Ajantis and his dead followers lay sprawled at their feet. Who could despise the party enough to want to trick them so? Their first thought was Irenicus, but that made no sense. For Arowan to work as his backup Bhaalspawn he needed her alive and free of numbing potions. The Order of the Radiant Heart had done his hard work for him by spending months weaning her off them. If anything, they were aiding him. He had no reason to do this.
Their only clue was the conversation that Arowan and Viconia had overheard. Ajantis had been searching for an ogre named Tazok, and the man who had persuaded him to come to Windspear to search for him was called Lord Firkraag.
"What goes on here?" cried a gravelly voice, before the party could decide on what to do.
"Who are you?" barked Arowan, checking that the Charisma Ring was safely on her finger. If they ever had need of it, it was now.
Out of the bushes clumped a sturdy but tired man, fast transitioning from middle-age to old. His kind, crinkly eyes were a pale blue and his clothes faded and worn. They might have mistaken him for a peasant, were it not for the family crest painted on his shield and the great red plume upon his helm.
"My name is Garren Windspear, but a better question might be, who are you to change shape so readily? Why have you slain your fellow beasts who become men?"
"It appears that we have been tricked into killing these knights," Jaheira replied, edgily. "From their few words it would seem that we looked as monsters to them, just as they appeared to us."
"That is the conclusion that I have come to too," Garren replied gravely, "Though the priests of Helm will not believe what has happened. They will seek justice, and only your heads will suffice."
There was some muttering in the party at this. Viconia immediately suggested that they split up into pairs and flee, while Anomen furiously insisted that they must find the party responsible and clear their names. Walking away was an option, but it was likely that they would be caught by scrying spells. Real murderers took precautions against such magical investigation but they, of course, had not intended any of this.
"What do you suggest we do?" Arowan asked Garren.
"Why are we asking him?" whispered Viconia, urgently. "He might well be the wizard who cast this illusion."
"This man is dressed as a knight at most, not a liege lord. We overheard Ajantis say that he was invited here by one Lord Firkraag," she said. At the mention of the name Garren stiffened in alarm. "You know of him, Sir? It seems likely that he was involved."
"Likely indeed," muttered Garren. "I suggest that you take sanctuary with me until we can discover how this unfortunate event came to pass. Trust me, I know a great deal about this 'Lord' Firkraag…"
They followed him on a twenty minute hike to his manor in the woods. It was a large brick structure, though the roof was overgrown with ivy and the windows dark with grime. Once it must have been very grand, but it was too large for a man without servants to maintain and despite Garren Windspear's best efforts it was falling into disrepair.
"This looks like the hunting lodge of a wealthy lord," Jaheira remarked. "Who are you?"
"I was once Lord Windspear and ruler of these lands, and had many holds across the heart of Amn," he sighed. "Now, thanks to Firkraag, this is all that remains. He discredited me because he sought my lands. There were missing people only he could find, banditry that only he could stop. Solutions to problems that I'm sure he caused. The people lost faith in me and my influence crumbled."
"And now he is targeting us," observed the druid.
"Or perhaps he was targeting this Ajantis-male," Viconia pointed out. "He, after all, was invited here by Firkraag. We are only here because… remind me why you dragged us to this filthy little backwater?"
"There are dryads trapped in Irenicus's lair," said Arowan. "Returning their acorns to their faerie kin in this region is the only way to release them, since they cannot leave their trees."
"Once again your profitless do-gooding rears up to bite us," the drow observed.
"You are quite right Viconia, I have learned my lesson," she replied pleasantly. "Next time I see you bound to a pyre I will walk away and let you burn to death." The drow hissed at her, and Arowan treated her to her most sarcastic smile. "Unless they're selling toasting marshmallows, in which case I'll stick around and watch. I do enjoy a good bonfire."
"Whether you were Firkraag's original target or not is irrelevant now," Garren told them, ignoring the bickering pair. "The Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart will seek your deaths if something is not done quickly."
"Is there nothing you can do to aid us, sir?" asked Anomen.
Garren beckoned them inside. Though the mansion was large, all of the exits leading from the entrance hall were dark. A fire roared beneath the central chimney, which was a welcome escape from the wind. They noticed that a cooking pot hung over it, and three beds had been arranged in the room. It was quite comfortable, but it seemed that he had moved the family in here and abandoned the rest of the property.
