Thorough preparation is the key to most successful endeavors. Know your foes, know your own limitations and always make sure to be properly prepared before you venture into a dangerous situation. Once the entire Palace Guard is chasing after you with flashing swords and man-eating dogs, it is just a little late to wish that you'd taken the time to glue on your false mustache more properly.
Excerpt from 'Interview With An Assassin'
"What…did…you…SAY?!" The question began as a slow growl, which then increased in volume and power until it had become the roar of an enraged beast. Sailian Daan stared into a pair of burning golden eyes and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that death was only a heartbeat away.
"I…", Sailian tried to say, but the words came out only as a strangled choke. The mailed fist that was clutching his throat tightened just a little further and he could see multicolored spots dancing before his eyes. How could this all have gone so wrong so quickly? He asked himself this but found no answer. When the bandit camp had fallen his first thought had been to run away as quickly as possible, find himself a new employer elsewhere. But then he had had his unfortunate idea. Though most of his fellow bandits believed themselves to be working for the Zhentarim, Sailian knew better than that. He was good at gathering information, always had been. A comment overheard here, a remark snatched there, it all added up to one thing. The Iron Throne. And one name stood out, the name he would have paid for with his life if Tazok had caught him spying on his private conversation with Ardenor Crush, one name that was at the heart of the matter. Sarevok.
And so, even as he watched his allies fall around him, Sailian Daan had made up his mind. He would seek out the Iron Throne in Baldur's Gate, seek out this Sarevok, and make his report to him. He was sure to be rewarded for delivering such important information. Finding the Iron Throne had been no problem. Gaining an audience with Sarevok had been more difficult, but not impossible. What Sailian unfortunately hadn't counted on was the fact that Sarevok would turn out to be homicidally insane. When he had met the man, he had been rather disconcerted to find himself in the company of a huge warrior radiating power and arrogance the way the sun gives off heat and light. Why is he wearing full battle-armor indoors? Sailian had thought. Surely he cannot be expecting an attack here, in the Iron Throne building itself? And such a hideous thing too, decorated with foot-long spikes. Then there were those eyes, the only part of Sarevok's face really visible, and the unearthly light that shone in them. They made Sailian feel like his spine had turned into a pillar of ice when he looked into them.
In retrospect, perhaps he should have presented his news a little more diplomatically. But at the point he'd been so anxious to get out of Sarevok's presence that he'd simply blurted it all out, which was why he was currently pushed up against a wall with a very upset Sarevok slowly throttling him to death.
"Sarevok", another voice mildly interjected. "It is awfully hard for a man to explain himself if he is being strangled. Perhaps you might ease up on him a little?" That was Winski, the mage who apparently functioned as Sarevok's advisor. A gaunt man wearing black, with lines of old pain and bitterness etched into his face, and with eyes that in their own way were just as frightening as Sarevok's. They were the hollow eyes of a man who had a cause, and nothing else. At least Sarevok was emotional about his killing, Sailian thought. The wizard would likely swat him out of the way as if he were no more than an annoying fly, not even worth getting angry about.
Sarevok stiffened slightly. "Very well", he said, and his voice lowered even further until it became a deep rumble somewhere within his armor-plated chest. The grip on Sailian's throat eased a little. "You. Bandit. 'Explain' yourself."
Sailian fought to draw breath, heard the air wheeze into his burning lungs. Cold sweat was dripping off his face and throat onto the cold mailed fist that held him. Sarevok didn't seem to notice. "It…it is as I…as I said before, Great Lord", he stammered, picking an honorific he hoped would help mollify the man in front of him. "The…the camp has fallen. I…I came as soon as I could, to let you know."
"How?" Winski asked, sounding curious. "How exactly did it fall? I would have thought such a thing impossible, unless the Fist mounted a full-scale attack."
Sailian paused. How had the camp fallen anyway? "I…I am not certain", he admitted. "One minute…one minute everything was calm, and then…then there was fighting everywhere. The hobgoblins, they fought the Talons…and the gnolls…they fought everybody. And…and people got sick in the middle of everything. It…it was a slaughter I tell you." He paused. "Then...then when it was over I…I entered the command tent. To…to see if Tazok was there." Actually, it had been to see if he could manage to steal something of value, but he really didn't think Sarevok needed to know that.
"I see", Sarevok said, his grip tightening a little. "And was he?"
"N-N-No! No! There were corpses…corpses on the floor. That was all. That is all I know. Please, Great Lord, I only wanted to aid you, to please you!"
For a moment there was silence, except for Sailian's labored breathing and the blood rushing in his head. And there was a terrible sound. Deep, throaty laughter tinged with bloodlust and madness. "And so you shall, little man", Sarevok said, the fires of his eyes flaring up with even greater brilliance. "So you shall." The pain was excruciating, and it was accompanied by a nauseating, cracking sound as Sailian's larynx broke. The last thing the bandit saw was a pair of burning, golden eyes, and the last thing he heard was that chilling laughter.
