Disclaimer: (This should have probably gone in the beginning of the prologue, but anyway.) The Forgotten Realms, original Baldur's Gate storyline, locations and NPCs included, are the official property of Wizards of the Coast Inc. and I have no legal rights over any of it. All modifications and deviations from the original products contained in this story belong to the author (Me, go figure!) and... well, can be used without my consent, but it would be nice if permission was asked for first.

Author's Notes: I figured you might like to have a look at my in-game Vendice's character sheet, from the saved game I'm using along this story, so you'll find a freshly-started game screenshot here (You'll have to remove the spaces before and after the first two dots and add an underscore between Inconspicuous and Acuity. Sorry, the site eats the link otherwise.): i110 . photobucket . com/albums/n92/InconspicuousAcuity/Baldr005.jpg . If you're wondering about the BG2-ish interface and character class kit, I am playing Baldur's Gate Trilogy at this time; in short, it's a WeiDU engine MOD that converts BG1 with TotSC and all and attaches it to BG2 with ToB, in the proper place, so that you can play through it all as one big game. I'd ask you to forget about the skald part for now, though, she's just a simple bard at the beginning of the story. ;)

One rather odd request. Let me know if you think it's too loaded; I've been working to recreate the atmosphere and places, having in mind this is the exposition chapter, but I might have overdone it. Thanks.

Reality is a question of perspective; the further you get from the past,

the more concrete and plausible it seems -- but as you approach

the present, it inevitably seems incredible. - Salman Rushdie


CHAPTER ONE

Delirium Reality

Time always seemed to stand still in Candlekeep; it felt almost as if the world could vanish entirely in the blink of an eye and the quiet fortress with its isolationist monks and clifftop base would still be there, unchanged. Nothing ever happened inside the old walls. Despite the renown of the library in the center, despite trying to pose as something more, Candlekeep was but a small coastal town where everyone knew everyone and everything the others did, where you couldn't keep a secret for longer than two hours and where trivial daily matters were all that counted. Even the visitors who came to study the library's vast collection of old books and scrolls were mostly solitary scholars and hedonistic dreamers, more than happy to blend in with the local peace and quiet. So, as Vendice had convinced herself a long time ago, nothing special ever did happen in the Keep.

Of course stuff happens!

The permanently indignant impish voice in her head had devoted its very existence, which Vendice could not explain anyway, to contradicting and mocking her at every turn. The young girl tolerated it and always had. On the one hand, there wasn't a way she could get rid of it. On the other hand, it was the only thing that made her special, prevented her from turning into Winthrop the Innkeeper, Hull the Guard or some other boring, simple-minded Candlekeep resident.

Vendice rolled her eyes. "No, it doesn't," she muttered. The girl sighed – bad idea; it forced her to inhale deeply afterwards and a sizeable amount of the dust in the air invaded her lungs. Coughing severely, she cursed the rural setting once again; an urban warehouse would have had a floor of stone, while this one's walls surrounded a patch of leveled dirt. Irritated, she continued to sweep the floor with the old broom, thankful this one had a long stick for a handle, unlike the small one Reevor had given her last time; sweeping the floor had left her back aching most unpleasantly then.

Her moves directed the small body of a dead rat toward the pile of them in a corner, by the open mouth of a sack, while the screechy voice began its ordeal anew. Things do happen! it insisted. You've returned Phlydia's lost book... for the third time just this week! You found a cure for Dreppin's diseased cow, the lovely Nessa. It stopped abruptly to snicker as it rummaged through her brain for more information about her doings of the day and the girl bore through it stoically. Oh! And you've retrieved old Firebead's scroll from Tethtoril and Hull's forgotten sword from the barracks! Plus, this is your last chore for the day. Then you can go help Imoen with her own!

Imoen. The girl was the closest thing to a sister that Vendice had; and she was very annoying. Wait – where had the last part come from? That wasn't true, Vendice liked Imoen and they were close. "Oh, yes, I'm a veritable heroine!" she exclaimed mockingly, trying to concentrate and forget about the ambiguous moment. "With all that, I have surely saved Candlekeep from death and destruction!"

