CH2
The gnoll chieftain's nearsighted eyes focused on the dark elf before him, snorting and hefting the massive warhammer he used to kill the previous chieftain. The drow that slowly advanced on him had two daggers in her hands, and wore leather armor that the powerful gnoll didn't doubt held magic. "Stop the mage!" He barked out to the gnolls he commanded, and many turned to advance on the purple-robed one. What happened next stunned the fighter, for the drow he'd been keeping an eye on suddenly dropped her weight, crouched, and shot one booted foot out into the large gnoll's groin. A loud, high-pitched shriek escaped the chieftain as the female's heel connected soundly with his pride, bringing the gnoll to his knees. As soon as his knees hit the ground, pain exploded in the beast's head as one eye suddenly shut out. The commotion had prevented the dimwitted monster from hearing the soft click from the cleric's crossbow.
"Uh… Tarathiel! I could use a little guarding here!" Arlin shouted as he backed up, still performing the gestures for the cone of cold. However, the shout wasn't needed; the elf was already hurling throwing knives into the gnolls nearest the sorcerer. Jena, too, focused on protecting the purple-clad man, her bolt hitting home again and again. Arlin nodded his thanks, and held both hands out, at the exact time as Cairn did. The two unleashed cones of freezing-cold air, focused from their palms outward, and the two overlapping spells created a sphere in the center, rendering the majority of the horde frozen solid. The chieftain remained kneeling, both hands pressed against the bleeding eye socket. Calmly, Arlin moved over to it, and hefted his scythe, looking to Cairn expectantly. Zarra turned and buried her face in Jena's shoulder, not wanting to see what was sure to come next, and put her hands over delicately-pointed ears. Once he'd made sure Zarra wouldn't have to put up with the execution, the fey'ri sighed and nodded, chopping his hand down. Expressionlessly, Arlin swung the scythe downwards, and decapitated the gnoll chieftain in one fell movement. The leader's heart squeezed as he heard the kindhearted drow sob once; the shadowdancer regarded murder as a great injustice, unless there was no chance it could be avoided.
The party rode on, wordless, Jena and the drow side-by-side, the former comforting the latter. Arlin was slightly separated from the party, as usual, staring straight ahead. Cairn could never figure out what went through his head… and oftentimes the fighter didn't want to know. He suspected Arlin of some mild madness, but he was in no hurry to prove himself right or wrong. Tarathiel had ridden ahead, keeping his eyes on the woods to either side of the road, in case any more bandits sought to waylay the bandits. Three goblins to the left, two and a shaman to the right, the elf informed the party once he returned. The fighter rode over to Shan, and produced his longbow and an arrow, at the same time Jena readied her crossbow and took aim. Cairn looked to Zarra and Arlin,
The two of you, follow me, we'll keep them occupied until Jena and Tarathiel can finish them off, he signed Drow and human nodded, and the fey'ri led them off, into the woods. The rogue pulled off, knowing she'd only impede the two spellcasters in their work.
The battle, as it was, took little time if any at all. The two sorcerers had cast fear spells on the goblins, and then Cairn used a cantrip to freeze the ground in the ugly little beasts' path, causing them to sip and fall. From their prone positions, the goblin band was easily picked off by the elf and the cleric. Zarra had no qualms when Cairn finished off the shaman as the ugly monster attempted a final spell, for she rationalized that if he hadn't killed it, they would at least be injured.
Again the party rode on, before the drow cried out joyfully, riding past them and pulling her mount to a halt at the top of one hill, "Baldur's Gate…" the rogue said softly, watching the sun rise, with the port city set against it, "it's beautiful." Jena rode up alongside her, grinning,
"Aye, and in the right places the interior matches the view." Here, Arlin rode up to the drow's other side, looking over to Zarra. An unspoken apology, acceptance, and forgiveness passed between the two, before the two fighters came to join them. Cairn spoke up first,
"Okay…Jena, you said we'll meet our employer at the Elfsong, yes?" The half-elf couldn't take her stare from the scenery before her,
"Yes. Cairn, when are we going to go back to Rashemen?" The fighter looked over at her, surprised. By all accounts, Jena had joined the small band to leave that country. Sadly, our fearless leader has had his fill of his homeland, it seems. Ayuvir piped up, its tone wry, teasing.
