Baldur's Gate
Chapter 2: Zaram Maldovar
Candlekeep
2 Mirtul 1368 DR
As it does every morning in Candlekeep, the sun, shining reddish orange and slowly turning its natural yellow bathed the beautifully crafted stone of the inner grounds first before it began to bleed over onto the rest of the landscape. The birds sung a beautiful morning song, the monks had already begun their chanting; and just as the light began to pierce the room that Zaram Maldovar was sleeping in the young mage in training yawned, stretched out his arms, and awoke as he placed a hand to his temple and massaged the dull ache from his head. He shouldn't have had so many ales the night before but anger was a poor drinking companion and an even worse friend the day after leaving him hungover and with little memory of his nighttime endeavors. As his eyes adjusted to the morning light and Zaram began to truly wake up he noticed that his surroundings were unfamiliar to him, that he was not in his own room like she should be. As he sat up a bit and turned around searching the room for clues to where he was he couldn't help but notice the very beautiful and very naked frame of a young brunette haired half-elf woman and looked down to realize that he was also naked.
The sleeping woman was of fair skin, with a round slender face, her features were soft with a childish edge to them. While her face gave the appearance of a mischievous child her body was that of a full woman in her prime, full of shapely curves and beauty that any man with eyes in his head would clearly notice. This fact was not lost on Zaram before he stopped staring and realized how grave of a situation he was in.
Panic gripped him for a moment as he had done it again, he had gotten drunk and gone to bed with some beautiful stranger. Gorion was going to beat him black and blue if he got caught doing this again; he had to get his clothes and get out of the room before the woman in the bed woke up or worse yet Gorion came looking for him. Zaram searched the room for his robes trying to come up with a good lie as to why he was gone all night when his movements caused the woman to wake with a slight yawn and a warm smile on her face as she stared up at Zaram. Clearly, she remembered the events of last night, but Zaram had already surmised that he must have been far too drunk to recall any of what he had said or did with the young lady.
"Good morning, Zarrie," the woman said in a giddy and slightly immature manner before closing the gap between them and laying her head on Zaram's chest, sighing softly and looking up at her lover with fluttering eyes. Zaram rolled his eyes slightly as he met the woman's eyes, whom he now was looking at for the first time in his memory, with a warm but confused smile. "I hope you slept well; you certainly should have after all that." The passionate memories of the night before still fresh on her mind as a smile crossed her lips while she played with a tuft of Zaram's hair.
Zaram kept his smile and decided it was in his best interests to lie through his teeth, although with as beautiful as the girl was he did wish he could remember the night with her.. "Yes, I slept quite well, my sweet," he continued to look around for his missing robes. He soon found them tucked neatly under the bed as he tried not to seem as if he forgot where he placed them. "You as well, I hope."
The woman's nodded and she hugged Zaram and lightly stroked his arm. "Like a log, but what woman wouldn't after all of that. You were like a beast you naughty boy," she stated in a more sensual manner. "Mayhaps we could do this again. Maybe tonight after you take to dinner?" The woman asked as she stared up at Zaram with half-lidded eyes and her lips curled in a seductive smile.
The lingering scent of her perfume, the swell of her bosom, and the look of her half curled up form silhouetted in the sheets had Zaram quite eager for another experience like the one from last night, one he could actually remember this time around. "Yes, that sounds lovely but, umm..." Zaram faltered as he had hit a wall, he didn't know what to say nor did he have a lie ready to tell the woman and even if he did it wasn't going to be a very good one. No, he was in trouble and the growing silence after his last half reply was starting to make the woman a bit angry. He needed to say something but deciding what to say was just as important as breaking the awkward silence. "Yeah, I… umm Yes we really should have dinner tonight. After all, it's umm…"
"What no sweet words like last night, Zarrie? Did you forget all of the things you told me last night? How my eyes shimmered like stars, that my beauty was far too great for the likes of you. Oh and the way you said my name it sent shivers down my spine. I would have moved mountains to hear you call my name like that again." The woman said with a cute giggle as she blushed bright red at the events of last night.
"Well I would give you more sweet words but after last night how could I ever tell anything would not sound false or as if I was just trying to get you to come to bed with me." Zaram lied as he tried to slip out of the bed to get his clothes.
The woman's starry-eyed look shifted to a forlorn glare as she pulled Zaram into a tighter embrace. "You can't remember my name, can you Zarrie?" she stated angrily, as she pointed up at him and her eyes flickered with anger.
Zaram sighed slightly, he hated doing this to the young woman who was clearly very enthusiastic about their night together to the point that she had given him a pet name. "I must apologize, miss. I drank very heavily and don't remember the slightest thing about last night, let alone any pleasures I might have partaken in."
"My name is Alia Swordchild, your beloved Alia of the Stars," The woman said with a dejected tone and a slight frown. Moments later she was nearly on the verge of tears as she released Zaram from her grip and rolled away from him taking the blanket with her. She sat up on the bed with her back, her long dark hair falling over her shoulder like silken threads, to Zaram as tears began to fall down her cheeks. "How… How could I have been so stupid as to think you would like me? So everything, everything we did last night was a lie? You don't think I'm beautiful?"
Zaram knew this look all too well, while last night had simply been a drunken stupor for him, a harsh consequence of his inability to deal with repeated failure; for this innocent half-elf it had been a night of pure passion and romance, something she had dreamed of but never thought possible and most likely it had been her first experience with a man at all. He had to make this right otherwise bitter and blackened guilt that would nag him to no end would his only reward for the next few days.
Zaram couldn't think of what else to do so he pulled Alia into his arms clutching her to his chest gently as he ran his fingers through her silken hair. He inhaled her lovely scent causing the woman to shiver slightly and blush red again. For a few moments, they stayed like this the heat of Zarams body warming Alia and reminding her of the night before. After a sigh, Zaram pulled Alia away from his chest and stared into her bright amber eyes before he kissed her briefly. "Oh my sweet, you are incredibly beautiful. Forgive my lapse of memory," he spoke poetically. "For living here my whole life, never to leave these walls leads me to the drink. But I assure you, my passions were true and my lust for you ever growing my sweet Alia ...wait did you say your surname was Swordchild?"
"Yes, is that a problem Zarrie?" Alia asked.
"You wouldn't happen to be the daughter of Thoruguard Swordchild?" Zaram asked cringing reflexively after saying the name.
"Yes, and how do you know my father?" Alia asked a little confused by Zaram's question.
"Well, it's just that I umm… I should go before your father finds me. If he does find me with you I may not get to see you tonight or ever again." Zaram explained as he reached for his robes.
"I don't see why my father would have a problem with us being together. He has been after me to marry as of late. Once you two meet I'm sure he will be fine with us marrying at some point." Alia told Zaram with a happy giggle.
"I doubt he would want you to have my surname at all even after what happened last night," Zaram said with a nervous laugh. "After all, I am Zaram Maldovar the son of Candlekeep's very own Gorion Maldovar."
"Wait your surname is Maldovar!"Alia said with a sudden chill in her tone. "Your full name is Zaram Maldovar? The Zaram that every merchant with a daughter is warned about?" Zaram just nodded yes and closed his eyes as he waited for the inevitable fit of scared screaming to begin.
Suddenly the woman let go of Zaram swiftly and she swore under her breath as she went in search of her own garments. All of them had been haphazardly thrown around the room. "Oh no! You've got to get out of here now; if Father finds you he'll kill you!"