Death and destruction? the voice sneered in her head. You're so poetic, aren't you? Kid's fantasies, wanna-be adventuress, eh? Well, you should write a novel!

Vendice paused with sweeping the floor and looked to see if there were any more of the rats she had previously killed to add to the pile. By then, the dust was so dense that tears had begun to well up in her eyes and she could barely see anything. Sighing, she gave up and placed the broom against the wall, refraining from the taking of any other 'inspired' deep breaths. Reevor wasn't going to like it if she had omitted any dead rats, but she was sick of the place and through with it for the day. "I do write things," she finally reminded the voice. "Ballads, poems. You know, what bards usually do. Not that I find much inspiration around here."

The voice would have found some manner of mockery to respond with, she was sure, but it had no time. Just then, the warehouse's door swung wide open and in stepped a distressed Gorion. The old white-bearded mage, a reputed Harper (How had he managed to keep THAT secret from the pack of townsfolk?), was Vendice's foster father. He had taken her in when she was barely a baby; the mage had always been kind and patient with the irascible and moody girl and had taught her much, as well as told her many tales. One thing, however, he had never disclosed: the identity of her real parents. Vendice had always assumed he didn't know or something, although Imoen and Winthrop seemed to think otherwise.

The sight of the old man, however, was far from comforting at that particular moment. He was deathly pale and more preoccupied than ever, enough to worry Vendice from the very beginning. He didn't allow for the girl to speak, though, gesturing quickly for silence as he approached.

"Here you are, child!" his soft, caring voice echoed through the warehouse. He gave a furtive look to the pile of rats when he nearly stepped on it, but stopped near his adopted daughter.

"I'm helping around, as always," she informed him, beaming proudly when her eyes locked on his. The persistent concern on his face, however, did nothing but increase her own, well-hidden worries.

Normally, Gorion would have encouraged her good intentions with praise for such hard work. Now, he just took her hand quickly. "Child," he said gravely, handing her a pouch of what was obviously gold, judging by the weight and feel. "This is as much as I can spare at the moment. I want you to go to Winthrop's and buy a sword, maybe some armor if you think you can manage."

"Father," Vendice protested, just about as confused as she could ever get. "What is going on?"

"I want you to come with me on my next expedition in the mountains," he assured her it was nothing she should really worry about, "It requires that we depart urgently, that's all." Gorion smiled as best he could and patted her on the shoulder. "Be quick about it; I'll be waiting at the library."

With that, the old man let go of her and shuffled away before she could even blink, not to mention ask more questions. A baffled Vendice hurried to grab the sack and sweep it over the floor, mouth held wide open, thus managing to ingeniously get the rats inside without touching them. Then, she pulled it shut and headed out.

Reevor was standing by the door, taking mighty swigs of ale out of a mug and waiting for her to finish the job. The dwarf had always been afraid of rodents, which was most amusing for Vendice.

"Deed's done," the half-elven girl announced proudly, tossing the sack at his feet in a gentle fall.

"And here is your payment," the dwarf replied, still trying to look morose despite his obvious relief. He handed her five shiny gold pieces, which she stuffed away with the others, in the pouch she had received from Gorion. "Don't spend it all in one place!" advised Reevor all-knowingly, then he continued to mutter something about glorious battles.

Vendice smirked as she walked away. Something was finally happening!

"Come to visit your old pal Winthrop, have ye?" the middle-aged portly man asked as he dabbed at his sweaty brow with a worn handkerchief.

Vendice propped a hand on the counter and used its temporary support to casually toss herself on top, managing not to pull down more than one goblet, which her other hand caught halfway through its fall. She smiled girlishly as she lay back against the wall and crossed one leg over the other most charmingly. Winthrop glared and snatched his goblet from her, satisfied only when the object was safely deposited on a table behind him.

"Dear Winthrop," Vendice began matter-of-factly while trying to call upon the snobby exclusive air some of the rare noble visitors had. "I need to buy a sword." She had counted her gold coins carefully, her earnings for the day added to Gorion's sum, since she had given up on those sweets and shirt she was going to buy. Her pouch contained a total of 120 pieces, a number of which she was particularly proud.

