Part II: the battle in the city down below
"This bird is ready to fly!" he would say, while battling through the scourge of enemies, with his silver hair whoosing behind him, tied up in a somewhat precarious ponytail---he was indeed ready to fly. Then there was that blasted whistling. Seven or eight was it? What was his obsession with birds? Quizza would wonder even in the thick of battle, where she was slamming her dagger of plus five into the back of some unfortunate dark drow. Blue blood seemed to splurge out of her hand where the dagger had sliced through. She had hit the drow with so much force and strength that her enemy disintegrated before her eyes, leaving drow armour in the wake.
Still, she was listening to the bard's whistling, caught his silver hair flying up when he swirled around to land another blow with his long sword to the enemy before him, behind him, and with his high dexterity it was a wonder how anyone without nimble feet could catch him. She could. Her dexterity was nearly as high, though unfortunate still was that her strength was not as high. She was after all, a mage fighter, dual class with special armour that protected her from the elements, giving her magic resistance to magicks dispatched at her.
She wondered where her comrades were at---in the midst of all this, in this haze of the battle. Since all she could hear were the sounds of screams and shouts, wailing noise that pierced her soul. It was the sound of death, and death always followed. Her globe of invulnerability and the protection spell from normal weapons would soon fade if she didn't hurry and run from her pursuers, hide behind a shadowed door and cast her powerful spells. The drow never retreated, and unlike many of the soldiers and mercenaries she had fought, the drow never, ever had morale failing. They would die until the end. If there were one drow running from them, she would soon see that particular drow a discredit to their race.
It was then she caught the sight of Jaheira surrounded by several drows, and they were nimble on their feet, almost as fast as the bard who had managed to slice through several of his own. He was clearly sweating, where the small beads of perspiration lined his temple, and wettened his silver hair against that elegant skull. She couldn't, no-she just couldn't help Jaheira at this time, not when one strong fighter drow was on her tail. Following her as she tried to cast her shadowed door. And when her pursuer was just about to stab the blade through her vecna magician robe, her high level spells quickly went into effect. The door swirled like the shape of a white egg---magical stars it seemed as it swirled around and around to cover her in invisibility---or through a dimension away from the arena. Jaheira's screams were heard as even her hide armour could not hold her fast, and the shield she used broke like an egg as three fast moving drows used spells and swift deadly blades to stab her through.
Quizza made a point to resurrect the druid when all this was over, but for now---now---she must make her spell. And make it count she must. She casted the comets, the flame arrows, and time stop: a most powerful spell. When the spell went into effect, Quizza felt the world around her turn black and white. It was then that she was able to take out of memory -the spells that would save her comrades.
She was successful.
The spells casted cleared the way for them, and when the carcasses decorated the floors, bloodied bodies upon bodies, she would walk out of her shadowed door---like a Queen---queen of the bhaalspawns---or so the world would think her thus. Her long robe with the slit on the side revealing a long shapely leg---the world turned from black and white, to the colours of the real world. Where time clicked forward, and the sounds of falling comets filled the air. Dead where their enemies had lain, and only one casualty on their side.
The dwarf barked out loud, his left leg stumbled as he tried to rush over to Jaheira's fallen body, "That damned fool woman. She couldn't just use a bloody blade could she? Had to go and run off away from her protectors and use the sling."
Quizza looked at her little wiry evil friend, "Korgan, you would be reprimanded by Jaheira's tongue if she heard you right now---she is a fighter as well."
"Then why the bloody sling?" He grumbled, "Now look at her. She's dead and one of you has to revive the woman. Blast it all. I should be the one to kill her, blast that bloody woman and her tongue."
Although Korgan was a little evil aligned dwarf, with the fighting skills that was nearly unrivaled, he was in his own way---finding in his dark heart soft for the druid woman. Quizza knew this but dared not approach it to him. That would perhaps be an affront to his pride and besides; it was fun watching the two of them fight like a bickering married couple.
Quizza looked over at Anomen, who was her lover priest and with the resurrection spells. He was standing over the bodies, and gritting his teeth, "I stand among the righteous, and these abominations fill my heart with darkness---I would slay them all if need be."
Quizza rolled her eyes---for though she found his loving embrace very satisfying, it was his attitude for righteousness that balked at her internally. He had a sour temper, and was a very lousy loser for anything. As a matter of fact, he had so many faults she wondered why she accepted his embrace every time they stopped at an Inn or slept underneath the stars with one blanket. Was she so lustful that the touch of his large hands upon her naked skin made her forget how utterly boorish he could be?
Perhaps. Though, she did not really have many choices at this point. There was the bard who was her former lover, and dared not approach her due to Anomen being her current lover. The bard was a sight better in attitude over the priest, though his love making could use a little more passion in it. He nearly always slept too long during their days as a couple. There was the gnome, the dwarf and the stand offish druid Cernd. Although he was formerly married and left his wife---who died by the way---he was not bad to look at---if she looked past the smelly druid cloak that reminded her of the smells of old wood and dirt. Were druids always smelling of the forest and nature itself? At least Cernd wore shoes, unlike Jaheira whose feet now bore the bottom of some kind of leather skin.
