[Author's Note]
Kaispan/Artastrophe painted Imoen and Edwin together on Deviant Art! GO FORTH AND VIEW IT!
A Little Traumatized
...
Aegis noted with amusement that it had taken five people's emotional support in order to help Xanisteirial Feliien see his uncle off that morning without any more guilt-mongering.
She admitted to some curiosity on how exactly things had gone; Xan's support group had, after all, consisted of a mute archerer, an unfortunately chronic stutterer, a well-intentioned but argumentative druid, a potential niece-in-law, and a necromancer. Surely there was a story there, or at least a punchline? In any event, the group's composite seemed to have projected enough anti-haranguing aura to ensure the mission proved successful. Xan looked fine.
"Aegy," Xzar called, skipping away from the rest of the group and coming up to her with a thoughtful expression. "All the other wizards have new clothes. I'm jealous."
Aegis blinked and then broke out laughing. "Is that an invitation to go shopping with you, frazzled Fool?"
"Yes. Yes we must do that at once. You must come. I cannot go alone; I have utterly insufficient leaves in my head for understanding anything about sunlight or rain. Except that the former is good for killing vampires and the latter is good for killing bandit camps, of course."
That made perfect sense to Aegis. "Thicker robes it is, then."
"Yes! Oh? Hmm." He lifted a hand to his mouth and looked off at nothing. "Pardon, pardon: I want to try something different." His glanced thoughtfully back at her. "Trousers. Yes, may I have trousers? I think I should like to try them for awhile."
Aegis lifted a brow. "You don't like your robes anymore?"
"Tch! Of course I like robes!" he exclaimed. "I'm a wizard!
"But! Someone I know, who knows a great deal more about the outdoors than I do, has been harping about terrain and clothing adversities for the past few days. And I'm inclined to believe she knows best." He sniffed haughtily, but then tilted his head to the side and tapped his chin. "Also you seem to get terribly excited whenever you see me in leggings, for some reason."
Aegis sat back in her chair and rubbed her chin, studying him appreciatively for a moment. Xzar needed new boots too, come to think of it. Her gaze dropped to the floor and then trailed up the length of her wizard, who straightened in curious delight when he realized he was being scrutinized.
Boots wrapped to the mid thigh, she envisioned on his slender frame. Then she leaned forward with a gleam in her eyes. "This idea. This must occur," she told him solemnly.
Xzar grinned from ear to ear. "You like my legs?" he squawked with amazement, as if the very idea that he might possess any physically attractive features whatsoever had never even once previously occurred to him.
Aegis slumped backwards in her seat with a groan of dismay. "How is this the first you've noticed!?" she demanded with a toss of her hands. Then, by chance, the ranger noticed Xan making his way across the inn.
...
Edwin Odesseiron sighed: The purple mouse had been in the tavern door no longer than ten minutes before excusing himself from his company and making his way up to Edwin's table. There the elf paused and crossed his arms over his chest, staring down with what could only be described as 'haughty disdain. Edwin returned the gaze blankly, still nursing the tail end of his coffee as he wondered precisely which unlikely chimp's emotional stabilizing powers he had to blame for this ridiculously entitled glaring. (Morning was really too tiring a time for absurd arguments...)
"You are disgusting," the enchanter informed him in a low tone. "A pontifical, presumptive, and self-important braggart; of repugnant morals and a facile intellect."
Aegis scowled from afar. Much to her chagrin, it appeared her wizards were going to continue to operate in complete denial of how much stress their infighting were causing the party. Unless Xzar had cemented his renewed friendship with Xan by helping to commiserate with him about Edwin? Aegis shot her paramour a quick suspicious look. Hmm, no, Xzar tended to have incredibly exciting body language whenever he was withholding Evil Plans. Or, well, any plans. Xzar could giggle manically over baking croutons, if so inclined. Presently, he looked nothing more than curious with the budding argument.
Speaking of which, Edwin hadn't responded yet, which was surprising. Aegis looked swiftly back to their conjurer and found him sipping his drink quietly. His eyes were still half-lidded, and he looked to be in mired in an unexpectedly lengthy contemplation of Xan's gaudily baited hook. After a moment he furrowed a brow and took in a long breath to speak:
"You know... I don't remember getting this angry when you started sleeping with Branwen," he observed as if genuinely puzzled by the whole affair.
Aegis raised a brow, and shared a look which Xzar returned. Edwin's declining to rise to an argument? If Aegis had born any doubts that her sister was gifted with magical powers, they were quickly expunged in the light of this monumentus occurrence. Well then. In her absence, how ought one positively enforce this behavior?
Xan's eyes narrowed and his posture curled with a hint of disbelief and aggression; Clearly, he had been equally unprepared for Edwin to remain unflustered, but the lack of reaction had by no means pleased him. His next words were a dangerous reproach: "Is it not enough that you find flaying people alive to be fashionable, and can justify the assassination of entirely innocent women? Not enough that you would kidnap two people against their will and without their foreknowledge, and use them in your own selfish schemes? You decide to capstone this all by taking sexual advantage of her?"
This is going to get out of hand, I can already tell. Aegis rose slowly in her seat and glanced at Branwen, who had also noticed the altercation and was starting to make her way closer to the two wizards. Xan had the moral high ground in this argument, and always would, but Edwin was hardly the only party member with skeletons in his closet. Hell, Xzar didn't even need metaphors.
Edwin leaned his chin on one hand. "Is there a chance you may have voluntarily overlooked crucial details on who initiated what?" the Red Wizard suspected more than asked.
Xan glowered. "She is your student, and eight years your junior."
