Few! It took me hours and hours to complete this. READ THIS if you don't want to be confused. The character named Fraggot in this chapter is really that slimy owner of the Copper Coronet whose name I can't remember. If anyone knows it please inform me. Also what was the name of the guy who led the slave revolt? Hendrick something I think. He had a German accent which is weird because there are no Germans in Baldur's Gate. No Germany for that matter. Read and enjoy.

Chapter 7: And the Animal Awakens

He could not believe he had done it. He was losing control or maybe he had regained it. When the battle despoiling in his catacombs shifted to the intruders favor he was driven out step by step to the surface. Once there he continued to fight, however the instant he chanted a hex he was bombarded by a legion of Cowled. They were easily disposed of yet remarkably there appeared to be an inexhaustible supply as more and more kept rising up to take the fallens' places. They asked him repeatedly to surrender, but by that point he was intoxicated with a blinding rage. Rage at being challenged, at being interfered with, the kind that burns the edges of your sight red and drives men to tear at other men with their teeth like animals. Thus despite the knowledge that he would eventually be overwhelmed his poison temper threw all cares of self-preservation to the wind and he burnt and slashed and would surely have died in the end and all would have been saved.

Then She came.

She emerged from the ground as a worm or vole would, but vermin she was not. He saw her aggrieved face that would put the whitest star to shame. Her eyes black, and secretive, hair tangled dirty drapes of ebony velvet. His gaze followed the sway of her lissome form, and immediately he felt the stab of deep hunger pangs, and the unsettling of something restless, and insatiable in his breast. Quite unexpected the sister penetrated the boundaries of his vision and attacked. Had she spoken to him? He had not heard, he saw only Her. The explosions of pain that her assault produced roused him from his trance. Then he realized that he was afraid, he knew that at any moment something might slip and he would lose Her forever. The Cowled Wizards were closing in; his mind was in turmoil. The opening came. They implored him to surrender, and this time he assented, but to everyone's shock including his own he heard himself ask for the sister Imoen as well. Why had he done it? He did not want her, he wanted Thorn, God how he wanted her. If he had asked for Thorn instead she would have been made to accompany him by force, and then she would hate him forever. He knew that he would rather die then have that, so his frenzied brain had asked for the person closest to her. Make Her come to Him. Make Her seek Him out, it was that simple, and she would do it. Of that he had no doubt.

As they were carted through the busy streets of Athkatla Irenicus realized that he had with him the only remained link to Thorn, and he clung to it like a drowning man, clutching her wrist refusing to let his grip go lax for even a moment. His humor dipped and rolled with the roads. At one moment he would become giddy with triumph and in his eagerness he would jerk his prize along in tow so that she stumbled to keep up. Then he would become grave at how close he had come to losing the half Goddess forever, and as a result walk at a slower pace frequently toying with strands of the sister's fine, pink hair, closing his hand over the back of her neck as if to assure himself that she was really there.

Their long march was terminated in the government district and they entered the government building amidst a swarm of interested faces. Once the huge iron doors had closed behind them he released Imoen's wrist to her great relief, confident that she would not be able to flee. The government building was more like a cavern then an edifice in that it possessed a sheer excess of space. The roof rose for what seemed like miles above their heads and a clear breeze pricked their skin as in the outdoor places. Overall it was a beautiful structure. The ceiling was covered in a vast fresco illustrating the birth of Lira the goddess of Justice. In the scene she is depicted rising from the womb of Wisdom her mother. For their will be no justice in ignorance. She is naked, already a mature woman her hair silver, gray and flowing about her monochrome shoulders as she stretches her new body towards the sun in a gesture of deference. The walls of the government building were constructed of white marble as was the floor and it shone and slipped like ice beneath their clattering feet reverberating throughout the huge hall. As they walked, they passed the limestone statues of many a grave, bearded scholar long dead their naked pupiless eyes watching them with frigid interest. Irenicus felt Imoen begin to shake; he let the hand he had placed on the back of her neck stray to her left shoulder blade.

