A/N: Didn't expect to get this out until next week, but here we go!
Chapter 5: Vagaries and Vicissitudes
"-. .-"
"Urgency! Urgency!"
Hope was soul with light untarnished so bright as to break through red haze, send maniac of a Vestige reeling flash-blind even as her physical ream-self charged out of the woods and dawn shade.
"Beasts! Fire! Murder!"
Hope was cries of help and danger yelled in accent most ridiculous.
"Oh woe! Oh woe! Woe Us, that We shouldst suffer such grievous a blow to Our temerity!" Hope was pink-haired, pink-cloaked woman running hastily right at them, near-toppling after slipping on a loose road rock, flailing helplessly and gasping in fright and (not) tiredness as she caught herself and proceeded to continue charging in their direction.
"Gods bless you, master mage!" She cried out as she launched herself at Rhialto the Fabulous. "For surely 'twas thine foresight that saved Our life and dignity!" She draped herself all over his arm and whatever other parts of him were within reach. "Dumb beasts of the forest would have surely outraged Our modesty with their smell and slobber!" Lithe arms hugged a knife-wielding arm to her bosom as the river of drama flowed free and unabated. "Useless escorts dared command Our person to flee! Command Us! The scandal! Rather than kneel and offer to carry Us as their place demanded! 'Tis an outrage!"
Hope was soul-light warm and calming to the point where red haze vanished and clenched fingers loosened from the iron grip on a magic stone that had gone sick-green and grown skin-skewering prickles.
"But now We are saved!" Hope declared in relief as she sniffled into the shoulder of the Wild Mage Nutcase. "We were so terrified but now… now…" She whimpered and suddenly swayed, hung nearly entirely on her male reflection in pink fashion who could only blink dumbly and only barely caught himself before collapsing under her sudden weight. It was all he could do to automatically bring his arms around to steady her, completely mind-blown by the sheer severity of what's this I don't even-
Cyrus couldn't exactly blame him. Gorion was in more or less the exact same state.
"Erm… yes," Rhialto the Fabulous (no matter that he called himself Marvelous or whatever else on specific days of the month) automatically agreed. He'd completely failed to register that his new burden had emerged from the part of the forest not on fire. "Terrible business I'm sure, and you are obviously as honoured to meet Rhialto the Marvelous as our smaller friend here, but now-"
"Yes!" she wailed, leaning further into him, if it was possible. Loose hands, that one. "Now! Now is the time…" she trailed off, one sniff at a time.
"Time?" The Wild Mage gasped from the extra added weight, just narrowly avoiding crashing to the ground.
"Yes," she sniffled dully. "Time…" She craned her neck to gaze into the pink-haired mage's eyes. "Time for Our confession," she finished, doe-eyed.
"Oh my!" The human yelped, trying and failing to extricate himself. "A confession?" He yelped shrilly.
"Yes," the woman said, voice suddenly airy as if she was feeling faint. "The most earnest expression of Our feelings!" She allowed the flustered wild mage to disentangle himself, though she immediately leaned in far enough for him to reflexively lean back. "We simply must tell you, you see…" She held up at eye level a small Couch's SpadefootToad. A live Couch's SpadefootToad she had moments before taken out of the man's spell component pouch. "One very important truth, master mage." Then she held up with her other hand a Rod of Dispelling. "We Bards are prone to trickery!"
The Rod of Dispelling she had not pickpocketed off him - stolen from some Candlekeep monk or other, no doubt, there were plenty to go around – activated as soon as she used it to touch the tiny toad right on the head.
The next moment she leapt backwards and threw the toad right at the mage's head. Perfect timing for the polymorphed creature to break out of its unnatural state and transform mid-air into the grey-furred, massive frame of a certain wolf so far beyond incandescently furious that the sheer rage in its howling snarl would have bowled the mage over even if he hadn't literally landed on the man's face.
Rhialto the Marvelous crashed with a yowl, then he no longer voiced any sounds at all as the wolf known as Arawn proceeded to set upon his foe with an almost inspired level of savagery.
…
Well.
…
Seemed that the no-longer-alive-to-interrupt-meaningful-moments Wild Mage Nutcase would never again accidentally guide peoples' fathers to their early deaths.
