Legend of the Phoenix Brothers
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast © with the exception of Elminster and Lord Piegiron who are the properties of Ed Greenwood/ Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.
Author's Note: Welcome to the sequel of my experimental fic "Siren's Cry."
This story focuses on Salmryn Do'Urden from when we last saw him shortly after his extraordinary birth in the last story and shows how his life progresses as he grows up. This story also follows the life of Khallis Raen-Entreri, an unlikely friend of Salmryn's with quite a colorful family himself.
"Legend of the Phoenix Brothers" will be told in a series of scenes from the two men's lives, alternating from the current time and flashbacks on moments from their early lives. This story really has no linear format and is mostly told episodically.
"Legend of the Phoenix Brothers" is rated R for strong language, graphic violence, and adult themes.
Prologue
10 of Flamerule, 1393 DR The Year of Silver Flames
I do not fancy myself much of a seer, preferring to leave that job to more skilled diviners than I. I prefer more the present, though it is said the past and I are too good of friends. As for the future, I look far enough to tomorrow's breakfast and next tenday's gathering of gnome illusionists.
I am not an expert diviner, though I will report one portent of the future that will more likely than not come into being. I see at two men of opposite morals, lots in life, and reputations who are not likely to be pleased; all because of one party.
Lord Piegeiron is already less than pleased over the affair. It was one night of thievery, murder, and ill magic all taking place at once…at his palace…on the night of his retirement party.
No one actually saw what took place and it was so inconspicuous few even heard the hurly burly that must have ensued, though the large alchemical blast could hardly be ignored. In one second a gathering of about a hundred Waterdhavian nobles, merchants, and general well-wishers to the retired Open Lord were drawn away from their business talk and dancing to the lower levels of the castle after a loud crack and shake of the chandeliers.
All that was left for the guards to clean and the partiers to gawk was a large circle of black soot against the wall in the palace wine cellar and a circle of regrettably familiar red-robed wizards lying on the newly resealed floor. All of the five Thayan wizards were dead, their robes and flesh bearing clean slashes of swords and knives of a kind we have yet to determine.
It was a scene that had us scratching our respective heads and the ensuing investigation only raised more questions. The dead Red Wizards were hardly novices by our investigation. None of them bore any longer blade than gold utility daggers that were hardly capable of inflicting those wounds.
The blast was they're doing most certain, though the full story was a bit more chilling; these five men all carried a new mixture of alchemist's fire that was at least five times more unstable than the regular substance. Each had one of the stuff and I reckon it was at least as much to take out most of the castle. Judging by their location in the Lord's castle, that was exactly their intentions.
They could have entered the castle through any means, whether through the party or a counterward against the protections surrounding the walls.
They were ultimately thwarted, only having a moment to unleash a curtain of flames against the wall. We reckoned the flames were meant for their assailants, though that's the bigger mystery.
The heroes of our tale are no where to be found. With the frontward position of the wizard's wounds, the swordsmen should have been in direct line of the flames; though there were no bodies and no ashes of any being on the floor, in the wall, or even in the wizard's pockets. It was like they vanished into the flames.
If that wasn't the puzzler, another layer was added within the tenday as items turned up missing; a golden light orb, a few decorative swords made from precious stones and metals, numerous stores of coins were tapped, the list continued. It was clear a thief or thieves managed to get into the castle, likely as party guests, though found away around the numerous wards of protection and alarm on some of the more ornate items such as the ones that were missing.
Let us put all these pieces together; five Red Wizards show up with a potent brew and are all killed by mystery swordsmen who vanished in thin fire. Add a few clear cases of larceny and you have the cherry on top of a most peculiar cake.
I wracked my brain over this mystery for nearly a month; no clues were emerging and nothing was wrapping up to a logical conclusion. I cannot say I didn't enjoy myself, quite the opposite. It was a fun puzzle I had not pieced in too long.
Lord Peigeiron was less than pleased and understandably so. He not only had a thief in his castle he could not identify through any means and he had five Red Wizards try to topple the building in some egregious plot. He was also less than pleased with my enthusiasm over this mystery.
"You may have lost a few gems, old friend," I reminded him, "though you could have lost much, much more."
I think he got a little less red after this. His Lordship is a reasonable man, though a man of law. If the thieves were the same ones who thwarted the murderous plot, the Lord would give his congratulations along with a lesser sentence for burglary.