The innkeeper grinned as he skipped back over to her side. "Sure thing," he said shrugging. "But first, don't forget the 5000 gold piece..."

"...book entrance fee," Vendice finished for him dryly. "I know; I've heard you tried this on Firebead the other day."

Winthrop had always been a huge kidder, but he didn't change his tricks often enough for the way rumor traveled in Candlekeep. And as if that wasn't enough, Imoen had caught on the same taste for jokes from the innkeeper. 'What a bunch of losers,' Vendice thought to herself as Winthrop's enthusiastic smirk faded into disappointment. They are NOT! the pesky little voice corrected promptly. 'Fine, they aren't! ... Actually, I don't know why I thought that? I like them.' They ARE losers. 'Will you decide for something already?' Will you? The taunting snicker was so annoying.

Vendice growled. "Listen, Mr. Superiority..." Her words died down as soon as she realized she had grabbed a glass and was holding it up for a throwing weapon. She inhaled deeply and put it back down as she faced Winthrop's distressed look.

"What are you doing?" the innkeeper asked, staring at her in awe.

An excuse. A plausible lie. Anything! She searched frantically. The noble! screeched the voice. 'The noble!' she gasped in relief, on a mental level. Her eyes were drawn to an adjacent room by a will that did not fully belong to her; the door was open and she could see the extravagantly dressed man and his no less pompous wife.

"I'm sorry," Vendice excused herself to Winthrop, pointing that way. "Those snobs always get on my nerves."

"Ya gave me a good scare there!" the innkeeper said, making the handkerchief into a fan, then he grinned mischievously. "Ya got me with that one; you'd make a great actress in some city theater!" He laughed heartily and then, seeing she had remained silent, he poked her arm. "It was a good act, kid!"

Vendice nodded complacently and smiled. 'I wasn't acting!' she thought dismally. 'I could have hurt him!' Tee hee! screeched the voice. Fun! She shook her head, as if to chase the last traces of amusement. "So, how about that sword?" she put the conversation back on track.

"Yes, yes!" Winthrop remembered. He scanned the room – no one seemed to be needing anything at the moment. Not that he had many clients at that time of the day. "Let's go rummage through those crates in the most recent shipment; see if you like anything."

The innkeeper turned and headed for the backroom. Vendice sighed profusely; this was so hard to control without Gorion or Parda around. She dusted herself off the counter and gave chase.

She felt quite rightfully qualified. For the role of 'village idiot'. She kept her eyes fixed on the ground as she walked, imagining the locals scoff behind her back and then run off to tell others. Of course, had she actually looked at the people, she would have noticed they were only curious and nothing more.

Yes, you must look ridiculous wearing that chain mail, the voice was only too quick to agree and then tease. Makes you look fat; and it's not even comfortable! And besides, you're a simple girl, not suited for that kind of thing.

Vendice wasn't even really paying attention to what it said anymore. She just wanted to get out of sight and meet up with Gorion as soon as possible, but not before she had outdone herself, as usual. She had heard Gorion mention how healing potions saved his life in many of his tales, especially those that featured no clerics or druids. Of course, though, the Temple wouldn't give any for free and she had no more money. So, the girl had made it her current objective to reach the Priest's Quarter and obtain the potions from her former teacher, Parda.

It wasn't far, just on the North side of the keep, and she was there in a few minutes only to find the door wide open. 'How unusual,' she thought.

Someone got in there and murdered them all! Ha ha! Serves them fools well enough, for being pansies that can't fight! "Shut up," muttered a morose Vendice as she stepped over door mat and threshold together.

The Priest's Quarter only had one chamber, the one she was in now; it wasn't large, but the lack of any furniture other than a bed, a table and a few chairs made it look roomy. A small carpet lay in the middle, in front of the only window, probably where the priest knelt in the morning and evening for his prayers.

Parda, one of the librarian monks, was in charge of preparing the potions and scrolls sold at the Temple. He wasn't there when Vendice entered, but the girl did find a man inside, one who was wearing a red tunic and looked foreign. She hadn't seen him before, that much was certain.