"Both details of which I was prudent to remind her of," the Red Wizard quipped dryly. "I regret to inform you she was unmoved by my entreaties; Though I find it somewhat ironic I am being lectured on a matter of age gaps by an elf..." He rubbed his eye and the interior bridge of his nose. "What do you want, enchanter? Please speak plainly, I am tired."
Aegis could feel a migraine brewing, not the least of which because she was going to have to disengage Xan to get him off Edwin when she'd have much preferred to do the opposite.
Xan's posture became even more constrained; more angry. His arms dropped to his sides, nails digging into his palms. "You lecherous, entitled, murdering-!"
"Xan!" Aegis called firmly, striding forward to intercept the argument. The elf looked up at her in surprise, his brows peaking in the center as he tried to digest her sudden introduction. She locked eyes with him, and gave a small shake of her head. "Enough," she said. "Let it go."
The words clearly took a moment to register. Then his mouth curved into a disbelieving sneer or grimace, and he tilted his head to the side. "Let it go?" he asked her, as if she ought to be ashamed. Branwen came up behind him and touched his shoulder, but he didn't seem to know what to make of the contact.
"Edwin's sworn not to attack Dynaheir," Aegis stated rather than reminded. "It's done, Xan. I understand the desire to punish him, but it's time to let this go so we can move forward. His past, like yours- like anyone's here- is an invalid reason for starting up a fight in my party."
"You trust him?" the elf could not believe this.
"You don't? Then you two can draw up contracts in triplicate and sign them with one another like proper mages," the ranger retorted sharply, planting her hands on her hips and leaning forward to eye both mages critically.
Edwin straightened a bit. Xan stepped back incredulously. Khalid and Jaheira blinked in confusion, and then peered at one another. A moment passed, and then they shared a knowing smirk. Xzar jumped, grinned, and then smiled down at his feet.
"Now I don't want to have to break up this fight again," Aegis continued in a low voice when she was sure her sass had made an impression. "You both claim to care about the same pink thief; well if that's the case, then act like it. Find some way to get along, even if it's by staying away from each other."
Xan pressed his lips together before hissing: "This cannot just be forgotten. He-"
"Then call it forgiven. Do you have any arguments or evidence which you haven't already shared with me?" Aegis pressed him. "Do you think I wasn't listening to you? I know what you are saying, Xan, but the decision is made. He stays."
The elf stared at her, a retort fighting at his lips. Branwen squeezed his shoulder more tightly. Aegis straightened up to every one of her considerable inches, and crossed her arms over her chest. She was- and she knew it- their leader.
Xan's expression quieted to something internal and pessimistic, and his eyes lowered momentarily as if he were visually assembling his thoughts. He said nothing at first, and then he straightened himself out like the aristocratic creature he was, and looked back up at her with a resigned expression. "I may not understand the reasoning behind your judgements, Aegis of Candlekeep," he said in soft monotone, "but I will, as always, respect them. Excuse me."
Aegis watched as he turned and pushed his way towards the exit. She shared a look with Branwen, who met it just before hurrying after him.
Well. At least this time I didn't axe anyone, or threaten to pulp their head on a rock, the Ranger sighed inwardly. After a brief reflection, she turned about to see Edwin's reaction.
What did she expect to see? Entitled laughter and derisive comments tossed at the elf's magic school or romantic partner? Those were the hallmarks of Edwin Odesseiron's oblivious brand of 'gratitude.' But now the mage just watched her quietly, pensively, as if attempting to work out where he stood.
Thayvians, it seemed, aged well if one managed to keep them out of Thay.
...
"Wee man, I know you well enough to realize something's amiss here."
"Enough, Nildoen'nin," the Enchanter requested stonily as they walked through Beregost's cold and misty streets, "I see everyone is set to defend that man, and I will say no more on the issue."
Branwen grabbed his shoulder and spun him about. He stumbled in surprize, catching hold of her arm for balance. The impassibility of his face was momentarily disrupted. "Open your ears up and listen to me," she told him firmly. "That mind of yours has straits I cannae cross alone, and I'm telling you that this looks important from where I'm standing."
"Branwen, to be fair, I think I've heard this talk before..."
"Aye, and I've heard your rebuttal. You always reach a resolution, yet somehow it looks like we all keep going in circles. But I think I know why."
His mouth tightened, but then he forced himself to relax when he concluded there was no rational reason to be angry with Branwen. "I..." He was frustrated, though. "I will try to listen."
"This isn't a defense of Edwin; he's his own mess, and one for straightening out with other conversations. This is a talk about you I want to be having."
It was hard to take that at face value, but Xan tried.
"I know you well," she reiterated. "And something's been bothering me for awhile, which I wasn't clever enough to work out. Xan, you are cynical or even downright hostile towards every black-and-white thinker we've ever met. You argue with Ajantis any opportunity you get, you're one of the big people who warmed up to Viconia and protect her from Kivan, and you've taken Xzar and Montaron's side against Jaheira and Khalid in big ways at times. I could name any conflict in the world and suppose you'd be able to play devil's advocate on it, especially where good and evil are concerned."
The apparently change in topic almost seemed to lift Xan's spirit a little, as if cynicism were something to be proud of and preen oneself over with a 'well I don't mean to brag, but...' appended.
"Only now, for the last few months, you've clung doggedly to the stance that our Red Wizard's evil and must be dealt with, even when in private you can conclude the issue is gray. True or not I can't say; I'm just realizing that it's not you. The only thing which riles you up is when other people are being- what's the word?- cliche. You don't even like that word 'Evil.' The only people you make judgements about, are judgemental people!"
Xan's brows furrowed together and upward.