Or would he? Cyrus narrowed his eyes at a certain object that had flown away after the ties affixing it to the man's belt broke loose. The dwarf tilted his head to avoid collateral blood splatter. Right then. Telekinesis to summon the very dead man's effects away from the… retribution going on. Prestidigitation to remove the gore that did reach his clothes. More prestidigitation to guide any subsequent splatter of blood and fleshy bits everywhere but him and Father.
Imoen could take care of herself.
Thunder rumbled in the background and the air seemed to move, chill and grow moist as if predicting rain. None of the three people still alive or the wolf still taking out his aggression acknowledged it. Not Gorion who was looking blankly at the… man on the ground. Not Imoen who was staring at the post-mortem mutilation in progress with face looking a bit greener around the gills than was normal for her. And not Cyrus whose hands finally held the two most meaningful items that had been carried in life by Rhialto the Fabulous.
The first was a garishly-coloured and decorated Spellbook.
The second was… a Teddy Bear.
"Now I am certain this is not a dream," Father uttered from beside him, eyes moving from the scene of bestial brutality to the children's comfort toy his son held. "My mind would never be able to conjure up something as random as this." Comfort toy that Rhialto the Fabulous had used for a very uncommon purpose.
Still used.
Cyrus narrowed his eyes at the first ever example of a means to circumvent death even after it technically happened. Phylacteries. What a roundabout method, he thought. And such an odd thing, too, trying the functionality to that of the spellbook itself. Not standard practice, the young dwarf was sure.
Unnaturally quick-forming clouds rumbled behind them, where the forest fire continued to rage on.
Cyrus ignored it, choosing instead to open the spellbook – no wards to order still, bizarrely enough, though considering the nature of the tie with the teddy bear perhaps it made sense – and proceeded to record each and every page of the deceptively thin book, storing spell after spell in his mind, many familiar, more still not familiar at all. The latter ones proved quite intriguing actually, given his own precarious history with Mystra's Weave.
Nahal's Reckless Dweomer, Mynoc's Irresistible Appeal (created a lasso of force rather than enchanting the mind, curiously), Random Spell I (exactly what it said in the name, based on the spell matrix) – Rodent Form (self-targeted polymorph, the madman apparently liked spending time as… a Jerboa apparently). There were plenty of other, familiar first-level spells as well but these others seemed to have been specifically designed to take advantage of the volatility of Wild Magic. Whatever else could be said about the man currently in process of exponentially increasing the space his body covered, he'd somehow pulled genius out of that madness.
Northwards and eastwards, the clouds broke into a deluge of rain that finally began to quench the smoking disaster that Gorion had inflicted upon nature. Cyrus didn't pay it any attention.
Chaos Shield, Aura of Power, Rhialto's Random Missiles (random number of up to 10 different magic missiles that traded force damage for random elemental or magical harm, very useful), Tyndal's Spatial Compressor (random short-range teleport? Fit the theme, he supposed) and the last level 2 wild magic spell was… summon wild horde. Of bunnies. Bunnies which were entirely useless, save for the fact that there was a 1 in 4 chance of them exploding in a fireball upon death. Huh.
The clouds had spread and come to the point where it rained all the way up to the nearest trees north of the road. Only that far, though. The three of them were perfectly dry and warm regardless, next to the obelisk as they were. How convenient. Not that it was a surprise, given the familiar soul star burning from within the human flying above the forest.
Random Spell II, Vile Word of Discord (ventriloquism and confusion combined together for the purpose of causing chaos among enemies it seemed).
The familiar form controlling the weather spell from above the forest jolted with shock/relief/joy and made for their direction, leaving the magic to do as it willed for however long it had left to last.
Corporeal Instability (liquefies the target… non-lethally. Somehow.), Glyph of Wild Magic (caused wild surges all over the place, much like he'd done… that one time, though without actually harming the Weave itself apparently). Page after page turned, one or two every second.
The mage in flight finally cleared the treeline and landed just feet away from Father. "Oh, thank Mystra!" Khelben Blackstaff Arunsun gasped, almost. "I feared the worst!"
Berrilium's Brilliant Bouquet. Created a bouquet of shining magical flowers that blinded everyone nearby.
"So did-" Gorion broke off, taken aback at being spontaneously hugged by the other man, however briefly. "So did I, for a time…"
Random Spell III.
