People you don't want to trust with covert operations: Hot-headed rangers, Harpers, loud-mouthed gnomes, evil-smiting Helmites, or megalomaniac wizards who'll pick a fight with the first enemy guard they meet. There are times when I wonder why I even bother trying.
Excerpt from 'Ruminations Of A Master Bard'
"Are you saying that this is where those three drones are hiding?" Jaheira asked, her voice edged with disapproval. Yet it also sounded tired, far more tired than normal, and she was leaning even more heavily on her staff than previously. Now and then she would have to stop and rest, usually pretending that she had spotted something interesting in the distance. Zaerini pretended not to have noticed the pretense. She knew the druid and knew that right now her pride was all she had to cling to.
"Yep," she said, peering at the grimy sign above the entrance to the inn. "Softpaws says she can smell their tracks. And I asked around a little, they were spotted going in here." Edwin, Jan and Anomen together had created quite an impression on the people of the slums, and much amusement as well. It hadn't been difficult to trace them to this seedy little tavern. And they'd better not have gone on a drinking spree when Jaheira's life is in danger, that's all I say.
"Let me go in first," she said, as a naughty idea crept into her head. "I want to give them a little surprise." She reached within, to the slumbering power that was entwined with her soul, and then she felt her form shift and melt, until she assumed her alternate shape of a smallish red cat. With a satisfied flick of her tail she headed into the tavern, Softpaws close by her. She had to dodge and slip between quite a few feet, but then she eventually spotted her wayward companions. They were all sitting at a table near the fireplace, with a few assorted mugs on the table in front of them. I can't believe this. I ask them to do a little simple snooping around, and instead they sit around here? I'm starting to think Jaheira has less than three days, from the way she sounds when she breathes, we can't waste any time.
Does that mean I won't get my regular fifth snooze today? Softpaws said, sounding worried.
Your concern is really touching, you know that?
Snoozing is important. You wouldn't want my fur to lose its shine, would you?
Well, you can sleep in my pack if you have to. Just try not to destroy anything.
As the shape changed bard silently crossed the floor, she positioned herself behind the chair where Edwin was sitting and listened to what the three men were saying. Well, actually it was mostly Jan talking, a complicated story about some relative of his who'd been a bounty hunter and wound up having to travel all across Kara-Tur with a convict chained to his waist, a convict who also happened to be a vampire. Edwin and Anomen only groaned quietly now and then. Finally, at the point where Jan described his relative's fear and horror at finding out that the vampire had borrowed his toothbrush, Edwin had had enough.
"Be quiet, you sad reject from a traveling freak show! I have heard quite enough about your miserably cowardly uncle, and his vampire, and their turnip balancing act! No more! If the man had had any spine at all, he would have gutted the undead menace and stuffed it, the way I would do if the Nosferatu should ever seek to touch me with their cold….AAAAAGHHHH!"
The reason for the Red Wizard's sudden scream was that Zaerini had suddenly leapt onto the back of his chair and pressed her cold nose against his neck. Flailing his arms and legs about in a wild panic, he managed to topple his chair, as well as to lose control of his metal mug, which spun in a wide arc through the air and wound up in the lit fireplace. Meanwhile, Zaerini, who had the higher agility of a feline at her disposal, jumped on to the table, where she promptly changed back into her proper form and sat dangling her legs over the edge. "What's the matter, Eddie?" she asked innocently. "Aren't you happy to see me?"
"Are you trying to give me a heart attack, you fool woman? (Gah, why do people seem to think it's so very amusing to sneak up on me? Now she's doing it too!)" Edwin was still lying on his back on the floor, but that didn't stop his tongue from running as quickly as ever.
"Nope. Just trying to wake you up in case you're too drunk to remember what you were supposed to be doing."
"Nonsense! Edwin Odesseiron is never too drunk! I am always in perfect control, the omnipotent master of my mind and body! (Which is of course the epitome of masculine perfection, as I would be happy to demonstrate on a more private occasion.)"
"Really? What about Gracie then? I thought you said that happened because you were drunk?"
"That was an exception, though I would hardly expect your limited intellect to grasp such a complex concept."
"Limited, is it?" By now the redhead had got off the table and was hunched down on the floor, waving her finger beneath the now seated wizard's nose. "Hardly as limited as your sense of taste, Mr Nose Ring!"
"I'll have you know that I look superlatively and stunningly handsome in it, as I do in everything! My sense of taste is as superior as the rest of me, and a sure guide in the jungles of male fashion."