Branwen slowly released his shoulders, seeing now that she had his attention. "I've only seen you lock up like that against two people since I've met you, and they were Xzar and Edwin. Not Viconia. I thought about why that was, and I remembered that when we'd met Viconia you read some story of abuse in her mind."
Xan watched her face as Branwen paused and tried to reassemble her thoughts. She'd digressed slightly, and arguments didn't line up in logical fashions very easily for her. Still, she managed to catch hold of what she'd intended to say, and she looked very seriously back down at him.
"I heard the explanation in your voice today; I heard it in what you pointed out, what you said. You mentioned 'flaying alive,' 'murder,' and 'taking sexual advantage of.' And when you were angry with Xzar, it wasn't for the betrayal. It was for the cannibalism. Xan, what does all that sound like to you? Anything? Anything at all?"
The elf was silent, staring at her with a round-eyed and soulful expression. A long moment passed in stillness. Then he looked slowly down at nothing, and brought his hands together in front of himself to chafe lightly at the fingers. "Mullahey," the enchanter assembled. "I'm projecting my feelings concerning Mullahey." He closed his eyes and took in a long, slow breath.
Branwen swallowed. For a moment she shifted her weight from foot to foot. Then she stepped forward and lifted her hands to cup her lover's face and brush her thumbs along his cheekbones and temples. Xan did not protest. She rubbed gently over the bases of his ears.
"Thank you for bringing this to my attention," said the wizard. "As an enchanter, I ought to have noticed it earlier. But then my experiences have left my objectivity somewhat crippled of late."
"I'm nae saying you were wrong about either of them," the Norheimer blurted after a moment. "Just... just that you weren't being yourself. And it was concerning me.
He nodded lightly between the warmth of her palms. "I know, Nildoen'nin. I... I have accepted my route out from this spiritual hole will be... tumultuous.
His eyes opened and he looked at her. She looked relieved and told him: "I'm alright with whatever you are."
A weak smile, sad but also hopeful and adoring, bloomed across his mouth and eyes. His voice was deep and threatened to crack. "I don't know what I ever did to deserve you," he confessed tremulously.
"Tch," she tapped him on the top of the head in chastisement. "It's the magical, glowing, ancestral longsword. Women appreciate fine weaponry."
That tore a laugh out of him. He stepped into her and rested his temple upon her sternum, and she hugging him to her tightly.
They stayed close together like that for awhile, with Branwen hugging him to her with one hand and massaging his scalp and ears with the other.
"Can I confess something," the elf murmured quietly, "on... on an entirely unrelated issue?"
"Of course."
"I want to cut my hair," he said.
Branwen drew her head back a bit to peer down at him where he was sandwiched into her bosom. "How short?" she wondered curiously.
"To my chin," was his meek answer.
Branwen considered this and then gave him a loving squeeze and went back to rocking him gently. "Imoen's going to be mighty disappointed. Xzar too, I think."
"We'll be even then," the elf decided with a sniff. "I'll have gotten back at them in the only way I can."
Branwen broke out laughing. "I'll cut it for ye myself."
...
When Imoen made her way downstairs, she gave her sister a 'Good Morning!' hug and kissed her temple before hopping off to sit beside Edwin. The wizard had finally finished his coffee, but her presence induced him to order another and pull out his spellbook to study.
Kivan glanced at how the two socialized. Then, after awhile, he came up to their table and produced a mottled baton of wood.
"The BlackSun!" Imoen squealed so loudly that several morning bar patrons nearly leaped out of their skins. The weapon really needed to be renamed. Kivan cringed. "Oops," she laughed, reaching out to take the baton. "Thank you so much!" she gushed, and stood up slightly to kiss his brow. "Best almost brother ever."
The wild elf smiled, if just a little. He took a moment to tousle her hair, and then returned to her seat.
Edwin glanced at Imoen. She once more reduced the gap between them to nothing. This seemed to please him, as he returned comfortably to his book.
Aegis had intended to wait for her late risers to be up before heading out that morning (Shar-Teel and Viconia) but Coran showed up out of the blue not much later. He paused to wave at Aegis, and to take notice that Imoen was too busy with breakfast to chat, before hurrying upstairs into the inn.
Kivan glared arrows at him from entry to exit.
Aegis raised a brow, glancing from Coran's departure to Kivan's disapproving glower. I've been leading this party long enough to know when I've somehow magically and accidentally recruited someone. To Aegis it already seemed plain as day that they'd caught a severe case of elvish vagabond. She doubted her Wild Elf would be happy to hear the news.
Perhaps it was best if she got Kivan out of the tavern for a few hours then, at least until Viconia had woken up and eaten breakfast. "Kivan," she called gently, leaning over to tug at her Wild Elf's sleeve. He twitched slightly, and looked at her. "Xzar and I are going winther clothes shopping. Want to come?"
"I need nothing," the ranger answered tersely and went to look away again, but she grabbed his arm to keep his attention.
"Kivan," Aegis drawled. "I know. That's what makes it a social request."
The elf blinked and perked up as if startled. He considered the request for a moment as if uncertain what to do with it. Then he nodded and quickly made to stand.
...
Being 'social' with Kivan meant sharing his company without actually talking to him. As Aegis and Xzar chattered about Xan's uncle, Kivan lingered slightly behind and off to the side, listening. He seemed most comfortable in such a state; present for the warm aura of social contact, but under no compulsion to speak.
Back when Kivan had first joined their group, it had been clear he found their chattering to be mentally taxing to listen to and thus had sought to escape it as frequently as possible. Lately, however, it seemed he'd become accustomed to people's voices again. He needed people, Aegis wagered, but in his own way.
Thus far, their shopping expedition had not been very successful. When their necromancer tried on his latest coat, all Aegis could think to say was, "Well that's not going to work."