"I take it they were not entirely unfounded concerns," the Archmage said with a carefully controlled voice after letting go. But he did not wait for Gorion to say more at that point, instead walking over to where Cyrus stood engrossed in the Spellbook.
Wildstrike caused enemy spellcasters' spells to result in wild surges for predetermined durations, Meece's Wildarmor was a nominal illusion (in actuality a means to interfere with causality and effectively neutralize or reduce all damage or effects from hostile actions of any kind).
Would Tethtoril give him a second unlimited residence pass in Candlekeep if he went and donated this text-?
"Hey now," Khelben said, interrupting him by laying his hands on both shoulders. "I am aware that aloofness is a staple of royalty but I assumed we were past that stage, Little Prince."
That was another thing. It wasn't strange enough that the Watchers had somehow dreamed up some sort of conspiracy aimed against Cyrus back during Khelben's first visit. No, rumours just had to start circulating and visitors could not resist speculating on the oddity of a dwarf living in Alaundo's fortress under the aegis of the strongest, most long-standing and influential of Candlekeep's higher-ups. A little boy who was even using the Watchers and many random members of the Avowed as bodyguards. Which was most definitely not the case – really – but stories tended to take on a life of their own. And then he was twelve and his Father organised for him a semi-public birthday party during which it was all but confirmed that he was personally connected to the Watchers, First Reader Tethtoril, Thearabho and even Khelben Arunsun, of all people, and then Imoen just couldn't help it and called him a prince and, well…
Half or more of Candlekeep basically believed at this point that he was some dwarven prince being raised in seclusion. Never mind that dwarves just did not do that. Never mind that political intrigue simply did not happen among dwarves at all.
It did not help that everyone who knew better simply had to get in on the fun and further propagated that entire story, both within the keep and among the many people who visited and inevitably took that story with them when they left…
Imoen had, naturally, milked her "personal connection to royalty" for all it was worth, especially during those 10 days when that Calishite Pasha was visiting and she decided she would flutter her eyelashes and "make with the noblesse oblige" at him for all relevant information about Calimshan, for she simply had to get all available first-hand information for her book and she would use all the tools and means available to her to do it because she would not be denied, mark her words.
It was things like that, Cyrus mused thoughtfully, that could leave even the Vestige of a mad god reeling in the throes of incredulity to the point where it would forget to keep trying to push his offspring to random homicide.
The feeling returned as soon as he thought about it.
Damn.
"Hello, sir." Not much else to actually say really. "How are you?"
"How am I?" The man asked incredulously. "I find you and your father calmly beholding or alternatively ignoring the most brutal scene of bloodshed that this side of the Lion's Way road has seen in recent decades. And to compound the matter, you both look like a fire elemental rolled all over the both of you." The man bent forward to inspect his half-ruined clothing. Ah right, Cyrus had forgotten to cast any sort of mending cantrip, hadn't he? "Your skin is blistered and outright torn in places! Just how severe were you hurt and how recently?"
It was a pertinent question, Cyrus supposed, since he generally recovered from any wound in a night's rest. He healed quite quickly.
Perhaps quickness of action wasn't the only natural advantage he had over Sarevok Anchev.
"We were not afforded the leisure to see to our post-battle wounds, teacher." He reached into his pocket to withdraw the Staff of Healing, which he enlarged immediately. "But I suppose now would be a good enough time to see to it." He used it to heal his injuries, then peered at Father – surprised, believed the staff had been lost in the forest, immensely proud of him all over again – and used it on him as well before passing it to the Khelben, since he was closest.
The Archmage straightened with a sigh. "One of these days…" He pinched his nosebridge, then seemed to remember something and turned to Gorion. "Why are you even on the road? Did Elminster not send a message ahead?"
Elminster. So that's who it was.
Cyrus resumed reading even as he registered Gorion's soul-light painting with the shade of surprise. "Of course he did. That is why we are heading to the Friendly Arm Inn to begin with."
"Headed for…" The Archmage trailed off, aghast. "Mystra's mercy, what did that man say to you?"
Dweomer Warp (green ball of magic that surrounds casters in a field of ravaging weave-fire that harms proportionally to magical ability), Tyndal's Temporal Compressor (displaces self from normal timeflow, providing various protections) Random Spell IV, Sphere of Chaos, Hornung's Random Dispatcher, Summon Cow.