"Oh, goodie, goodie!" the man cried out when he saw her. "I've gone and found ye first!" He took two huge steps and was in front of her immediately. "You are the ward of Gorion, no doubt?"

Vendice blinked at the unexpected turn of events. Maybe he's got news to give you, hmm? came the high-pitched voice's judgment. On the other hand, maybe he just did away with the pansy priest and stuffed the body under the bed?

"Oh, do shut up!" Vendice snapped, too late to realize she was doing it out loud. She looked for a way to mend it quickly. "Err... please? I'm in a hurry and don't want people to know I'm here. Don't tell anyone!"

She had played her part perfectly, but all the man did was grin and produce a dagger from a small pocket in the tunic's side. "Yes, yes," he dismissed her simulated concern excitedly. "It so happens that your head's worth alotta money to someone. Nothing personal, you see, but I have to..."

His voice died away into an indefinite groan of pain and a choking fit when one of Vendice's two newly purchased swords was stabbed through his belly. The girl's usually pretty, half-elven features were distorted by a fit of rage she could not explain; she was just... feeling it. She had just felt like attacking that man. Just felt like killing him before he could kill her.

But he wasn't dead yet, just gasping for air. "You shouldn't have talked so much," she said viciously, plunging the blade even deeper into his body. "You should have ACTED." Deeper. The man was shaken by a horrible spasm as he reflexively clutched at the blade, but he fell dead all too soon and went completely limp.

The body slipped away, blood spilling all over as he collapsed and edged away along the sword which a frozen, wide-eyed Vendice who had just realized what she had done held motionlessly. The thud the corpse gave when it hit the floor resounded ten times louder in Vendice's imagination than it actually did in reality and the girl started abruptly and dropped her sword as you would a disgusting, slimy snake.

You know, the voice in her head didn't share the dismay. I take that back about the chain mail. It's a wonderful, wonderful thing. This fool should have been wearing some too.

Vendice gaped uncontrollably, shivering with a cold that wasn't out there, just inside of her; she felt her knees buckle beneath her. "What have I done?" she murmured dismally. "I've killed someone!"

It took her a while to realize she was hearing other voices than the local resident in her head, who continued to ramble about armor. By the time she did, the sound of footsteps associated with those other voices was more than clear; the very next moment, two monks came in. Vendice turned to look at them, the blood having flushed from her features and her lips moving as if she wanted to speak, though no words came out.

She knew both of them; they had taught her many things during the years and she had been eager to learn. The yellow-robed one was Parda, the monk she had come there seeking in the first place, while the slightly older green-robed one was named Karan.

"What happened here, child?" one of them asked; she wasn't lucid enough yet to tell which.

"I didn't know murder made one feel so..." Powerful! Powerful! Say powerful! "...miserable." Vendice sighed and then collapsed into Parda's embrace and began to sob; it was impossible to tell if she was actually being eaten at by remorse or just overcoming the huge shock.

The two monks eyed each other worriedly, then both looked at the blood-bathed sword and body on the floor, but they said nothing. Finally, Vendice calmed down enough to realize it was time for an explanation. She reluctantly pulled away from Parda and the comfort he offered.

"Well?" Karan demanded, deeming they had waited enough.

"He attacked me," said Vendice decidedly. "I don't know who he is, but he was here when I came in and..." She left it there, unable to not feel a pang of guilt: he hadn't attacked her, he was going to, and she could have just immobilized, not killed him. Liarrrrr! came the voice's immediate reaction as a terrible shriek that chilled her to the marrow. You are a wretched LIAR! You will burn in the Abyss! Vendice blanched instantly, losing the bit of color that had returned to her.

"You don't look well, child," said Parda as he felt at her forehead and checked for any fever.

Meanwhile, Karan had bent over and retrieved her dirty long sword from the floor. "Let's help you clean this," the old monk offered. "And then you should go find Gorion; he's been pacing the library like a caged lion waiting for you."

"Heya!" a cheerful and very girly voice greeted Vendice as the bard made for the library's front pair of artesian fountains.