I collected more and more evidence, from pebbles plucked from the floor to scrapes of soot from the wall to anything else. For one month I mixed finding our heroic rogues with my other projects, finding this one a bit more amusing and a bit more frustrating at the same time.
After one month of analysis and investigation, the gleeful moment of resolution came after a simple scry spell was fine-tuned to show auras as well. A few added pinches of red sulfur would play out the entire episode in a moment of victory that ended with more wonder with a dab of concern.
Our heroes were two young men; two students from New Olamn who I actually had for dinner one night. I will not share the names if the two lads for reasons I will share later in this writing. I will say one was human, a fiddler and duelist with a knack for minor sorcery. The other was an expert swordsman with the singing voice of pure beauty; one of the scarce few the water genasi in New Olamn.
They were in the cellar, adjusting an item with a golden glint in a bag of holding as they snuck up on the wizards. The Thayans had formed a circle of power; a seal in the middle bearing a bowl for the elixir.
Swords came out, wands came out, and the two boys went directly against these five higher mages…and they were astounding. The speed at which these two student bards danced in front of the Thayans, dodging fireballs and missiles, and swinging their swords was lightening in motion. They just plowed through, stepping enough into the circle to disrupt it and nimbly jumping out enough to not be caught in its magic.
Within the minute, three Thayans lay dead. The two remaining managed to evade them though took slashes to the throat and chest. The wall of fire was their last gasp and I watched in horror as the lads vanished from sight against the flaming wall shot at them as the wizards died.
I saw the flames, and I saw the lads walk from the flames a bit singed but otherwise well; their handsome faces in smirks of cocky yet appreciative victory. The blue glow on the fiddler's belt was my explanation; a cold shielding gem that the average wielder is lucky if he is protected from a campfire. Somehow they managed to enhance it to work against this flame, though both were in tact thanks to wither a miracle or some skillful tweaking.
The water-kin scattered a white sand over the circle, completely absorbing its magic as the human drew a circle of high teleportation in the floor. He grabbed his companion's arm and they both disappeared within the magic of the circle.
A few scry spells and a personal, yet disguised, visit to New Olamn told me the lads were safe, in tact, and returning to their studies and late night philosophy sessions over wine. I did not know what became of their loot though neither was flaunting any more jewelry, weapons, or instruments of any greater value than what either already had.
They had accomplished a near-perfect robbery; a task the most accomplished thieves would give their teeth for. In the process they saved the lives of over a hundred people from an evil plot.
It is a tale worthy of their fellow bards, a tale of nobility and skill that my mind's ear is already humming.
It is also a tale I am keeping to myself for the time being as I know there is yet another, perhaps more tangy layer.
The fathers of these lads are themselves the subject of many a tale, their names almost telling the tales themselves. One is a hero, a noble yet humble ranger who overcame his ill heritage to save kingdoms in the name of goodness. The second is a villainous assassin of deadly skill whose deeds have claimed lives, yet liberated many through some seeds of reluctant gallantry.
Both men have used their legendary sword skills against each other on many an occasion, both coming to the brink of death after a few of those battles. They are known as great rivals, though as of late they have been more content to carry out their own affairs as opposed to any more rounds of trying to kill each other.
I am not personally acquainted with either of the scoundrel's fathers, though their reputations and tales of their deeds speak volumes.
It is these two men who are likely not to be pleased. I know both still live and tales I have heard tell both still speak with their sons. I imagine the ranger would have angry words with his son for being there in the first place. The assassin would have seething words with his son for being so careless in his work, leaving bodies behind during such a sensitive mission.
Yet maybe these two fathers will be proud of their boys. The ranger, a noble soul but hardly a man of strict order, would hail his boy's heroism and skill as he thwarted five villains. As for the assassin, his lad after all did break in to Lord Peigeiron's castle, steal many precious items, and kill five Red Wizards without being caught.
Then again divination was never my strongest suit. I do, however, have a weakness for a bit of sentiment.
When I think on these two able young men, I think of an unlikely partnership; the sons of two mortal enemies as friends and business partners.
It is a thought on my mind every time I sneak into the Golden Horn Gambling House and see two those two young men on stage; the human in his ruffled finery strumming his Calishite fiddle and the genasi in skin tight leather strumming his yarting and belting out a Monshae pirate shanty with his haunting vocals.
I see before me two brothers who came from the flames like the proud phoenixes they are and displaying their colors for all to see.
-Elminster of Shadowdale