"Yeah, the sort of guide that will tie you up in the middle of a swamp and wait for the crocodiles to eat you. The gaudier the better, right?"
"Hmpf!" Edwin said, sticking his nose in the air. "As the barbarian you are, you clearly have no appreciation for high Thayvian fashion. Kindly go back to rolling in dung with the other peasants."
"Ha! It's not me who always gets attacked by greedy magpies trying to tear off all the sparklies and gold thread from my clothes!"
"Unappreciative, lowbrow wench!"
"Greedy, spoilt snob!"
"Skulking stalker!"
"Vain peacock!"
"Brat!"
"Bully!"
By now the bard was leaning in even closer towards the wizard, staring directly into his dark eyes, and she was grinning widely, pleased to notice that there was a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth as well. Things would likely have progressed rapidly, had not Anomen chosen that moment to interrupt the proceedings.
"My lady!" he cried out, getting to his feet. "Step aside, and I shall chastise this villain mightily for his rudeness and make him cry in the dust for your pardon!"
"Never mind," Jaheira said in a very dry voice. The druid had entered the tavern by now, Minsc in tow, and she was watching the pair on the floor with a look that was a strange mixture of humor, annoyance and plain weariness. "These two have their own very unique way of communication. They are not about to kill each other."
"Right," Rini said, getting to her feet and dusting herself off. She was feeling a little embarrassed, she hadn't meant to get carried away like that. "So, boys, what have you found? We have good news ourselves; we know that Ployer owns some sort of tavern in the slums, a place called The One Cup. Any of you got any idea where it is?"
Three heads shook in return. "Nope," Jan said. "But we met this really interesting old hag who…"
"Would you look at the beautiful weather!" Anomen suddenly said in a loud and slightly desperate voice.
"Yes!" Edwin added in. "And…and the…er…beautifully…er…dirty and disgusting people, smelling like stinking offal."
"…who reminded me of my dear old grannie's sister, Gloria Jansen," Jan said with a twisted grin, his eyes twinkling as he noticed the obvious discomfort of the priest and the Red Wizard. "She was a strange old lady, quite batty. In fact, she called herself 'Bat-Gnome' and preferred to sleep hanging by her toenails inside a drafty old cave. She also wore a very naturalistic bat-suit, complete with fur, large ears and real guano, and she'd shoot people with her Rabies-Crossbow. Well, not any people, only criminals. She fought crime, you see, together with her youthful sidekick, a plucky renegade and brilliant young Cowled Wizard, who hid his stunning beauty behind a pair of thick spectacles. Funny thing, as soon as he took them off his hair would turn blond, his teeth would straighten out and he'd lose ten pounds and get perfect skin. 'Sobbin' he was called, since he whined a lot about his hero outfit constituting of a tiny little scrap of tight leather. Auntie Gloria was very fond of younger men, you see."
"That is quite enough!" Anomen tried.
"Alas," Jan went on, "she died a tragic death. She was mucking the guano out of the cave one day when it landed on a passing villain, Acne Boy, most known for his hyper-intelligent mutated pimples, his secret training as a ninja zit-squeezer, and his bad temper, so common in adolescents. Don't you agree, boys?"
Edwin and Anomen simply glowered at him.
"Anyway," the gnome said, "Auntie Gloria managed to hit Acne Boy straight in the face with the guano, as I said, since she was ogling him rather than paying attention to her aim. Unfortunately, this caused all of his pimples to erupt, and the resulting explosion completely clogged the nostril holes of Auntie's mask, suffocating her."
"Ewwwwww!" Rini said, sticking her tongue out.
"Yes, that's what the poor undertaker said. A sad story, and it goes to show that you should never allow your urges to distract you too badly. Isn't that so, boys?"
Once again, the wizard and the Helmite wore identical, sullen expressions.
"I need another drink," Edwin muttered, uttering a brief spell that made his hand coat with a shimmering blue force field. Then he simply reached into the fireplace to retrieve his mug, which curiously enough wasn't even sooty. In fact, it looked cleaner than ever.
"What are those pretty letters down the bottom?" Minsc asked, peering over the wizard's shoulder. "Boo cannot read them, but he likes the way they glow."