His servant and an androgynous teenager were poking the pot with a ladle. It reminded the party that they had left their food and tents behind them in the wood, but that seemed to be the least of their problems now.
"I have friends among the Order," he said. "I shall ride for Athkatla and tell them what I saw. Perhaps I can persuade them to look upon you with mercy. I can but try."
"We thank you for this," Jaheira told him, "You are most kind."
"Dammit!" Arowan exclaimed suddenly. They all stared at her. "Sorry, you mentioned riding and I… er… forgot the horses we bought in Trademeet," she admitted, "The poor things are still at the Mithrest and I only paid their stable space for a couple of nights. I hope they don't end up in the tavern stew."
"You're worried about that now?" cried Anomen and Viconia with one voice, leaving her feeling rather foolish.
"I can collect your horses," Lord Windspear said with a faint smile. "Any enemy of Lord Firkraag is a friend of mine. Make my home yours until I return with good news."
He and his child donned their cloaks and set out for Athkatla. The isolated teen seemed excited about the chance to visit the city. Lord Windspear's servant set off to retrieve their bedrolls and tents. It was an activity likely to take all evening and the whole of the following day. He was going alone and would need to make many trips, since Garren felt it unwise for the group to venture outside before their names were cleared.
In the meantime they had no choice but to take the man up on his generous offer, finishing off the stew and raiding his pantry like locusts for bread and cheese. Arowan did risk setting a few snares in the yard so as not to trespass too much on his hospitality.
"You know, Viconia?" Arowan said, as she showed the drow how to tie a snare. "You mustn't say things like that on the surface."
"I knew exactly what I was saying to Anomen about you, rivvil, and it was intended to offend," the Sharran sneered. "Besides it was perfectly true. You are on your third male in under a year. What was it Anomen said? Ah yes; 'you would think that such a homely lass would have been more guarded with her maidenhead. Helm knows she has little else to offer.'"
The ranger took a deep breath and counted to ten in her head. It had been a while since she and Viconia had tried each other's power physically, and the temptation was there. Fortunately, the ranger had a more subtle punishment in mind. Little did Viconia know that Arowan was exacting a petty vengeance even as they spoke.
"No, no, I wasn't talking about that!" the ranger replied in a hushed voice. "I mean what you said after we killed those paladins. About us being… you know… the T-word!"
"T-word?" Viconia asked, wracking her brain for what the other woman could be referring to. "You mean toast?"
"Shhh!" the ranger hushed her urgently. "You must never say that unless you are specifically talking about bread products. It is the foulest insult in our language."
"I have never heard any surfacer use 'toast' as an insult," the drow scoffed.
"I'm not surprised," Arowan replied emphatically. "It is a lethal cuss. Even the most savage monsters that stalk our lands hesitate to say it. In some orc tribes, referring to another as the t-word automatically sparks a fight to the death. They burned a visiting Calishite in the marketplace once in Baldur's Gate because he called a Grand Duke a slice of t-word without realising what it meant!"
"I had no idea," Viconia shuddered. "It reminds one of the pitfalls of being a stranger in a foreign land. Such a fate might easily have befallen me. Who would have thought that toast- of all words- would cause you rivvil such outrage?"
"Please stop saying it!" Arowan begged her. "Here. Loop this rope through the hanging one and pull against the stick in this direction. There! You're done! With any luck we'll have bunnies for breakfast."
"How was I supposed to know not to say the… ah… t-word?" Viconia asked defensively. "Can we go back inside now? It's freezing out here."
"Of course, Viconia. I'll finish off the last snares by myself," Arowan said indulgently. When the door clicked shut and the drow was out of earshot she added, "You steaming buttered toast rack."
The days that followed were tedious, stuck as they were in the one little room, and the weather outside grew wild. Garren's unfortunate servant, whose job it was to venture out into the endless rain and piercing winds kept muttering at them resentfully, but by the end of the first day the party would have braved any storm to go outside.
On the pretext of finding something to do, Yoshimo set out to explore the rest of the house, and Arowan followed. What he really wanted, however, was to read the diary of Ajantis Ilvastarr in private. He found a room which was cold and empty but not locked. The branches of a rogue tree had broken through the window and he sat on one, pulling open the book that he had been itching to investigate since he first saw Bubbles's name inside.