They stopped in front of a large doorway with a prayer to Lira etched in silver runes in the wood. A sheepish looking young Cowled wizard turned to them.

"You are going to be secured now. If the gentleman would please disengage himself from the lady."

Irenicus did as he was told without argument. He knew that they were about to be put on trial for their crimes. Imoen on the other hand looked dazed and frightened, glancing from face to face imploringly, helplessly.

The mages took Imoen's dagger and bow and arrows. Upon searching Irenicus they found nothing. They then cast spheres of isolation upon their prisoners. These magic orbs would give the user complete invulnerability, but simultaneously leave them helpless to perform any acts of hostility themselves. Irenicus closed his eyes and breathed deeply from the aroma of magic as the shimmering globe encompassed him. It was like the smell of static, the emptiness between two images; it was the stuff both he and it were composed of.

Inside, the judge, the lesser judges, and the clerk all sat assembled very neatly in their fur cloaks. The presiding judge was old and bald beneath his hood. He slouched upon a marble throne, and looked at them fixedly from beneath his eyelids.

One of their captors stepped forward. Neither Irenicus nor Imoen could distinguish which one it was as they all looked pretty much identical.

"These are the ones who caused the disturbance at Waukeen's Promenade."

The clerk was busy scribbling down everything that was said with a red quill.

"Yes I know. It took you damn long enough to catch them." The judge's voice had an eerie echo to it as if it issued from something hollow. "Why, a dozen of our people must have been killed, at least!"

"This mage has tremendous power. It might have taken two dozen more to secure him if he had not surrendered voluntarily!"

The judge's upper lip curled in a mock grin.

"What a waste."

"What should be done with them my Lord?"

At that point the blood rushed to the old man's withered face and his fingers twitched where they rested on the chair arms with almost imperceptible pleasure.

"They are deviants. Let them rot in Spellhold."

"Wait!" Imoen violently interceded. "What kind of justice is this? Don't I get a chance to defend myself? Am I to be condemned without a trial? I am innocent!"

"Peace!" The judge's face had ripened to an unhealthy red. "My judgment is final! Now I will have no more interruptions or you shall be punished in the severest manner girl!"

To everyone's shock she threw herself on her knees before his feet. Her face had blanched, and her eyes were flickering like delirious moons.

"Please! I didn't do anything! It was him!" She pointed at the imposing figure of Irenicus who watched her desperate outburst with disinterested observation. "Please, please! I have done nothing, have mercy..."

"Imoen."

His voice stopped her dead as though it had severed her vocal cords. Her lips continued to move soundlessly.

"Keep quiet and let the fools make their judgment."

Her head dropped into her hands and she wept bitterly where she knelt.

"Why didn't you tell me that this girl hadn't confessed?" the Judge queried.

"We assumed that the facts were incontestable."

"I never proceed with sentencing without a full confession. Put her to the torture then. I'd like to get through with this before dinner."

"Yes my Lord."

At the word torture Imoen's tear dampened faced slowly emerged from her palms. Her eyes were huge and she was trembling powerfully. The young Cowled Wizard grasped her arm and pulled her reeling to her feet where her limbs, barely able to support her weight, buckled like dead wood.

Irenicus burned inwardly at the mage's intimate contact with what belonged to him and him alone.

"Let her go." His voice was a knife.

The assemblage stared at him with the muted dread his presence always instilled. A dread, and a fear, not one that comes of physical risk, but rather of deformity. The young wizard obeyed drawing his hands away as if she burned him.

"No torture will be necessary gentleman." He continued. "Whatever I say applies to her as well."

The judge flinched. "Yes, yes he's quite right. No torture, no torture." He stuttered. "Send them there by boat immediately, but first send a messenger to contact the curator so that he knows what he'll be dealing with in advance.

Suddenly one of the lesser judges in a floor length green robe stood and addressed the old sorcerer.

"Pardon me my Lord, but it is imperative that I have a word in private with this man answering to Irenicus."

"In private?" The old man arched a skeptical eyebrow in the speaker's direction.

"If you please my Lord."