"A trifle unnecessary, don't you think?" Winski asked as Sailian's corpse dropped to the ground. "Not to mention messy."
"He provoked me", Sarevok snarled.
"By telling you the truth? It seems I ought to fear for my own safety as well then."
Sarevok slowly turned to face his mentor, and when next he spoke his voice was cold. "Do not push me too hard, Winski", he said. "My patience is not unlimited."
"Really?" the wizard snorted. "How odd. I never would have noticed." He gave the corpse a dismissive glance. "Just what was the purpose of that little exercise in futility, if I may be bold enough to ask?"
"He was one of those who failed me. He will never get the chance to do so again."
"I should think not. Nor will he get the chance to serve you. Really, Sarevok. Killing the messenger serves no purpose other than making the surviving messengers give you false information in order to keep you happy. You ought to know better by now."
"I am the New Lord of Murder!" Sarevok said, and there was a strange exhilaration to his voice. "I do as I please, and each death can only serve to bring me closer to my destiny." His eyes narrowed. "You can help me – or hinder me. It should be clear by now what I do to those who hinder me."
"I will always help you", Winski said, crossing the room to stare directly into the warrior's face. "You know that, or at least you should. You used to know it." His voice became even dryer than before. "And you are not a god yet. You are merely the future Lord of Murder, and you have just left a rather messy corpse on my brand new Calimshite carpet. Please be kind enough to remove it on your way out. It's hard enough finding new help these days, or so I hear. Getting servants skilled in corpse removal may well be an insurmountable challenge."
For a moment it seemed that Sarevok's rage was about to flare up again. He stood quiet, motionless, as if listening to an inner debate. Then he laughed quietly. "Very well", he said. "I shall see to it. I do need you yet, after all. What did you make of this report?"
The wizard frowned. "It is puzzling", he said. "Why would the camp just fall apart like that? It makes no sense, and I can't see it occurring naturally. It would be too much of a coincidence. No, there has been some outside influence as work here, that much is clear."
"My sister", Sarevok said, and that inhuman fury was seeping back into his voice once more. "My dear, sweet little sister. It has to be her."
"Are you sure? She is young, inexperienced. Do you really think she could pull off a thing like that?"
"Who else could it be? No, this is her doing. I know it." A large fist swept out, sending an assortment of delicate porcelain figurines crashing to the floor from their place on the mantelpiece. "Damn her!" A heavy blow totally shattered the glass door to one of the many bookcases lining the walls of the room. "Curse her!" Yet another blow, and large cracks formed in the polished surface of Winski's desk. "I WILL MAKE HER PAY FOR THIS!"
"You", Winski said, "will begin by stop demolishing my furniture. These are my chambers, in case you didn't notice. I understand if you feel like breaking things, but please do so somewhere else." Ignoring the furious glare the warrior sent his way he hastily conjured a magic portal. "There", he said. "That leads to the Undercity. Go kill some ghouls, that will help you calm down. I'll stop by later when you're ready to make some further plans." For a moment Sarevok simply stood there, breathing heavily, and the wizard feared that he might have gone too far. Then Sarevok gave him a final, baleful glance and darted through the portal. It winked out of existence behind him.
Winski leaned against the wall, wiping his brow. That had been close. Too close. The boy was getting more highly strung every day. Winski would not stop speaking the truth as he saw it, however. He owed it to Sarevok. It wasn't as if anybody else did, except for Tamoko. How was Sarevok supposed to ascend to his appointed place if he kept striking out randomly like this, without proper control? And so I must provide that control for him, Winski thought. Whether he likes it or not, it is my duty. Then, once he comes into his own, he will be truly free to do as he wills with the world. The mage turned around, and then he sighed. "Typical", he said. "He forgot the corpse."
The wizard sighed again. He cared for Sarevok as for his own son, and cherished his unique strengths and potential, but sometimes the boy could be such a handful. Absolutely impossible, to tell the truth. So brilliant, but so…so erratic. I shouldn't think there could be anybody on the face of Toril who ever had to deal with bringing up a child that gifted and that reckless. Pity though. If there were, I would certainly like to sit down for a long, long talk with them. Exchange trade secrets, as it were.
Sarevok raged through the dark tunnels and catacombs of the Undercity, far beneath the city of Baldur's Gate. The undead scattered like frightened sheep before him as he stalked the gloomy passages, black blood dripping off the Sword of Chaos. The bloodshed helped some, but it was not enough to calm the furious storm in his mind. The undead were dead already, after all. It was not the same thing as taking human lives, not at all.
NO, MY SON, his Father's voice spoke inside his mind. YOU ARE RIGHT IN THIS. IT IS TRUE MURDER THAT YOU CRAVE, TRUE MURDER THAT WILL MAKE YOU COME INTO YOUR HERITAGE. YOU KNOW THIS, IT IS A TRUTH BRED INTO YOUR VERY BONES. SPILLING THE LIVES OF THESE INSIGNIFICANT ANTS IS NOTHING. THE LIVES OF NATIONS, THE LIVES OF YOUR SIBLINGS – THAT IS WHAT WILL GRANT YOU LIFE EVERLASTING.
