38. Sirines Incognito

She emerged from the water, singing and shaking out her hair while foam splashed up on the rocks. Hair, dark brown with the water, clung to a tattooed and sun-lavished shoulder, but she slung her head around and looked back out to the sea, her mind filling with thoughts of high adventure.

While she stepped lightly over the pebble beach, scarcely making a single marbly clink, she heard drunken chanteys in her ears, slurred come-ons more closely, and felt hands groping through the leathers she hadn't yet put back on.

She smirked uneasily, and stepped onto the grass and knelt before her things, but she also climbed up the rigging to a crow's nest, and there was the first mate, with his goatee and earrings, and saucy tongue. As she dried herself, he did the rubbing, and as her silks and leathers went on, they went off.

Her face turned upward, inland. "They're all fools…" she whispered to herself. "Without position. Without pull. Without asset or skill to offer or any reason to deserve…what? Deserve what?"

"I don't know what I want", she admitted, and her shoulders slumped, the wet hair bouncing on them. "I had money and comfort, so I sought adventure. I found out adventure was to seek money and comfort. Now…"

She strapped two bowie knives and a number of short tossing daggers to her person, most disappearing from casual sight. "…I don't have either…"

She slung her light rucksack over her back, and took a stride inland "…but I will."


----


They'd spent the night at Nashkel's inn, this time not having to fight an assassin on their way from the door to the bar. The tavern had been abuzz with talk of his sister's deed clearing the town's mines, and this made Onyx frown. Not with envy or anything like that, but he didn't want either of them gathering such attention, it would mean more assassins. It seemed like news of their own 'rescue' of Brage had traveled from the church to the inn faster than they themselves had walked up the street, and on their last stay in Beregost, the news of Bassilus's slaying had spread around town like the seasonal plague before they'd left the next morning.

It was a horrible feeling for him. Not just the obvious mortal fear, which the shining armor storybooks by so cavalierly insisting surmountable had failed to do anything to help surmount, but the rue of reputation. All his training it had been an ideal. Not pride or fame, but its meaning. It meant good had been done, it was supposed to inspire others to do the same, or at least to exceed in their own pursuits. Athleticism, heroism, creativity, knoweldge, excellence...this is the dawn we bring. Now, he had compromised this ideal, much as the sortie against the Flaming Fist and Ajantis Ilvastarr had made him compromise others.

Onyx had made the same jog before dawn, unfortunately not stepping over another set of ankheg armor, but he did see the same farmwife, to inform her in the gentlest possible way that she was now a widow. He left her with a greenstone ring upon the table and tears upon her face, but with the promise that his quest would avenge Joseph. The murdering kobold might be dead, as was the kobold's half-orcish master, but he had a master somewhere else, and he perhaps a master beyond. Justice was going to find them all.

Unless, the paladin now thought with a gulp, death found him first. His party now marched up the Sword Coast, not along the road from Nashkel to Beregost, but along the coast itself. The road was the domain of the assassins and bandits. Onyx and Minsc had had a mind to take it because of this, to find them, to fight them, to rid themselves of the possible poisoners of their meals, the daggers in the night, thieves and murderers of innocent travelers, and to rid this world of characters more at home in the lower planes. Jaheira had had choice words to the contrary, Khalid had all but repeated them, if translated into a dialect of politeness, and Dynaheir had thought this wisdom. They were better to follow their leads, to seek the heart of the kraken without battling each of its tentacles. Every battle was another chance of failure, any sword or arrow might be the last. Onyx didn't argue with his shepherds, Minsc didn't question his witch (or his hamster, who reportedly took her side); Imoen wasn't too thrilled by the thought of a highway knee-deep in hobgoblins either, and Garrick feared the bad poetics of the assassins might poison his muse. Viconia had been neutral.

So it was that a lighthouse loomed ahead, through the rain-streaked sky. Droplets flicked harmlessly off Onyx's waxed, rustproofed splintmail, and the salty air reminded Imoen and him sharply of home. Viconia enjoyed the rain; the dense, dark clouds almost passed for a true roof on the world, and the burning ball the idiotic paladin worshipped did not blight her eyes. "Woman," she announced with a smile, happy for once during the daytime to be able to see things before the mongrel druid or her socially crippled male. It was true, a lady ran for them, her commoner's skirt lifted. "She has no weapons, her peasant's dress no mage robes. Though I don't know that is good. It seems the armed ones always want to kill us, but the unarmed ones always beg some some providence of deed, which you fools every time oblige."

"Vic.." Onyx sighed, "Please."

The drow looked confused. " Pleeze? "

"It's something we say in common when we're asking nicely."

Jaheira added, "Like say, to spare the diatribe."