"It is your risk to take. Very well, you may have it in here. Guards ah...position yourselves outside the door here with the girl. You have five minutes."

These orders were carried out, as the wizards left the room Imoen's voice could still be vaguely heard floating nightmare like against their ears.

"I want to go home. I want my sister." She suppurated, and then they shut the doors.

There was a pause. Irenicus had already sunk into the slippery depths of his tortured mind, and took no notice of the curious man who stood before him.

"So you are Irenicus." The stranger said at last, but the necromancer did not respond, he only stood eyes fixed on someone who wasn't there in the room.

"Jon Irenicus?"

The sudden utilization of his name and the painful memories it revived was like the plunging of a dagger between his shoulder blades. If it were not for the restraint imposed upon him by the orb of isolation he would have killed the unfortunate person. However the only physical reaction it provoked was the flash of his pupils as they snapped upon his mysterious companion.

"How do you know my name?"

He pulled off his fur hood to reveal the delicate features and sharp ears of an elf.

"Forgive me for not making it apparent to begin with, but I did not want a connection to be perceived between us. My name is Tivary Kin."

"I do not know what connection you are referring to." Irenicus said. "If it is that both you and I are Elvin, you are mistaken. I have disposed of many of my kind without a single thought to such niceties as connection." He uttered the last word disdainfully, as if the taste was offensive to his tongue.

"I was part of The Resistance."

Irenicus twitched minutely.

"The Resistance?"

"The very same. You may not have seen me because I was only a common soldier in our growing force, but I remember seeing you quite often. Our leader Jon Irenicus." He sighed incredulously.

"If you use that name one more time or I shall be very angry."

"Forgive me my Lord. Tell me, where have you been all these years? We thought you were dead."

"Dead. I was dead." He inhaled sharply as he felt the memory of a kiss imprint itself coldly upon his lips. After a moment he recovered, attributing the sensation to fatigue. "And while we are on the subject." He continued conversationally. "How did you manage your own survival Kin? Surely you did not spend all this time in the other world."

"I didn't." Kin answered rather proudly. "When the soldiers were ordered to execute all of the rebels they began to organize the lot of us into a line. During those first few moments of disorder I climbed into one of the stinking maws in the trunk of the tree that your magic had produced. I hid there through the entire ordeal. The smell was most dreadful, like, boiling fat. I departed at dark when they wouldn't recognize me. Then I left Sundenessilar and migrated all the way to Athkatla where I found work as a Cowled Wizard. It has been a change. Now look my Lord..." Tivary Kin's voice was suddenly an intimate whisper. He lent his narrow face close to Irenicus so as not to be overheard. "We haven't got much time, and so I would like to offer you my services. Old loyalties never die, and I never ceased wanted revenge upon the Elvin queen and her counterparts. Now, name your desire, whatever you want I will do my best to grant it.

A wave of raven hair flashed behind the necromancer's eyelids.

"Anything I want?"

"Anything within my power Sir."

"Then let me begin with this. I shall need to know the name of the Warden at this Spellhold, and his class."

"Well I can tell you that straight off. His name is Lumis Hacker. Bloody Hacker to those who've known his sadistic side, and he's a Cowled Wizard just like me and my counterparts."

"And what can you tell me of this asylum to which I'm to be sent?"

"It's located on Black Isle, hence the boat. It's supposedly a place for mentally ill mages, wizards, and sorcerers to be confined so as not to be a danger to themselves or others mind you, but almost anyone who has ever cast a magic missile is apt to go there. The fear of being locked away keeps the people in line. A clever ploy of the large corporations I suspect. I don't know anything else really of what goes on inside, but the rumors are gruesome."

"What rumors?"

"Limbs being cut off, magical experiments being performed on live subjects, the stuff of nightmares."

Irenicus smiled to himself as he remembered his own practice of doing just those things.

Suddenly the sound of the door being unlocked alerted their ears.

"That's them." Tivary Kin warned. "We must stop talking now."

"And there is something else." Irenicus held him with his eyes.

"And?"

"And. And I want you to have a certain Bhaalspawn followed her name is Thorn."

