It had not been Zanven's plan to harbor a piece of the tainted iron puzzle in the group, much less one capable of what Tiax had shown. It was certainly humorous to travel alongside the gnome for the effect he had on Jaheira, but this went beyond childish spite. His fingers drummed against his staff, antsy for Tiax's explanation.
"Out with it," Jaheira demanded. "What little patience I had has dried up."
"Rush Tiax again and there will be repercussions!" His ghoul let out a moan, emulating its master's frustration. "He requires time to put his thoughts together. Tiax's mind is an enigma that must be broken down for you peasants!"
"You know," Imoen started, "we are a little smarter than you give us credit for. I'd even say we're way smarter than—"
Zanven shushed her, sensing the gnome's anger boiling. "Just explain it for us, Tiax. From the sounds of it, whatever Mulahey was a part of has slighted you in the past. Tell us and your, um, servants can help administer revenge." It pained him to fluff up Tiax's ego, but a little honey went a long way—without it he would never have made it this far with him.
"Tiax once travelled with two others of the faith. One was this pathetic creature here and the other… a crackpot of a priest unworthy of a name. We were once brothers, but they betrayed Tiax."
"Betrayed?" Jaheira asked, suspicion dripping from the word.
"Yes, that is what Tiax said!" He sighed after the outburst. "Mulahey was an idiot. Smart for an orc, but still an orc. The other was young, an impressionable mind Tiax could mold. Tiax pried apart the Black Hand's grip with his counseling. A fitting son for Cyric, a fitting son for…" Tiax hesitated and coughed, an angry sound rumbling out.
Zanven wondered about sudden hitch in Tiax's voice. Emotion had broken free before being snuffed out by his usual attitude. "A fitting son for whom?"
"Cyric! Mishear Tiax's words again and he shall tear off your ears! We shared each other's company for a time, lights of the Dark Sun, until meeting Tranzig, curse that snake-tongued, twice-bedamned deceiver!"
"T-Tranzig?" Khalid asked. "Mulahey mentioned that name. Another as well. Tazok?"
"Tiax knows no Tazok. He does know that Mulahey pledged himself to Tranzig's schemes. Tiax's other comrade, too." There it was again, the faint trace of pain in his voice. "That fool promised them the world if they joined the banditry along the coast and they did. Tiax's world was not his to give away! They would not listen to Tiax so they left him to be ambushed in the night and dumped on the road. Woe to them, for Tiax has arisen, and his vengeance has not been sated with Mulahey."
Jaheira clicked her tongue. "So then the bandits are related to Nashkel's ills. Your companion must not be the mastermind as I had thought. Merely a lackey of some greater scum, sent here to turn the region's iron to dust. What more do you know?"
"Nothing. Tiax knows that he himself is above petty banditry, but Mulahey's actions within this cesspool are unknown to Tiax. Mulahey had not the brains for such things, however. A pawn following orders like a good little piggy."
"You're no less despicable, Tiax, but you've made this mystery clearer, if only a little. You are a part of this somehow, if not by choice, and you will aid us in getting to the bottom of it," Jaheira said, her demand met with dismissal. "Let us rest and scour the orc's lair for more clues. I've no doubt we will find more pieces to the puzzle lying about. And by the Oak Father, do away with that abomination of yours, Tiax. It has served its purpose."
"Tiax do this, Tiax do that. He will do as he wills and no less!"
The room did not match up with everything else they had found. Tucked away in a side passage from the larger cave, it was a posh little dwelling unsuited for the brute that called it home. Carpeting covered the floor and a throne of sorts dominated the center, covered in pillows. Next to it was a makeshift altar and a chest. A jawless skull's gaze bored into her from the altar.
Spooky little thing. Couldn't an evil god have something else as its symbol, perhaps something a tad less grim? Sure, rainbows and puppies didn't exactly scream evil, but wasn't Tiax's god all about incognito chaos? Draw them in with a visage of happiness, and then boom—evil. Imoen snorted, imagining Tiax striking someone down by waving a puppy at them rather than his holy symbol. That'd be the day!