Xzar giggled and wagged his arms. "I feel like a stuffed turkey."
"You look like a stuffed turkey," Aegis commented, coming up to investigate the cloak. He was too slender to go lightly on insulation, and it wasn't easy planning for temperatures so far in advance. "Which wouldn't be a problem if your favorite spells and weapons didn't all depend on your dexterity."
"Perhaps something lighter?" the necromancer suggested as he slipped out of the coat.
Aegis snorted. "Edwin's has at least twenty pounds on you, and he's in two layers of full voluminous robes with silks underneath. We're going to have to find something that either uses downy feathers or has been minorly enchanted."
"Mn," he hummed thoughtfully. "You know, it is funny to think that my most crucial purchase for the upcoming battles will not be wands, scrolls, or spell components, but rather proper clothing..."
"Gods, wizard, I can't believe you come from Moonsea," Aegis chuckled. "Isn't the weather there abysmal?"
"Horribly abysmal," the wizard shuddered. "If we ever go there for any reason, do remind me to remind you to dress me."
Aegis almost wished there was a reason to go to Moonsea, if only to see what sort of crazy, upside-down world Xzar had been born into. But no, it was a dangerous place to visit even before factoring in her lack of contacts and Xzar's rogue status.
"It is abysmal," Kivan confirmed, which was how anyone at all found out he'd ever been to Moonsea. Sometimes, it was difficult to remember how old elves were.
...
When Ajantis made it downstairs at around the same time as Shar-Teel, several people immediately presumed the worst. The fact that he was blushing certainly didn't help. But when Viconia showed up an hour later with a very smug look upon her face and a Coran at her heel, it became apparent that Ajantis had in fact been escaping an undesired voyeurism of elvish/drow lovemaking.
Edwin, who hadn't previously been aware that Corans and Viconias were affiliated with one another, stiffened. He stared at the two incredulously as they crossed the inn.
Imoen reached up, grabbed the side of his beard, and pulled his head back down to focus on the spell she was trying to transcribe. {The construct on the left,} she wondered, "why is it there? Why not, say, here? Or here?"
Edwin glanced up at the elvish thief and then back down at Imoen. {Your elf 'friend' from the other night is in our tavern,} he noted with an uncertain growl.
Imoen waved a hand dismissively. {Yeah I dumped him on Viconia. Focus!}
Which to be: 'Insulted that anyone other than himself was sleeping with Viconia,' or 'Reminded that the Pink Monkey had spurned the elf's offer in order to come study magic'?
Or simply 'Bemused that Imoen was telling him to focus?'
{It helps delineate the manner in which the spell can be dismissed,} Edwin explained after a moment, losing interest in the elf's sleeping arrangements. He lifted a hand to the small of her back, feeling the heat of her against his palm. Mn. His fingers rested there.
Though Edwin didn't see it, Viconia eventually turned a shrewd stare on them. Perhaps she might have said about the thief's inexplicable downgrade in mate, if only Imoen or Edwin had been paying even the slightest bit of attention to her. As it was, the thief and wizard ended up in yet another rapid and gesticulation-filled discussion in Mulhorandi that was utterly impenetrable to anyone else.
...
The first divine magic which Gorion had requested in over two decades came in the form of a spiritual divination. He was trying to identify exactly what had been done to his shoulder.
Gorion had never been ordained as a cleric of Knowledge. Certainly, not with the order and ceremony with which he'd been accepted as Mystra's. But as he called on his patron, he felt Lore incarnate answer him like a shuffling of pages on the edge of his subconscious. Quietly, the god answered. Quietly, and with no great ceremony, as if he had simply always been there.
Gorion took in a shaky breath.
"Did it work?" his halfling asked.
"Yes. Yes, the infection stems from a Necrotic Cyst which was created in the wound," the wizard murmured. "Vile magic. Ingenious, but vile. We're not up against small enemy in this place." He contemplated the Remove Curse scroll. "Unfortunately, I am not sure I will be able to channel enough force behind this spell to kill the Cyst. And if I fail, it will only temporarily remove the symptoms."
Tallix frowned. "What do we do then?"
Her aasimar chuckled. "Oh, Tallix. Do you remember that speech you just gave me about being unable to heal?" He smiled at her. "Do you think you can cut the Cyst out?"
She straightened in surprise.
"It should be around an inch in diameter," Gorion explained. "A swollen knot of black tissue. If you are careful, you should be able to peel it out as a unit without losing any of it inside. Once that's done, I will be able to heal the wound and remove the effects of the Cyst very simply."
Tallix looked to his shoulder doubtfully. "Ye are sure it will work."
"Nearly."
She eyed him suspiciously. "Have ye ever dealt with this sort of thing before, Lad?"
"No." He smirked. "But that's the thing about wizards, my friend. We are very good at interpreting encyclopedic manuals."
...
Tallix had Gorion peel the edge of his robe down. Then she pressed him up against the wall to stabilize her work.
"I'm going to jab ye with something," she told him.
"I suppose I'll have to acce-ah!-ept, that," he jumped more in surprise than pain as she produced a needle tip and pressed it a full inch into his shoulder. "Anesthetic?" he hoped faintly, just moments before he lost all sensation in his fingers.
"Aye, don't need ye squirming. Eh? Don't ye dare poke around at yer own arm wizard, we've enough problems without adding more of yer curiosity to the mix."
Gorion cleared his throat and tried his best to regain an aura of dignity. "Do you need light?"
Tallix rolled her eyes and drew out a knife and a dull, hooked-looking instrument. "It's a cold pocket, no? Infravision'll do. Now try not ta interrupt me," she requested before pressing the knife into his shoulder.