Zaram got out of the bed and began to dress himself knowing all too well that Thoruguard Swordchild, a well-known merchant with a pompous attitude who came to Candlekeep quite often, would not be happy to learn that his daughter had slept with any random peasant let alone one of the novices of what was supposed to be a celibate society.
'If Gorion finds me, he'll kill me,' Zaram thought to himself as he stood in front of a mirror, a luxury found only in these expensive merchant rooms, and quietly dressed.
At six foot, five inches, Zaram Maldovar was certainly much taller than those around him; and, while certainly not imposing, there was something not quite normal about his appearance. Something a bit...strange: chaotic if you will. The first thing one would have been likely to notice upon first seeing Zaram were his eyes; glowing with mischievous youth and charm, Zaram's eyes pierced the distance between him and those around him with a dark shade of violet that had been caused by a magical mishap during his childhood. Scanning the rest of his facial features would reveal very little: his face was rather circular with a small boxed chin that refused to protrude either outward or downward, eyelashes of a boringly standard length, thick hazel eyebrows that were somewhat lopsided and an uneventful nose that did little but serve its purpose. The sides of his head conformed to fit the patterns of the front and back with half-oval like shaping and slightly folded over ears (which displayed a scar from attempting and failing to add an earring to his ensemble, a gesture his foster father Gorion did not appreciate) connected firmly to the aforementioned sides of the head. His hair, a messy tangle of long and unkempt forest green (from another magical incident) flowed to just below his shoulder but would shift at the slightest movement by the young novice; today was particularly windy and even with the window open only slightly, Zaram was forced to constantly shove aside stray tufts of hair that betrayed his eyesight. While clearly unprofessional, Zaram Maldovar did, in fact, care about his appearance at least somewhat and kept his standard brown novice robes clean of all but the occasional specks of dirt or food crumbs.
Zaram quickly slipped on his robes and sandals before checking on Alia who at the time was struggling to get her bodice tied shut. Not wanting to stay any longer than had to, Zaram started to leave the room without a second thought. It was best not to have a repeat of the last time he had been caught sleeping with the daughter of some well-respected merchant who had decided to grace Candlekeep with his presence. Hearing a knock at the door he swore under his breath and chose to leap out the third-floor window of the Inn hoping not to injure himself too badly on the way down.
"Always a pleasure, milady," Zaram said before he leaped out the now opened window. "If the gods permit, I should be lucky to be graced by your presence again one day, maybe even this evening. Until then, I will remember you fondly," he called back up to the door. This was, of course, a lie, Zaram was about as likely to remember this incident as he was to ever remember the events of the previous night, but if it spared the feelings of Alia, poor confined Alia, then it was enough to no longer weigh on his conscience.
Having narrowly avoided crushing another human being upon his landing in a well place hay pile, Zaram really didn't need anything else to go wrong. As he winced in pain then extracted himself from the hay in a crawl he soon heard footsteps and looked up from his prone position to see a set of legs clad in strange pants dyed a homemade pink. His eyes were greeted with the familiar face of the only person he knew of who could sneak up on someone in those ridiculously bright colors.
'Great' Zaram once again thought to himself, 'Of course something else was going to go wrong.'
"Heya!" the familiar voice said with more cheerful demeanor than Zaram was ready to deal with as a hand was held out to help Zaram to his feet. Zaram took the hand and with help was pulled to his feet then took a moment to dust off his robes and regain his bearings. He checked once more to confirm whom he was speaking to, and it was in fact Imoen. She was one of the last people he really wanted to see right now, with Gorion and Thoruguard Swordchild tied for first place in that respect.
Standing at just barely five foot tall, Imoen was much shorter than Zaram but that didn't seem to bother her however as she acted as if she were ten foot tall all of the time. She was a girl of only 15 springs with an impish childlike face that was slowly gaining its womanly appeal. Her large blue-grey eyes were expressive and shone with a mischief and delight that only a person of her level of maturity could enjoy. As Zaram looked down on the young girl he could see that she had made an attempt to dye her hair pink but ended up covering only specks, a few short streaks at the back, and a small section of the bangs of her naturally brown hair, she had clearly spent a considerable amount of time brushing because it stayed in one place just above her shoulder line and avoided her forehead entirely.
Zaram saw that she had somehow dyed every article of her clothing several different shades of pink to the point that it was taxing on the eyes to be around her. How and when she had time to do such a thing was a mystery to Zaram but he did know that looking directly at Imoen was making his headache worse. As Zaram averted his eyes for a moment to rub his left temple a bit he noticed Imoen slowly pulling out a considerably sized loaf of some sort of sweet bread from her pouch, examining it for a moment before putting it back. She seemed way too excited about the matter of the bread and if Zaram had to guess it was most likely stolen. Imoen seemed to have a bad habit of taking things that didn't belong to her for the sheer pleasure and challenge of doing so. Remembering the considerable age difference between the two, Zaram sometimes wondered if all teenage girls were so excitable and emotionally exhausting like this.
After getting the pain between his eyes to become a dull thump Zaram was going to ask Imoen about the bread she had when she took hold of his sleeve and pulled him away from the inn. Without being given time to protest or to ask what was so urgent Zaram was dragged off to a picnic table to sample the expensive pastry.
"What do you want, Imoen?" Zaram asked with some minor tone of annoyance as he needed to get farther away from the Inn sometime soon. If the lack of death threats being screamed at him was any indication of how much time he had to run for it, Zaram figured he had about 20 or so minutes before he was in a world of trouble. First thing was first, he had to deal with his annoyingly cheerful adopted kid sister then run for it.
When Zaram turned from his thoughts he was greeted with the sight of Imoen already shoving fistfuls of bread into her mouth in a childish manner. She paused for a moment to answer his question but with her mouth still full it was rather difficult to understand. "Welm ooo, dibbt zeem bilroh".
Zaram sat there with a look of disgust and annoyance on his face as he watched Imoen talk with her mouth full of half-chewed bread, spilling crumbs down the front of her clothing. Imoen stared for a moment confused as to why Zaram hadn't said anything after she had answered him. Seconds later she realized that Zaram was now glaring and his reason for doing so. She held up a finger and swallowed her food with some difficulty before repeating her earlier reply. "Well you didn't seem busy; besides, can't a couple friends just share a loaf of bread?"
"Imoen, you ate the entire loaf." Zaram pointed out as he gestured toward the table and the front of her shirt which were both covered in leftover crumbs. "And I could have had something to do."
Imoen smirked. "Yeah, like what? Spoiling another merchant's daughter? Stealing artifacts from traveling scholars for your failed attempts at advanced magic?" Zaram could only frown and blush at the accusations. "Come on, Zaram! You're so predictable, give it a rest."
Zaram shook his head and groaned in discomfort as he thought it best not to argue with Imoen. The two had been as close as siblings since Imoen showed up one day at Candlekeep when Zaram was ten, but as of the last few years, Zaram's attention had been less on a childish playmate and more on getting out of Candlekeep to see the world. If there was one thing Zaram knew about the girlish terror in front of him it was that Imoen could keep an argument going for months if she wanted to. Zaram groaned again as memories of the times he had angered Imoen played through his mind. If he didn't want her following him around being extra annoying or messing with his magical training it was best not to anger her. Imoen had a bad habit of always getting what she wanted due to her immaturity and intelligence. It sounded like a weird combination but she had become a master manipulator with the use of her cute childlike appearance and manner, she had also mastered the art of fake crying when caught which usually got her out of trouble. Most of the adults in Candlekeep just seemed to consider most of her misdeeds as youthful angst and a young girl rebelling against her place in the world. All of it was just practice to Imoen as she seemed to want more out of life than to be married off sometime soon. This coupled with the fact that Imoen's foster father, Winthrop, a jolly, fat innkeeper, wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed when it came to the antics of his daughter made the perfect storm for Imoen's antics.