"Over here, everybody!" Imoen called out over her shoulder. Without waiting for them, she took to rooting around Mulahey's personal space. The chest was locked and she waggled a finger at it. "Tsk, tsk, you. That just won't do, now will it?" She pulled a pillow over to kneel on and went to work undoing the lock. Sure, everybody frowned upon thievery (and none more than those darn fun-smiting monks), but the skillset sure had its uses. It's not like she was ever a malicious sort, and besides, stealing from the bad guys was fair game. The mechanism clicked and she smiled, satisfied with her craft.
Her eyes lit up when she lifted open the chest. Imoen gently lifted out a pair of swords, first checking the shorter blade. Now that was good steel, nothing at all like Winthrop's crummy thing. She held up the longer one, intrigued by the gems ingrained in the hilt. It gave off an eerie sheen in the dim light. It had to be some sort of magic; totally hers, saw it first! She gave it a tentative swing before a burning sensation flared in her hand. She let go with a cry, sending the blade clattering to the ground.
"What are you doing?" Jaheira asked. Imoen turned to see her at the head of the group, arms crossed and grimace locked in place.
"N-nothing. Nothing at all," Imoen said, rubbing her hand. "Just looking for clues like you wanted. I mean, treasure too, but definitely clues. Clues for sure."
"Knowing her, she's ransacked the entire place already," Zanven said from behind Jaheira. Imoen made a face at him. She wouldn't pick it clean, not when they were a group. That would just be poor manners to loot all of it without sharing. Just most of it.
Jaheira strode in, grabbing Imoen's hand. "Why are you holding your hand so? Your palm is red."
"I'm fine. Nothing happened. I just squeezed that sword too hard is all." Her hand itched, but it wasn't anything to get so worked up over. She wasn't going to be touching that sword again though. Lesson learned the first time.
Jaheira raised an eyebrow, still looking at Imoen's hand. She then scrutinized the weapon before turning to the open chest. "Let us leave it be for now. While I would normally advise against your curiosity, it is tolerable at the moment. Have you found anything?"
"Not really." Imoen eyed the blades on the ground. "There wasn't much in there 'cept for these swords and all those bottles of… something." Giving a more thorough look, vials were carefully stacked within the container on top of one another. It was quite a lot of whatever it was.
Jaheira took one and held it up, swishing the vial around. Khalid reached for it, inspecting it when his wife handed it over to him. "The kobold had said something about making b-bad metal. This must be related. I wonder… Imoen, hand me your sword p-please."
"Huh? What for?" Even as she questioned his plan, she unsheathed the blade at her hip and held it out for him. Khalid uncorked the vial and poured the nasty, green liquid over her sword, and instantly there was a reaction. The liquid bubbled and hissed as it dripped over the blade, further dulling the weapon. Khalid swung it against the chest and the brittle metal shattered.
"Mayor G-Ghastkill will want to know of this," Khalid said. He held the hilt out for Imoen before smiling sheepishly and tossing it aside. He reached for the shorter blade on the ground and handed that to her instead.
"Dump all of it out," Jaheira said. "They will be empty before we leave."
"Dump it?" Imoen asked. Even Khalid gave his wife a questioning look. "It's all proof, isn't it? Evidence for all the rotten iron?"
"Dump it. It's a taint none deserve to have in their hands. Letting it exist will do more harm than good. I will see to it this thread is tied." Jaheira's steely eyes rested upon everybody, as if waiting for the chance to pounce on any resistance.
Tiax scoffed when she stared him down longer than the others. "Don't give Tiax that look. This plan was doomed to failure and Tiax will not tie himself to such a plot. He needs only his own schemes to spread his influence."
Hands grabbed for every vial, upending them and dumping the contents all over the floor. Tiax took to making a sport of it, tossing them into the air and smashing them with his club. Imoen rolled her eyes, but soon found even his dumb glee contagious. He looked stupid… but it sure did look fun. "Hey, Minsc? Humor me. Stand over there and away from everybody." She grinned, idly tossing a bottle up and down. "Leave enough room to swing that big sword of yours."