Indeed, there were letters suddenly visible down the bottom of the mug. Winding, fiery letters, spiraling around the vessel. "It's Elvish," Edwin nonchalantly said. "Some sort of annoying advertising. It says 'One Cup to Rule them All, One Cup to Find Them, One Cup to Bring them All, and in the Darkness Bind them. Open 24 hours daily, for your convenience. Once you enter, you'll never want to leave. No halflings served."
"The One Cup?" Jaheira hissed, then had to steady herself against the table. "You…all this time…and you have been sitting here all along?"
"Hooray!" Minsc exclaimed. "It is the Evil Cup, and our good friends have found it for us, adding their names to the footnotes of heroic history! Now Minsc and Boo will wring the red wine of Truth out of the nose of evil and serve it up with the Cherry of Justice!" Without waiting for a reply, he hurried over towards the bar, brandishing his hamster in front of him like a sword.
"What does he mean 'good friends'?" Edwin asked, sounding worried. "And what is this 'heroism' thing? I cannot be a hero! Have you any idea how embarrassing that is?"
"Not now!" Zaerini said, hurrying after Minsc. "Any moment now he'll…"
"TELL US WHERE THE EVIL PLOYER MAN IS HIDING, LITTLE BARTENDER PERSON, OR MINSC WILL BE SERVING YOU SWIFT HAMSTER JUSTICE WITH A NICE CHERRY ON TOP!"
"…go berserk," Rini sighed. She hurried over to put her hand on the large ranger's arm, urging him to put down the bartender he was currently holding by the throat. The man was looking quite terrified, and his eyes were bulging. "Sorry," she said with an encouraging smile. "He just gets excited now and then. We'll go away just as soon as you tell us where Ployer is. I know he owns the place; he probably even lives here."
The bartender pointed silently towards a door in the back of the room, his arm trembling.
"Thank you!" Zaerini politely said. Then she turned around. "Right, let's prepare ourselves and…"
Too late. Jaheira was already staggering determinedly through the designated door, her teeth bared in anger. The fact that she was almost too weak to stand didn't seem to bother her, but then such things never had. Before the bard had the time to stop her friend, a voice sounded from inside the back room. An oily, smugly satisfied voice. "Ah, Jaheira. I see you have dragged your sorry soon-to-be carcass here to see me. Are you here to beg? Perhaps to grovel? I don't mind. I have even cleaned my shoes."
Ployer, the half-elf thought to herself, then hurried towards the door, swearing silently. And we've lost the element of surprise. Let's hope those wizards keep their word.
In the backroom behind the bar of The One Cup, the former baron Ployer was sitting on a ratty brown couch. A literally ratty couch, for it looked as if rodents had taken to nesting in it, judging by the marks from little teeth and the heaps of droppings. Not that Ployer seemed to mind. He sat there; looking totally relaxed, sipping from a grimy glass containing some form of golden liquid. A bottle stood next to him on a rickety old table, and several more lay scattered here and there on the dirty floor. Ployer himself looked much the same as Zaerini remembered him, with his loose skin and his hard little peppercorn eyes. He also had a highly unpleasant smirk on his face, one that displayed an impressive number of yellowing teeth and more than one gap.
Jaheira stood in the middle of the floor in front of the ex-slaver, leaning on her staff. She was clutching it tight enough that her knuckles were whitening, looking as if she wanted to strike the man in front of her down at once. Yet she did not, and Rini was afraid she could begin to guess why. It seemed that merely being in the same room as Ployer was draining the druid of life energy, making the curse work faster. Her usually so brilliant green eyes were dull and lifeless, her skin papery dry, and strands of white were beginning to appear in her golden-brown hair, like frost devouring the leaves of autumn. The druid's breathing was heavy, and worryingly irregular, as if it might end at any moment, and she didn't look strong enough to slay a mouse, much less a man.
"Despicable...despicable wretch!" Jaheira said, coughing. "You knew I would come here?"
Ployer chuckled, a sound resembling bubbles of marsh gas escaping a putrid swamp. His breath added to the resemblance. "Of course! I am your only link to life, so what choice do you have. Come now; grovel for your life before me. I haven't got all day!"
"Jaheira is not one to grovel, Ployer," Zaerini said, drawing her sword, the one that Renal Bloodscalp had given her. The black blade slid smoothly out of its scabbard, silent as the breath of a ghost. An assassin's blade, he said. Well, it is fitting. This is one man I would gladly pay to see dead or kill myself. "Nor are the rest of us. Hand over the lock of hair you used to curse her. Now."