"That's what I thought," Imoen said as her expression changing from satisfaction to guilt when she realized that there was no bread left over. The guilt didn't last long as her expression quickly shifted back to excitement. "Anyway, aren't you going to ask me what else I've got?"
Still attempting to nurse his hangover Zaram shrugged. "Should I? I mean it's only just after sunrise you couldn't have really gotten…"
"You underestimate me, big brother!" Imoen told him as she pulled various objects out of her pockets. A few gold pieces, a small obsidian stone, a spinning top and to Zaram's surprise and relief, an antidote potion.
"How did you get one of those?" Zaram asked her in disbelief as he eyed the vial sitting on the table. "I mean merchants don't just keep these lying around you know. Why would one of them bring something like that to Candlekeep?"
Imoen's eye sparkled mischievously as she tossed the potion towards Zaram. "Who says I got it from a merchant?"
Eager to solve his problem in a quick and orderly fashion, Zaram gulped down the potion without a second thought. Although it took a minute or so to take effect, he knew that he would recover shortly, when his headache finally subsided he decided that he needed to sate his curiosity.
"If not from one of the merchants..." he asked an eyebrow raised, "...then who?"
Imoen gave Zaram a mocking shrug before jumping over the table to sit next to him. "Hull. Turns out he was stockpiling them in the barracks."
"Probably to get over his own hangovers," Zaram added, his brow furrowing in disgust at the mere mention of the watcher's name. "Dreppin could have used one of those potions last week when he nearly lost Nessa. That drunk bastard must have thought his own ass was worth more than a prize cow's life."
Zaram seethed with anger at the very thought of Hull; a drunken, gruff excuse for a man, Hull was one of the many Watchers of Candlekeep, a group of soldiers sworn to protect the grounds of Candlekeep with their lives. While most of the denizens of Candlekeep treated Zaram fondly, Hull was one of a fairly significant number that despised him, and the feeling was most certainly mutual. In one particular instance, Hull had recruited an 8-year-old Zaram to retrieve his sword from the barracks after he had overslept that night. Zaram remembered dragging the sword from the barracks to the gate, a distance that felt impossible to the small child only to be berated by Hull upon reaching his destination.
"I found your sword, Mr. Hull. It was in the chest like you said."
"Took your sweet time, didn't you?" Hull had said, "I suppose it's my own fault for trusting a little shit like you to get my sword for me."
"I'm sorry I took so long, Mr. Hull" the crying Zaram had told him. "I'm not big and strong like you are, but maybe when I grow up...:"
"When you grow up? Pff, that's a laugh if I ever heard one. A kid like you is lucky to be in a place like this; you wouldn't have made it past five if you were raised anywhere else. IF you grow up you're just going to get yourself killed once you step out those gates, so do us all a favor and speed up the process, you little brat!"
"Why are you being so mean, Mr. Hull? It's not fair, I didn't do anything to you. Mr. Gorion says…"
"Oh don't get me started on that old horse's ass, Gorion's a fool for trying to raise you and you can tell him I said so too. As far as I'm concerned he should've taken Ulruant's advice and left you to the crows where you belong, your kind only bring trouble."
"My...kind?"
"That's enough, Hull" Gorion seemed to come out of nowhere, looking not quite as old as he did now, but his hair had already turned almost entirely gray, he led the small Zaram away from the gates and shared a mutual glare with Hull. "Come along now, Zaram. It's time for your lessons."
Zaram had asked Gorion what Hull meant that day but received only cryptic answers in response. Eventually, he just grew to assume that like Ulraunt and many others, Hull just simply had his own reasonings for hating him and decided to let it go. soon, however, Zaram's reminiscing was cut short by the sound of very angry footsteps approaching the table, it was time to make an exit.
"Wait," Imoen asked, putting out an arm to stop Zaram. "Aren't you going to thank me before you storm off? I just saved your ass."
"Yeah, well my ass isn't out of the woods yet," Zaram told her, looking over his shoulder at the approaching figure. It was Thoruguard Swordchild, right on cue and much quicker than Zaram had expected, if he didn't get out of here soon he dreaded what might happen. "I've got to get out of here quickly and away from...well from that," Zaram said as he pointed at the angry merchant walking toward them.
"MALDOVAR!" The very angry merchant shouted loud enough for half of Faerun to hear. "I'll have your head mounted on my wall for what you've done. When I get my hands on you..."
"Do you need a distraction?" Imoen asked smugly. "Just say the word and I'll do it."
"Yeah, sure," Zaram replied hesitantly. "And what do you want in return?"
"Oh nothing much," Imoen told him with an almost evil smile. "You just have to do my chores for a week."
"A week?" Zaram grunted in half-disbelief. "With everything else I have to do around here, I'll never get any sleep if I have to add your chores on top of it."
"You deflowered my daughter you upstart reject!" Swordchild shouted over the crowd of onlookers that had now gathered. "I'll have you castrated for this if it's the last thing I do!" several people in the gathered crowd were waylaying Swordchild trying to figure out what had him so angry. Several of the men in the crowd had a hold of the angry merchant as he cursed and fumed in their grip. This had bought Zaram a few minutes but not enough time to get away without being stopped by some of the onlookers to inquire what was amiss.
"You're not exactly in a position to haggle, big brother," Imoen smirked as she knew her big brother only had two choices and the former was far worse than the latter. "It's either that or you face Mr. Father of the Year over there yourself. So what's it's going to be, Zaram? Do you need a distraction or not?"
Zaram sighed as he nodded weakly in agreement, at some point he was going to greatly regret this but at this point, he had no other options. "Yes please."
"Ok, so it's a deal," Imoen agreed. "Now you just run off and leave the rest to me. I should be able to buy you enough time to get to the main library, but you're going to have to move fast."
Not taking the time to ask what Imoen's plan was going to entail Zaram took off around the far side of the inn and headed toward the main library. He ducked past several people as they tried to question him on what was going on with the crowd gathered around the back side of the inn. Zaram just shook his head and kept on running for all he was worth.
Imoen stood up from the table before picking up a bit of dirt and rubbbing it on her cheeks and giving them a few slaps to redden them up. Once her look was in order she got ready to turn on the tears since she would need to look as sad and pathetic as possible. This was going to be her greatest performance ever and by the end of it, she would have a few more gold coins to add to her stash too.
After getting a few tears to flow to complete her look Imoen ran into the crowd and made her way to Thoruguard crying and blubbering hard. "Oh please sir don't hurt my brother, he didn't have a choice in the matter. It's… it's all my fault, I messed everything up."
"What!? How do you… wait are you that degenerate's little sister?" Thoruguard asked as he pulled his arm free of one of the men trying to hold him back before smoothing out his clothing. "What the hell are you on about girl?"