"You mean she's the one?"

"Yes and the one I've brought with me is her sister. Follow her. I want to know everything. What she eats, where she goes, if she sleeps, and with whom."

"But to what purpose."

"For my life."

They came in.

"Time's up, escort them to the boats!"

Irenicus stepped beside the tottering Imoen his heart like a fistful of hot coals, and in know time they were being hustled onto a rickety gangway amidst the bluster of the salty sea air.

"Gone!"

Thorn, Jahiera, Minsc, and Yoshimo stood paralyzed in the smoking wreckage of the recent battle staring at the place where their companion had disappeared. It was then that Thorn felt the earth separate beneath her feet.

"This was not supposed to happen." Jahiera whispered feverishly. "None of this was supposed to happen!"

"But it did." Yoshimo firmly interjected.

"Little Imoen why are you gone?" Minsc held his trembling hamster up to his clenched lips.

Their voices swirled in a pool of agony over Thorn's head.

"Not supposed to happen."

"Little Imoen."

"He'll kill her."

"Dead."

"Oh my God!" Thorn screamed her body doubling over in Yoshimo's embrace. "Oh my God, no! Damn him, I want Imoen, I want Imoen!" Her voice broke in a frenzy of sobs when suddenly she felt her hair seized, and her face pulled skyward to meet Jahiera's irate gaze, then a hand struck her full in the face.

"Enough! Don't you dare break do you hear?!" Don't you dare!"

Thorn stunned, her cheek stinging like venom. Slowly she felt the reason returning to her faculties. She straightened up as Yoshimo released her.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Just don't break on me child. You're the only rock I've got left in my life." Jahiera sighed wearily.

With superhuman effort Thorn managed to smother the burning image of her sister and that man somewhere in the dark places of her mind where we store all permanency of our pain when we just can't deal with it anymore.

Upon surveying her surrounding she discovered that they were encircled by edgy spectators assessing the damage and waiting apprehensively for the fighting to renew itself.

"Yoshimo." She addressed the tattered thief hoarsely. "Just where are we?"

"This is Waukeen's Promenard a district of Athkatla. A very charming place if you wish to shop!"

"Never mind that just point the way to the nearest tavern. I think I am not being too presumptuous when I say that we are all dead tired and in need of a drink."

"And a bath!" Minsc added.

"I am always glad to be of service, please if you will all kindly follow me." With that Yoshimo took the lead through the flamboyant show that was Waukeen's Prominard. The eccentric little shops, bustling department stores, exotic circus animals, lurid circus tents, shouting venders, the syrupy smoke of meat cooking, the gutter water splashing about their ankles in the dips in the rode, dust, dirt, sweat, all relentlessly passed through their somnambulistic minds to clot in blue pockets at the boundaries of their brains.

Gradually the crowd thinned and the people they did see looked poorer and stared at them with a hungry glint in their eyes. The buildings too changed. They looked rickety the roofs slanted with age and decay. Rats and trash littered the pock marked ground where they stepped and the air smelt like gasoline. At about that point Yoshimo genially informed them that they had entered the slums district.

"I have done much good business here. A little shabby perhaps, but I know of a decent inn that would not put too hard a strain on our meager budget."

Thorn was just about to state that she would rather sleep in the gutter when she was startled to nearly run full into a man leaning against an alley way and studying her coolly from beneath a tarnished leather cap.

"Ello'." He tugged the said cap further down his brow, a habit, which they would all soon come to identify him by. My name be Gaelvin Bale you wouldn't appen' to be Thorn would you?"

"Watch it." Yoshimo hissed between gritted teeth nudging her in the side to add emphasis to his admonition.

"I'm sorry but you're wrong good sir. I am not she."

"Funny," He cocked his head like an inquisitive bird. "I be thinkin' me sources infalable. Then I don't suppose you want ta' ear' bout' the lass Imoen eh?"

The Bhaalspawn immediately felt her innards jerk as if he had physically grabbed her.

"What do you know of my sister?"

"I thought' as much. I'd like to discuss it with you, but better we should go some place quiet and private like. Ere' I'll escort you to me umble' abode."