"My siblings…" Sarevok hissed between his teeth as he struck the head off yet another ghoul. "My sister."
YESSS… YOUR SISTER. THAT LITTLE ONE HAS PROVEN A NOT SO INSIGNIFICANT THORN IN YOUR SIDE, HASN'T SHE? PERHAPS SHE OUGHT TO BE MY CHAMPION…
"No! NOOOO!" Sarevok screamed, and the scream echoed through the Undercity to make the undead shiver in their deepest holes as they hid in fear. "She will not! She will not! She had it all, right from the start. Everything I didn't. She…She took it all. She will not take this too. Never. NEVER!"
His Father's voice chuckled quietly. VERY GOOD, MY SON. IT SEEMS YOU ARE WORTHY TO BE MY CHOSEN ONE AFTER ALL. TELL ME THEN, HOW DO YOU PREPARE TO DEAL WITH HER?
Sarevok thought for a moment, pausing in his track. The air was cold down here, but his blood was burning hot and he didn't feel it, no more than he felt the slow dwindling of what had once made him human. "The mines…the mines in the Cloakwood. She is likely to go there next. I will make certain she is intercepted, and this time I will send only the best assassins available." He smiled; a smile reminiscent of the grin of a skull. "And if they too should fail – then I must make an exception from my original plans, despite the things I have to deal with here in the City. Then…I shall go after her myself. I so long to gaze upon my sister's face once more. One…final time." He laughed, and he heard his Father laugh with him.
EXCELLENT, SON, spoke the voice of the dead god. TRULY, YOU ARE EVERYTHING I EVER HOPED YOU WOULD BE…
And Sarevok smiled at the approval of his Father.
Deep within the Cloakwood forest….
"It is as I always say, fair one. The essence of pleasure is spontaneity. If you wish to achieve the greatest of pleasure, you must needs give in to your whims."
Rini gave Coran an appraising look. The elf was walking by her side, his step light, his smile carefree. The remark could be interpreted innocently enough, she supposed. But from what she had seen of the archer so far, she wouldn't bet on it. He was an outrageous flatterer, and his comments frequently had her rolling her eyes. A small part of her couldn't help enjoying them though. Back home…in Candlekeep…they all thought I was a freak. It's not as if I take him seriously or anything but…it's just nice to hear somebody tell me that I'm pretty. And he certainly sounds like he means it.
"Whims, Coran?" the half-elf asked. "What kind of whims would those be?"
"Yes, please do enlighten us", Edwin sneered. The wizard was walking on her other side, looking a bit like a red-robed thundercloud. Whenever Coran moved a little closer to her, Edwin did as well, with the result that she was starting to feel rather hard pressed. "Frolicking on flowering meadows?" Edwin went on. "Talking to trees? No, wait. Let me guess. Going by your looks, it would have to entail frenzied mating with feral pigs. Yes, I'm sure your mother was very…spontaneous."
Coran had gone a bright red, even to the very tips of his pointed ears. "Insult my mother again, wizard, and you will find out firsthand about the swiftness of my sword."
"Ah, yes. That reminds me. Your…sword. It almost has to be 'swift', for you to have had time to enjoy all those liaisons I distinctly heard you boasting of to Khalid earlier. Pity you never learnt that females aren't necessarily impressed by…swiftness. Rather the contrary, in fact." The wizard gave the elf a condescending look. "But a creature of your limited intellectual capacity can hardly be expected to comprehend the finer points of the art of erotica. (Just try to keep yourself from going 'Oink' at the height of your passion and you may yet be able to find yourself a mate. I would offer to summon an ogress or two, but I fear you wouldn't meet their standards in any way.)"
Coran was baring his teeth in a snarl by now. "I'll…kill…"
"Would you look at that!" Zaerini interrupted in a forcedly cheerful voice. "There's somebody standing over there, on the other side of that river. Coran, why don't you go on ahead to scout?"
The elf bowed briefly, still scowling darkly at Edwin. "As you wish, fair one", he said. "Though I would greatly enjoy teaching this prattling fool of a human a lesson I shall obey your smallest command, and gladly." He hurried off.
"What's wrong with you?" the bard hissed as soon as Coran was out of hearing. "Do you want to get into a fight to the death with him?"
"The man is an imbecile", Edwin stubbornly insisted. "I'm simply trying to make you realize that he is not fit to be a member of our group."
"By implying that his mother consorts with pigs. Eddie, I agreed to hunt Wyverns with him. That's it. He'll probably want to leave once we're done with that."
"No, he won't!" the Red Wizard declared angrily. "He's already sniffing around after you like…like a cat on the prowl! It will only get worse. You can't be alone with him, it's not safe."
"I'm sorry", Zaerini said, her golden eyes suddenly flickering hotly. "I don't think I heard that right. I'm sure I couldn't possibly have heard you telling me what I can or can't do."
"Somebody has to look after your interests if you're too besotted to do it yourself."