"Evil little curse man!" Minsc bellowed. "Minsc's Witch has spoken, and Minsc agrees! Heroes of Goodness don't grovel, they stand tall, grinding the ugly face of Evil to pulp beneath the big feet of Justice!" Boo squeaked encouragingly, and Rini sneaked a quick glance at Minsc's feet. They were very big, and she wouldn't mind seeing them performing the action described.
"Forget the brainless babbling about heroism!" Edwin chimed in. "You, Ployer, are an annoying little pest, with the looks of a maggot and the brains to match. Unlike myself, you are no sinister and terrifying foe wielding masterful magic to shake the earth; you are simply a nuisance, an irritation, and a buyer of inferior curses. (Had it been one of mine, the druid would have been instantly dead of course.) On the scale of life's annoyances, you aren't a slavering dragon out to eat us, you are only the equivalent of stepping in a dog turd, and you will be treated as one."
"Nicely put, Red," Jan said appreciatively, "and it does make me think of a cousin of mine, Lucretia Jansen, who liked playing around with cursing people. She cursed the mailman with a severe case of fear of dogs, she cursed the grocer to make his apples poisonous, and when her husband's snoring annoyed her, she cursed him by making him sleepless. Then, one day, she tried putting a curse on her own hair, to get rid of the lice, something you may want to try yourself. Sadly, she miscalculated, and the curse made the lice grow to the size of horses, whereupon they promptly bit her head off. The herd of liberated lice still roams wild and free somewhere in Sembia, I think, running as swift as the wind, manes flowing. Anyway, cursing is dangerous business, and shouldn't be undertaken by amateurs."
"And if you do not give that hair up, villain," Anomen concluded, "I will make it a personal quest to make you skull shatter into so many little pieces that Helm himself couldn't put it back together again."
Jaheira's shoulders straightened a little at the support of her companions, and when she spoke her voice was stronger than before, almost normal. "I am...I am not here to grovel, Ployer. You would sooner get that from my corpse!"¨
Ployer's eyes narrowed with anger. "And I will, unless I get the satisfaction I want now. Come now, I can cure you if you drop your pretense of dignity and get your sickly carcass on its knees! And as for the rest of you, killing me will do no good. Unless I give you that hair of my own free will, the curse will remain after my death."
That is bad news, Rini thought. He could be lying to save himself of course, but there is no way of knowing for certain. We don't dare kill him until we know for sure.
"I AM NOT HERE TO GROVEL!" Jaheira shouted. "I may be weak, even dying, but you WON'T get that! I have come to take what is mine! I will be free of you... of your..."
"You are about to collapse," Ployer sneered, "and cannot even speak. Now, of course, you will have to grovel in pantomime. What could be more degrading than that?" He snorted. "I am finding it most amusing, I might add."
Zaerini clenched her jaws together, feeling hot anger bubbling inside her, wanting to erupt. Her soul was screaming for the blood of the man in front of her, but she dared not reach out and take it. Kill him. Kill him. KILL HIM! No…Jaheira…I don't dare. Not yet.
Steady, kitten, Softpaws warned her. Not yet. You mustn't pounce too soon.
"You've forgotten something, Ployer," the bard said, practically hissing with fury. "If you should succeed and Jaheira dies, you will have lost your hostage. There will be nothing to keep me and my friends from killing you and believe me when I say that I will be enjoying every single moment of it."
Ployer got to his feet, his eyes gleaming with mad triumph and hatred. "Your threats are nothing. You came expecting an old man in hiding, but I hoped Jaheira would find me because by the time she did she would be utterly crippled! I would enjoy crushing her, but I will settle for you! Meet my hirelings! My last favors paid for them, and they are well worth it!" He spread out his hands in a dramatic pose. "My loyal minions! Kill them!"
Nothing happened. A few seconds passed, and still nothing happened. Zaerini could feel a slow and satisfied smile spreading across her face as she watched the growing desperation in Ployer's eyes. Looks like Terrece decided to keep his word after all. And now, look at that little rat squirming…
Er...Attack!" Ployer tried, pointing at the adventurers. "Now!...uh...Now! I command you! Kill them! Where are you?!"
Well, well. Look at the rat running about in frantic circles. Not so brave now, are you, rat? And now, let's play.
"Looking for somebody?" Rini said in a politely inquiring voice. "Whoever they are, it looks like they've decided to stand you up. How sad. Maybe next time you'd better make sure that you are the highest bidder. Or else find yourself a personality that isn't repulsive enough for your hirelings to run screaming."