The place was full of flowers of all kinds displayed in neat, orderly rows on each side of the tiled path and the air was sweet and fresh, as it befitted any first day of Mirtul. Somehow, Imoen's child-like charm felt as if it belonged there, with that undisturbed harmony, and Vendice couldn't help but smile back at the grinning redhead when their eyes met.

"Don't tell old Winthrop I'm here!" Imoen continued pleadingly when she was closer. She stopped and gave a hearty, content yawn. "I've got all day to do his chores." She pouted at Vendice's chuckle, but got over it the very next moment. "So, what have ya been up to?" she asked, playfully poking her friend in the ribs.

She's a bit MORE curious than usual, if that's possible! remarked the omnipresent voice. Outrageous! Vendice ignored it completely. "Imoen," she said, forcing herself into seriousness. "I would love to sit and chat with you, but I'm in a hurry." She paused. "Although... I guess I do owe you a proper goodbye."

"You gonna be gone for long?" the redhead smiled innocently, twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she spoke. That particular girl always seemed to be moving, even when she wasn't taking any steps.

"And how did YOU know I was leaving?" Vendice exclaimed more than asked.

"I never get to travel," Imoen avoided providing that answer and called upon an affected tone. "Wish I could go with ya. Yep. I really wish I could. Yessir. Really do." The girl didn't stop nodding through it all.

"Fine, fine, I can see where that's going!" Vendice snickered, then her lips curled into a big all-knowing grin. "The things I go through for you." She shook her head. "All right, I'll ask Gorion if you can come."

"He'd never even let you finish the sentence," Imoen huffed playfully. "Especially after what that letter..." She stuttered a bit, but then just grinned out with subtle mischief. "...The letter that I never saw said. Yep. Never saw no letter." She faced Vendice's cocked eyebrow with the most innocent countenance the half-elf had ever seen. "I'll just get back to work now. You had better go, too, before Gorion puts a hole in that floor with so much pacing back and forth."

Imoen darted past her friend in her usual light-hearted manner, whistling a happy tune. Vendice shook her head and turned to look after the redhead until she lost her beyond the walls encircling the Inner Grounds. "Not my idea of a proper goodbye," the bard told herself. "But it'll do, I guess."

Besides, some pesky little voice was getting too insistent along the lines of: Come onnn! This is boring! The expedition should be exciting! The sooner we go, the better! 'For once, you're right,' Vendice thought at it as she began to make for the library's entrance, nodding to Tethtoril when she went past the red-robed superior monk.

She found Gorion waiting on the marble steps at the door; apparently, he had grown too impatient to stay inside. He had changed into his dull gray traveling robes and was carrying a backpack, while another was strapped to his shoulders. He handed her the first one as soon as they met.

"You will need this, eventually, trust me," he assured her.

Vendice thought it wise to follow Parda's good advice and let her step father know of the attempt that had been made on her life. Well, almost made; she omitted the details once again, but this time the voice refrained from shrieking like a mad old witch – being near Gorion and his wise calm always seemed to temper the little nuisance.

The old wizard sighed deeply. "I guess I should let you know, then, that it's not an expedition we're going on."

"It isn't?" gaped Vendice without thinking first.

He looked at her awkwardly. "I hadn't thought you so naive, child," he said, preoccupied. Vendice flushed. "This is not good," Gorion continued. "But we must go, and urgently. The Keep is no longer safe."

"Wait," Vendice came to her senses enough to speak coherently. "Where IS it we are going, then?"

"I haven't decided yet."

He began to walk away and she followed. The old wizard gestured emphatically, as he often did when a lot was on his mind, and he exposed the possibilities to her, each with its own advantages. He even mentioned a few friends of his which he left nameless on purpose and Vendice didn't press. She knew he would tell her when he saw fit. Do you, now? 'I thought you were silent around him!' Thought wrong! Hee!

They reached the gates and Gorion stopped her abruptly, placing his hands on her shoulders. When he was sure her full attention was on him, he spoke, on perhaps the most serious tone Vendice had ever heard. Not even Karan was so serious, when he taught her history back in the old library's halls. "Listen carefully," the old wizard said. "Should we ever become separated, you must go to the Friendly Arm Inn. There, you will meet Khalid and Jaheira. They are old friends, you can trust them."