"Besotted? Besotted?! I've only just met the man! Who do you think I am?"
Edwin took her by the arm and pulled her closer, looking directly into her eyes. Conflicting emotions flickered rapidly across his face. "I think you're a woman seeing what she wants to see, rather than what is actually there", he said in a low voice. "I tell you, that elf will only cause you grief if you…if you choose to take up with him. I…don't want to see that happen."
He really cares about you, kitten, Softpaws said. I think that's very sweet. Don't you?
I…I suppose you're right, Softy. It really is. But he mustn't think that he can order me about. That's crossing a line. "Edwin", the half-elf said, briefly touching the wizard's cheek. "Thank you for your concern. But there really is no need for you to worry about me. I'm just fine. Please don't let Coran get to you so much."
"Very well", the wizard muttered darkly. "If you wish it, I will refrain from transforming him into a spotted toad. For now. But if he dares to touch…er…that is…if he should in any way annoy you, he will be dining on raw flies and sleeping on a lily-pad."
The bard smiled mischievously. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."
The stranger Zaerini had spotted turned out to be a teenaged boy, huddling miserably on the other side of the river. He was tall and skinny, with wispy blond hair, and his red eyes indicated that he had done a fair bit of crying recently.
"This is Tiber", Coran explained once the rest of the party reached them. "I think he had better tell you himself what his worry is."
"Y-y-yes", the boy sniffed. "I…I am sorry to trouble you, but I…I really need your help."
Rini felt her heart go out to him. He looked so utterly miserable. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Tell me, and then we'll see whether we can help you or not."
It was almost painful to see the way new hope dawned in those blue eyes. "Thank you! Thank...you...it's my brother you see. He and I went into the Cloakwood to clear the woods of the spider colony that infests it. I know it sounds foolish... but my brother had found the sword 'Spider's Bane'! The sword was created to kill spiders...and we thought we could become famous... the heroes of Cloakwood, and all that." Tiber's voice cracked slightly as he went on. "He told me to wait here, and that he would come back for me soon. But my brother hasn't returned yet...and it's been more than a week. Please, could you go into the woods and find him for me...my mother would be so shattered if Chelak were to be dead."
Imoen looked almost ready to cry herself. "Rini, that is so horrible", she said. "We have to help him."
The half-elf nodded. She really felt for the boy. I have lost kin myself. How could I not want to help somebody else avoid losing his? "We'll see what we can do", she said, patting Tiber on the shoulder. "It we find your brother, we will bring him back to you. I promise."
" you!" Tiber stammered. "Thank you so much! I'll…I'll just wait right here then. His…his name is Chelak. Did I say that already? Oh, I just know you'll find him!"
As the party headed into the forest Zaerini called a brief halt. "We should probably be wary around here", she said. "There's no way of knowing what lies ahead, and something obviously kept Chelak from coming back."
"Yes", Jaheira agreed. "We should be as careful as possible. Perhaps it would be wise to do some scouting ahead."
"Hey, no problem!" Imoen cheerfully said. "I'll take care of it, don't ya worry."
"No, no little girl", Coran said with a bright smile and puffed his chest out. "This is dangerous. You'd better let a real professional handle this."
"Oh?" Imoen said, looking very innocent. "And who would that be?"
"Why, me of course!" He tossed his head proudly. "My skill is great, but should it not be enough then luck will surely favor me." He winked at Zaerini. "After all, luck is always on the side of the romantic." He gave her a smoldering look. "I'm sure it will be deathly perilous - but great peril yields great beauty. And perhaps it might even make great beauty yield, hmmm?"
"And perhaps you would like me to see if your tongue yields enough to be used to strangle you before you make me vomit", Edwin muttered. "That would be a most interesting experiment, I think."
Zaerini gave him a disapproving look. "Go ahead, Coran", she said. "Let's see what you can do."
"Would that I could display all of my skills, lovely one", the archer said, "but right now you shall have to settle for that of securing the path for your dainty feet." He hurried off with a wave.
Dainty feet? Rini thought, staring at her own feet. Not that they're huge or anything, but I never heard anybody call them that before.
"I give him ten minutes", Jaheira calmly stated and Khalid nodded agreement.
"Five, at the most", Edwin said.
"Two", Imoen contradicted him. "He's no good. No real professional would boast like that. I bet he's really good at sneaking into bedchambers though."
"Oh, come now", Zaerini protested. "Surely he can't be that bad…" A loud scream interrupted her.
"Wanna bet?" Imoen asked with her most innocent smile as she casually juggled her lockpicks.
There were strands of webbing all over, Zaerini soon noticed as she ran deeper into the forest. Sticking to the grass, clinging to the underbrush, strung between the trees. Thick, gray, sticky webs. Once her boot stuck and she had to yank herself free with all her strength. She privately decided that she'd rather not meet the spider that had made those webs. Coran was still yelling, so at least he had to be alive. Once she came into a clearing the half-elf stopped briefly, staring at the sight ahead. Webs were everywhere. In the midst of the mess a group of giant spiders clung to the strands, long hairy legs moving leisurely as if they were communicating with each other. Coran had apparently been careless enough to step into a trap. He was now hanging upside-down from a large tree, his left ankle caught in a rope of webbing, and he spun slowly around and around as a fat old spider attempted to wrap him into a cocoon of spider silk for later consumption. Most of the spiders were gathered in one big cluster though.
