Chapter 108: From the Mouths of Wizards

Edwin's mood was abysmal.

The clerics in Trademeet had proven to be no more competent than the druids at the grove, who again were as inept as the collected clergy of Athkatla. And none of them treated his abhorrent condition with the seriousness it deserved! The druids had been worst of all; while the clerics would just tell him they could do nothing (without actually attempting to make an effort!), the filthy treehuggers had tried to use their absurd natural philosophy on him, and had actually dared to suggest that he try to accept his wretched state for the time being! (Preposterous!) They might see it as an unique perspective, but he had no use, and no desire, for something so irrelevant! He would have none of Cernd's insipid analogies about the great cycles of nature, the falling leaves, the blooming flowers, the stag casting aside its mantle (there was an insult somewhere in that prattle, wasn't there?), no acceptance of a false form, no simpering excuses from those incapable to understand even the most basic magics; what he needed was his own perspective, his own nature, his own BODY!

And the collection of imbeciles he travelled with were, of course, no help whatsoever. In his hour (day? tenday?) of need, they were out shopping... not for a cure, but for armour! Weapons! Paltry, insignificant sundries! So far, their efforts on his behalf had amounted to: Ember threatening him, Mazzy lecturing him, Anomen laughing hysterically at him upon first seeing his altered state, Minsc suggesting that he was his own sister (as if any mere sibling of his could possibly come close to comparing with his own splendor, whatever form it might appear in), and Yoshimo... Not content with merely grinning at the sight of Edwin, and addressing him with polite platitudes, the chauvinist pig had, that very morning, offered to help him let out the seams of his robe to accommodate the added 'bulk' in the upper chest area! (He should have brought the wrath of cleansing hellfire upon them all, and he should have done it a long time ago!)

Worst of all was the incessant, nagging thought that suggested a cure in Thay. He had very little doubt that the skills of his peers would be able to dispel this curse, but that only made the fact that he could never again seek them out all the more painful. (As desperate as his situation was, getting to die as a man was still not quite tempting enough.)

Edwin reached for his wine goblet. Before he could raise it, a hand seized his wrist. The hand was attached to an elf who wore a ridiculous grin on his face and far too much pomade in his hair.

"Ahhh... I have not seen you here, before, lovely creature," the elf said in a smarmy, insufferable tone. (Just who did he think he was addressing like that?!) "How do you do?"

"How I do is none of your business," Edwin coldly informed his assailant as he pulled his wrist free from the elf's grasp. "Begone, you slithering eel!"

The fool of an elf just kept grinning. "Ah, yes... the eel... I slither about your loveliness because you draw me to you. You... with your dark lashes and your come-hither eyes..."

"I said begone!" Edwin shrieked. "Can you not understand the simplest of common speech, you lumbering piece of filth!"

"Salvanas understands you. He hears your words and he feels your passion. Your fire ignites my own, my sweet... come to me..."

"(Pig!) I'll show you fire!" Edwin raised his hand and was about to conjure up a fireball (just a small one) when the inn's bouncer grabbed the revolting elf's shoulder.

"I warned you, Salvanas. Don't pester the other guests."

"But she -"

"She don't want your company," the bouncer said, then turned to Edwin and added, "Apologies, m'lady," before dragging the lunatic elf out of the room.

"Sorry 'bout that, m'lady," the young boy behind the bar told Edwin. "Can I get you something?"

Edwin eyed his goblet derisively. It was still half full of whatever it was they sold as 'red wine' in these parts. "Saerloonian brandy."

"Are you sure, m'lady? That stuff's quite potent."

"(Insults everywhere I turn...) Bring me," Edwin said, slowly and carefully so that his words might penetrate the dullard's thick skull, "Saerloonian brandy. Bring the whole bottle."

-.-.-

An hour later, Edwin's mood wasn't really any better, but his perspective on things did seem a lot clearer. Also, the other people in the inn (he couldn't quite think of a word that'd describe them) were giving him a wider berth than when he'd arrived. The bar boy didn't talk to him, and the stupid elf hadn't come back, and the other people in the inn were actually mostly somewhere else.

At this rate, he almost felt ready to start thinking about what had happened to him.