"And how do we know you're not planning to ambush us?" Jahiera interceded vehemently.

"You'll jus' ave' ta' tyke' me word for it. Coo! Come with me then!"

"This is foolish Thorn, it's a trap." Said Jahiera, but the child of Bhaal cared nothing about her personal safety if it meant news of her sister.

The house was two stories, immaculate, and smelt sweetly of burning rose petals. A fire crackled in the hearth satiating the room with a cheery golden glow.

"Boo says this doesn't look so bad." The warrior remarked in a loud whisper to the druid. "What do you think now suspicious woman?"

"Sit down please." Their charming host gracefully gestured to the seductively soft arm chairs around the fire. They assented burrowing into the caverns of supportive fabric, and breathing in that same rose scent that now seemed to be emanating from the greedy flames. They all sat except Minsc, whose awkward oversized body would not fit into any seat comfortably save for the floor. There he curled up like a big kitten stroking and cooing Boo, ruddy cheeks gleaming in the firelight.

"Something to drink?" Gaelvin Bale said as a maid pushed out a rolling table covered in glasses and a silver decanter brimming with some kind of alcoholic beverage." The goblet's reflected the glow of the blaze casting slices of gold across the man's visage like fissures in his flesh through which an inner radiance leaked its rays.

The party gratefully accepted his generous offer and soon they were sipping sleepily from rich purple wine.

Their host placed himself in front of the fire and began to stir the coals with the fire iron.

"Now I have invited you ladies and gentlemen ere' for a business proposition, I know all about your lass an' the necromancer an' the mages that is keeping er' ostige' for that matter."

"Who are they?" Thorn queried keenly.

"They be the Cowled Wizards an' they are one of the two great powers ere' in Athkatla, ain't nobody crosses em' without gettin' their life kilt'. You're gonna need elp' and that's were I come in."

"We shall be the judge as to whether you come in at all!" The druid asserted her eyes purple and drooping with drink. Thorn remained unspoken, digging her nails into the arm rests.

"Tyke it easy now lassy." Gaelvin Bale countered, jabbing the logs hard enough to create an eruption of sparks. "I ain't crooked I tell you true or me name isan't Gaelvin Bale. As' I was saying ya' cynt' do it alone. If you want your lass back and whatever else that mad man took from you you'll need elp' an' I have an offer."

"Speak up good man." Yoshimo encouraged him merrily, and Thorn couldn't help noticing with some wonder at how nothing however tragic seemed to have any effect on the theif's good humor. She looked him hard in the eyes, and he noticing her attention, stared back at her and winked then returned to watching their host.

"A powerful organization is prepared to offer its services to you for a sum of twenty-thousand in gold coins."

Minsc choked on his wine.

"I beg your pardon?" Thorn inquired her eyes bulging.

"Twenty-thousand in gold. Look ye' ere' I know it be a lot o' money, but it's a big risk for these people to tyke, and they're the only way you'll see your lass again."

Jahiera spoke up her eyes blazing like twin sparks. "You're right it's a lot of money you cheating imbecile! Nobody has that kind of wealth save for the slave traders and the pimps! And even if we did have it, why would you suppose we would give it to people of whom we know nothing? Not even their name?"

"I cynt' tell ye' the nyme' for fear that news of their offer might leak out an' be over eard' by bad ears, but lyke' I said. You don't be avin' a choice if you want to see your lass and that maniac again."

"I don't want to." Thorn shivered despite the heat.

They looked at her questioningly.

"I don't want to see Him again. Oh, but I must rescue Imoen. I'll do anything I can sir, but how do you propose we earn such a gargantuan sum?"

He shrugged and lit a cigar in the fire place. After taking a deep drag of it he spoke the smoke flowing out of his nostrils and mouth.

"Anywye' ye' likes. It matters little to me or them jus' so long as the stuff's real."

Jahiera began to mutter bitterly beneath her breath.

"If ye' would like to look for work The Copper Coronet usually is bein' a good place."

"That is where I intended to take them." Said Yoshimo.