"Edwin?" the bard whispered. "Want to help me out here? I think a little fire ought to do the trick."
"Certainly", the wizard agreed. They both started chanting their spells at the same time, keeping their voices low so as not to alert the spiders. Two large fireballs struck the group of spiders, turning them into blackened husks and burning their webs away. The one up in the tree chittered angrily and charged, but a few well-placed arrows from Imoen and a swing or two from Jaheira's scimitar rapidly dealt with it.
"Well, that's that", Rini said. "Let's get Coran down and…" She paused. There had been a noise. An angry, chittering noise. And then a group of ten more spiders burst out of the undergrowth, led by two of the ugliest creatures the bard had ever seen. They were black and covered with bristly hairs, with thin legs, dragging arms and huge potbellies. The faces were incredibly ugly, but there was a general impression of long fangs and hungry red eyes.
"Ettercaps!" Edwin hissed. "Be careful, they're highly poisonous." He hurriedly used one of the wands he carried and a group of six large wolves ran at the spiders, growling and snapping, crippling the creatures by tearing at their legs.
"Khalid, fall back!" Rini ordered. "Jaheira, keep them off us!" The druid was already chanting a spell, and then vines and leaves exploded up off the ground to snatch ettercaps and spiders alike, holding them fast. Imoen was firing arrows as rapidly as she could, fire arrows that burned as well as they pierced. Have to take out as many as possible before they reach us, Zaerini thought. Must watch out for that poison. She did have another Fireball memorized, but she didn't dare use it at the moment for fear of burning out Jaheira's entrapping plants. A Magic Missile at least served to take one of the spiders out. Two had got loose now, and Khalid and Jaheira were engaging them while Edwin started another spell. Bluish-white lightning flashed from the Red Wizard's fingertips, bouncing from one spider to the next. When it was done only two remained, and those were easily dealt with.
"Coran, what exactly happened?" Zaerini asked once the elf had been released.
The archer flushed slightly. "Ah…a slight mishap, my lady", he said. "These creatures are most cunning, concealing their traps in the most fiendish of manners."
"What, like this?" Imoen innocently interrupted, pointing at a thin strand of webbing that was stretched across the path. "That's not very difficult to spot, is it? I don't think it is. Do you think it is? All you need to do is use your eyes properly, or so I've been told. I could help you, if you want. I'm very good at spotting traps."
"Ah…", Coran said, looking highly embarrassed. "I don't…"
"Do as she says", Rini told him. "We don't want to walk into another trap." The elf obeyed, but he looked highly put out at the idea of the young human girl taking the lead. He looked even more annoyed when it became painfully clear that she knew what she was doing.
"See?" Imoen said as she snipped off another strand of trap-webbing. "This isn't so difficult, is it? I'm sure you could learn it if you tried." For some reason Coran didn't look very appreciative of this helpful comment.
It wasn't long before the adventurers came upon the cave, or rather the nest. It was spun from spider silk, thick and sturdy, and there was a dark opening that seemed to beckon invitingly.
"I never had any particular wish to step into a spider's house", Rini muttered, "but I think we're going to have to. If Chelak is still alive I have a feeling that's where we'll find him."
"Either way, this expedition hasn't been an entire waste of time", Edwin said. "I did manage to harvest some ettercap poison earlier."
"What could anybody possibly want with that fiendish a substance?" Coran asked with an air of distaste.
The wizards raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "You never heard of ettercap poison?" he asked. "What kind of a rogue are you? It's extremely deadly, and extremely valuable. (But I suppose he wouldn't know. The only things he ever stole were likely underwear.)"
The smell inside the nest was hot and musty, making Rini feel like she was about to sneeze at any second. The sneeze stuck in her throat however, once she saw what awaited inside. It wasn't the spiders or ettercaps that bothered her. It was the woman. Or rather, what had once been a woman. She was bloated, huge, an obscenely bulging mass of fat, far surpassing any normal obesity. Tiny arms and legs, shrunken into uselessness, stuck out from the gigantic torso and waved impotently in the air as she spotted the intruders. Her hair had mostly fallen out, her eyes were hard and glittering with madness and pain. And from her massive belly webbing protruded, webbing and eggs. Spiders swarmed all over her.
They're…they're feeding on her! The bard tried her best not to vomit. Laying their eggs on and inside her body and…and…she knows exactly what's happening to her. And yet, the spiders seem also to be partially under her command…
As if in response, the massive creature opened her mouth and spoke. "My spiderssss", she hissed. "Kill them! Kill them all!"
"Hey wait!", Imoen protested. "We've come here...to...to benefit from your divine wisdom. Let us speak."