Vendice nodded, still confused and lost, and he let go of her. "Father," she started to protest, but Gorion turned away to let the Gatewarden know they were leaving for an undetermined period of time. The girl looked desolately frightened. Odd names. Foreign sounding! "Who cares?" she muttered.

It was late, night had fallen, it had begun to rain, the wind was making odd whistly sounds as it blew through the trees and Gorion was as silent as if they were walking through the cemetery. A gloomy Vendice strode behind him, cold, wet and convinced that all the bad things had happened already and nothing could make the start of their journey worse. Why weren't they following the safe road, anyway?

The voice seemed unusually cheerful, too, which only served to distress the bard even further. I'm saaafe in your heaaad, it hummed like a spoiled brat. While you're wet and cooold! Vendice sighed and tried to send it away by shaking her head. For the fiftieth time already.

She ran smack into Gorion. "Ow!" she exclaimed, pulling back. "I'm sorry, but..." A single gesture of his reduced her to silence and she just rubbed her forehead grumpily.

Gorion looked around for a few more moments, then turned to face his step daughter with much distress. "Something doesn't seem right," he warned quietly. "We may be in danger."

"You're perceptive for an old man," they heard a dark, contempt-filled voice from the right. Both turned as one and looked.

Four figures detached from the shadows of a nearby cluster of trees and advanced on them. The front man was unnaturally tall and clad in a spiked suit of black armor that looked to be very much alive and breathing. The sight of him and his yellow, glowing eyes sent an instant chill down Vendice's spine. His followers were a woman and two ogres, which didn't look as massive as those creatures usually did, because they stood barely two inches taller than the man.

"You know why I'm here," the armored figure stated calmly before Gorion could speak. "Hand over your ward and no one will be hurt. If you resist, it shall be a waste of your life."

It's YOU he wants! Mebeh he just thinks you're pretty? (Snicker.) He doesn't look like one for pretty things though. Unless pretty means ogre. Vendice shook her head and listened to Gorion's answer.

"You're a fool if you believe I would trust your benevolence," the old wizard spoke proudly. Suddenly, he no longer looked like Vendice's weary foster father; he stood straight and defiant. Hidden strength resounded along with the new tone of his voice. He wasn't an old man, he was a powerful mage. And he was dangerous. "Step aside and you and your lackeys will be unhurt," he proclaimed his own threat in a simple, quiet manner.

"I am sorry that you feel that way, old man," the armored figure replied coldly, confident and sure he would obtain victory there.

"Father!" Vendice shouted dismally through the rain, but the wind ate her call. Or maybe she hadn't actually spoken it at all, she couldn't be sure with the voice dancing and humming obliviously through her head, with a terrible echo.

"Hurry, child!" the wizard urged, already casting his first spell. Where he found the time to speak in mid-incantation, Vendice wouldn't know. The Magic Missile flew at the nearest ogre as all four ambushers approached; the creature staggered and Gorion turned to the bard. "Get out of here!" he commanded.

She wouldn't have listened, but the spell the woman had cast hastily hit her chest in full and she toppled over, stumbling and crashing to the grassy ground. She found herself rolling away down the mild slope of the hillock atop which they were situated, with the last image of Gorion that of a wizard casting spells in a frenzy at three rapidly approaching attackers.

Vendice hit her head, her back and her pretty much everything else repeatedly as she tumbled and rolled off with the grace of a boulder. Still, she found the strength to stand as soon as the slope died into a leveled plain and she dazedly made her way through the soaked knee-high grass in the first direction her eyes saw. As she realized how real this was and her fear grew and gained unimaginable proportions, her speed increased.

Memorable! the voice screeched away in delight. Breathtaking! Promise me we'll never forget tonight! It felt exhilarating! 'It did!' Vendice thought. 'To finally see the overprotective old man die! I am free!' She shook her head in the immediate aftermath, horrified. "NO!" she yelled through the night at the top of her lungs, even as she ran. "I loved Gorion! Stop making a monster of me!" Tears broke her wall of resistance and began to roll down her cheeks along with the raindrops, their warmth dying quickly once it made contact with the atmosphere.