Tallix's hands were uncannily steady for her age. She was precise and quick with the tip of her blade, and it seemed she recalled something of the lay of the injury even after only glimpsing it once. She glimpsed the inside of the wound, withdrew her knife, and made another quick incision.
Two cuts with a sharp knife; that's apparently all it took her to find it. She wordlessly widened the opening, inserted the hooked tool, and pressed the knife back into the first wound to give the hook a little leverage.
A moment passed in silence. Gorion looked from the wound, to her face, and then back again. A tingling was coming back to his fingers, though he was not yet in any pain.
"Got it," the halfling informed him, extracting a tight nodule of ice-temperature from the mouth of the wound. "Done. Rest's on ye, lad."
He'd... He'd expected the operation to have taken more time. He'd expected to lose more blood. He'd anticipated more time to bolster himself, to... to...
Gorion's stomach rolled. He grimaced to himself, the fingers of his good hand tightening on his spellbook as pain and feeling returned to his opposite arm. Dare I cast from this? His gaze fell nervously to the scroll.
"Ri..." Tallix pressed him once more.
"I know," the mage hissed. "I- I know." He nodded, straightening up slightly and brushing his fingers over the cover. "I can. Oghma help me, I can."
A prayer came to his lips in a pidgin of Angelic and Draconic.
Please guide me. Please show me again that you are with me. Keep me free from that thing's lies and mistruths...!
The scroll dissolved, and energy swam up around the site of his injury. It purged the corrupted veins, leaving his shoulder bare and intact but for the bleeding.
Success! So simply: Success! Gorion reached mentally for a prayer of healing, but the words fumbled as they came to his lips. A heat built up behind his cheeks and eyes, and a shudder quaked through him.
Music. That's what Oghma's power had felt like: A score of music penned out in a dark, blackberry color, on cream parchment. How did one describe the feeling of a god flowing through their spirit? Like music. There had been blue, too. Light blue; Minstrel's blue?
With upteen gods squabbling over his soul, after so many years of uncertainty and paranoia, and while partially stranded in a temple to Bhaal, how could Gorion have possibly described the experience of calling out to Oghma and actually receiving an answer?
Tallix steadied him as half laughed and half sobbed. He was grateful for her, and rested against her hold for a support as his body and spirit vented so many chaotic emotions. Oghma, he had felt Oghma. The god of Knowledge, his patron, his guide; the entity who had brought him to Aegis.
"I'm okay," he breathed to reassure her as he grabbed hesitantly for his wounded shoulder. "I am okay." Oghma had, after all, given him the power to mend himself.
...
When Xan and Branwen returned to the inn some time after noon, Edwin and Imoen were discussing conjuration theory over a basin of water. Their lack of appropriately themed primers on the subject was causing them a few stumbling blocks, particularly as conjury came simply to Edwin and he had to be careful not to gloss over explanation. Still, they seemed to be making progress on some type of Acid Touch spell.
When Edwin noticed Xan had returned, he said nothing. He did, however, stop fighting for Imoen for shoulder space between them. Instead, he slipped his arm around her back and hips and and tugged her a little closer into himself.
Xan's mouth drew to the side contemptuously, though perhaps he felt irritation more than outright hostility. Ugh. This is going to be revolting to watch. No, no, there are more worthwhile things to pay attention to than one fool's territorial gloating. Imoen's birthday, for instance, was on the morrow. Perhaps he and Branwen ought to make sure all the preparations were in place-
The Thayvian turned his mouth into her temple as she worked.
Ew.
Xan turned completely away, and had just about reached the innkeeper when Imoen must have caught sight of him.
A tremendous: "Wh-!? NoooOOOoooooOOOoooooooooooo!" soared up from behind him.
Xan paused, a wave of almost silly amusement cresting over him. He heard the scraping of chairs, and then a pink thief had dashed up beside him and grabbed at his sleeve. Upon assessing that this was indeed him, and that his hair had been severed to a few scant inches in length, she dropped to her knees and held her arms up as if in apostrophe to the gods. "Whyyyyyyyyy!?" she wailed in horror.
Annoyance faded like a dying mist in sunlight. Xan grinned and lifted his chin, crossing his arms over his chest. "I like it this way," he established.
"Nuuuuuu...!" she whined again, this time quieter, and then she threw both of her arms around his knees to hug them and sag into him. "It was soooo booootifuullll...!"
He sighed with an exasperation he did not feel. Why was he so elated? How long had he been at odds with Imoen? "That was exactly why I cut it."
"Goodbye beautiful haiiiirrrrr," Imoen mourned. "It was such a pleasure knowing you!"
Xan rolled his eyes and planted his hands on his hips. "Pardon me, but are you finished yet?"
Imoen considered the question. "That depends." She sniffed. "Can I use it to make a wig?"
Xan grinned almost involuntarily. "No."
She looked shocked. "But why? Any woman would die for hair that nice!"
"Any other woman might have had it. But for you? No. No, you may not."
Her eyes widened. "What!? No! Why are you punnisshhhinnnggg mmmeeee!?" she whined up at him. "Don't you know I wuv you!?"
Alright. Today has gotten at least marginally better, the elf ascertained, grinning down at Imoen. 'You both claim to care about the same pink thief,' Aegis had said. Xan couldn't speak for whether Edwin cared, but Xan himself did. And if this meant he and she would finally be able to stop arguing...? Yes, perhaps that was worth it.
Though Xan certainly took private pleasure in how irritated Edwin looked that their spellcasting lesson had been interrupted.
...
As Aegis had expected, Coran asked that evening if he could accompany their party.