"Ah.." Viconia nodded, ignoring the druid, "My home tongue would have no translation for such a thing."

"'Tis such a surprise," Dynaheir remarked.

Viconia seethed at the surface females until the new one came upon them, screaming, "Please help me!"

The drow looked at the paladin with a smirk. "I was right, Onyx. I always am." But he, of course, was intent on the damsel in distress of the day, who continued her plea.

"I don't know where else to turn!" she cried, letting her mud-streaked skirt fall again, "My little boy was playing in the abandoned lighthouse to the northwest when a pack of worgs surrounded it."

"We'll get him," Onyx stated flatly and started to move past her.

"Please," she stopped him, "Just turn them back, I can coax him down. There's not much time!"

"Okay," Onyx said, while Minsc nodding furiously and taking his three-yews-woods' composite longbow off his back.

On the paladin's other side, Viconia smiled at the woman, whose eyes bulged at first noting the dark face. "Mmm...they're so very easy to order about, aren't they, sister?"

"W-what?" the woman recoiled from the drow.

"I said we're going!" Onyx barked at the party cleric, he and Minsc broke into long strides and made for the tower. The party followed suit, but Viconia hung back a moment.

"'Tis clever, and that I admire," she bowed to the lady in a subtly mockery of the manner she might have a drow matron a century ago.

The woman spoke again, but in a very different voice. It was enchanting and musical, as fluid as water. "Truly, you can't understand how rarely I am appreciated."

"Actually..." Viconia sighed, eyes growing distant. "...I...am one who can."

"Ardrouine," the shapeshifted sirine bowed politely. "The lighthouse has a cave to my underwater home, I do not wish my back door so guarded against me."

"Viconia deVir," the drow bowed again with no bodily sarcasm. "The caves to my home are guarded against me forevermore."

She ran, soon catching up in her light ankheg mail. Onyx and Khalid now had their longbows drawn, they and the ranger all trained on the only visible gate in the wall around the decrepit lighthouse. The howling and scratching could be heard within. Then, oddly, Minsc started to make animal sounds of his own. At first the others save Dynaheir grew wary, afraid he was falling into some lupine variant of his berserk fits, but it proved to be a ploy to draw the worgs' attention and get them scrambling out the gate, clawed paws firm on slippery mud and wet grass.

The warriors unleashed their arrows; Imoen shot her own and Garrick clicked off a bolt; the cleric, druid, and mage each slung a bullet at the creatures. Worgs howled as missiles pierced furry flesh or beaned their muzzles, most kept running. But another hail came, and then a third, and not a single of the pack of wolf-beasts made it to the party's heels.

"Do you see the boy?" Onyx asked Viconia.

She made a pretense of scanning carefully, and with a faint smirk answered, "No, I don't."

They moved within the gate, cautiously, but found no more worgs, only their leavings. Oddly, they saw or heard nothing of the woman's son. At least they returned to Ardrouine, and announced the modest victory, but no sight of the son.

"Thank you so much," the woman thanked them in a genuine, homely voice. "You've probably scared him as much as the worgs! I'll coax him down once you've left. Here, this money is all my husband brought back from the market this past week but take it. My son's life is worth this and so much more."

She offered a small coin pouch that was not refused. Viconia gave Ardrouine one last, private glance before the party moved on. "'Tis a relief your vows are not so silly to the exclusion of just rewards," she mused to Onyx.

"Lathander does not shun or vilify wealth," he answered, in a manner that was half recitory, half his own. "Especially not that well earned in good deeds, and invested toward more of the same. Ilmater believes in poverty, Lathander in productivity. He recognizes the mortal incentives of even the purest hearts, whose stomachs must be fed, bodies dressed and armored, hands armed, and desires entertained."

From behind them, Dynaheir voiced. "You make it sound as though he borrows the mantle of Waukeen."

"Friends often share."

"Yes..." she smiled, "They do." She straightened down her new robes, woven against fire, and in prescription with Xzar's explanation of such things, now her Favorite Color, indigo.

They trudged on, north along the rainy coast for what the absent sun did nothing to help indicate as another half an hour, before Viconia spotted another woman in the distance. Briefly, she found herself wondering just how many incognito sirines might be parading the coastland. Leather hugged her legs and sashaying hips, continuing up her torso but stopping just as soon as it acceptably could, leaving only two straps to make the final journey up her collar and over the shoulders out of sight. An iron band wrung the neck, probably a device to keep the auburn-tressed head from being lopped off, though Viconia found the metal collar highly reminiscent of the sort she'd delightfully dressed choice male house-slaves in so long ago. The face was still smooth but Viconia found the evidence of fled youth distinctly human, and no less than thee golden rings decorated the ear and hand each that she could see.