Summon Cow…
What.
"HE TOLD YOU TO LEAVE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!?" Khelben balked. Yelled loud enough to drown out the closing noises of the Arawn vs. Rhialto "confrontation" even. "He told you to travel by night!?"
"Gorion!" Blackstaff cut Father off just as he opened his mouth to reply. "Tell me exactly what the man's message said." Pause. "Please."
Entropy Burst, Eye of the Beholder, Mynoc's Wild Spell Recuperation, Rary's Menmonic Negator. Another piece of evidence for Cyrus' theory that the Weave and/or Mystra was deliberately erasing spell knowledge if someone could invent a spell for it, and the opposite for that matter.
"Is that man completely mad!?" Khelben Blackstaff sputtered over the letter Gorion had handed him. He only got more riled up as he read it. "'We have been a touch too sheltering? I urge you to lave Candlekeep this very night? A moving target is much harder to hit?'" Khelbern was becoming more and more astonished and outraged the more he read. "'We have done what we can for the one in thy care? The time nears when we must step back and let matters take what course they will!?'" Khelben growled. "I did not agree with this and made it clear to the relevant parties." Thundered struck in the background at his angry resolution. An interesting side benefit for a spell of Control Weather.
Wild Sphere, Wildfire to spontaneously cast any known spell of level 8 or lower, Entropy Shield to removes the "Reckless" in Nahal's Reckless Dweomer (useful).
"Watcha reading?" Imoen asked, looking at the book over his left shoulder and frowning. Unfortunately for her curiosity, that was the moment he finished the last page and the Spellbook of Rhialto the Fabulous disappeared into thin air. "No fair!"
The other two men did not notice. "Clearly, his urgings did more harm than good," the Blackstaff said lowly, eyes tightening the slightest bit. "I am honestly perplexed. Elminster should have known well enough that I would be coming, seeing as I said so to his face."
"Perhaps he assumed you would be too busy with Prince Haedrak to come immediately?" Gorion asked falteringly. "His highness is raising an army and arranging for a fleet in Waterdeep as we speak, is he not? In anticipation of the Tethyr campaign to assist Queen Zaranda-"
"Which I am in no way involved with directly at present since my part at this stage is already done." Whatever that meant. "And I would have prioritised this even had that not been the case."
"Truly? Is the Iron Crisis so severe an issue? I thought Jaheira and Khalid were already investigating-"
"By Mystra, the Iron Crisis is not what I meant! And even if it were, I would still have prioritised this because you two live here!"
There was a surprised silence, on both their parts. One because he hadn't expected that to be said and one because he hadn't expected to come out and outright say it.
Arunsun sighed and gripped the Blackstaff in a tight grip. "Gods' sakes, old friend, you could not wait one more day? Curse me for not using a Sending. None of this would have happened then." The Archmage stopped and realized he had no idea what 'what' was. "What did happen out there?"
Gorion begun giving a concise rundown of the past 24 hours but Cyrus didn't much care right now. No, he cared more about the building power in the Teddy Bear.
The phylactery embedded inside the teddy bear.
He preemptively turned to face the direction of the two men still deep in talk.
"Well, seems like your puppy's done using mister fashion victim as a chew toy," Imoen jested next to him.
She was right. Arawn had indeed finished rending the man apart limb from limb, then limb piece from limb piece. The wolf slowly backed away from the… mage all over the place, growling menacingly all the while. Then he – Prestidigitation to clean off all the blood – rubbed himself around Cyrus a few times while his self-light – an odd, sapience-less haze of few varieties – somehow depicted angry embarrassment. He then bared his teeth at the… mage covering the majority of the road three-some meters away and resumed growling even as Cyrus petted him on the head. The head that was as high as his own. "Good boy," it was the proper way to endorse good behaviour, Cyrus had heard. Trial and error seemed to bear that out. "Next time try not to get yourself turned into a spell component to begin with, though."
Arawn produced an insulted half-whine-half-growl but didn't back away.
Which was when the Teddy Bear of protection +2, +3 vs. Demons flew out of Cyrus' hand, disappeared in a colourful display of pyrotechnics and left behind the form of the pink-haired, garishly-dressed human that had just been turned into a literal smear. Perhaps he wasn't really a human anymore. A Lich with attachment to his non-existent physical beauty then?