"Um, Imoen, what do you mean?" Minsc asked, drawling out her name with his accent. "Minsc sees no evil left. As much as I love to fight, now is not fight time."
"It's a game, if you will. I toss these atcha and ya hit 'em. Careful, everybody!" With little warning, she yanked bottles out and threw them at Minsc. The large warrior wasn't prepared for the first salvo as the vials bounced off of him, but his reflexes soon sprang into action.
"Imoen, Boo says this isn't safe!" Listening to the frantic cries of her companions, it was probably the first time they would agree with the hamster.
"But it's fun, right? Tell Boo to live a little!" She laughed, weaving out of the way to avoid Jaheira and grab more bottles. "Imagine they're kobolds! Big, bad, evil ones!" Oh, this was a delightful idea! Breaking things was so much fun! She laughed harder when Tiax joined in, vials now coming at Minsc from two directions. To the Rashemi's credit, he was quick in spite of his size and his sword danced around to deflect the projectiles.
"End this foolishness!" Jaheira shouted, all but hugging Imoen to stop her antics.
"Aw, I have to. We ran out of bottles. Well, it's all dumped now for ya."
"Look at this mess you've made! It is a wonder that Minsc's sword has not broken!" Seeing Jaheira flustered widened Imoen's grin. She was wound up way too tight. They beat the bad guy, looted his lair, and only had to return to Nashkel to break the news. It wasn't uncalled for to try and enjoy things for a quick moment.
A moan interrupted Jaheira's chastisement, echoing from the nearby passageway. "I can only pray that you are dead, Mulahey, and that my time of rescue is nigh… though it would be my luck to remain here, alone and forgotten."
Jaheira let go of Imoen, sharing a look with her husband. The pair left the room, rushing to seek out the voice. Everybody followed behind. Imoen cringed upon seeing the source of the noise. Lying on the ground was a man struggling to sit up with the chains that hobbled him. He was wrapped in filthy rags that did little to cover his emaciated frame.
"Minsc," Jaheira said, waving him over, "you've enough strength to break these chains?" He only smiled, taking the chains in his hands and ripping them apart as if they were string.
The prisoner struggled to stand, flexing his limbs as if he was a stranger to his own body. He wiped strands of grimy hair out of face to look at his rescuers. "Truly you have my thanks. Seeing you before me granting me my freedom makes this question almost useless, but it would do me well to hear it said aloud. The bastard is dead?"
"If you mean the orc, then yes. He is slain," Jaheira answered. Relief flickered across his face and he collapsed into Minsc's arms. He laughed at first, an unhinged bark, and then slowly started to cry. It built up into a sob that caused his body to shudder.
"Good man, you are free now," Minsc said, his usual jovialness now solemn. The man was engulfed in Minsc's embrace, appearing no more a child in the giant's arms. "The stink of evil has been washed from you. We will bring you out of this hole so that, the Three willing, you can erase the memories of this place from your mind. Minsc and Boo swear on it."
So this is what heroing was really about. The big lug was right: good deeds abound.
Jaheira and Khalid had dealt with spilling the news of their discovery in the mines to Mayor Ghastkill, as well as seeing to it that the freed prisoner—Xan he had called himself—was properly treated. After the ordeal they all went through, everybody needed to stock up and rest. The moment Minsc set foot outside of the mines he had wanted to charge off in search of his missing companion, but even his zeal could not hide his weariness. Time was not their ally, but an ill-prepared venture would not find success.
"I still can't believe it," Imoen said, walking alongside Zanven. "The moment he touched that sword it lit up with fire. How it didn't burn him, I don't know. My hand's still a little numb from when I found it."
"You should probably let Jaheira take a look at it," Zanven said. "Don't you think it was a little unsafe to dig around before anybody else got a good look at things?" Prudence wasn't Imoen's strong suit.