"My nephew will guide ye' there jus' to make certain ye' don't get off track an' if you ain't be needin' anything else I bes' be getting back to my business.

Thorn stood prompting them all to follow her example. With the potency of the wine coursing through her body tissues she felt strangely expectant, on edge as if she stood on a precipice waiting for a hand to push her down into the air.

"Thank you I think that will be all for now. Good night."

"Good night ladies an' gents. I'll be right ere' when you ave' the money."

And thus they were turned out, left to stand in the sticky city evening breeze, with the delirious sensation that the last half hour of their lives had never occurred.

The nephew met them outside, and led them to the rowdy gin hole known as The Copper Coronet then he departed. Thorn listened anxiously to the peels of raucous laughter issuing from the torrid interior.

"I don't know about this."

Yoshimo surveyed the premises confidently. "Do not worry my fair friend. I know the first impression is rather unsettling, but the prices are good and so is the entertainment I might add." He chuckled, a bubbling sound like small combustions that made his entire face crinkle like a dinner napkin. It also revealed two full rows of sparkling white teeth in striking contrast to his earthy skin; they reminded Thorn of clattering ice cubes. She stepped passed him feeling inexplicably shaken.

The inside was just as she had expected. Groups of roughly dressed, gray faced adventuring men, who laughed too loud, and drank to much strong brown ale. They were currently located in the main room a long low space filled entirely with so much pipe and cigar smoke that it took a minute for their eyes to stop tearing and their lungs to cease protesting before they could do anything.

"Well," Thorn began. "Who wants to order the rooms?"

"I'll do that." The thief cut in. "I rather know the main barkeep, and maybe he could give us a deal. His name's Bartleby and he's a fine sort."

"Did you say Bartleby?" Jahiera queried leaning toward him keenly.

"I did."

"Well, I wonder if it's the same one. I know a Bartleby he's a friend of mine and a friend to the Harpers. I think I'll come along with you, and satisfy my curiosity. Maybe we'll get a bargain on equipment as well.

"Minsc?"

"Minsc and Boo will go with Jahiera and Yoshimo in case any righteous butt kicking is needed!"

"Thank you for your protection my big friend." The thief patted the giant warrior's towering shoulder.

"Minsc and Boo are always willing to help!"

"What about you child?" said Jahiera.

"Oh, I don't know. I guess I'll just explore a little while."

"Alright," The druid reluctantly assented. "But be careful, and don't go brooding over Imoen and making yourself miserable."

"Ok."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

"Don't worry we'll get her back. I'll carry the misery for both of us. Just relax for now. You know where to find us."

"Yes."

Thorn's three companions began to wade through the smoke and sinister groups of ruffians to the main desk at the far end of the room leaving her to herself. Suddenly she felt that wall of sadness that was constantly trying to crush her loom upon the borders of her mind.

"No." she bit her lip. "I will not think of Imoen right now. I will not. I'm going to..." She spotted some stairs leading up to a door. "See what's in there."

When she reached the entrance she found her way blocked by an armed guard.

"Sorry miss, but nobody gets in here cept' those with permission."

"How do I get permission then?"

"Talk with ol' Fraggot. He's the manager of this here inn."

"And where might I find him."

"He's engaged inside at the moment." The guard indicated the door behind him with a bawdy grin.

Thorn stared at the unattainable entry, exasperated.

"Well then obviously that doesn't help me much as I can't go in."

"Maybe you could." He took a step toward her. "But it would take a favor."

Thorn felt her skin wriggle as one of his hands crept around onto her ass.

"I'd love to, but I really haven't got the time." She grabbed his questing wrist with one hand, and then pulled a handkerchief that she had previously dabbed with sleeping potion from the bosom of her shirt and pressed it to his mouth and nose, the latter being now uncomfortably close to her face. The man's eyes closed and his heavy body slumped limply into her arms. Staggering to keep her balance she managed to hook him under the armpits and gently lower him to the ground propping him neatly against the wall.

"Some other time perhaps." The Bhaalspawn stepped proudly through the former barrier unhindered.