Thoruguard was a tall man of nearly six and a half feet with an almost regal look to him but like most merchants with his level of wealth, he was a bit on the large side. He had coal black hair that was cut to a medium length and well groomed, his dark brown eyes were sharp with intelligence and vision for the business. He had a square-shaped face with a pointed nose and a thick bushy mustache. While Thoruguard had done some manual labor in his youth he had let his status as a merchant and heavy meals of rich foods grow his waistline several inches. This showed in the fact that his shirt and doublet were sized for a man a good foot taller than him. Though he was a bit portly Thorugaurd was a man of strength and vigor, this showed in his manner of dress as he only wore the latest in fashion but it was still functional for a man that had to got his hands dirty on occasion. Today was no exception to this fact, he was dressed in a fine deep purple silk shirt with a matching leather doublet trimmed in silver and white, he had on black trousers trimmed in the same silver and white, on his hands were several finely crafted silver rings studded with a rainbow of precious stones and gems. Even his shoes had polished silver buckles that matched the buckle of his belt.
"You see I was out last night way past my bedtime and I got caught up in a dice game with some men visiting Candlekeep. They were nice at first but it was all an act. They let me win a few times and I was so happy that I could finally buy my brother a gift for his birthday this year. Well after I had won a few times I bet it all like one of the men said I should. I lost it all and forty gold more than I had. They wanted the money and they said they would make me a slave to get it" Imoen told the merchant as she cried and sniffed.
The whole of the crowd seemed to be buying into Imoen's story as there had been a set of shady travelers in the inn last night that had been passing through the area. Several members of the crowd had seen them talking with Zaram at one point before he was seen wandering off with Swordchild's daughter an hour or so later. A few members had confirmed that Imoen had been seen having words with the shady travelers earlier in the night before Zaram had shown up to drink away his troubles.
"So you were conned by some shady men but what does that have to do with Maldovar defiling my daughter? Explain yourself, girl, before I get your father and we get to the truth of the matter." Thoruguard said with a grunt of anger, his patience was wearing thin and he really wanted to get his hands on Zaram to wring his neck.
"Yes, sir. You see after they said they would make a slave of me if they didn't get their gold I told them about my brother. I told them he could get them the gold. I got Zaram he told everything to him. They told him they would forgive my debt if he did them a favor. They had a grudge against you sir so it would be in Zaram's best interest if he deflowered your daughter or they would take me instead of the gold." Imoen told Swordchild before she really started crying and making a scene.
Swordchild wasn't her target for this display of tears and sobbing, no her true target was the crowd gathered around them. If she could get the people of Candlekeep to believe her story Swordchild would have no choice but to let Zaram off the hook. If that happened Zaram would owe her even more than just a week of chores.
Thorugaurd was about to call Imoen's elaborate bluff when several of the onlookers began to confirm parts of the story. Several of the men standing there told Swordchild that they had overheard part of an argument Zaram had with the travelers and it had been about some gold owed to them. Several confirmed that the travelers in question had spoken of a grudge they had against Swordchild for cheating them out of some gold on some items sold to them. Soon a grumbling started in the crowd about Swordchild's shady business dealings causing trouble and him wanting to blame Zaram for doing what he had too to save Imoen.
"Wait a damn minute, you're telling me that Maldovar slept with my daughter to save you from being made into a slave?"
"Yes, sir he did. He didn't want to take advantage of your daughter but they didn't give him much choice. If I hadn't snuck out and played the stupid dice game none of this would have happened. I'm sorry it's all my fault I'm the one you should punish not him."
Thoruguard was in a bind as he didn't believe most of the story but several people had confirmed a lot of it and with how sad and broken up the girl was the whole thing made a lot of sense but why had Maldovar run off instead of just telling him the truth?
"Why didn't your brother just come to tell me the truth this morning?" Thoruguard asked as he stared down at Imoen.
Before she could answer someone in the crowd answered for her. "With the reputation, Zaram has here in Candlekeep for causing trouble would you believe him if he told this story in person?" One of the other merchants asked as he placed a hand on Thoruguard's shoulder. "Really now I have a hard time believing it and I was there last night for most of it. I know that Zaram can be a less than desirable person but your daughter doesn't seem too broken up about it. I overheard her trying to defend the boy this morning when you were questioning her, Thoruguard, I think you should let this one go for now or at least until you need to talk about marriage terms with the boy's father."
Thorugaurd just sighed as he saw that Lormais was right and what was done was done, there was no going back and his daughter did think highly of Zaram. A marriage wasn't totally out of the question especially if his daughter had become taken with Zaram child and being made family to Gorion by marriage would give him more clout in Candlekeep. Yes, he could turn this around to work for him but only if he could oversee all of the details and make it worth Zaram's while to become his son-in-law.
"Please stop crying, young lady. I see your point and I'm no longer angry. What your brother did was noble even if it would get him punished. I can see merit in a boy that is selfless even in the face of his own demise. He is worthy of my daughter and worthy of becoming my son-in-law. All I need to do is talk to him and his father to arrange the details of the marriage." Thoruguard said with chest puffed up as be put on his own grand performance. "Now I just need to find the boy. By any chance young lady would you know where he is right now? I need to speak with him in private on this matter and if you could deliver that message to him I am willing to compensate you for your time."
While Imoen was wiping her face and calming herself down she smiled darkly as her plan had worked she was now in a position to take her mark for all he was worth and in the long game she could get more out of Zaram when she had to save him from this marriage. "Sure I know where he is right now but it will be hard to get to him as he is with his father for his lessons. Gorion will be very upset if I have to bother them."
"Oh do not fear I said I will compensate you for your troubles, so would forty gold be enough for you to bother Zaram and his father?" Thoruguard asked as she counted out the gold then hand the coin pouch to Imoen.
"Oh, more than enough sir. I will make sure they both know that you need to speak with them as soon as possible. I will go right now." Imoen said with a cheery upbeat chirp.
"Ok good then, child, Tell them I will need to speak with them tomorrow afternoon after I have seen to a few details and I have everything ready to speak with them about the marriage terms. Run along now, child and deliver my message and do stay out of trouble as your brother will be very busy soon becoming a merchant with the Swordchild name."
As Imoen left she could only smile, she was playing the long game now and if this worked Zaram was going to owe her far more than a week's worth of chores.
(Main Library)
Bolting past the crowd and into the inner grounds, Zaram quickly picked up speed as he bobbed and weaved past several concerned monks as well as a group of small children who were having their lessons outside today. Soon the familiar sight of the library in all of it's majestic and life-saving glory came into view. Standing at a massive six hundred feet tall, the ancient stone structure had been built well over 1000 years ago by the first monks to found Candlekeep long ago. The towering castle stood out among the other structures in the area as if it were a god amongst men, each granite stone had been finely crafted to have few blemishes and seemed to glow with an energy as if magic itself was preventing the keep from aging. Each of the castle's six stories were adorned with jewel-encrusted windows surrounded by strange symbols written in some dead language that Zaram didn't recognize from any of his lessons though he was certain must have been important at some point in time, the final and largest of these windows adorning the sixth floor office of Ulraunt, guarded night and day by the constant vigilance of the Watchers both from the inside and from the platinum lined balcony that loomed over the inner grounds with an intensity that one could only describe as a bit unsettling. Surrounding the perimeter of the keep, four perfectly symmetrical flower beds were blooming with the fresh roses of summer each adjacent to a small gazebo in which green-clad monks spent nearly every hour of the day chanting hymns, prophecies, and intricate poems as if they were bard songs.
It was a magnificent sight that even those who had called Candlekeep their home all of their lives couldn't help but admire, but Zaram didn't have time to indulge in the beauty of such things, trying his best to make it inside in as little time as possible he nearly bowled over a fellow novice in his efforts to escape his pursuer and avoid any further conflict; by the time Zaram had reached the library and closed the massive oaken door behind him, he was nearly out of breath, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow he then proceeded to walk up the stairwell as calmly as possible, a task which proved more difficult than he expected due to being out of breath and still worried about his current Swordchild problem. He was still trying to compose himself when he was confronted by the crimson-robed figure of his instructor already waiting at the top of the stairs.