"Oh, hush, or I'll have you melted down and used for a walking stick," Tarathiel chided, half-joking. I'll be good. Cairn simply stared out at the port city, famous for a string of events set shortly after the Times of Troubles. Turning that unnatural gaze back to his companions, the fey'ri made a decision and urged his horse forward.
---
On the other side of Faerun, in Rashemen's bitter cold, a pale elf wrapped herself tightly in a fur-lined wool cloak, shivering, "For Tymora's sake," the fair-haired elf lamented, "Why does your land have to be so bloody cold?" The stout, white-haired dwarf next to her laughed heartily, and slapped her on the back,
"Bah! You're just used to the warmer lands, pointy-ears!" The elf cast vibrant green eyes over to him,
"At least you don't stink, O Bearded One…" she muttered, before deciding it wouldn't be an intelligent endeavor to speak with her teeth chattering as they were, she relied very much upon her voice and ability to form words. It simply wouldn't do to bite half her tongue off. I swear, when I get back to Waterdeep, I am not moving one foot for a tenday, at least! The thought brought comfort to the miserably-cold moon elf. She promised herself she would hire a servant just for that period, to wait on her hand, foot, and head if need be. The cloak-covered female decided she'd pass the time by shivering, since the dwarf obviously wasn't in a talkative mood. Just as well, the elf didn't want to die out here irritated as well as frozen.
"Oy there! Are you alright, miss?" The call came from outside the firelight the elf and the arctic dwarf had struck. The bard, in a foul mood thanks in great part to the chill, shouted back,
"No, I'm cold, miserable, and I hurt! Now get over here and rescue me!" The bushes around them rustled, and a tall, solid man clad in gleaming full plate led a roan-colored horse into view. The seven stars and flowing river, the symbol of Mystra, goddess of magic, adorning the chest of his mithral mail, as well as the way the mail gleamed—it seemed to shed a light of its own—left little doubt in the bard's mind, she and the dwarf were looking at a paladin, a crusader. The dwarf next to her guffawed, slapping the elf on the back,
"Bah! 'Tis only that goody-two-shoes Roland, and his little packhorse." The paladin just sighed, he'd gotten used to the dwarf's teasing demeanor, he was almost gnomelike in his whimsical nature.
"Very funny Korgan. So, this is the bard that the Rashemi have been looking so hard for, is it?" Roland began walking towards the shivering elf, resting one gauntleted hand on her head, and whispering to himself. Suddenly, the bard noticed she didn't feel the chill anymore. A weak smile found her lips,
"Thank you. Now, can we get out of this godsforsaken country? I could go for a couple weeks in Amn, personally." Again, Korgan burst out laughing,
"You elves, always complaining. Come on, pointy-ears, where's your sense of adventure?"
"In Amn, obviously." the handsome knight replied, "If you recall, hasn't Athkala recently dealt with problems concerning a certain Bhaalspawn and a mad mage?
"Aye, they just finished that little fiasco, I heared two o' his friends stuck back 'ere." The bard spoke up at length,
"Didn't Abdel travel with a drow and two Rashemi?" Again, Roland nodded,
"He did. I believe he and the drow, the last surviving DeVir on the surface, remained in one another's' company for some time. As for the Rashemi, only the berserker returned. I fear the Rashemi mage died, before the entire Spellhold incident." The moon elf listened intently through the paladin's explanation,
"Oh, give me a month with this man, I'll make a bard of him yet." She muttered to her dwarf companion, who just shrugged and grinned.