The light was dim and bright in patches so that the whole corridor resembled a heatstroke dream. Beads of sweat began to pool in the crook of her armpits and the aroma of so much cheap perfume in such a confined space was stifling, but she was drawn by an insatiable curiosity.

Many individual rooms lined both walls. Occasionally a door would open and a woman usually with only a thong on or sometimes not even that would stand there watching her pass with dull eyes that hinted at only the barest semblances of curiosity. Thorn's heart tied itself into knots to see that some of them appeared to be only ten or twelve. Just standing there in their vulnerable nakedness, ribs poking grotesquely through their sides like warped piano keys, all the life, that connection which is always visibly flashing behind a sentient, intelligent being's eyes was lost in them, and they stared after her like so many broken dolls who have forgotten how to respond.

This was the most profitable corner of the slave market.

Prostitution.

Thorn could not look at them, but even with her gaze averted to her feet she could feel their departed minds studying her and their stares brushing timidly, maybe even hopefully across her skin. At the end of the hall was a little room piled high with colorful silk pillows. Several men stood around smoking or fondling naked girls and women, but then she saw one sprawled in the center of the glossy womb. He was taking slow indifferent sips from a goblet of something while several girls massaged his, back, legs, and various other parts of his anatomy their eyes wide with adoration. As Thorn stepped closer a nude woman tapped him on the head. Thorn's drew breath to see a hideous scar adorning the left side of her face. It was pink, the flesh crude and uneven as if the skin had never grown together properly. Crimson tendrils and shattered nerves branched off of it in all directions like some parasitic octopus. She handed the man a few coins.

"Is this all you got for me today Bunny?" The man said. His voice croaked, and he gagged interminably from the globs of flem that inflicted his gullet. The sound made her want to clear her own throat.

The whore shook her head yes.

"Very well, but if you do so poorly again I'll turn you out into the street you worthless trash!"

Thorn mashed her teeth and felt her chest cavity crumble as the poor woman fell to her knees and began to kiss his bejeweled hand frantically.

"Don't worry baby I was only foolin' you know I love you. Off with you now go get some rest like a good girl." He slapped her butt like one would a mule. "Out I said!"

She took off down the opposite hall.

Suddenly he noticed Thorn's rigid form in front of him.

"Well looky here. You must be one of the new girls. Strip down and we'll see if you're good for anything.

"I'm not one of the new girls." Her voice was quivering with a murderous undercurrent. She wanted to tear her nails down his greasy, pale face, and then strangle him with his own gaudy necklaces.

"Well then who are you? What do you want? How in hell did you get past the guards..."

"Are you Fraggot?"

"Supposin' I am what's it to you." He glowered at her and ran a hand through his long, oily, black hair.

"I just wanted to see what kind of a place you ran."

"Well I hope it's been enlightening for you."

There was a pause in which Thorn struggled to master her intense revulsion, and the pimp appeared to forget her.

"I don't suppose you have any male prostitutes here do you?"

"Sorry baby, but I've been known to volunteer if you pay extra." He flashed her a yellow, sardonic smirk.

"I'd sooner bed with an orc."

The smirk faded. He stood up quite suddenly, disrupting his massage and staggered toward her his yellow eyes narrowed and threatening. Thorn held her ground almost trembling now with the desire to leap at his throat.

"You don't have permission to be back here sweetheart. This ain't no place for little girls like you. Now scram."

It would be foolish to attack on her own with her opponent surrounded by so many of his allies, and she knew it.

Abruptly, she felt another person at her back; she spun around to find Yoshimo's swarthy countenance rearing out of the diffuse light like some kind of hovering planet. He addressed the pimp.

"I apologize Fraggot she did not know."

"You ought to keep a tighter leash on the wench. She might get hurt someday."

"It is not within my power to do so. Give my regards to your ladies and let them know I shall be calling upon them to night.

"A pleasure sir." He gurgled.

Warm tears accumulated in the back of Thorn's sockets as she was forced to leave all these caged women and girls behind, unable to save them for the present.