"So we meet again..." The deranged wild mage proclaimed loudly, not seeming to notice Father and Khelben Arunsun staring in incredulity from mere meters behind him. Which had been the whole point of turning to face them in the first place, so that the revived man would have his back to them when the death-evading purpose of the Teddy Bear phylactery were achieved.
He did see Imoen though. "You seem to have grown more self-confident since Rhialto the Marvelous had his little accident, treacherous wench!" Then his eyes turned to Cyrus. "And you! It is just fitting that you, who caused his downfall by luring him into an ambush with your alluring spleen, brought Rhialto back to life!"
Because in reading the book and storing the spells in his memory had enacted a 'secret' spell of its own that activated the previously-cast reincarnation-by-Wish contingency embedded in the Teddy Bear.
It seemed his life truly could turn this bizarre, Cyrus thought darkly. Really darkly, since the Bhaaltaint was practically egging him on to rip/tear/kill/destroy the Teddy Bear right in front of the man's eyes. Never mind that said Teddy bear had just been consumed as a spell component.
Then again, no one had ever accused Bhaal of being sane.
Clearly, neither was Rhialto the Fabulous, or whatever he was calling himself this week. "But to do this, you had to read Rhialto's spellbook. Rhialto the Marvelous really doesn't like it when someone touches his things!"
"You are absolutely right," Cyrus said suddenly, ignoring the way magic gathered ominously in the background. Khelben and Gorion – the latter of whom hadn't even had a chance to replenish his spellcasting list but did not let that stop him from coming up with something – were supremely displeased with the threats against the young dwarf's person. Casually as if meeting an acquaintance, Cyrus grabbed the man's hand and shook it as if in greeting. "No one should touch the possessions of Rhialto the Marvelous. Which is why I've decided this should be yours." Then he turned the bemused mage's hand palm up, dropped the spiky magic stone on it, forced the man's fingers closed around it and squeezed.
Cyrus stepped away to give the Wild Mage space as he howled in pain at his hand being skewered all over, then screamed even harder as the unintended disintegration effect forced into it by overeager Bhaaltaint turned his hand to dust along with the prickled stone itself, only to work its way up all the way to the elbow before finally stopping.
It only lasted moments, but by the end of it the man had fallen to his knees right in front of a suspiciously silent member of the canine kingdom.
There was a moment of silence.
Then Arawn set upon his foe with a literally unparalleled degree of savagery.
…
Well.
That takes care of that. Now to repeat the earlier feat of reclaiming the spellbook by means of Prestidigitation. Father and teacher would not doubt find the contents fascinating.
"Oh for the love of…" Khelben muttered with his face in his palm, sounding every bit the part of the near-1000-year-old man who was completely done with this nonsense. "Magic, these days! Nothing but a race between wizards striving to build bigger and better idiot-proof spells, and the Universe trying to produce bigger and better idiots."
"Yes," Gorion said from beside him, nodding grimly. "Clearly, the Universe is winning."
Cyrus completely agreed. It was supremely improbable for a mage capable of casting 9th level spells to walk around with no contingencies or defences other than those just exhibited, to the point that a normal wolf could take them out unawares.
"Well don't you worry none!" Hope proclaimed grandly with a swoop of her pink cloak. "Imoen the Magnificent came here to save the day! Which she did!"
"Yes, you are here indeed," Gorion said with eyes narrowed. "When you were specifically told to stay at the keep. Repeatedly, I might add. By several different people. And here you are, sneaking out and jumping into trouble without any sort of forethought."
"I'll have you know that there was nothing lacking forethought about my timely arrival!" Little sister declared, the perfect picture of personal offense in progress.
Then she seemed to realise what she said. It did not help that the other two pairs of eyes belonging to thinking beings there also zeroed in on her.
It only made her scowl and cross her arms with a huff. "Well, there wasn't! I had everything under control!"
Which said nothing of anything that came previously.
Something Gorion picked up on as well, naturally. "Because clearly, the fact that you are here at all says nothing about the life-threatening methods you must have used to sneak out of the keep without being seen or stopped," Gorion challenged, approaching and looking down with stern eyes. "Or the fact that you knew when and where to emerge running and screaming. Or how you knew where Cyrus' animal companion had been stashed, or that he had been polymorphed and captured at all. Clearly, nothing occurred over the past 24 hours that would have sent me into heart-stopping worry had I been present or even aware of your doings."