The woman's tiny arms waved again in strange and meaningless patterns and she licked her cracked lips. "You've come here to learn from my infinite wissssdom? Sssspeak quickly!"
What do I say? Zaerini thought, her mind racing quickly. What could I possibly ask her?
You could ask her how come she's so fat, Softpaws suggested.
Softy, you're not helping here.
"What's your name?" the bard eventually decided on, thinking it a nice, neutral question.
The spider woman thought for a moment, as if she was trying hard to recall something long forgotten. "My name isss...isss...Centeol, yesss, that is my name."
"Oh. Centeol. That's nice. Er…how did you wind up here?"
Centeol's eyes widened, shining with hate. The spiders raced ever more quickly across her disfigured body. "I am cursssed", she said. "The arch mage, Jon Irenicus. He did this, cursssed me into…into thissss! I loved Jon, but now I hate him, as I hate you and everything. Spiderssss...kill them all." The last was uttered with a scream of pain and rage.
As the spiders and ettercaps charged Rini could see Edwin muttering under his breath, his fingers moving swiftly as he cast a spell. She hadn't the time to ask what it was though. Coran was proving that even if he was no good at finding traps, he was an excellent archer. Two spiders were down already, looking rather like giant pin cushions. There were others left though, including two great black ones with sharp ridges protruding from their legs. It was with dismay that Rini could see one of those ridges slash Imoen's leg open, ripping up a bleeding wound that made the thief stumble. Before she had the time to react Jaheira was already there though, holding the creature off while Khalid finished it. The bard concentrated on using her own bow, picking off the beasts as quickly as she could.
When it was over, Centeol was the only foe left alive and breathing. Oddly enough, she no longer looked hostile.
"A charm spell", Edwin explained. "I thought it might be beneficial to question her."
"Good idea", Zaerini said, carefully approaching the spider-woman. Behind her she could hear Jaheira casting a healing spell on Imoen. It seemed her friend would be fine. "Centeol?" she told the unfortunate creature. "I am your friend, and you can trust me. Who is this mage you spoke of? This Irenicus?"
Centeol hissed quietly. "Jon", she said. "Jon Irenicus, the Archmage. I…loved him once, you know. But I crosssed him, plotted againssst him to win hissss love. Pointlessss. He cannot love. He isssss dead insssside. Sssso he cursssed me inssstead, twisssted my body, put me here asss an…experiment. Ssset the spidersss to feed me, and to feed on me. I cannot even essscape the conssstant pain into death. If you were truly my friendssss - you would kill me."
There were tears in the half-elf's eyes by now as the horror of that miserable existence came to her. "Don't worry, Centeol", she said, her voice thick. "We are your friends. I promise." And as she drove her sword home, for once she was glad of that part of her sire's heritage that helped her find the proper spot so easily.
"Irenicus", Edwin said, deep in thought. "I don't recall ever hearing that name before."
"Me neither", Rini said with a shudder as she gazed upon Centeol's sad remains. "And I hope I never will again."
"L-l-look here!" Khalid suddenly exclaimed. "I f-found him! He's alive!" What the half-elven warrior had found was the body of a young man, wrapped up tightly in spider silk and tucked into a corner of the nest. He was pale and sweating, but also cold, and his breathing was quick and shallow. "J-Jaheira? He is p-poisoned."
"I can do nothing", the druid grimly answered. "I have no proper spell handy. Does nobody have an antidote?" There was no answer. "Then I fear he will die. I can attempt to heal him, but the poison will still run its course."
Not so, kitten, Softpaws remarked, watching the unconscious man intently. Remember your dream?
And she did. Zaerini crossed the floor as if in a trance and knelt down by the wounded man, touching his brow lightly. Reaching deep inside herself she summoned the power she knew lay dormant, waiting. She had done it in her dream. She could surely do it again. She touched the wrongness, the foulness inside the man, and she drew them out, purifying him. When it was done, he sat up, still looking pale and drawn, but very much alive. He was a young man she saw, with the same white-blond hair as Tiber.
"You…you saved me", he said with great wonder. "Thank…thank you my lady." Then he stumbled to his feet. "I…I must get back at once. My brother…Tiber…he is waiting for me. He must be so worried!" He handed her a sword, a large twohander that shimmered in purple and indigo. "Please…take this. It is Spider's Bane, the famous sword. It is obviously not for me to carry, seeing what a mess I made of things. I have a regular one, that will see me and my brother back to Beregost. Thank again, I can never repay you for what you've done." He smiled weakly and walked out of the nest in the direction of the river.
After the party had set out once more, Coran was soon back to his irrepressible self. "A sad fate", he said. "To be thrown off the path of adventure that easily, I mean." He smiled widely at Zaerini. "But you, oh fiery one, have more passion in your little finger than most have in their entire body. I can tell it. You live as I do, knowing that life is an adventure, and without adventure it is no life."
"Hm. Flattering words."