"I won't even ask for a cut of the loot or bounties you are able to haul in while gearing up for the forest," he explained. "And I'll gladly accompany you onto your mission. Afterwards, however, I would appreciate if you'd help me with my own bounty. You remember I mentioned a marauding Wyvern who's been scaring the pants off the locales? Well I've been up into Cloakwood to scout out the thing, and I've a good sense for where to find it. The trouble I've had in getting further is mostly the spiders, to be honest; there's a patch of forest thick with their webs for miles to each side."
Aegis considered the usefulness of having a second archer and a Viconia-Mood-Booster in her party.
Minsc contemplated the act of wrestling with giant scaly monsters for the sake of terrified townsfolk (and their poor abducted cattle!) By the dumb grin on his face, the heroism coefficient must have been stupendous.
Jaheira weighed the balance of slaying a Wyvern against the fears of the peasant folk. Most likely, she surmised, the Wyverns had become overcrowded for some reason. She was willing to thin the herd of this notorious individual, and to survey the overall state of the Cloakwood Wyverns population.
Kivan glared.
Khalid and Xan both perked up and asked almost simultaneously: "Spiders?"
Viconia seemed to swing back and forward concerning her opinion of spiders. She almost looked like she wanted to lecture Coran on how beautiful they were, just so that she could unnerve all the elves present. Kivan's glare made her reconsider, and she said instead: 'I could enjoy purging a marshland of spiders. The Wyvern, though, I know little of such creatures.'
"Stupid dragons with scorpion tails and no brains," Shar-Teel summarized. "Elf's smart trying to find its lair; it'll be deadly in a cave, but not so deadly as it is in the air.
"They take a team to bring down," Kivan growled begrudgingly.
"Or a clever arrow," Coran grinned impishly. "I've hunted Wyverns before.
Kivan's eyes narrowed.
"Or a big sword!" Minsc boomed enthusiastically. "Aegis, we must do this! It is only one step shy of actually hunting nasty evil dragons, Minsc is sure of this!"
"Spiders?" Xan repeated with a horrified grimace. "That story was true?" Khalid was stalk white.
Imoen broke out laughing. "I thought only girls were supposed to be scared of spiders?" she asked.
"Yes, well," Edwin muttered, "they mustn't have been catching silverfish with their bare fingers as children. We've fought such things before, even amid fainting Enchanters. Spiders, in particular, are little match for fire."
Jaheira spun a disapproving glower on him. He raised a brow.
"Things Edwin must take into consideration on this trip," Imoen mock-penned out on the air, "Number One: Forest Fires."
"Ah," he appreciated the Vague Druidic Glaring-to-Thorasta translation. "Well with how the season's turned out, it will be raining or at least soggy the entire time."
Aegis glanced around at her party. It looks like we might all survive each other after all, she decided.
Minsc looked at Edwin, pet his hamster, and wrinkled his brow. The Thayvian noticed his gaze, and grimaced slightly as if bracing himself for an intelligence drain. "Boo says," Minsc interpreted with a pout, "Lightning would be better."
Imoen glanced back at the Red Wizard and the Rashemi. Edwin's jaw had drooped slightly, and his brows were drawn together in dismay. He noticed Imoen's gaze after a moment, and then gave her a long-suffering look. {How does someone who speaks to a rodent still manage to insult me?}
{Boo is very clever with his whisker-thrashing,} Minsc told them sagely, and Imoen and Edwin both nearly leaped out of their skins.
...
Imoen ended up enjoying the chilly outdoor weather on the porch of the inn that afternoon, grooming Branwen's hair with Xan. The weather looked like it might clear up by nightfall, but Aegis and Jaheira had both warned a snowstorm might be coming.
Branwen mentioned Xan's diet had been improving over the last fwe months.
"Xzar was underweight too when we met him," Imoen remarked thoughtfully. "If Ae and I ever wrote that guide to the care and feeding of wizards, we'd totally remark almost all wizards are either naturally dispositioned to end up underweight or overweight, depending on whether they eat mindlessly or forget to eat at all while studying.
Xan chuckled as he ran a comb through dirty blonde locks. "Dynaheir seems fine."
Imoen giggled. "Minsc has her trained to eat whatever he puts into her hands," she commented. "As long as they stick together, I guess that means she'll end up plump!"
"I was surprised they ended up romantically involved," Xan remarked. "I would have presumed it hard to take him seriously as a partner."
"I'm sure that's why it took so long," Imoen suspected. "The only reason they slept together that first time was because Shar-Teel goaded them into it. But Minsc has a fluffy, big ole warm heart that could melt anyone. And, in case you haven't noticed, the man has abs as firm and wavy as a washboard, and pectoral muscles the size of pillows. And runs around in a loincloth half the time. Thaaattt right there could be part of the reason."
"He is one of the biggest men I've e'er seen," Branwen agreed. "Heart, body and otherwise."
Xan snickered a little. "I hope I'm not being compared?" he asked wryly.
"Nae on your life," the cleric grinned contentedly.
"So, are you still mostly eating vegetable?" Imoen asked.
"Well, I've started to think I could, perhaps, eat a little meat," Xan mentioned.
"Oh?" Imoen asked.
"I've found myself growing accustomed to the taste of meat broths whenever there are insufficient vegetarian options available," he explained, "when I would have to pick the meat out of some soup or another."
"Aye, and I caught him nibbling on ham just today," Branwen added.
"I doubt I'll ever be carnivorous," Xan mused, "but I suppose I can afford to be a little less picky."
"What ever made you swear off meat in the first place?" Imoen asked. "I mean I hear it's not healthy to go without it too long. Heard horror stories about malnutrition in city urchins who can't even afford scraps from the butcher's."