Eventually, she ran out of breath completely. Gasping, a half-blind Vendice collapsed to her knees and looked at the small portion of what was ahead that she could still see. Her head pounded along with the frantic, terrified heart that had risen into her throat. She saw the road, its silent old rows of cobble arranged in their places and she crawled on all fours, made for it as the lost pilgrim reaches out for a God.

There, on the cold stone, she fell completely; her face hit the ground with the loud crack of bones. Nooo! Don't stooop! This was FUN! ... The disappointed voice. "You!" she growled furiously, rolling to a side to punch at the road below her. "Shut up! It's YOUR fault!" She knew it wasn't true, but she needed a vent, anything she could direct her rage at. And the voice was always there.

Tsk, tsk, it responded. MY fault? It was YOUR fault. Yours. The armored one was after you. YOU caused Gorion's death! The image of a thousand accusing fingers pointing at her invaded Vendice's mind. Yes! the voice wailed, seemingly thrilled with its new idea. It was you. You and your 'Nothing ever happens here!' whining. Well, stuff did happen. How do you like it NOW?

It went on for a while, with Vendice groaning and thrashing about. It was a dream. It had to be. Reality was never so delirious.

And then, the blackness came. And the silence.

She woke up slowly, to the fresh air of morning and the cheerful chirping of birds. To the aromatic scent of trees whose flowers were in full bloom and to the distant sound of the restless sea. To a sky of blue and a sun as bright as always. And to Imoen's friendly, smiling face.

WHAT?

She sat up abruptly and the redhead drew back in time to avoid the impact of their foreheads. "Imoen!" Vendice exclaimed, gasping. "I knew it! I knew it had to be a dream!"

But the usually cute redhead's half-pained half-sympathetic expression said otherwise and the bard's shoulders slouched – she trembled. "It wasn't, was it?" she finally said weakly. Sure it wasn't! The voice again; she had hoped it wouldn't come back so soon after she had awoken.

Imoen purposefully didn't answer that. "I'm sorry I followed ya," she said simply. "But I never get out of Candlekeep and those monks are such a bore!" She paused a little. "I did my best to clean your face, ya know, but your hair is still filthy."

Vendice groaned as she felt at the top of her blond head and then down through the formerly silky strands that now stuck together in a crust of dried mud. "I'll take care of it... somehow," she muttered as she was pulling herself to her feet. The world spun about for a moment, but then all was as good as new.

She looked around – all seemed so... normal. What were you expecting? Hmm? That the world was revolving around your old Harper and now would have to come down crashing? Or maybe that it revolves around you and should be mirroring your sorrow? Well, tough luck! It doesn't! As much as she didn't want to admit it, the voice was right. Time wouldn't stand still for her and she had to move on lest all else should leave her behind.

"Where are we?" she asked Imoen.

The roguish girl shrugged. "Dunno exactly," she said. "Some good distance East of Candlekeep. You won't be able to return there, though. Winthrop could get me in, but they wouldn't have you back."

Yes, they would. Wouldn't they? No, and Vendice knew. The monks were pretty helpful in general, but theirs was an exclusive society; the first thing that mattered to them was the peace and quiet and the safety of the library. She turned abruptly and came to face her friend. "You should go back," she told her firmly. "I don't want to endanger you." She paused, shaking her head, and spoke again before Imoen could. "I mean... no, stay. Please. I'm so... scared?" Her voice almost faltered and she bit her lip.

Imoen pretended not to have noticed her weakness; that made Vendice feel comfortable and grateful. "The letter," said the redhead. "The one I read and found out... stuff from. You should prolly see it. Maybe it's still on his..." She took a clumsy break, painful for both of them. "...his body," she finished.

Vendice nodded, blinking back a new stream of tears. The two girls came together and their hands found each other in a soothing way. They walked like that, with Imoen pointing the right direction.

As bad as things were, reality needed to be faced.