So, while Anomen stood before his dead enemies, she had to touch his arm gently for she was not in the mood for one of his striking tempers---to remind him softly of Jaheira's condition. It took a moment, or two for him to adjust himself and nod.
"Aye, of course, I shall do as I must." He told her, his dark eyes upon the body of the druid. He did a little incantation and soon Jaheira was coughing up, her body shivering as if on the verge of death, and it was Cernd who canted his healing spell over her---and in moments she was herself again.
She was often surly when she died, so Jaheira's tongue only lashed out to her fellow druid, "I could have done that myself. I still have many healing spells left of my own."
Cernd nodded, "Of course." And as ever, he remained passive and in the shadows, the saddened eyes looking far into the sky---as if he tried internally to remind himself that nature should be balanced no matter what the cost. And it did nearly cost him his son, and left his former wife to die. Could Quizza judge him on this? She did. She had to, from a woman's point of view. Because what man just leaves his wife---but then---his wife had agreed, didn't she? One day-just one day-she would sit with him and talk to him about his past. They hardly had moments to chat, not when the gnome told many fabricated stories-piled high in the sky---while the dwarf laughed heartily; while the bard sang his songs; while Anomen had her ear at all times.
They had made a killing that day, where they found much gold and sold the drow equipment to duergar merchants that sold them to other drows nearby. They had to make haste, before the sun came down, so that they could rush to the surface and leave without more casualties. There, above the ground they could rest and revive the spells that were lost.
Even as they trudged through the maze to the surface, fighting their way from Yuan-tan lizards and mages, they found themselves soon after the killings---fatigued and worn out. Their incessant whining and heavy footing felt dragged and reaching the surface seemed like an eternity-until that door---forged like iron and bronze against the warm rays, opening up to reveal the sun's first kiss.
Anything drow had disintegrated long before, finding themselves exhausted, falling heavily upon the first clearing-where the trees provided a safe haven of rest-canopied them from any falling element.
"We must rest. Lest we endanger ourselves," complained the druid, whose brown hair had gotten mussed up---the dried twigs had found their way into the strands-complicating all the beads she had spent time making to decorate her head.
Anomen had been brooding, and walked away from them. Quizza watched as he had bowed his head down, his armour making the sound of clank and chink as he stepped by the trees. His gloved hand against the trunk of the tree, signaling to her that she must go forward and comfort him; although she didn't feel like it at all for her head swam with thoughts of rest---and be damned for his whining ways.
She was after all, chaotic neutral like Anomen, and not a very good girl in the slightest. Though honestly---she could not let herself become completely evil---even when she wanted to be a bad girl. There were decisions in her life that made her enjoy life---wanting whatever comes her way. Indeed, if anything---she was just like the bard. Or Coran, the flirtatious thief fighter back Beregost where she left him.
So instead she rested her weary body against the tree and slumped into a restful well needed sleep. The others would wake her if she was needed. She did not know that she was being lifted up later-when the sun had finally gone down. Quizza was faintly realizing that she was being settled into one of their knapsacks. Anomen had comfortably eased themselves into the sack where their bodies warmed and where she woke up as if from a drugged sleep.
"Anomen?" Quizza mumbled, her eyes fluttering, "What-how?"
"Shhhh, my love, sleep. Rest, or I may have to take advantage of my fair lady."
What sweet words he could say, Quizza thought with a sluggish smile. He was quite boorish, but he was at least sweet with his words, and instead, she whispered to him, quite frankly. "Words are nice; Anomen, but I prefer the physical kind of comforting."
He grinned. Very wide indeed, and she didn't realize that she was naked underneath the sack, and he had already discarded some of his clothing---his skin hot against hers. Quick hands roamed her body eagerly, and cupped her breasts, "Aye, my lady, I knew you'd want more than my pretty words."
"Anomen..." She mumbled against his mouth, "For someone who protests so much of righteousness, you are very very wicked indeed."
He wasn't listening anymore, because he was already thrusting into her, claiming her over and over again, and her words died on her lips, replaced by moans that she could not keep hidden.
Their companions---a little ways away, surrounding the camp fire, shook their head. The dwarf mumbled, laughed a bit, "Aye, I would want some meself if we were at one of those establishments that kept the best harlots for sale."
Jaheira shook her head, "I would disapprove of such things." And as if angered by the sounds of lovemaking not too far from them---or if angered by the dwarf's words, she picked herself up, took up her sack and walked further away from the group.
"Where you going, you blasted barefoot tree-hugging wench?!" barked the dwarf.
"To hug a tree, you despicable little man."
"Oh, I'll show you little, woman!" He picked himself up, running towards Jaheira.
The gnome sat there shaking his head, "That reminds me...of one time, my uncle..."