"Oh, there's nothing to worry about. I, uh, made sure to ask Xan about it and he said I'm fine. Wouldn't have been if I held onto it longer. Some kinda elven magic he said, makes it bonded to him and nobody else. It was a good thing we found him, the poor guy."
To have spent months underground, defenseless to the whims of another's malice… it was beyond anything anybody deserved, especially for someone of his stock. As he explained, it had been his duty as a Greycloak of Evereska to investigate the iron shortage and such danger was a potential price to pay; in spite of his grim endurance, one that had been stretched to the brink, he could now begin fixing the damage.
"He'll be fine, Imoen. Nalin's tending to him. He patched me up pretty well. He'll be in good hands."
"Yeah, but you had your… ah, well, I suppose you're right."
Zanven scratched the back of his neck, unsure of what to say. Even with Nalin's help, he should not have been as healthy as he was. Xan didn't have the luxury of whatever strange fluke he experienced. It had not crossed his mind until she hinted at it.
"Look at me moping," Imoen continued. "I'm turning into you, trying to ruin the mood! No use spending our bit of free time as worry warts. Not when there's a carnival calling for us."
"I didn't know we were ten still." Of course there was a carnival, and of course she would drag him off to it.
She always did enjoy the silly things. He remembered the Wandering Folk that camped outside of Candlekeep years back. Karan had taken him and Imoen out for a field trip of sorts, taking the chance to let them experience in person what the tomes' words could not share. The Gur, Karan had explained, were a strange people, but Imoen fit right in with them, with their outlandish stories and cluttered tent-city. She enjoyed it so much she tried to run away with them. It took all day for Karan to hunt her down and Winthrop didn't let her out of the inn for a month.
"Yeah, I really don't need to turn into you. Pleasant moods would never stand a chance against two Zanvens. Peri's excited, I bet. Ain'tcha?"
"Yup," Peri cooed. "Look at all the people. That man is juggling swords, and oh, over there that woman is selling sweets! I can smell them!"
"I'll get you a few, but only that. A few! I won't have you getting fat on me," Zanven said. A tail whapped him in the face in response. "A few can turn into a couple, or perhaps just one, before we get there."
"Aw, splurge a little! They do smell rather good and—uh, actually, you guys go on. I'll catch up with you in a bit." Imoen left them in a hurry.
Zanven shook his head, working his way toward the stall. She was up to something, and thankfully for the moment he was not a part of it. Not that it mattered; if it was some joke she was cooking up, he'd get pulled into it. He paid for the tarts and followed Peri's lead away from the crowd, sitting down to enjoy the brief respite. Best make the most of it for now. There was no telling when Imoen would pop back up.
He shared the sweets with Peri, content with idling the day away. No kobolds, no nagging or mad rambling, and no assassins. He sat straighter at the last thought and cringed when he heard footsteps nearing him.
"Excuse me," a feminine voice said. "Is it quite alright for me to sit here?" She had a youthful lilt to her words, causing Zanven's cheek to glow; there was no way she missed him jumping out of skin. He shook his head, feeling the fool as she took a seat. "Splendid. It is a welcome surprise to find someone who has distanced themselves from the prudish rabble here."
"I… um, well, yes," Zanven said, struggling to find his voice, "I'm not quite fond of crowds." The woman responded with an occupied 'hmm.' He set aside the sweets and had his hands in his lap, fingers twisting together. Silence stretched on between them except for the occasional rustling of paper.
"I recognize that book," Peri whispered. "It was the one with dragon lady! She was my favorite. You think she likes it?"
Zanven gulped. He was reminded just how limited his social skills were. The library hardly taught one the best way to socialize (and neither did Imoen.) "Forgive me, but you're not by chance reading… ah, the name eludes me. I remember the characters. They all have a knack for dying. It makes it hard to get attached to any of them, not when you dread that they'll disappear with each page."
"You read?" Irritation raced across his face at the woman's question. "Oh, I must apologize. That came out wrong, although surely you must understand my initial confusion. Unfortunately, yes, this is the very same novel."