A short and frail man of advanced years, Tethtoril had an exceptionally thin build as if his vibrant health had left him long ago but he was far from a man quickly approaching death. He had a long thin face with deep lines that told of many years of reading and keeping books. His eyes were wide but stern with a hazy faded blue color that one could almost mistake as the aged sage going blind, however, Tethtoril's vision was clear and impressive for a man of his years, even sharper than some men of half his age. His hair was short and thick, mostly white with a sharp graying line at the sides. He walked with a slumped posture aided by the use of a walking stick that had a small platform that almost always held one or two tomes. From his look and stature anyone who did not know Tethtoril all that well would think him on death's door but those who lived within the walls of the monastery knew that Tethtoril had looked like this for as long as anyone could remember. He was far older than Gorion, older perhaps than even Ulraunt himself. Though why he had chosen for himself the humble role of First Reader over Ulraunt's position as the Keeper of Tomes was a mystery to Zaram and many others. Humble, wise, imposing, kind, and mysterious were all words that summed up Tethtoril in the eyes of all that met him.
Today, Tethtoril seemed cross, a sight that Zaram had grown familiar with over the past several weeks and a sign that he was once again late for his studies. The man's gentle blue eyes were clouded over in disappointment as he addressed Zaram calmly with a firm but understanding tone.
"It is the third time this week that you have been late for your studies, Zaram. I am beginning to worry about your well-being. A healthy schedule helps promote focus but you must adhere to its limits if you are to reap its benefits."
"Sorry, Tethtoril," Zaram frowned before clearing his throat. "I overslept and…"
Tethtoril shook his head calmly and guided Zaram towards the classroom in an orderly fashion. "You must try to remain punctual, child. Now, shall we continue your lessons?"
Nodding quietly, Zaram followed Tethtoril down the second-floor hall and into the small classroom Gorion had kept permanently reserved for his magic lessons. Unlike the rest of the exceedingly grandiose library, each of the castle's classrooms were identically plain. With the exception of a small granite bust of Ulraunt. A few worn-out chairs, a large pinewood table, a few shelves filled with beginner level magic guides, and an instructor's podium were the only articles of furniture to speak of. Today, Tethtoril had brought with him a small wooden box that roughly resembled a target and a small apple from the merchant stands just outside Winthrop's tavern.
"Today we're going to once again focus on the application of Magic Missile," Tethtoril informed Zaram.
Zaram nodded excitedly, eager to move his studies forward after the utter disaster of last night's failed experiments which had been indirectly responsible for getting him into the predicament he had found himself in that morning. A smile quickly formed on his tired face as he felt his enthusiasm return after narrowly escaping Sworchild's grasp and he began to raise his hand in an attempt to cast the spell. "I'm ready."
"Basic Magic Missiles. While I know that you may think you have a grasp of this spell already there is far more to it them just pointing and shooting arcane energy at a target." Tethtoril specified as he gently lowered Zaram's hand and raised his own. "I understand your enthusiasm, child. But you mustn't let your impatience get the best of you, a disciplined mage masters the basics lest his grasp overpowers unseen slack and that very power consumes him. Now calm yourself and focus your energy on the task at hand. Now, what are the three things you need to perform this spell correctly?"
Zaram paused a moment as he thought back to the what he had read in the spell book about Magic Missile. "I need the right verbal components, so the right incantation."
"Good that is the first thing. What is the next part?" Tethtoril asked as he watched his pupil with a calm gaze.
"The second thing is the right somatic components. If I use the wrong gestures I could end up casting the wrong spell or hitting the wrong target." Zaram answered with growing excitement as he was one step closer to getting to cast.
"Good. You are almost ready to try casting this spell. Now, what is the most important component for the casting of this spell?"
"A target. Magic Missile creates a missile of force that strikes unerringly, even if the target is in melee combat, so long as it has less than total cover or total concealment. Specific parts of a target can't be singled out. Objects are not damaged by the spell." Zaram rattled off the text from the book word for word.
"Alright, it seems that all of those hours of study have not been wasted after all. Now Zaram I want you to try to cast the spell but I want you to take your time and focus on all of the components before you unleash your magical power. Remember even if you hit the apple you won't do any damage to it."
Zaram nodded as he breathed quietly and tried to focus on the apple as a surge of energy welled up from inside his body as he did so. Soon he began to recite the words as he made the proper gestures in a slow and deliberate manner. He finally pointed his finger at the apple and let loose a bolt of shimmering force, but it missed the apple entirely and hit the wall leaving it unscathed. "No, child. You are focusing too much on power and not enough on precision, you must learn to…" Tethtoril started but was interrupted by Zaram throwing the apple across the room angrily.
"No matter how hard I try I can't seem to get this right!" Zaram shouted. "How am I supposed to ever be like Gorion if I can't learn one simple spell."
Tethtoril stood calmly as Zaram let out his frustrations over his repeated failures, after several minutes he finally cut the novice off with a warm smile. "My child, you have to remember that it took Gorion decades to acquire the knowledge that he possesses and longer still for Ulraunt or myself. Even Elminster himself did not become an archmage in a single day. Your lessons have come along quite well and though you may lack faith in your abilities I certainly do not. You will master this spell just as your father did all those years ago when he stood in this very room, and one day I truly believe that you will walk in his footsteps."
After huffing and pouting for a bit Zaram let out a sigh and took Tethtoril's words to heart. With a new sense of determination, Zaram retrieved the slightly bruised apple from the corner he had tossed into. Once the apple was back atop the box Zaram began the spell again but before he could do so he was interrupted by the clatter of footsteps as another novice entered the room and handed a small letter to Tethtoril.
"Hmm, yes I see," Tethtoril said gravely as he read the letter. "It would seem the rest of this lesson shall have to be postponed until tomorrow, Zaram. Ulraunt wishes to speak with me about a matter most important. Now I want you to study up on the list of novice spells as we will be going over them and if you are more centered we will be casting them."
As Tethtoril quietly left the room, Zaram was left wondering what could be of such vital importance to Ulraunt that he would summon Tethtoril so abruptly. In all the time he had spent under the elder mage's tutelage he could only remember Ulraunt sending a direct summons one other time, and that had been nearly twelve years ago to call a meeting of the council to discuss the rising conflicts at Dragonspear Castle. Had war erupted once again? Surely there would have been rumors about such a thing but Zaram had heard nothing recently about the outside world other than some whispers of some sort of iron shortage plaguing Amn as of late.
Whatever the problem may have been, Zaram decided that it was none of his concern and opted instead to return to his room with one of the novice level spell books to do as Tethtoril had commanded. Also, he was going try to get some well-deserved rest before he was inevitably bombarded with his and a week of Imoen''s responsibilities. Zaram had barely taken a single step outside of the classroom before he was stopped by the bulky frame of Reevor, the dwarven quartermaster of Candlekeep. Exceptionally tall for a dwarf, Reevor stood around five feet tall, with thick black hair like a lion's mane connecting to a black braided beard covering most of his face, a suit of leather armor and a sizable copper-plated ax at his side. Looking grumpy as usual he turned to Zaram and without so much as a greeting began to gesture for Zaram to follow him.