The three left the following morning, with the elf atop Roland's horse, the knight easily holding the reins in his left hand. Korgan whistled lightheartedly, urgosh held at ready in both hands. The usually howling winter winds were silent, the chirping of winter birds accompanying the sound of footsteps and horse hooves hitting the dirt road. After what seemed like an eternity, the light-haired paladin looked up, "By the way, Lady Bard, what did you say your name was?" The elf was silent, the hood of her cloak pulled low. At length, she spoke up,
"Larynna." Roland nodded, as though he'd forgotten. He hadn't, really, the bard hadn't given her name to begin with. The three spoke of lighter things, and Korgan's unending repertoire of dwarven drinking songs, as well as Larynna singing the songs she'd grown up with in Evermeet, allowed the time for the three to pass rather quickly.
---
"What the bloody hell do you mean there's no bloody damn vacancy?!" Arlin demanded, glaring at the ugly innkeeper. Cairn just sighed, this had to be the fourth inn they'd visited that refused them service. He didn't blame them, even though he looked like any regular gold elf, Zarra was most definitely a drow, a race with a deservedly evil reputation.
"Wot I mean, guv, is I ain't 'bout to give no room to no reeking drow." the innkeeper said calmly. Cairn moved forward, sighing again,
"Arlin, go join the others. Innkeeper, what do you mean you won't give us a room? I'm very sure our prospective employers wouldn't like hearing this... unique establishment refused us service on account of one of our members not quite fitting your idea of a goodhearted adventurer." The scowling human just turned his head, coughed up a wad of phlegm, and spat,
"You got one room, merchant class." Cairn nodded, less than what he'd hoped for, more than he expected,
"Don't expect full price, then." the mercenary leader advised, heading back to the party. Tarathiel was silent, as usual, Arlin was still in his fine mood, swearing up a storm and a half, Zarra was covering her ears, and Jena seemed nearly ready to slap the sorcerer herself. The fey'ri could sympathize, "Arlin, shut up. Jena, calm down. Zarra, you okay?" The rogue nodded some, and playfully slapped Arlin on the back of his head,
"Idiot. If you keep that up, you'll be the reason we won't get rooms, not me." The human had nothing to say to that, so he just grinned his lazy grin and shrugged, before gathering his and Zarra's bags,
"I'll go unload our stuff. Tarathiel, why not look into getting those supplies now?" The elf nodded and gathered up Ayuvir, before leaving the inn. Cairn shook his head and picked up his own bags,
"You girls go on and kill some time, we're not supposed to meet our contact for another hour and a half. When the sun hits midday, go find Tarathiel and we'll all meet up at the Elfsong." The two nodded, and Cairn left the inn, stretching some and looking left, then right. Weapon shops to the left… hey. Is that "Arcana Miscellani?" I guess they really did get a bigger place, the fighter mused, heading over towards the store. Once inside, the fey'ri was assaulted by all manner of smells, both pleasant and those he'd have gone on living just fine if he hadn't caught a whiff of them.
The young woman behind the counter was a shapely, toned brunette with long hair done in a popular style, combed to the side and pulled into a loose ponytail. Her 'robes' were more like a low-cut tunic with shoulders, sleeves and a bare midriff, and skirts with a slit high up one side. She wore little makeup, letting her natural beauty slip through. The half-elf grinned to Cairn, "Hey Chief." She purred, slipping from behind the counter to lean against him, gazing up at him with one striking orange eye, serpentine pupils narrowing slightly in anticipation, "Here for business or pleasure?"
"It's business this time, Ariana. I need any resources you have on demons… well, anything I can read in public without getting Lathander's clergy on me." Ariana laughed softly, a bubbling sound, her one remaining eye sparkling with amusement,
"You're horrible. Luckily for you, you're the love of my life."
"You mean the object of your drifting nighttime thoughts."