"You don't sound like a fan of it."
"And why would I be? It is rubbish, to be frank. Nowhere near deserving of the fame it has garnered. To think, even the plays of it are so popular. It's best left in words, though even that's a crime."
"It is not," Peri whined softly.
Zanven hadn't thought it was so bad. It had its flaws, sure, but not enough in his mind to earn such scorn. "It is a tad long-winded at parts, but I thought it a fun read."
"I disagree. It is violent and vulgar and unnecessarily so. That isn't even to mention the agonizingly slow pace it crawls at. It is clear the author loves to indulge in his absurd ideas of fantasy."
"Fair points." He had not been prepared for such a scathing review. "I never finished the series, to tell the truth."
"Thank goodness. Hopefully I've dispelled the notion of furthering such nonsense. I wish I could say the same for others... that northern dullard, passing off for academia."
"Heya—oh! Zanven, you dog!" Imoen was back. Great, now he had to wonder what trick she plotted up. "Hello to you, too, stranger. Mind if I whisk away my friend here?" She didn't wait for an answer, tugging at his arm and dragging him away. She giggled like child as they walked away.
"Was it necessary to interrupt our conversation?" It was a lie to say he liked chatting with the woman, but he found something oddly fascinating about how riled up she got over a book.
"You were talking about books weren'tcha? You're kidding me." Imoen snorted. "First of all, color me surprised you were chatting with a pretty face, but whoa! To think you could woo a girl and go that far by talking about books?"
"I'm perfectly fine talking to anyone!" His voice went up a pitch, a sudden vehement edge to it. Annoyance tugged him in all sorts of directions. "Why are you laughing? Stop that!"
"You've no idea do ya? No, of course not." Another round of laughter had him balling his hands up. What was so funny? "Zanven, she had no clothes on. None. Naked as a woodland nymph. Certainly looked like one with those flowers in her hair."
His mouth went dry. A powerful fire burned at his cheeks. "Y-you… you-you're lying!"
"Aw, look at you! So bashful," she teased. "I leave you alone and all of a sudden you're a literary heart throb."
Embarrassed wasn't strong enough a word. The god of mortification himself had come down from the heavens to personally anoint him as the avatar of humiliation.
She had never seen Zanven turn that shade before. No amount of badgering stopped her from giggling. That was a memory she'd take with her to the grave. She'd save it for later, an ace for when she wanted to further embarrass him. It would need embellishment though. Lots and lots of embellishment, just like all good stories.
"So where are we going now?" Zanven asked. His flush still haunted him.
"There are some performers here I thought would be fun to watch." Imoen looked over her shoulder as they moved. She wanted to see them earlier, but she had spotted the boy from the Belching Dragon and panicked. She was sure he had even made eye contact with her so she had to run. Bless the kid and his infatuation, but it wasn't a reunion she wanted to be a part of.
"Yes, I'm sure watching them will be all sorts of fun."
"Quit being a grouch." Honestly, you catch a guy with a naked woman and all of a sudden he hates you. "There's all sorts of things. People are playing music and singing and some are telling stories. I'm pretty sure there's a magician around, too."
That seemed to thwart his temper. They pushed through the crowd and found seats within the stands. Dancers, clad in a variety of costumes, hustled around the makeshift stage. The crowd ate it up watching the performers whirl around in a splash of colors, all long, loose clothing billowing around them, and Imoen found herself joining in, clapping and cheering like everybody else.
Even Zanven lightened up when a tune was struck. He and his familiar bobbed together, swaying with the music. The musicians danced as they played, weaving in and out with their instruments. The plucked strings and whistling made for a cheery tune, inspiring the onlookers to dance themselves. It was sad to hear it come to a close as the whirling bodies slowed and the music halted. The performers parted to allow a man to move forward.
Imoen gasped. She tugged at Zanven's sleeve, bursting with excitement. "He's floating on a carpet! Sitting cross-legged like it's nothing!"