The ranger hovered over his shoulder listening to the more interesting passages. Since she was only semi-literate, her main contribution was to pretend to kiss his neck when the others poked their heads around the door, to get them to go away.
Ajantis, it seemed, had been researching ways to cast resurrection spells without a body. With a jolt, Arowan recognized the name of his target. Draxle, one of the Candlekeep Bhaalspawn, and long since gone to the Abyss. The first two-thirds of the journal consisted of the knight's extensive, but ultimately useless, research from the Order library. These were regularly interspersed with tragic verses of poetry (both in the sense that Draxle's life was a tragedy and that the poems themselves were tragically bad). Arowan cringed and insisted that Yoshimo skim over these.
It was the last part of the diary that began to get interesting. Ajantis recorded a chance meeting in the library with a 'repugnant courtesan' named Bubbles, and at this point his own research ceased. Instead a series of dated diary entries were listed recording their meetings.
This woman has a sense of… evil about her. I suspect her of dabbling in necromantic activities. My first tenant as a paladin is that evil must be purged without mercy, but the second is that duty to one's cause outweighs all. Never have the two been so conflicted…
"Poor kid," muttered Arowan. It was obvious from the highlights that Yoshimo read aloud that he and Draxle had been romantically involved. Despite never having met her, Arowan had a soft spot for this particular Bhaalspawn. She had the impression that Draxle had been better suited to the life of a noblewoman than an adventurer, and was, perhaps, a little vain and silly. Yet she alone had noticed how Gorion excluded Imoen, stood up to him, and insisted that he stop.
I have failed my love, and must atone, yet I refuse to fall into depravity in the process! Feigning interest in Bubbles and her revolting 'services' makes me sick to my stomach. Would that there were a more worthy way to keep in contact. My honour is my life, and I am determined to discover some means to hire this fetid harlot which does not involve sacrificing it. Truth be told, so disgusting is this whore, that it fills me with no small wonder that there are men physically capable of performing the marital act with her, even amongst those depraved enough to try.
"Heh, heh. He was a brave man to put such words to paper, yes?" Yoshimo grinned. Arowan gave him a look, and he desisted. "I wonder, was he simply unaware of what Bubbles had the power to do to him, had she ever read this?"
"Bubbles doesn't strike me as the type to go in for pointless cruelty," the ranger mused. "Just because she could have destroyed him for insulting her, doesn't necessarily mean that she would."
I have found a 'service' that I can purchase from Bubbles that requires neither dishonour nor physical contact. Though still I shudder to name it here.
"The mind boggles!" Yoshimo remarked. It did not boggle for long.
As he read on they learnt of how Ajantis had convinced Bubbles that he had a guilt fetish. The necromancer had been killing him over and over again in varied ways in her hovel, then bringing him back. He insisted that the method be different each time in the hopes that she would eventually make a mistake. They read on until, in one of the most recent diary entries, his desperate plan bore fruit.
Today my opportunity finally came. Bubbles left me alive in the coffin. The pain was indescribable, but Helm granted me courage, and I lay there as though dead. The trollop went out, leaving me with those abominations Shank and Carbos. Turn Undead sent the wretches crawling into their cupboard, and I hope they lack the intelligence to report back to their mistress.
When I was certain that I was alone, I crept from my coffin and perused her notes. She has compiled a ritual to restore the Bhaalspawn necromancer, Eric. From what I can tell nothing now stands in her way bar the acquisition of the Ring of Gaax. By draining this powerful artefact she will be able to summon one soul, and only one, from the Abyss.
The time to act is soon. At the end of the ritual Bubbles will cry out the word 'Vita' followed by the name of the Bhaalspawn she means to summon. I must find a way to be present at this event. Before she can call for Eric, I will call for Draxle.
No doubt, this will be my end. The strumpet is well practised in slaughtering me and this time I will not be brought back. I do not believe that Bubbles will take her wrath out on my poor lady, but if she does, then I will at last fall defending my love as I should have done in the first place.
Yoshimo stopped reading. Neither of them spoke. The thief pressed a finger into the spine of the diary, pushing out a tiny lead pencil that had been concealed within it. Then, with a significant look at Arowan, he scratched out the name 'Draxle' and wrote another in its place.
Sarevok Anchev.