The short, sarcastic speech almost managed to make Imoen succumb to contrition – she never did like to upset Gorion or Winthrop, especially worry them even though she didn't care much about the reactions of most people – but she rallied admirably. "You can't prove anything!"
"Oh no?" Gorion challenged, eyebrow climbing. "So the fact that-"
"I did not sneak out of Candlekeep using the holds Cyrus carved in the wall facing the sea years ago!" Imoen cut him off with an insulted glare. "I did not then proceed to make my way to the wolf cave to see if the Big Bad Wolf was there, only to find he was not and go on my way. I also did not then proceed to mingle with the departing seekers only to sneak out and go into the woods the same way you did. For that matter, I did not get horribly lost and end up in the woods south of here without ever noticing when I crossed the road! Nor did I happen to climb a tree for orientation just in time for mister fashion victim to show up and run into large, angry and fanged over there only to turn him into a toad the moment woofy tried to jump him." Imoen sniffed, turned her head away in disgust and flicked her right hand at the two older men dismissively. "So you see, I could not have been in any position to then tail mister fashion victim the entire night until he finally spotted you and decided to cover the remaining 100 feet with a targeted teleportation spell in defiance of all common sense." The young woman put a hand on her hip and looked at the mess still in progress. "Honestly, why he didn't just do that from the start I have no idea."
Why did madmen do anything? They're madmen, that's why.
Crunch goes the wild mage.
"Wow," Imoen said, sounding rather astonished now, if not quite as green as before while staring at Arawn taking out his well-earned aggression. Again. "He must be really mad at being turned into a mini toad when he was just trying to take out a threat to you to spare you the danger." There was an awkward pause. It could not be called silence when flesh-ripping and bone-popping noises filled the immediate area. "And I will take this chance to reaffirm that my being here and successfully planning and executing Cyrus' rescue by means of angry puppy is nothing but a fortuitous coincidence!"
Gorion sighed. "Child-"
"That's my story and I'm sticking with it!"
"Oh, that is it!" Khelben grunted, striking Blackstaff against the ground to get everyone's attention. "Clearly, the best laid plans of 'relevant parties' have proven, as our Little Prince there would no doubt say, supremely suboptimal." Yes, that was exactly what Cyrus would say about them. "Therefore, clearly, the only logical thing to do is to do away with them entirely and start over from the beginning. Which means, before anything else, going back to Candlekeep and-"
"No."
The conjured rain poured violently twenty meters away and smoke still rose in the sky from scattered pockets here and there, mixing with the clouds.
Cyrus almost never said anything unless prompted.
Which made the rare times exponentially more effective.
"That…" Gorion said slowly, "is a total reversal of what you would have said yesterday."
"Yes." Rip/tear/kill/ tear them all because I said so-
Shut up.
He closed his eyes and focused his entire attention on Imoen's soul-star.
Bhaal didn't go flash-blind this time but the Vestige did simmer down. Not because of her but because Cyrus ability to summon faint echoes of the same light she shone with when he concentrated specifically enough.
"Explain," Khelben said.
Older half-brother. Chaosrend. Bhaaltaint reaction. Vestige. Aware. Proactive. Enchantment plan part turned into new fallback. Compulsion Cyrus was liable to fall under the closer he got back to Candlekeep where all the stored essence was.
Cyrus explained.
There were no words for the distress that coloured Gorion's emotional foundation, or the grim countenance that overcame Khelben as he listened. And both men were outraged on his behalf. Incensed even, though Gorion's feelings were naturally more intense given the special relationship between son and father. Or so Cyrus had been assured by Hull and others. Repeatedly.
Nor were there any words for a time after he finished. Even Arawn cut his righteous vengeance short and padded over to – prestidigitation to clean off the blood – rub his head against his upper arm.
"Well sod and bother," Imoen blurted, finally. "You're one of Bhaal's kids?"
Cyrus blinked owlishly at her as Gorion and Khelben jerked in place, startled externally and internally alike. "Wait, you don't know?" He asked. "How can you not know?"
Because it begged asking.