Viconia announced the passer to her party, and also noticed the woman seemed to notice them. She had been angling toward the water, now she was making straight for them over the wet grasses. The rest of the party each made her out in turn, and feeling less than threatened by one against eight – though with the many addled heads in the land, a fight was not precluded – made for her. Onyx raised an empty right gauntlet at one point, waving, and the figure waved back, needlessly swinging her hips in counterbalance to the arm.

"Aaye!" her call was salty and husky, like that of a pirate wench or land-bandit, and also rather eager. Her gait grew into a saunter as she drew up, and just before the distance at which the party would have stopped, she didn't, rather, she turned around and walked slowly, as if letting them catch up with her and already deciding she was with them, although she almost made it seem like she was assuming they were the ones with her.

The party faltered for a moment at this odd or bold move, each coming to a stop, but as she took the next step with a purpose, Onyx found himself breaking into stride again, dumbly following her, just to parlay.

Nice bluff , Viconia smirked, already giving the woman a certain admiration, though the drow know no kind other than that for an worthy adversary. She followed suit, and one by one, the party found themselves walking along, de facto letting this strange woman walk with them.

Jaheira found herself taking maximal strides as if getting in front or at least alongside this woman were some mark of dominance, while Onyx had come along her right already, and named each of the party.

Refusing to notice as Jaheira came up on her left, she turned right to look at Onyx out of low eyelids, then let them flick over her shoulder, moving over each member in turn, but resting distinctly longer on the men. "Well, good sirs," she at last spoke, in her husky tone, "You may call me Safana. You'll have to excuse me if I sound startled," she continued, in a voice that was anything but, "In the south where I come from they don't grow their men as big as you."

"And where's that, Safana?" Onyx asked, in a polite tone that masked a vague irritation.

She smiled. " Calimshan, " she pronounced the word in an exotic a tone as possible.

Onyx looked over his shoulder, and Khalid shrugged. He wouldn't have known from her accent, though it was colored anyway. "Me too!" he spoke from what was now the middle row of the walking group. "A p-p-p…p-p-p-p-p-…..nice to meet, miss Safana."

Safana's eye roved to the half-elf, a faint, entertained giggle at the stutter. "And you, mister Khalid," she smiled sweetly. Onyx blocked Jaheira's humorless glare from hthe woman's eyes, but it had been aimed at her husband anyway, who most certainly noticed.

"Anyhow," Safana shrugged, turning back to Onyx, "If you want, I have a way to make you all fabulously wealthy. In my possession I have a map that gives the location of an old pirate treasure trove. According to the writings on the map, it's where the legendary Black Alaric dumped his treasure before being captured by the Amnish fleets! You interested in hearing more?"

"By all means, on with the story," Onyx shrugged.

Safana shot him a knowing smirk, and then let her gaze trail over her shoulder again, this time shifting between Garrick (who guiltily jerked away from studying her leather-wrapped posterior) and Minsc (who innocently jerked away from staring into space), "The reason why I need so many heroic men is that the caverns where I wish to go are guarded by some sort of creature, which kind I couldn't tell you."

"Describe them," Onyx said, while making a beckoning gesture with his hand. At first Safana simply placed hers in it, but when he communicated back an impatient sigh, she feigned a moment of embarrassment, and then reached into a belt-pouch to find and hand him a map. While he studied it, she answered, "Giants without skin?" with a shrug.

"Flesh golems," Dynaheir answered first, from beside her spaced-out ranger.

"Thalantyr had some," Onyx remembered, which brought another memory, particularly regarding Dynaheir. He looked over his shoulder at the witch. "There's a place near here, the High Hedge, where a wizard sells magical gear. With more means, and a wizard-"

"Hey now!" Garrick exclaimed.

"Eh, with more magic-users, and more gold, we were headed there. It's on the way to Beregost as it is."

"Anyhow!" Safana repeated loudly, "If you help me, I'll let you share in the treasure."

Onyx stated, "Each of our party receives equal shares for our endeavors. If we undertake this one, so will you."

"How nice," Safana met his gaze, and smiled. She didn't get the sense they'd have it any other way. More importantly, what she really lacked wasn't treasure, but a place in a profitable or enjoyable outfit. Still with his gaze, she dropped her tone and added, "I may be grateful in other ways, as well."

"We're all grateful for allies," Jaheira spoke near from the woman's other shoulder.

"Of course," Safana's final acknowledged of the abreast woman was curt.

"Which you aren't."

Even her own party was taken aback by Jaheira's bluntness.