Curse the Netherese and their warped sense of humour! What kind of sick mind would make a scroll, have its name sung through the ages, and then put such a spell in it? Would they think Edwin's plight was funny, perhaps? (Of course they would! And so would Thay!) The whole thing was a trick, a devilish trick designed to ruin his life! If only he could get his hands on those responsible...

Who was responsible, really?

Why had he started to hunt for the dratted thing in the first place?

A vague memory of the tome that'd once let them into Candlekeep, the tome he'd read as much of as he could... The History of the wretched scroll? Yes, that'd been it! That's when it started! That Duke in Baldur's Gate who gave them the tome in the first place, he was the one who'd triggered this disaster!

But there was more to it. (Yes, much more...)

Edwin's thoughts spun and spun, pulling together strands of memories, and his outrage built as he came closer to realizing exactly how he'd ended up like this. (Why had he not seen this before?) Oh, he would -

For the second time that evening, someone touched Edwin without his permission. This time, there was a hand resting on his shoulder.

"Begone, lizard!" Edwin snapped, and turned to blast the stupid elf into another plane, but it wasn't the stupid elf. It was Yoshimo and the cleric, and the hand on his shoulder belonged to Yoshimo. "What'you want?" Edwin demanded.

"It is getting late, oh great wizard," Yoshimo said. "The innkeeper thought you might want to go to your room rather than sleep in here."

Edwin looked around. The room was empty, and rather dark; they must have forgotten to light the candles. He also noticed, much to his dismay, that someone had knocked over his bottle of brandy, spilling it across the table, the floor, and his robes. (Why would anyone do something like that?) "I still have thinking to do," he stiffly informed Yoshimo and the cleric, and turned his attention to a wet and somewhat sticky stain on his left sleeve. (Oh, how he hated the world...)

"Aye, I can see that," the cleric grumbled.

"Certainly it can wait until morning, no?" Yoshimo suggested.

"It's all Imoen's fault," Edwin muttered.

"How is that?" Yoshimo asked.

"I will tell you," Edwin said. It was all so clear now, as if he'd been struck by a bolt of lightning that was made of insight. "If she hadn't been so nosy, I never would have cared about getting the wretched scroll (I think). If not for her, I never would have disobeyed my orders. If she hadn't distracted me, I'd have found a way to get Ember to come with me to Thay, or I'd at least have written the report! I wasted all my time chasing a thing because of Imoen, when all I needed to do was write a simple report on my findings! My standing in Thay would've been saved forever, and I'd never have become stuck with a bunch of simians, with Degardan chasing me, and in this shape!" Edwin drew a deep breath. "It's all Ember's fault, too," he added.

"What are you talking about?" the cleric asked.

Edwin laughed. At least he had never been as befuddled as that Helmite bore! "You ignorant fool!" he cried. "You moon over her all day long, and you don't even know what she is!"

"Make sense, wizard," the cleric growled.

"Your precious lady Ember," Edwin said, taking care to talk slowly so their fool heads might understand, "is Bhaalspawn. Child of Bhaal. Offspring of the dead god of Murder."

-.-.-

"Awaken."

With some difficulty, Edwin opened his eyes, and was near blinded by searing white daylight. "What!" he croaked, and winced in pain; his head throbbed as though someone was striking it with a mallet.

"Awaken," the voice repeated.

Squinting, Edwin assessed his situation. He was in his bed at the inn; he could not recall how he got there. He was still wearing his robes. His robes had numerous stains (some of which defied description), and stank. His mouth felt like something small and furry had crawled inside it and died roughly a thousand years ago.

To his dismay, he was still a woman. (The pain in his head had almost made him forget about that.)

Anomen was standing beside his bed. (How dare he intrude in such a manner?!)

Before Edwin could muster the strength to demand the insufferable cleric leave the room, Anomen spoke. "Do you recall what you spoke of yestereve, wizard?" he asked.

Edwin frowned. Spoke of? To the Helmite oaf? What could he possibly have -

Oh.

Oh, no. No, no, no. (He couldn't have!)

(He had, hadn't he?)

"She knows too, doesn't she," he moaned as the recollection of what he'd said the evening before struck him with full force. (He'd told them just about everything!)

"Nay, she does not," the cleric replied. "We have not told her."

Immense relief washed over Edwin. There was still a chance! If only he could explain, make Anomen understand how important it was that Ember didn't -

"You shall inform her of your dealings yourself."