"Well how should I?" She asked defensively. "It's not like you scream 'creepy godspawn here, think happy thoughts' is it?" She stopped and reviewed what she said, then gave him a more thorough look as she thought back. "Actually, you kind of do now that I think about it. Huh." A beat. "But that doesn't mean I was supposed to automatically think you're one of what those chanters harp about at least once a day!" Another beat. "Although the way you matured by the age of 20 instead of 50 is kind of weird in hindsight. And the way you just know things by looking at people. And everyone knows at least some rumours about what went on in the Tower of Exaltation…" She trailed off. "You know… now I'm feeling kind of dumb for not thinking about it, at least in passing."
"Indeed," Gorion said tiredly. "You certainly came up with every other outlandish explanation if history is anything to go by."
"Exactly!" Imoen agreed readily. "It's all your fault!" She pointed at Gorion with all the relief of someone who'd learned she could shove the blame on someone else. "You and everyone else did everything you could to keep it a secret too! Even in your personal letters! There was barely a hint even in the scroll on your desk that I snuck in to read last night!" Imoen froze at the slip, and the way everyone stared at her. Gorion's mouth had even slipped open. Slightly, but it was no small thing. "Oh, did I just say that? No, of course I didn't. Nope, no sneaking to be had here, move on move on."
"Oh Mystra, give me wisdom and patience," Khelben Blackstaff Arunsun despaired openly. "For I will surely be forced into exile from the shame of traveling alongside such a large ham of a student."
"I resent that remark!" Imoen cried out. "… And I'm not your student."
"As of now, you are," the man declared with total finality before turning away and dismissing her entirely.
Which, naturally, was the wrong thing to do. Or the right one, if you wanted her to pay you attention, which Cyrus could well see was the case here. "Wait what!?" Imoen yelled. "Don't turn your back on me, mister! I've only just begun to talk!"
The four of them left soon after, once Khelben had checked the two of them over one more time and created some new clothes for Cyrus to put on since his old ones had been cut, torn or burned almost everywhere. Imoen tried to bark, chatter, natter, wheedle and otherwise squeeze Khelben for an answer about what he was talking about, because she was just fine thank you very much and she wanted nothing to learn from him unless he intended to teach her cool magic spells that Gorion refused to share, in which case she could perhaps be persuaded to allow such a peace offering and could she start with something cooler than Snilloc's Snowball this time, pleeeeaaase?
Cyrus did not have it in him to tell her that the man probably only intended to keep her distracted from Cyrus in case something she said or did set him off. Not that he wouldn't live up to his word but teaching her to get by on the road would qualify as much as anything else could and then his word would bind him no longer. After a while, Khelben pretended to fold under Imoen's constant nagging and begun teaching her "all things relevant when traveling" starting with how to go about without drawing attention. Which revolved around exercising discretion, to start with. Easy to do when you had a cloak covering most of you and had access to cantrips that could leave you looking drab and unremarkable whenever you wanted. Khelben even demonstrated that on himself, and did it with just the right amount of condescension that Imoen was outraged at being talked down to and proceeded to demonstrate her mastery of such skills because she was the one who'd written the book on Prestidigitation, thank you very much! She'll show'im!
She kept showing him until they reached the crossroad between the North and South Roads, then got bored and proceeded to drag Cyrus ahead because 'the old guys were boring' and looked like they had stuff to talk about that the two of them would be better off eavesdropping on. A plan that failed soon after, since they reached a road curve which briefly had the groups of two out of sight of each other.
It was unfortunate chance (though not for them) that an old passerby chose that precise moment to approach them. Dressed in a red but otherwise drab robe the old man had a weathered face, a long grey beard, a hawk-like nose and alert dancing blue-grey eyes. He was also smoking a meerschaum pipe that was giving off a blue-green, vile-smelling smoke. The man's nondescript-looking clothes were enchanted to unreasonable levels but ultimately just as vulnerable to the stillness of death as every other spell and ward Cyrus had ever run into and stilled into ineffectuality when there was nothing else to distract him. Ineffectuality like the one he'd just imposed on the lower half of the man's robes and trousers.
"Ho there, young one. Stay thy course a moment to indulge an old man."
Cyrus Anwar looked in the eyes of Elminster Aumar. The man who had sent Gorion the message that ultimately compelled him to leave as soon as possible rather than as soon as prudently possible, only to run into death that same night and nearly not make it out at all.
Then he kicked him in the shin.
