the fight of his life. Or at least give him a very nasty scratch.

Maybe if he is distracted enough, I can sneak behind him and…

When he spoke, his tone shivered her from her thoughts.

"Hmmm. Interesting godchild, that you have escaped. I shall take your resourcefulness into consideration when next we 'chat,'" his words sounding remarkably offhand as if he were simply greeting them instead of describing the tortures he had in mind.

"How can you speak such civility as if our lov… comrades were not rotting beneath in your damnable dungeon?" Jaheira spat.

The group gripped their weapons tighter as Imoen vehemently threw her two cents in, "You're not gonna torture us any longer, I won't let you!"

Even though it was a mask, Pan could have sworn that the corners of the engraved mouth curled slightly upwards into a wry grin, "Torture? Really? You just do not understand what I'm doing, do you?"

"I don't care! Just leave us alone!"

Irenicus had slowly advanced towards them, the rubbles seemingly dissolving beneath each step and there was a definite hint of malice behind his words, "I won't let you, not when I'm so close to unlocking your power."

"We don't want anythin' from you," the grim determination mingling with the unfamiliar anger in her eyes as she let loose a shimmering orb fuelled with every ounce of power she had left.

Yet Irenicus was no ordinary mage as he kept coming forward, shrugging off Imoen's chromatic orb. "Enough, children. It is time for you to remain silent and accept your place amongst futility," and he fired off an impossible barrage of magic missiles that exploded from him like a peacock's feathers, the sheer numbers blanketing the air around them causing Pan and the others to madly scramble for cover.

Still weak from her confinement, Pan was not as hardy as her more conditioned companions so when a magic missile glanced off her head, she collapsed disorientated. Her head was spinning so much that she did not notice the ten other missiles descending directly upon.

Suddenly something slammed into her, throwing her to the side, barely avoiding the magic missiles that just cratered the ground. Gasping, Pan could only stare at the spot she was at a few seconds ago, the person beside her getting up and scanning the air for any remaining missiles.

Finally, Pan looked up from where she was sprawled towards her saviour. "Yoshimo?"

The bounty hunter gave a quick grin, his eyes fixated upon Irenicus. The archmage had his arms folded, merely watching the group recover from the sudden and intense attack.

Barely comprehending what just happened, Pan stated the obvious, "You just saved me."

Still keeping his face inscrutable, Yoshimo replied, "It would besmirch my honour if any harm came to you, my esteemed leader."

"Ohhh, okaaay, that is nice, eh," she said, accepting his help standing up, warily watching out for Irenicus as she looked to see how her other friends fared.

Imoen emerged from behind a broken statue and Jaheira seemed to be limping slightly. Minsc seemed more upset than harmed as he tried to placate the madly squeaking whimpers of Boo.

Stilll slightly dazed, Pan stuck her tongue out at Irenicus, "Nyaaah, you missed."

The archmage inclined his head slightly, his hands making conjuring movements.

A groan escaped from Jaheira, "Oh child, please."

Before they could prepare themselves for another salvo, a thrumming swishing sound warbled throughout the air around them and several figures in various robes of colour stepped out of the dimensional doors that had appeared. The group became apprehensive, not knowing whether it was the cavalry or the firing squad that arrived. Even Irenicus, his stance as stoic as ever, turned to regard the robed mages.

One of them, probably the spokesperson, pointed his staff towards Irenicus and intoned in an official sounding voice, "This is an unsanctioned use of magical energy."

To the mage's left a smaller robed figure, probably an underling, piped out in a less than impressive voice, "All involved will be held! This disturbance is over!"

"Must I be interrupted at every turn?" Irencius shouted as he decapitated the smaller robed man with a sliver of magic.

Instantaneously the atmosphere was thick with the explosion and chanting of magic. Imoen threw in her spells alongside those of the robed figures who attacked Irenicus en masse while Pan was still slightly incoherent and unable to cast. The mages were putting up an equally impressive display enchantments.

So impressive that they managed to last a few moments longer than the assassin did before the last robed figure was totally obliterated.

Before he could confront Pan once more, more dimensional doors appeared, spitting robed figure after robed figure. Seemingly for every mage that Irenicus destroyed, another two would pop into place.

Pan and company decided to wisely stay out of their way.

One of the newly arrived mages shouted, clearly panicked, "This mage's power is immense! We… we must overcome him quickly."

While still casting, Irenicus practically sneered, "Your pathetic magics are useless. Let this end!"

Another mage wearing a green robe strode up fearlessly towards the cold archmage, "Even if we fall, our numbers are many. You will be overwhelmed."

Irenicus paused, his gaze sweeping over the mass of robed figures, a constant stream of them still popping out of dimensional doors. Even a squad of heavily armed soldiers could be seen making their way over. Sighing, Irenicus finally crossed his arms, "You bore me mageling. You may take me in," an audible gasp of relief coming from the mages and Pan's party.

However, Irenicus played a hidden card, his eyes coldly set upon Imoen, "But you will take the girl as well."

Startled, the companions turned to the girl whose face paled drastically, "Wh-what?"

The green robed mage spoke as if it were obvious that she must be apprehended, "You have been involved in an illegal use of magic and will come with us."

As soon as those words were spoken, Pan felt as if time slowed to a crawl. She saw the mages hold onto both Irenicus and Imoen, the girl shrieking and sobbing, her arms held out towards Pan. She saw Jaheira and Minsc struggle towards the girl, unable to get through the press of robed figures. She saw her own hand reaching for Imoen's, their desperation mirrored in each other's eyes. She saw how just few centimetres away from their fingers touching, Imoen disappeared within the dimensional doors.

In a roar of sight and sound, reality descended upon Pan. Only she and her companions were left standing in the desolation and burning rubble, all of the mages having disappeared. She fell to her knees, grasping the dirt where Imoen had just been standing, ignoring the cursing from Jaheira, the frustrations of Minsc or the curious glances of Yoshimo. Pan remained unmoving, not a sound but of her own heavy breathing.

Despite the bright of day, darkness filled her eyes.

Soon the screaming started.