The man was garbed in fancy robes of silk with a conical wrap adorning his head. His eyes twinkled with an entertainer's flair and a smile hid behind a groomed beard. He dismounted the carpet, his arms held aloft.
"Ladies and gentlemen, fine citizens of Amn, there is one final act left," he said in a heavy accent. "Gazib would be a shameless pig to not show his face at his own troupe's performance! The Sultan of Splendor shall not have his reputation tarnished by forgoing his skills of entertainment. I hope we have not disappointed thus far in bringing a taste of Calimshan to your humble abode."
Gazib grabbed a pouch from his waist and tossed it into the air, sand spraying from the bag. With a twist of his hands, the sand shifted and flew through the air as a single mass. It mimicked Gazib's hand motions, swirling in a tornado before settling on the ground. When he brought his arms up, it raised into a miniature palace before crumbling away. Imoen clapped her hands together so hard she thought they'd fall right off.
"What is happening?" Zanven asked. "Everyone is losing it. Tell me what is happening!"
"Magic, that's what," Imoen said. "He made shapes from sand! Oh, now there're monsters!" A giant beast shimmered into view, swinging a club at the crowd.
"People everywhere speak of Amn's safety and how it has rid itself of monsters. I shall not see your country's good name slandered," Gazib said, busy orchestrating his magical display. Knights winked into existence like ghosts, lunging with their spears. They leapt around the monster, synchronized in their attack as they skipped away from every swing of the ogre's club, until the beast fell with a roar. They stood triumphant over the monster, saluting their audience, and then disappeared along with the corpse of their prey.
"This is amazing!" Imoen gushed.
"Yes, from the sounds of it, everybody loves it." Zanven's grumpiness returned and Imoen couldn't help but feel guilty. The entire display was lost on him.
"What is this?" Gazib asked, pointing into the crowd. Imoen looked around her at first, not realizing he was pointing at her and Zanven. "This will not do! Accept my most sincere apologies, friends, for I had not meant to exclude you from the wonders of the South!" He walked toward them, hands outstretched to pull the two of them out from the crowd. Imoen was all too eager to join the performer, but Zanven resisted.
"Aw, come on," Imoen whispered, squeezing his hand. "It'll be fun! He has something in store for you!" Her friend relented with a muffled groan, letting Gazib pull him along.
"If you will allow it, friend, I can let you see what you have missed and more! There are no tricks here, I promise." Gazib flashed a smile, his grin widening further when Zanven slowly nodded. A glow emanated from Gazib and connected with Zanven, trailing from one arm to another until it swirled around Zanven's head. Zanven smiled, looking positively giddy.
A scene played in the air above them: a man with a flaming head sparred with another whose body trailed into a wisp of smoke where his legs ought to be. They dueled with their curved swords, clashing against one another again and again. The man of fire finally seemed to gain an edge, pushing his blade dangerously close to his opponent.
"Ah, the efreet is a horrendous creature! It would be terrible to see such a monster triumph over the noble djinni. Let us cheer for the righteous one to aid him in battle!" Gazib shouted, enticing the crowd into a fervor. Imoen watched in awe, unable to contain her excitement. Never had she seen anything so spectacular!
The djinni responded to the cheers. He deflected the efreet's sword away and surged into his attacker, ending the fight with a swift slash to the efreet's neck. The figures went up in a puff of smoke, leaving to applause. Zanven looked beside himself with excitement, mirroring his familiar flapping about him. It was strange to see him so happy.
"Alas, everything must eventually come to an end," Gazib said, bringing his performance to a close. "It is with a heavy heart, that I, Gazib the Great, Sultan of Splendor and benefactor of the Traveling Calishites, must bring my show to finality. We are deeply indebted to the graciousness you have shown us here in Nashkel, and for those who wish to see more of our performances, we shall be in Baldur's Gate within the next tenday!" He left the two of them with a clap of their shoulders, returning to his troupe.
Imoen bounced in place, wishing for more. "What'd he do to you? Did you see what we saw?"