"Well," Xan shifted, "the better one becomes at Enchantment, the more it is clearly oblivious that all living things think... and perhaps I grew a little squeamish and convinced myself I could live on bread and greens alone. Now that I think about it, I most likely ignored myself. I do not recall eating particularly well, even of the vegetable and fruit kingdoms"
"You should take up eating seafood," Imoen suggested. "Especially mussels and cockles and shrimp and the like. They're not the brightest things."
"Perhaps you have a plan there," he said as they finished combing Branwen's hair and began to braid it. "Though we shall have to be clever and eschew fish for awhile, lest Xzar notice and start offering me heads..."
Imoen grinned a little deviously. "Well, when you're a tavern keeper's daughter, you end up getting used to your food staring back at you for a wee bit before it's done been cooked and such. Fresh pork and chicken has to come from somewhere after all."
"Oh dear," Xan commented.
"And you know how killing chickens is done, right?"
The twisting motions Imoen was making indicated that Xan dearly did not want to know anything at all about how one killed chickens! "No I don't. And I don't think-!" he protested.
"They run about all aimlessly afterwards for a few minutes," she told him matter-of-factly. "Even if you cut the heads off."
Xan gaped at her with wide eyes.
Imoen broke out laughing at his violated expression. Then her face sobered. "Okay, okay. You've got me. I got weepy about it all the time. But ya know what? I'd always remember I make the best chicken pot pies, and that would always make me feel considerably better."
Branwen cleared her throat. "Remind me never to take either of you whaling."
"Hey, hey Branwen," Imoen thought to ask. "What's your back story and all? I mean, I remember hearing you can't go back to the Norheim islands, right? But do you still have family there?"
"Oh aye, of course," she smiled wistfully. "The ole wan and fella- me mother and father- and me three older brothers and two sisters."
"What are your parents like?" Imoen wondered.
"Well my father is a true wheat-haired Norheimer and cleric of Tempus," Branwen explained. "In as youth he was as tall and strong as any man from north of the Spine of the World, and I'd wager he still compared to many! My mother is half Ffolk, with black hair. She's a whaling ship's captain, and I used to sail with her when I was just a girl. My mother wasn't one to stay home nursin' the youngins a day past birthing them, that's what she used to say!"
Imoen and Xan shared an impressed look. "How did they meet?" the pink girl asked. "Was it romantic?"
"One of the most romantic stories on the island," Branwen sighed almost dreamily. "And one of the happiest couples, right they are! It was time for annual celebrations, and the men and women all compete- though usually each gender only pays attention to who of their own they've beaten. Anyway, my father had made the best throws on the javelin toss, the shot put, and the hammer throw, which would have made him unabashedly the competition's king! Then my mother sauntered up out of the blue, a head shorter than everyone else and sort of out of place. She took a gander at his tosses, and told him she could beat him in all but the hammer toss.
"He laughed at her, and she told him he owed her a kiss if she could do it. He told her she owed him a fuck if she couldn't. So she strode up and beat him fair and square, two paces each. She came up short on the hammer toss, but that was understandable. And then she took her kiss from him, and strutted off just as unsociably.
"Now my Da were right horrified, and it's not the way of Norheim people to just take being beaten in such a fashion, but down deep he was rightly smitten. So he took it into his head to board her ship in the night with some of his lads, for some pillaging and raping.
"But after he got a thrown cannonball to the face and lost a nose alignment and a few teeth, his heart was irreversibly stolen and he was left with no choice but to make an honest woman of her...! Granted, she threw him and all his men overboard into the freezing waters, and they nearly died. And it did take a few years for him to prove himself.
"But eventually he raised enough money to heroically afford her main mast repairs after a particularly costly skirmish. My father wasn't no wizard, but he figured out to scrutinize a woman and realize what was important to her! Oh, and there was a celebratory hog roast on a spit and a huge party. It was all very impressive, and I'm to understand Tempus heartily approved. And, well, I suppose they've been married about forty years now!"
Imoen and Xan shared another look.
"Well," The thief began, patting Xan's shoulder. "Good luck if you two ever manage to go visit your future inlaws!"
...
The weather cleared up two hours before sunset, and Imoen decided to take her spell book and notebook paper up to the roof that she might enjoy a few hours of muted sunlight while studying.
Edwin had made a valid point recently that Imoen ought to inscribe all the spells she'd memorized into her spellbook (Gorion's spellbook), so as to complete her understanding of them. It was an easy as it sounded, but the exercise had definitely prepared her for reading new scrolls and learning higher level spells. She was currently working on copying down Acid Touch and Burning Hands. If she was lucky, maybe she'd be able to surprise him.
She'd been working for an hour and it looked to be about thirty minutes until sunrise when she realized she didnt' dare etch down another line because she'd gotten stuck, and she didn't want to ruin a page in Gorion's spellbook. Perplexed, she looked back to her notebook.
How had Edwin ever gotten her to do homework? Heh. It was a mystery. Maybe all she'd really needed was someone who believed in her and some space from Candlekeep. Oh, well, and a dash of silly, of course. How Edwin, of all people, had ever figured to give her space, was an enigma. She supposed his 'patience' had been a reflection on how rare it was to be able to remember one's own spells indefinitely.
She picked up her notebook, and turned it this way and that, as if doing so could cause the runes to pop out and assemble themselves for her.
"So," came a distinctly eastern voice, and she turned around in surprise to see Edwin picking his way carefully across the shingles. "This is where you so often disappear to..."
He wasn't the most graceful of wizards, and seeing this made her smile. He had an opened wine bottle with him. "Color me surprised you've found me!" she laughed, patting the roof beside her in an invitation to sit. "I didn't take you for much of a roof person!"