"Would it be ahead or past?" Onyx broke the awkward silence, lifting his chin, indicating forward; the bit of coastline he could see didn't do much to place them on the crude and water-smudged man.

"Ahead," Safana stated. "On our way, really. Not much further, along a small peninsula. From what the map showed, the pirate cove is located north along the coast, just south of Candlekeep."

Onyx's heart went in two ways at once, and he looked back to Imoen, seeing the same in her face. Then he looked past Safana, to his guardian, with a diplomatic smile. "It's all but on the way." Jaheira's face remained harsh.

"Treasuretreasuretreasure…." Imoen gabbed from the back of the group. "Pirate treasure! Woohoo!" Garrick chuckled at her antics, and nodded, as did Viconia. Dynaheir and Khalid shrugged.

"The meat puppets will meet the shiny new cleaver of Minsc, and the pirate treasure will climb aboard the privateer of justice! Boo parrots my sentiments."

Jaheira sighed, outvoted.

"Let's check it out, then," Onyx told Safana.

"But of course," she answered with a playful smile and her tongue clamped between her teeth. When Onyx started after a second, she went on, "Ohh, thank you. You won't regret your decision. I know that powerful heroes like you will easily push through any obstacles in our path." She winked slowly and deliberately at him.

Jaheira groaned with her full voice. Onyx clenched his teeth behind closed lips, and then smiled politely. "Perhaps our bard can fit such elegant poetics into his current work."

Garrick gaped, at a loss for a riposte, but Imoen giggled hysterically. She started sashaying her hips in her gait, running her hands up and down the length of her body, flinging her hood off and shooting the stunned bard a come-hither stare. "Oooh," she hissed a sultry whisper, and then flicked her hand out, splaying the fingers across Garrick's chainmailed shoulder, "I just know that powerful heroes like you will easily push through any obstacles in our path…" her other hand went to her raindrop-splattered mouth, and she gasped. "Oh! If I'm startled, it's cuz they don't grow their men quite as big as you…" she waved her hand down the length of Garrick, whose jaw was hanging near his brooch, and then hugged herself, moaning, and tossing her now-wet hair back.

All heads were turned, and from the front, Jaheira was smiling wickedly at Safana, who now faced dead forward, and hid within her own hood of unruly air, but between the strands, a reddening was visible even on the copper cheeks. Dynaheir and Viconia also snickered openly; Onyx and Khalid were trying to be polite and biting their tongues, but still let escape a chuckle or two apiece. Minsc scratched his bald head, but beside it Boo was squeaking in rapid, distinctively giggle-like, bursts. Imoen continued to sashay and moan, and made as if unfastening her enchanted leathers and yanking them asunder.

"She and I grew up in Candlekeep," Onyx explained to Safana, "Widely learned, as you can see."

"Charming…" Safana gritted her teeth, and her eyes flicked back between him and the girl several times. "But there is no substitute for experience, they say."

"But by nature, there's no point in taking your word for that. I must judge it for myself."

"Mmmhmm, precisely."

The peninsula came into view north and west; if the rain had let up and the air cleared of the misting, the top spire of Candlekeep would have sat on the horizon due north. Safana led them down a sloping path amongst the rocky cliffs that terraced much of the local coastline. They walked along the last stripe of grass between the cliff walls and the sandy shoals right at the water, where waves crashed against rocks, even spraying the party now. The rain splattered the pebble beach, which wound around the peninsula.

Then the party heard them, voices singing, beautiful, and indescribable. Onyx wanted to smile, to sit down and relax, or to stretch his arms forth and cry to the heavens. Then they can around a bend in the cliff and saw them, there on the pebble beach, and Onyx simply wanted something more. Four ladies, their features slight, elven beyond elven, pale aquamarine, and utterly revealed, not even bothering with the silk slips of Keldath Ormlyr's temple nymphs.

"Sirines," Viconia sneered.

Jaheira snarled at Safana as if about to become a wolf and eat her. "You-"

"I'd no idea!" the lady protested.

"Wait, wait, wait…" Onyx held up his hands. Meanwhile, one of the four turned directly to the party, her face was of course quite elegant, soft and feminine and precious, but her liquid eyes were quite harsh. "…they're just sirines. Beautiful creatures! I'm gonna have four of my own, these four, and a big bright temple of Lathander just like father Ormlyr, yeah, beautiful creatures, huh?"

The party was tensing, in that unpleasant moment where one wants neither to trigger needless aggression by drawing, nor be caught having not done so. Safana, however, grabbed at her thighs and slid out bowie knives. Her companions balked at this untried ally's escalation until what she shouted clarified the inevitable. This woman, though far from a practitioner of magic, had an innate sense and even slight command of one strain of enchantment.

"Onyx is Charmed!"