"I did," Zanven said. "He helped me see it. The efreet, the djinni, everything! I take it all back, Imoen. The carnival was a great idea!"
With the show's passing, the crowd drifted away and the performers began packing away their things. Gazib flitted amongst his fellow entertainers, giving out orders. When he turned and made eye contact with Imoen, her heart leapt from her chest. He started to walk over to them. Was he going to do something special for them again? Oh please, oh please, oh please!
"I'm glad to have been of service!" Gazib said, moving aside the tent flap to let them in. "Your adulation is music to my ears and far from what I deserve. I am but a humble entertainer."
Imoen laughed. "Oh, come on now! Did you see what you did? You were awesome!"
"Really!" Zanven said. "I don't know how you did it, or what you did, but I saw it all. Nobody's done that for me. Nobody's ever been able to do that for me!" How the man created such images within his mind bordered on miraculous.
"The most gracious of fans, you two. Please, take a seat," Gazib said. "I am loath to trade away my secrets, but I shall leave you with this. With illusions and enchantments, you can have the world in your palm."
"So you're a wizard then? I mean, you have to be!" Imoen said, provoking a chuckle from the man.
"That is among the many things I am called." He poured them drinks. "Here, I cannot call myself a proper host if I've not offered tea. This is the pride and joy of Calimshan, try it."
Imoen sucked hers down and spluttered in a coughing fit. Zanven laid a cup down for Peri before drinking from his own. He savored the hot, strong flavor. He would need to remember this drink.
"I appreciate that you two have taken time out of your day not only to watch my performance, but also to indulge me in chatting," Gazib said. "Seeing you two, I sensed something special within you. I sensed the hearts of entertainers."
"No way," Imoen said. "You really mean that?"
"Indeed I do. I'm always looking for fresh talent."
Imoen squealed in delight. Gazib chuckled that polite laugh of his.
Zanven shifted on the cushion. He never considered himself an entertainer. That definitely fit Imoen more than him. He yawned, taking another long sip of tea. "I can't dance nor play music. I'm no showman, not at all like you. I have nothing to offer."
"Ah, but is that so?" Gazib leaned forward, taking Zanven's hand in his own. "The best are often modest. You are worth more than you think."
Zanven moved his hand away, a laziness enveloping him. He stifled another yawn. "Really, sir, the arts aren't my field. Not really even Imoen's, either." He laughed, expecting a retort from his friend. None came except for a quiet snore. Peri, too, snoozed in his lap.
"Truth be told, even I am not sure how much you are worth." Zanven raised an eyebrow at that. "I've seen enough genie-kin to realize you've strange blood flowing in you. Although what exactly I'm unsure."
"Genie-kin?" The conversation took a strange turn. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." Again with another yawn! What came over him?
"No, you wouldn't. They are called genasi, but that matters little. The bounty on you is quite the coin, but I have contacts that'd pay double for an exotic slave such as yourself, even with your blindness. I'd have to ascertain what it is about you that is so odd first, lest they'd think me a liar."
Bounty? Slave? He shook Imoen, but she did not move. Horror creeped up on him. This man was a charade of generosity.
"Don't look so alarmed. I've developed quite a soft spot for you and your friend here. I can arrange for you a rather compassionate master. Perhaps you'd be lucky to be freed by the Janessar, that meddlesome bunch—after your purchase obviously. You wouldn't matter to me after that."
Zanven stumbled to his knees. "I… I am not property to be bought and sold."
An iron grip latched onto his wrist. "That is where I am afraid you are wrong. Everything has a price when there are buyers and sellers. You've a choice here, one in which I feel is rather generous. I can gut you, your pet, and your friend right here and cash in on your bounty. Or, and open your ears now, boy, I can arrange for you a new life of servitude and create business. It seems an easy choice, no?"
Slavery or death, the viper offered.
"No… I-I won't!"
"That golden sheen… Perhaps I won't gut you. No, that'd be a waste. I had hoped for you to make things easy, but alas I am not as persuasive as I once was. There are other ways to make the world dance in one's palm."