"True ones. Now, let's get back to the issue of getting pleasure out of spontaneity…" And then he screamed with horror as he stared at his hands and arms, suddenly covered with large and unsightly warts and boils. His face was much the same. "Errrgh…", Coran said and dropped to the ground in a dead faint.
Zaerini slowly turned around, looking Edwin straight in the face. The wizard had a very satisfied gleam in his eyes and his smile was even wider than Coran's had been. He shrugged when he saw the bard's accusatory glance. "What?" he said. "I was only trying to be spontaneous, as he suggested. Giving in to my whims, the way he said." His smile widened just a little bit more, taking on a predatory quality. "And it certainly gave me pleasure."
Elsewhere, in the city of Baldur's Gate…
There was a corpse on the stairway again this morning. A common sneakthief by the looks of it, perhaps somebody who had attempted to pickpocket the wrong adventurer and paid dearly for his mistakes. Dekaras shook his head and stepped over the dead body, but not until he'd made sure that it really was dead. You couldn't afford to take unnecessary chances in the Elfsong Tavern. Then again, the assassin thought, I've never really approved of taking unnecessary chances, period.
The journey to Baldur's Gate had been an uneventful one, and he'd entered the city with no problems. He'd spent the first few days the same way he always did in a new city if he had the time to do so, getting to know the streets and the alleyways, mapping the place out in his head until he knew it almost as well as the back of his hand. He wasn't quite at that point yet, but he could easily find his way to all the more important landmarks, both official and unofficial ones. You never knew when the knowledge of just where a dark alley ended up could save your life.
Of course, examining the layout of the city also meant getting a feel for what the citizens were talking about. And amidst the general din and rumors some subjects kept cropping up. The iron crisis, and most importantly war. War, and probably not too far off in the future either. It was Amn which had been behind the raids and the iron crisis, people said. The Amnians were mobilizing their forces, just south of the Cloudpeak mountains. They ought to be dealt with soon, and harshly. Why weren't the Grand Dukes doing anything? They should attack before Amn did, so as not to get taken by surprise.
That was the way the gossip went. Dekaras thought about it as he brushed past the hulking figures of two half-orcs who were having a surreptitious conversation in a corner, paying them no obvious attention. War, war, war and iron. Oh, and war. It did make a certain amount of sense. Take out the Nashkel mines, intercept the incoming caravans, then supply your own iron. But he very much doubted Sarevok would be interested in a scheme that involved simple profiteering. There had to be something more, and Dekaras fully intended to find out what. First, he would need to make some preparations though.
The Elfsong Tavern was a fairly large establishment, and a popular meeting place for adventurers of all kinds, coming there to find new commissions or brag about their past accomplishments over drinks. This also meant that fights to the death were a common occurrence, and more than one proud adventurer had seen his lifeblood ebb away onto the dirty floor of the Elfsong while the ghost that had given the tavern its name sang its mournful dirge. If you heard a scream from one of the private meeting rooms, you didn't hurry to investigate. You simply ordered another drink and forgot about it and hoped that the staff would get the remains out of the way before you tripped over them. Patrons nervously joked about how there was supposedly a secret hatch deep in the Elfsong's basement, where the bodies could be dumped directly into the sewers with nobody the wiser.
Dekaras had been in two fights so far, and he was starting to find the whole thing rather annoying. It didn't really help if you disposed of one fool, fresh ones came streaming into the city every day. He had considered changing inns, but the Elfsong was very convenient if you wanted to remain anonymous. However, he thought, the next idiot who challenges me to a duel may just manage to irritate me enough that he won't get a swift death. He snorted quietly to himself. Duels. A very fancy word for killing. The way I see it, you either kill or you don't. Prettying it up is for amateurs.
Shaking his head once more the assassin headed into the streets of Baldur's Gate. His first goal this morning was a certain clothes shop in the southeastern part of the city. To the casual observer 'Three Tantalizing Trousers' didn't look like much. To those who knew what to look for, however, it held untold treasures. Dekaras entered the shop, taking note of the dark and shabby interior and the few sad items of unfashionable clothing displayed here and there. No other customers were present. Behind the counter there was a gnome, a wizened little man with a fluffy fringe of white hair around his mostly bald head, half-moon glasses that kept slipping down his nose and very sharp eyes, like those of a bird.
"Yes?" the gnome asked. "Can I help you?"
"Perhaps", Dekaras said. "I'm looking for a pair of extremely flared orange trousers, decorated with enormous flowers in the colors of feces-brown and vomit-green."
The gnome raised his head slightly and his eyes glittered. "I see", he said. "A discriminating customer. Well, good sir, I may have such an item in stock. Not out here though, you'll have to come into the backroom." He opened a cleverly concealed door and stepped through it into a narrow dark passage.
"An interesting choice of password", Dekaras remarked in a conversational tone as he followed the gnome.