"Ah, there ye are ye lazy shit. I've been lookin' up and down 'de whole keep lookin' fer' ye." Reevor grunted, blocking the doorway. Zaram was fairly certain he couldn't get around if he wanted to and decided that antagonizing the angry dwarf would only make matters worse. He concluded that the best course of action was to see what he wanted, a choice he would most likely regret later.
"Hello, Reevor," Zaram greeted him plainly. "I apologize for the fact that you couldn't find me easier, I was..."
"Yeah, yeah doin' yer lessons, I know," Reevor said with a dismissive wave. "Well, I don't give a hairy gnoll's arse what them old robe wearin' book sniffers are busyin' ye with. I've got a job for ye!"
Zaram could only raise an eyebrow, though he had a feeling he knew where this was going and he wasn't going to like it. "A job?"
"Aye," Reevor responded. "I will be needin' the rats cleaned out of yon cellar down near the temple. Lil' Imoen bless 'er heart, I'd normally ask her but she said she 'ad quite a scare last night at the tavern. Said she needed some rest after all that, but she told me ye'd be willin' to 'elp control 'de pest population as it were. It's a nasty business but someone 'as to do it."
As he listened to Reevor's request, Zaram rolled his eyes, the week of torture had begun much faster than he would have anticipated and with such a strange and disgusting request Zaram could only cringe at the idea of what was in store for him in the upcoming days. Nevertheless, he knew he had to accept the vomit-inducing job because he was certain the alternative would have been much worse.
"Can I expect to get paid for this job?" Zaram asked hopefully, an unlikely outcome especially when it came to Reevor, but it never hurt to try.
"Paid?" Reevor spat as if the mere mention of the word both physically and mentally disgusted him. "I'll pay 'ye by not shovin' me boot so far up yer arse you'll be able to taste me kneecaps."
"Alright, alright. I get the message," Zaram said defeated. "I'll go kill your rats."
With that Reevor smiled and patted Zaram on the back. "That's me boy, now go down there and show those rats not 'te mess with Reevor. Kill 'im like de rats they are!"
Zaram left the library and headed towards the tool shed near the cellar in a hurry, hoping to get this job done as quickly as possible. He collected a heavy broom, a dustpan, a large bag for the rat bodies to be thrown out later, and a small skinning knife to kill the rats with before heading to the cellar. Once there he opened the heavy cellar door than propped it open with a small dry branch he found nearby. When he turned back to the opening of the cellar he was immediately filled with a sense of dread. Originally used as a wine cellar before the current tavern was built, the old cellars had been mostly abandoned for several decades, apparent from the massive amounts of cobwebs and loose rock, but recently Reevor had convinced the High Council to repurpose the area to hold excess foodstuffs in the event that the Crusade in the north ever made its way to the Sword Coast. Although few foresaw the possibility it seemed better to prepare for the impossible then to fall victim to it. Nevertheless, little had been done yet to help clean the cellars until today and even less had been done to fix the lighting situation, of which the cellar had virtually none. When Zaram finished descending down the stairs, a feat marked by the fact that he could no longer feel the staircase continuing beneath his feet and hadn't fallen on his face in the darkened entryway he made a sour face at the smell of musty humid air, mold, and the stench of damp rotting wood. After recovering from the horrid smell he saw that the only light in the cellar to speak of was a small oil lantern hanging from the ceiling on the farthest edge of the room opposite him. This left more than half of the room covered in darkness. The chattering of rats could be heard through the darkness but just how many rats there could be was impossible to guess. Zaram knew that his only hope of completing the task was to somehow cross the room and collect the lantern without damaging anything else, a task which he was pretty sure would require an insane amount of dumb luck. He sat down the collected items for his task and placed the knife in his belt before crossing the room to get the lantern. After a few steps into the room Zaram jumped as he heard a snapping sound then the heavy door slam shut leaving a mostly darkened room.
After taking a few deep breaths Zaram calmed his nerves before he turned back to the task at hand. The branch holding the door open had broken under the door's immense weight so he would just have to push it open from the inside with aid of the broom, plus with the door closed, it would be harder for the rats to get away. After confirming his exit plan Zaram slowly made his way across the room feeling around for boxes or rats that may have been in his way. Several times he bumped into a stray crate here and there or smashed his toe into an empty barrel. After a few faltering steps Zaram got closer to the lantern on the other side of the room and it became increasingly apparent that something was amiss. From deep within the shadows the rats began to writhe and hiss in agony and Zaram became aware that he was not alone in this room, someone or something was also in the room and it didn't seem like it was there hunting the rats. If Zaram had heard Reevor's ranting correctly then nobody else should have been sent into the room. Why would some else be down here if Reevor had sent him in Imoen's place to kill the rats? No, he had to be down here alone, right?
Suddenly Zaram stopped his journey across the room when he felt a rat scurry across his foot. It was at this point while he was checking his robe and leg for bites that Zaram noticed two flicking shadows that looked vaguely humanoid off to the right of the lantern in the more dim light. Zaram stood up and turned toward the shadows and squinted as he went over what he knew about his situation versus what was happening. He had been told to kill the rats in the old cellar by Reevor in Imoen's place. He assumed that there was no one down there unless Imoen was pranking him again. He just came across two humanoid shadows in the darkness and all he was armed with was a small knife to kill the rats, a broom, a dustpan, and a large bag to collect the rat bodies. The broom, dustpan, and bag were across the room next to the stairs so all he had to defend himself was the knife if, in fact, the shadows were people. But wait, why would anyone be down here trying to hurt him? Sure he was a bit unpleasant to people at times but nobody really wanted him dead, right? It was while Zaram was contemplating this that he noticed the two men standing before him grinning immensely at their discovery as if they were a predator advancing on helpless prey that strayed too far from the safety of the herd.
Both of the men were human, the two were dressed in rust-colored leather armor and brandishing short swords. One of the assailants, a rather short blonde haired man with a thin face, deep-set eyes, and a long hooked nose gave Zaram a passing glance before turning back to his friend and shrugging. The taller assailant had long black hair pulled into a ponytail tied with a bit of black twine, he had a wide smooth face with fine facial features and light colored eyes.
"Just my luck," Zaram mumbled under his breath to himself. "I can't seem to catch a break."
"Well look what we here, Shank," The taller one smirked. "It's the Maldovar brat, he came down here all alone just like our informant said he would. Looks like we're getting paid after all."
"Well I'll be damned, and here I thought I wasn't goin' to get to stab someone today," Shank responded. "That makes things a lot easier. It's a good thing too Carbos since you were excited about the gold for this job, so we get paid and I get to murder something other than these cheap ass rats."
"It's not about the murdering so much as it's about the huge bag of gold waiting for us. So kill this little shit so I can take the proof that we need to show the boss the job is done and then we can get back to trying to get that little girly you were after last night." Carbos said with a dark smirk.
"Who the hell are you two and why are you down here? Who sent you and why do they want me dead?" Zaram asked he reached for the knife he had. As he reached for the knife a strange thought occurred to him. "You not here about that thing with Alia are you? Because if you are I can explain that, really I can, if you just give a moment. You see, it was like this…."
"Shut your word hole, fool. We are not here to listen to the rambling of a dead man. I would be less worried about what you did or didn't do with that ASSHOLE Swordchild's daughter. You are in the deep end of the shit pile right now my friend and not even a castle full of stable boys can dig you out now. To put it in more elegant terms you are dead and we are getting a bag of gold for a pound of your hide, boy." Carbos told Zaram as he waggled a finger in Zaram's face. "Just consider your night with that Alia girl as a last meal of sorts. I hope you had fun with her 'cause you won't be doing any of that ever again."