A tingling itched in Zanven's head. It was intrusive, smothering his mind. He felt the bite of manacles. Bodies crowded around him, pushing him against bars. Pitiful moans in dozens of languages buzzed in his ears. The wagon creaked across the road, skipping over every rocky bump.
"It only seems terrible at first," whispered a voice, smooth as silk. It spoke from everywhere and nowhere. "It is merely an… initiation of sorts. Things become simpler. Easier."
He padded through a house, cleaning as he went. He pushed open a door and entered a library. A man sat within the study, beckoning him over, and spoke of a multitude of things: books, magic, gods, history. His head bent forward as he listened, weighed down by meekness. Nothing stuck in his mind, the words mixing together into a messy speech.
"Don't you see? Is it not desirable to live a life of no worries, no cares? Let another guide you, care for you, all for the small price of loyalty."
His head pounded, threatening to burst open. What was all of this? That was not how he wanted to live! He wanted none of this!
"You resist. You do not understand. Just give up—"
A roar overwhelmed his ears. A caged beast breaking free, it screamed over the honeyed voice. A familiar light prickled over his skin, the same from his dream. He calmed for a moment, but the roaring persisted and the light disappeared. He snapped out of the man's spell, no longer feeling fatigued. His blindfold had fallen away and he looked forward, eyes shining and unblinking.
Gazib swore in his Calishite tongue. His veneer of manipulation cracked apart. "Memnon's Crackle, what are you?"
"Not a slave." Zanven called for the Weave, shoving the man away from him. Gazib crashed hard to the ground, bringing a side of the tent down with him. Fire jumped from Zanven's outstretched hand, unlike the wild streams before. He controlled it, guiding the scorching jet forward and wishing nothing more than for Gazib to burn away like the rest of his would-be killers. To his dismay, the man muttered arcane words and his fire met resistance.
The two locked horns, magic clashing against magic. "You are like an efreet with your fire and your stubbornness, but they too have fallen to my bindings!" Zanven found himself on the defensive, his spell pushing back against him. "I was wrong. You must be worth triple, quadruple that measly bounty!"
Zanven reached with his free hand to grab for his cup of tea, struggling to keep Gazib's spell from overtaking him. A tendril of magic wrapped around the cup, infusing it with energy, and Zanven did his best to lob it at the wizard. A stream of curses signaled a lapse in concentration. The jet of fire surged and met screams instead of magic.
Smoke filled his nose, a choking stench. He relinquished his spell and struggled to stand. Desperate hands scooped up Peri and pulled Imoen up, fighting against her sleeping weight. "Wake up! Come on, get up, Imoen! We have to get away from here!" Heat filled the cramped tent. The chaos from the inn flashed through his mind and he groaned, clutching his head.
Doing his best to lift Imoen, Zanven stumbled out of the tent with the blaze at his back. Now of all times he wished he was taller and stronger and not so close to Imoen in size. He ignored the growing concern of the carnival goers milling around. He ignored the shouts calling for water.
All that mattered was getting away, to Jaheira and Khalid. To Minsc. Hells, even to Tiax.
Author's Note: I'm happy it's been enjoyable so far (both for y'all and myself, too!) For the kobolds, I'd never really known about them and dire weasels until trawling through the Forgotten Realms wiki (do that loads of times!), and even then I don't think it was really anything 'in your face' about it. Seeing some art of kobold riders helped inspire going with it in writing. Seemed like a nifty idea and I rolled with it.
I was a tad hesitant to have Zanven be blind honestly, especially with being new to writing and fanfics (I really was afraid it'd be considered... 'gimmicky' I suppose?) It certainly is tricky at times keeping it in line so that descriptions don't get wonky. It started out as an idea partly stemming from the Cult of the Unseeing Eye quest, as well as just a test in creative writing.
Also, I hope that the small carnival cameo is acceptable. I suppose there isn't much precedent for it, I think, but the idea struck me one day and it entertained me to no end. I just had to throw that scene in.