"Very useful", the gnome said. "I can't see any outsider walking in and accidentally wanting to buy such a hideous item. Here we are, sir." The room the passage entered into was very different from the dingy little shop. This room was neat and clean, and brightly lit with magical lanterns. It was also tightly packed with clothes of all kinds. Silks and velvets befitting the Grand Dukes themselves. Filthy rags like those a beggar would wear. Wizard robes. Priestly garbs. Flaming Fist uniforms. Too many different costumes for the eye to take in all at once. "Now sir", the gnome said. "How may I really help you?"
A short while later Dekaras exited the shop again, pleased with how his plans were progressing. It would take a couple of days before the costume he had ordered would be ready, but he had complete faith in the little man's capabilities. I do believe it will be perfect in every detail, he thought. As it should be. Disguises could be extremely helpful, and he'd often used them. For what he had in mind he would need something rather more complex than he could construct himself however, and he could afford no mistakes. Or, as an alternative plan, I could always go with the hideous orange trousers. Who knows, I might be able to nauseate Sarevok to death. Then he remembered the warrior's taste in armor. No, on second thought probably not. He has to be immune to such things.
The assassin now headed back towards the eastern city gate, and his next stop. Passing by the glittering blue dome of the city's mage shop, the Sorcerous Sundries, he went inside a narrow building, identical to the dozens of others that surrounded it. Inside, a very large man sat on a bench, reading a book that Dekaras could see was titled. 'The History Of Succubi - With Illustrations'. "Password?" the doorman grunted with a threatening glare.
"I love fluffy bunnies", Dekaras responded, managing not to wince. It does make sense. A Flaming Fist spy would be bound to guess on 'Blood' or something like that. I just wish it didn't make me feel sick to my stomach every time I have to say it. Well, at least the resources of the Guild will be worth the bother of making myself known to them. I hope.
"Yeah, all right. Go on in." The guard stepped aside, allowing the assassin passage into the next room.
The Thieves Guild of Baldur's Gate wasn't particularly large as such things went. At a first glance, it might almost have been taken for a tavern. There were an assortment of odd chairs and tables scattered about, and a small bar. If you were to have an in-depth conversation with the fat and jolly bartender however, you would find that drinks weren't all he served, but that he was in fact also an excellent purveyor of potions and poisons of all kinds. Of course, some might argue that certain of the drinks were poison in themselves, such as the notorious 'Mindflayer' that promised to suck your brains out as soon as you touched it. Actually, Dekaras thought, you'd probably have to be brainless to touch it in the first place. Last night he'd seen a very small glass of it make a very large half-ogre pass out on the very hard floor, providing the assembled thieves with a concerto of very loud snores.
Thieves sat at tables here and there, conversing quietly, but it was a bit too early in the day for very many to be up and about. Dekaras soon spotted the person he was looking for. A thin young man with an earnest face and mousy hair was sitting at one of the tables, drawing.
"Hello, Wizard", Dekaras said to announce himself as he stepped up behind the young man's shoulder. "Busy day?"
"AAAaagh!" The Wizard almost collided with the ceiling, and once he came down again and turned around his face was very pale. "Please don't do that", he begged. "You scared me half to death."
"Force of habit", the assassin said, shrugging. "We all do what we're good at. I sneak up on people and kill them. You…make wishes come true. Speaking of which, do you have the items I requested?"
The Wizard nodded. He was an excellent forger and had got his nickname because of his ability to change reality, providing you with proof of just about anything you needed. "I have them", he said, taking out a thick wad of papers and accepting a pouch of money in return. "Just as you specified. And I made certain to select places far out in the countryside, the way you wanted."
"Excellent", Dekaras said, looking through the papers. Everything seemed to be in order. If he hadn't known they were forgeries he'd have believed them himself. "Yes, I wanted to make it harder to investigate my claims, in case anybody should think of doing so. This should serve most admirably."
"It was a pleasure", the Wizard nodded. "Half the people who want my help don't really know what they're doing, the bloody idiots. Always nice working with somebody who does. I don't suppose there's any chance of you telling me what you have in mind?"
"I don't think so", the assassin said. "I'll be looking into a few things. That is all you need to know."
"Well, let me know if there's anything else I can help you with. I do paintings too, you know. I've sold three 'Serena of Sembia' this year already." He chuckled. "Those greedy nobles, all of them so eager to their hands on a masterpiece. Well, they do. My paintings are masterpieces, in a way. Sure you don't want one? Could make a nice gift for a lady."
"Perhaps later. It might make a nice gift, as you say." Dekaras nodded to the forger before he departed. That's true. I did promise to bring something home, didn't I? Not just yet though. I'm not about to drag a huge painting of a woman with a queasy smile about with me everywhere. Not even for her sake. He carefully placed the forged papers into a pocket. Everything was in order. Soon, very soon, it would be time to set the first stage of the plan in motion.
The assassin smiled slightly to himself, his black eyes glittering with anticipation as he went over the details of his plan once again. The bandits had been an entertaining enough challenge, but this…this was the real thing. Intrigue, subterfuge, infiltration…he was very much looking forward to it, dangerous as it would undoubtedly be. Sarevok will never know what hit him. Or, in this case, who hit him.