"Same difference, Chief. At any rate, I found a few books that won't earn you too many strange looks." The shopowner handed over two heavy-looking volumes, which the fighter easily lifted. Cairn sat up on the counter, and opened up one of them, leafing through the pages,
"And what language is this in, again?" Ariana blinked,
"You can't read Abyssal?"
"I can speak it, but I was raised unaware they had that particular language in a written alphabet. Maybe Arlin can read it, Tymora knows he knows stranger tongues. Do you have any bags of holding or other such magic bags?" The store mistress nodded and slipped off into the back room, returning shortly with two large bags and one smaller bag,
"Two nonmagical bags, and the smaller one's a bag of holding. Special price for you, thirty platinum coins and one item of minor enchantment." The fey'ri grinned, she was basically asking for the price of one bag plus the magical bag. Well, he'd certainly been charged worse, so the fighter just shrugged, opened up his traveling bag, and dug around,
"I can give you two daggers, one which cuts through metal like a hot knife through butter and another which glows brightly at night, and a short sword with some less-than-wholesome qualities. Will that do instead?" he asks, holding out the three weapons and their ornate sheaths. Ariana nodded and held out her hands, then set up the weapons on the back shelf, while Cairn began sliding the old tomes carefully into the enchanted bag, along with the two mundane rucksacks.
Tarathiel had chosen to go to a less-exotic shop, promptly turning the weapons vendor's offers down for Ayuvir, "It's not for sale. Now, might you be willing to show me some of your other wares?" The elderly dwarf just grumbled a little, but began setting out various weapons onto the bartering table, explaining the materials used in each, as well as any applicable enchantments. The elf's interest was piqued momentarily when the vendor introduced him to a cold iron longsword specially crafted for left-handed wielders, a weapon that could emit bright light upon command and dealt even more damage to those of demonic blood than the norm. However, the fighter realized he lacked his race's usual aptitude for learning to wield two weapons at once, and Tarathiel reluctantly asked the dwarf to continue. The vendor showed a heavy crossbow, a lovely item,
"Aye, aye, an' this beauty's made o' darkwood, so's it is, and gots a dragon's whisker for a string. Always resets itself, and don't never need no ammunition, just makes its own." Tarathiel nodded,
"Please, set that one aside. Would you mind showing me any daggers or rapiers?" The vendor grinned, and reached into a nearby crate, pulling forth what the elf could only describe as the most beautiful rapier he had ever seen. The fighter's eyes traveled the length of the slender mithral blade, to the ornate mithral basket handguard, and finally to the stunning rubies set into the pommel, in the shape of a crescent moon. Oh, wouldn't Zarra just die over this? Tarathiel thought, "Ah, how much for that rapier? I'm afraid I'll have to pass on the crossbow." The dwarf nodded,
"Awright thin. Ye give me a hunnert pieces 'n she's yers." Tarathiel grinned this time, and began haggling the price down.
Arlin sat alone in the dark room he'd rented for himself, a nobleman's room. His thoughts were a black vortex, his gaze narrowed and hard. Sure, big noble half-breed Cairn gets to do all the important research… 'Arlin, go unpack the bags you idiot.' I'll idiot you, demon-boy. The sorcerer suddenly stood up, and shouted, "I hate you!" at the top of his lungs, his thin form shaking and his face beet-red with fury. He had done so much for the party, and none of them showed him any appreciation. It was always, 'Arlin, do this.' 'Arlin, do that.' 'Arlin, what did you do?' 'Arlin, you imbecile!' A sneer crossed the wiry human's face, "If they won't appreciate me for the work I've done for them… fine. They can do it without me, I'm sure great leader Cairn can find a replacement… maybe that half-elf whore he likes to visit so often while he's here." Yes, the sorcerer decided silently, I'll just see how far they get without Arlin Erigo.
((I wonder… did anyone catch the minor reference to The Last Dragonlord by Joanne Bertin in chapter 1? Oh, and I'm almost sure you'll find the reference to Philip Athans' novels based on Baldur's Gate and Baldur's Gate II: Shadows of Amn ))