"Yeah 'cause we going to stab you a lot with these swords and bleed you like a pig 'cause we going ta kill ya," Shank said with a slurred quip as he tested his sword edge on his tongue. "Yep, it's a bit dull so it's going hurt a lot when I stick in ya. Get ready for it 'cause I'm going to enjoy bleeding you like a little spring pig off to winter market.
"Now, now, Shank we don't need to rush things. It's not like we don't have time to enjoy the company of our guest. I mean it's not like he going anywhere except to death's door. So tell me Mr. Maldovar, can I call you Mr. Maldovar?
"Uh... yeah you can but why?" Zaram asked confused as to why his assassins were now trying to have a conversation with him.
"Well two reasons really, one I tend to want to get to know my victims a bit, you know to truly understand them in their final moments, it somehow puts it all into perspective for me. Two it lets my victims get some things off their chest, leave a few parting words, or ask a request of me other than letting them live. I'm not a cruel man just an evil one so I will give the opportunity to leave a few parting words Mr. Maldovar. Maybe something sweet words to the Swordchild girl or a heroic last stand style speech. I don't get to hear many of those in this line of work. You would think I would but I really don't, most people just start blubbering on about dying with regrets or they just have words for a loved one." Carbos explained in a polite tone.
"So let me get this straight you want to have a conversation with me before you kill me?" Zaram asked still trying to get a firm grasp of what was going on.
"Of course we are, we can't exactly have a conversation with you after we kill you, now can we. After all dead men are poor conversationalists, right?" Shank stated as if it were a well-known fact.
Carbos and Zaram both stared at the murder-happy man with surprised and dumbfounded expressions respectively before Carbos smiled at his companion. "I'm impressed that you know a word of that caliber let alone how to use it correctly in a sentence. Well done, Shank."
"Well, of course, I would pick up a few things just standing around listen to you go on with all those fancy things you say when we are on a job. I may not be a smart man but I can learn you know. Plus I like them big words." Shank retorted a bit proud of himself for showing up Carbos for once in a conversation.
"Umm...right," Zaram stated cautiously, uncertain of how to respond to the two individuals who seemed to have every intention of ending his life. "Explain to me again, why you're trying to kill me?"
"Well I can't give all of the details but someone is paying us a lot of gold to find you and send to the afterlife. I mean I really don't know the full story on it but the client seems very adamant about having you not be among the living as soon as possible. I don't know why but he seemed to have a great deal of hate for you but I digress. The short of it is someone wants you dead and we are the assassins sent to see you to your untimely death." Carbos explained as he held a hand to his face as if he were wiping away a tear in remorse for what he had to do. "Oh you poor unfortunate soul, if it wasn't for our place in your death today I dare say we could have been friends. Really I mean if you don't seem all that bad a guy a little on the small side but not a bad guy. I mean with some training you could be someone of great importance at some point. A legendary thief, or a world traveling fence, I dare say the world's greatest pirate. That could have been you but… It's so sad to see you cut down in your prime. I mean you are a diamond in the rough as it were…" Carbos went on as he gave a light laugh before clearing his throat. "So before I get to going on and on again like some old woman do you have any last words Mr. Maldovar? Please remember that these are the words your loved ones will remember you by so do make them good ones. Or at least the semblance of a rousing speech, that way if it's bad I can embellish it a bit to make you sound more heroic."
"Yeah, it's no fun if you just stand there and let us stab you." Shank pointed out. "I mean, I'm still going to stab you, but it wouldn't be right to start stabbing without you getting your last words out. So say your piece then get ready to die." Shank told Zaram as he got ready to violently stab him to death.
"Well Shank is right, Mr. Maldovar, you really do need to give us your last words as it is getting late. We only have maybe another half hour of oil left in the lantern and I do need to hide your body as well as take a proof that the job has been completed. So if you wouldn't mind telling us those last words and who we should deliver them to, that would get this situation moving along just nicely."
As Zaram stood there bewildered at the politeness of his assassins and unable to truly get a grasp of the gravity of his predicament two things did make sense to him, one if he was truly to die today he really didn't have any final words of note or importance to leave behind. He really didn't have anything worthwhile to say to anyone, This lack of words led to Zaram's second realization, that he hadn't done anything worthwhile in his life. All of his short life had been lived out in Candlekeep and the parts of that he had control over he had been spent dreaming of seeing the outside world for himself. As it stood all he had ever done was dream of a greater life like all of the characters and figures of history in the countless books he had read over the years. Why had he waited so long try and see the world? Why had he just dreamed of adventuring instead of going out and doing just that? Could he really be someone of worth in the world? Could he really become a legend? Should he even try? Before Zaram could put words to the well of feelings swirling around inside of him the door to the cellar was smashed open with brutal force.
"What in the Nine Hells boy, I told ye to kill the rats not let them breed two would be kings!" Reevor yelled as he pointed a fat finger in the direction of Shank and Carbos from the stairway. Just behind the tall dwarf was Hull followed by Gorion, who looked as if he was ready to bring down storm and fury with his bare hands, in fact, he was holding on to what looked to be a small thunderstorm in his right hand.
"Well looks like I will have to clean up behind you boy. I keep telling you, Gorion that he isn't ready for the world especially if he can't handle two little pissants like those two." Hull retorted as he stepped to the side to let Gorion get a good look at the two lowlifes that were threatening his son.
"Well, it looks I get to stab several peop… oh, fuck that's the Grand Swordmage Gorion! … By the Abyssal Lord's balls, that's Gorion!" Shank shouted as he started to tremble in the presence of the swordmage that had once raided a temple to a god and lived to tell the tale.
"It can't be true, no fucking way this Maldovar kid is the son of that monster!" Carbos managed to respond back though he was also quaking in his boots. "There is no way we fucked up that bad! This a trick, it has to be. There is no way I'm getting murdered in this rat infested hell hole by Gorion! There's not enough gold in the world for that, Shank, let's run for it!"
Although briefly immobilized by the chaotic situation Zaram let out a sigh of relief as his father, Hull and Reevor had come to save him. The one question that was on Zaram's mind was how they knew he was in trouble. While their would be prey was pondering how his rescuers had found out he was in danger, Shank and Carbos were trying to figure out the best way to avoid a fight with Gorion. The dwarf and the guardsman would be a hard fight but manageable given the fact they had a hostage of sorts, but Gorion was on a whole other level. The had no chance of winning a fight with him even with his son as a hostage and there was still the matter of getting away from Candlekeep alive. Their only real option was to grab the boy and run for it then ditch him once they were outside of Candlekeep. This job wasn't paying enough gold to risk their lives against the likes of Gorion, no amount of gold was worth that.
"Alright, no sudden moves or the boy gets it. Let us pass by and we will forget any of this happened. I was only paid to kill the boy not tangle with likes of you. So the boy, my assistant, and I will be leaving here. Once we get outside of the city proper we will leave the boy in the woods near the road. You get him back and we will never bother you again. Fair is fair right?" Carbos asked as he started to reach for Zaram only to be thwarted by Hull smirking at him before turning to Zaram and yelling at the boy.
"Get your dumbass up here before your father roasts you along with these shitstains!" Hull shouted down at Zaram.
Zaram quickly regained his bearings then nodded in response before abandoning his tools as he made his way past his assassins and headed to the stairwell. He bolted to the surface as fast as his panicked legs could carry him, tripping and faltering along the way. As Zaram ran up the stairs stumbling along the way Carbos lamented wanting to get the boys last words and took note that the chances of survival were now getting closer to zero.