Ployer's face collapsed visibly, sagging into despair and humiliation, and suddenly he looked far more ill than Jaheira did. "But...no! Damn you, it's happened again! Everyone against me, everyone."
"How sad," Edwin said. "Please spare us the one-hour sermon on how nobody understands you and how your mother always liked your sister best, my stomach could not take it."
"HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT MUMMY LIKED SISSY BEST? THAT IS SUPPOSED TO BE SECRET!"
"The lock of hair," Rini said. "Right now, please." She raised her sword a little. "Unless you want to find out firsthand about playing with me, and I'd better warn you that when I get excited, I play rough."
Nice one, kitten, Softpaws said in an approving voice, sending her mistress the image of a soft and furry paw, claws extended, batting a rat about all over the floor.
Thanks. I rather liked it myself.
"Very well," Ployer spat. "We have a deal. Here, this is the personal item used to curse her. I took it from that fop, Belgrade. She should be fine with it returned. Now get out...get out." He held out a small object that the bard instantly snatched up, a lock of autumn-colored hair that could only belong to Jaheira. As soon as she had handed it to the druid, an astonishing transformation took place. Jaheira's back straightened, the white gradually retreated from her hair. Once again, her skin took on the glow of health, and her eyes shone with their old fierceness as her muscles regained their old strength.
"It is done!" Jaheira cried out, and her voice was strong once again. "I am healed."
"Yes, yes," Ployer muttered. "Now get out. We had a deal, after all. At least I got to Belgrade…"
And Jaheira rounded on the ex-slaver, her face tight with fury. "You murdered him!" she shouted. "You murdered Belgrade, and there will be no deals for a slayer of Harpers, or of my friends!"
Ployer didn't even have the time to scream. Jaheira's quarterstaff met his throat with a violent cracking sound, and he dropped to the floor, gurgling, unable to scream. With a broken windpipe it didn't take him very long to die, but it certainly looked painful enough. Once it was over, Jaheria knelt on the floor, holding the little lock of hair in her hand, her head bowed. "Belgrade…" she said. "You are avenged…my friend. As am I."
"Jaheira?" Zaerini asked, hurrying over to her friend. "Are you all right? Is the curse truly gone now?"
The druid nodded slowly. "Yes," she said. "I can sense it…it is gone. I am still weary, but a day's rest should restore my fully." She got to her feet, turning to her companions. "And…I thank you. All of you. I will not forget this."
"'twas nothing," Anomen said. "Only the basest of villains could stand aside and watch a companion suffer."
"That's right!" Jan agreed. "Friends and relatives should stick together, like glue and some more glue! Well, except for Uncle Scratchy, but that's a different story altogether."
"Don't look at me," Edwin muttered. "I only did it because your death would have been a serious inconvenience and would have upset…er…never mind. And I suppose you did heal me the other day, which should make us even. (It's not as if I care whether she lives or dies. No, not at all. I'm only fulfilling my obligations. Hmmm…that lock of hair was interesting though. Very interesting. I wonder if perhaps I might…)"
"Minsc is very happy to see Jaheira all better!" Minsc boomed, picking the druid up and squeezing her tightly in his arms. "And Boo is happy too, the happiest hamster in the world! Minsc will make certain Jaherira gets her rest and doesn't have to wear herself out!" With that, he easily carried the druid out the door, despite her furious protests.
"Put me down, you great lug!" Jaheira said. "I can walk on my own, I am not a helpless infant! Put me down I say! Are you even listening to me?" Her cries receded into the distance.
"She certainly seemed upset," Anomen said, sounding a little worried.
"Oh, she'll get over it," Rini said, shrugging. "Minsc will make sure she rests as she should, and she'll calm down once she has the time to think about it. And come to think of it, I guess we all could do with a little rest after this."
"Perhaps," Edwin said, looking thoughtful. "But in the meantime, there is still a tavern out there, and we never had the time to finish our drinks before. I say we continue what we started. (Perhaps I could buy her a drink or two. It might make her inclined to sit on my lap or something…)"
"Good idea!" Jan agreed. "There's a turnip beer out there, and it has my name on it! Everybody, let's PARTY!"
And as Zaerini laughed and followed her gnomish friend, Anomen and Edwin eagerly grasping one of her arms each, it seemed to her that the day was definitely improving.