Edwin reached her slowly, digesting the notion that, in Imoen's world, roofs were something like wine or cats with which people could naturally affiliate. "I would not have labeled myself such, no," he decided as he arrived and quinted out at the horizon. "Were you attempting not to be found?"
There was a small lilt that snuck out in how he spoke, a clue that he was still fishing for reassurances and information about whatever else had happened between the two of them. Imoen shook her head. "You wanna watch the sunset with me?" she asked.
He looked at her with narrowed eyes.
She grinned. "See? I didn't reason you'd come up onto a roof to watch the sunset with me."
Hearing it put that way seemed to have an affect on him, for he arranged his skirts and crossed his legs to sit beside her. "It's different," he said after a brief silence, and passed the wine bottle to her.
"What is?" she asked, taking a swig.
"Being instructed to relax, as if it should be hard to put the group mission aside and think of oneself. Instead of expecting to be pampered."
She glanced at him, wondering if this meant he was thinking about his compatriots. "You're a little spoilt at times, but it's not that bad. Were you raised to be pampered?" she asked. "
"No," he answered, taking back the wine. "My father cultivated strong, goal-driven work ethics, especially from the magically gifted. Success was its own reward." He took a drink. "Then again, most Thayvians do not shower magelings with praise. Perhaps said magelings demand praise in adulthood for precisely that reason."
Aha. Edwin was thinking rather un-shallow-sounding thoughts. He probably needed her to pay more attention than he was letting on, and maybe even fish for topics. "Hey, I've a question. What was with that Thayvian woman, Lasala? The one who didn't die when they ambushed Dynaheir."
Edwin looked at her in surprised. "Why do you think I thought of her any differently than the other four?"
Imoen pursed her lips to the side. "I don't know," she decided. "Something subtle? Something slightly odd in how you tried to suffocate her instead of slitting her throat or lighting her on fire again?"
Edwin actually did spend some time overturning the question. Then he lifted the bottle to his lips. "She was your age," he mentioned. "She lagged magically behind her age group. Had a similar gift for manipulating people."
Imoen scowled at that phrasing, but wagered the end sum made a sort of vague sense. Her face softened and she nodded, hoping that the Thayvian girl had found her way to a passable afterlife.
"Here," the wizard said abruptly, reaching into his robes and drawing out a folded piece of parchment. He offered it over to her, and she took it with some curiousity. It was his father's letter, she then realized; the one he'd demanded back from her earlier. "There is nothing particularly exciting about it. But you may read it."
Imoen looked up at him with surprise. Then she nodded and siddled up closer to him to read. "What's his voice sound like?" she asked.
"What? Why? How am I to answer that?"
"I always read things in the voice of the people who write them," she explained, unfolding the letter.
"Hnh. Charismatic, quiet, and dry."
"Ooh-hoo, that's like the perfect description for an evil tyrant wizard's voice! I got chills just imagining it!"
Edwin raised a brow at her. "Excuse me. What about my voice?"
"When you're not a Peacock, you're definitely a Dragon," she not-explained. Surprisingly, Edwin winced. She glanced up at him in surprise. "What was that?"
He didn't say anything, staring out at the horizon. Then he took another swallow of wine. A silence passed between them, but Imoen didn't look away or start reading the letter. She waited, bewildered, her arm still looped through his.
"Dynaheir," he said at last, "did know her name." He licked vintage from his lips, and his nails tightened against the glass of the bottle. "She called her 'Sheilaktar.'"
Imoen wasn't sure what to do. Edwin had just voluntarily opened a tremendous topic. So tremendous, in fact, that the only way she could think of to respond was by asking a very Edwinish question on his behalf: "That's a woman's name?"
"A earned moniker," he suspected. "Meaning 'Dusk Dragon'."
Imoen straightened a little. "You're wondering if you're anything like her," she realized.
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than Edwin physically recoiled from her, his posture stiffening and coiling under her touch. His withdrawal was so instinctive and hurt-looking in appearance, that she scrabbled for purchase on his robes and called out an apologetic, "Wait!"
He didn't look at her, not directly, but his gaze fixed sharply on the space between them to indicate he was listening.
"I'm sorry; It's okay," she both apologized and reassured. When he didn't try to pull away, she scooted back beside him and tried to nestle into his side once more. He did not yield to her touch, but neither did he move to pull away. "Just stay with me?" she asked.
His eyes lifted back to her. After a long pause, he offered the wine bottle to her again. She gave a heavy sigh to let out nerves for both their sakes, and drank a big gulp. He took the bottle back, and she snuggled up thoroughly into him and set to reading the letter.
Edwin's posture relaxed, slowly.
It wasn't particularly exciting, just as Edwin had suggested, although it indicated that her Red Wizard was still in a bit of trouble at home. More than anything, it showcased Homen Odesseiron's stern, pointed, and highly effective sentence structure. Charismatic, quiet, and dry indeed. His calligraphy was narrow, sinuous, and elegant. The words seemed to suggest an admonishment, but that indirectly implied the old man most likely would end up helping Edwin.
"Huh." She smoothed the paper and then folded it neatly back up. "How do you say his middle name?" she asked, pausing at the signature line. She now knew 'Odesseiron' and could memorize the 'Homen' one now.
"Nadezdha."
Imoen folded it closed entirely, and looked up at him. "Thank you," she said, recognizing the sharing gesture for whatever intimacy it implied.
He nodded quietly, taking the letter and putting it away. He adjusted his weight and then noticed her spellbook.
"I'm stuck," she confessed.
He eased an arm around her shoulders. "Show me."
...
[Author's Note]
Nope, no notes! :3