Once Zaram reached the top of the stairs he fell over panting from his exertion, he really needed to get more exercise after this was over, he looked up to see Reevor smirking down at him. "No need ta pray to me like I'm your God boy, just saving yer life as a good samaritan should." Reevor chuckled as he helped the shaken Zaram to his feet. Reevor then turned his head slightly to look at Hull and his smirk grew wider. "Well look at that, I didn't think ye cared that much for the boy, Hull. Mayhaps there's hope for ye yet. You want to tuck him in later and read him a bedtime story?"
Glaring from inside his helmet, Hull only turned his gaze towards the cellar as he spoke. "As much as I hate the lanky waste of space, I'd never hear the end of it if I just sat back and watched him die. Don't you go looking too far into it, I'm just doing my job, which is more than I can say for you. Also, I'm not a shite Nursemaid like yourself so if you want someone to tuck him and read him a bedtime story then go and do it yourself, you burly bastard."
Before Reevor could utter a retort, Gorion walked calmly down the stairs into the cellar with a storm in his fist and a cold stare in his eyes. For a moment he said nothing as he stared into the rat-infested storeroom at the two assailants, watching them intently as they stood frozen in fear. The two trembling men exchanging looks of terror between themselves as they were unable to gather the courage to speak any further. Finally, Gorion broke the silence with a single word, sending a chill down the spine of all who stood near him. "Talk!"
As Shank started to open his mouth to speak, Carbos slowly stepped in front of his partner effectively cutting him off mid-thought. "Well umm, you see, Mr. Gorion, sir. We don't actually know much more than you, sir. I uhh…"
"Yeah, we were just told to stab 'em, no questions. Right, Carbos? In't that what the boss said?" Shank interrupted. "Just kill the kid and we make off with a couple 'undred gold. Nice and simple like. 'Course that's not how it turned out but you win some you lose some, right Carbos? In't that what the boss always says? Right, Carbos?"
"You two aren't exceptionally bright are you?" Gorion asked, holding his left hand to his forehead trying to stave off a headache that was now forming.
"Not really, sir. Well, I'm not anyway. I just do most of the stabbing cause I'm really good at that. Boss says it the one I do the best." Shank confirmed. "Carbos is the smart one and he can even read a little, he can. He likes to use 'dem big words, don't ye' Carbos?"
"Ok listen, sir," Carbos stated after sighing loudly. "My friend's stupidity aside, we really don't know much about the situation that we've got ourselves into. Clearly, someone wants your son dead, but we were just doing our jobs. It was just a contract, if you let us go we'll just walk out and you'll never see us again. Honestly, we didn't even really want to kill him…"
"I did," Shank corrected him with a half-smile. "I like killing, it's fun!"
"NOT NOW SHANK!" Carbos screamed at his friend, the sheer magnitude of his fear that had been increasing by the second was now intensified tenfold by Shank's declaration, If something wasn't done soon to salvage their already weak position the two low rent thugs were going to die horribly. It was a few seconds after Gorion's calm demeanor turned rather dark that Carbos realized he now had no other alternative but to fight. "Oh to the Nine Hells with it…" Carbos yelled before he exchanged one last look of camaraderie with his friend and then charged at Gorion with his short sword, hoping against overwhelming odds that he might actually manage to wound the veteran Swordmage. "DIE YOU WRINKLY OLD BASTARD!"
After seeing the smarter of the two men made a desperate lunge for the older man Hull pulled his sword from its scabbard but before he could charge into the cellar to help Gorion there was a flash of bright light. Gorion had lifted the arm that held the rumble of a thunderstorm up into the air and opened his cupped hand releasing the raging elemental magic in several arcs of wild lightning bolts. The first flash of light and crackling blue and white colored energy zig-zagged across the cellar filling it with an intense glow before it found its target a few seconds later.
Carbos screamed out in fury first but soon that scream become one of pain as a bolt of white hot lightning stuck the back of his sword hand scorching it black. The second bolt of lightning followed the path of the first bolt but after it hit Carbos' hand it jumped to the bladed edge of his sword turning the blade red hot to the touch. Once again the would-be assassin screamed in pain as his hand was electrified then burned by the electrically charged blade he was holding. The third bolt followed a second to later hit Carbos' hand then jumping to his sword before finding it's target, the tip of Shank's shortsword. This time the room was filled with the screams of both men as they were electrocuted and burned by the swords they held.
When the fourth and fifth bolts began their arcs across the room both men had fallen to the ground twitching and convulsing from the amount of pure lightning elemental energy they had absorbed. When the next two bolts hit they sent the two thugs flailing about like rag dolls in a violent storm as they screamed incoherently. The whole time Gorion said nothing, he just watched as the two assassins suffered under the might of his masterful magics. It was the sixth and final bolt that seemed to put end to the suffering of Shank and Carbos. When the sixth bolt made its way across the room it was the strongest of all of the bolts, the light from it made the room as bright as the day before it made its way along the path the other bolts had followed. After the six bolt had passed though Shank's belt buckle it jumped to the final target: the lantern hanging from the cellar rafter. The bolt stuck it with so much force and raw power that the lantern exploded in a shower of hot metal and molten glass fragments. The oil in the lamp was burned off in a flash of fire and light from the power of the electrical charge.
For several minutes the whole of the cellar was filled with a tremendous amount of heat from the lightning and the oil from the lantern being flashed off. This blast of heat and fire left a fine layer of soot on most of the room and large scorch marks on many of the support beams and rafters of the cellar. The floor around Shank and Carbos had taken the brunt of the damage as it was blackened and cracked from the surge of the lightning. The room was filled with large amounts of smoke that was bellowing out past Reevor, Hull, and Zaram along with the few rats that had survived Gorion's magical attack. As the smoke cleared the bodies of Shank and Carbos lay scorched and motionless along with several dozens blackened and smoking rat carcasses.
Zaram could only stare in awed silence at Gorion's display of power as Hull and Reevor both tried to seemed unphased but bore looks of shock and dread at the power the swordmage had shown them. Hull swallowed hard knowing full well that this was only a fraction of Gorion's true power and if the man had truly chosen to go all out that half of Candlekeep would be a rubble-filled ruin. After several moments, Gorion approached Zaram and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.
"By the gods, man you cooked them like a pheasant over an open flame in the hearth. What am I to tell Ulraunt of this mess?" Reevor asked as Gorion walked out of the cellar.
"Tell him whatever you like but do not tell him I was the one that killed those two. He need not know of me using such powers in the walls of Candlekeep without his permission. Not that I would need it, as it better to seek forgiveness than ask permission." Gorion said with a grim look on his face as he turned to Zaram. "I'm afraid Candlekeep is no longer safe for you, child. Go to the tavern and have Winthrop gather your things, we must depart at sunset."
Reevor was going to say something but was stopped by Hull placing a hand on his shoulder. "We can tell him that we fought those two thugs and a fire broke out during the fight, that's why the bodies are burnt. This way Gorion and the boy don't have to be bothered with this. Besides, it looks like Gorion has bigger problems than dealing with Ulraunt about a slightly burnt storeroom..."
Hey everyone, hope you enjoyed Chapter 2. Sorry, it took so long, but I've been under a lot of stress lately and both I and my co-writer have been very busy with our respective personal lives. In any case, I'm going to start working on Chapter 3 as soon as possible and hopefully I will be finished soon.
Until Next Time,
TheStoryWizard