"I'll come again Fraggot." She shouted back.

"Oh do." He said as he settled back into the pillows, his layers of jewelry jangling like lewd bells. "Maybe you'll change your mind about my offer next time."

Yoshimo was leading her by the arm.

"You should not be here."

"But I hear that you'll be coming tonight."

"Yes, but I am a man. Besides I don't come just to look around, I come as a paying costumer who wishes to use the facilities." He chuckled again, the sound inflamed Thorn's rancor. She jerked her arm free and faced him.

"Now you listen to me. Don't you dare tell me what to do again. You have to earn that privilege. I'm the leader of this group not one of these poor wretches that you can command, what I say goes or you're out. And let me tell you, I will not tolerate any person sick enough to take advantage of a slave trade. You go there tonight or any other night, and you'll be expelled from the party."

Yoshimo's face had been busily undergoing drastic changes in color throughout the length of her tirade. When she had finished his mouth flopped open and shut like a fish a couple of times, without sound. Then he looked at the floor seeming to recover himself, and when he spoke again it was in a shameful whisper.

"I never thought of it quite like that before." He glanced at her self-consciously. "Forgive me, I have forgotten my place, and my manners. It won't happen again."

Thorn strode ahead of him still boiling.

She did not see the scar faced girl watching her leave from the shadows.

A mug of sour ale was placed in front of her. She paid the barmaid three gold pieces for it and began to consume the bitter liquid in generous gulps. She needed it. The images of the naked women and girls staring at her so lifelessly would remain permanently burned into the back of her eyelids.

She tried not to think of Imoen.

She tried not to think of Irenicus.

She tried not to think of the way he had held her hand that night in the room of the twisted chair or the way that his eyes raged at the sight of her or the terrible warmth of his bare chest against her cheek as he carried her half dead to her cell. What did it all mean? Despite his sociopathic behavior and often lack of emotion, she knew he was not a sociopath. Or at least had not always been. There was such a deep, heavy, lingering melancholy about him that she could not place. It showed itself at intervals, an invisible curtain was drawn aside and it animated his being like a leaden shadow. Then the curtain would role back again and the sadness was replaced by a glittering hardness, frigid to look upon.

"Fair Lady, what brings you to this cesspool of sin and corruption?"

It was all Thorn could do to keep from aspirating her ale in surprise. The person who had addressed her so gracefully was (on first examination) a man with a tanned good natured face under a wavy head of coco colored locks. He had soft blue eyes that were totally devoid of threat or lies and thus easy to look into. Thorn even thought him to be rather handsome. At a glance she observed that he was wearing heavy plate armor and thus was probably a fighter or cleric of some kind.

"To have a drink, what are you doing?" The ruffled woman finally managed to answer him.

"Hopefully doing the same if you'll let me sit with you."

"Oh by all means." She acquiesced studying his wholesome features curiously.

"Actually my lady," He began when he had settled into a chair with a brimming mug. "I'm seeking adventures and honor."

"Yes and this place is positively reeking of both." Thorn's tone was sarcastic as she thought bitterly of her previous encounter. Her acquaintance arched his elegant eyebrows in puzzlement, and concern.

"You sound upset. Is there something troubling you my lady?"

"No, well yes, yes. I just had the pleasant experience of touring the whore house back there."

"Horrible places are they not? I would slaughter all those involved in that detestable trade if I could."

"Really?" Thorn asked, something like respect forming in her mind for this honorable gentleman.

"Of course, all that is evil should and will be replaced by all that is good and pure that is the way of things."

"Are you a cleric Sir um...?"

"Anomen, but no Sirs as yet my lady. For though I am a cleric I am also a knight of The Order of the Radiant Heart or hope to be soon, and cannot yet except the title of Sir. That is why I seek adventures, to win honor, to make myself worthy of serving such a valiant organization."

"Yes I can see where the stakes would be high to get into any place whose title included "Radiant Heart."

"I beg your name my lady."

"Thorn."

"And are you a cleric or perhaps someone in your family is?"

She smiled for the first time in a long time. "Me? A cleric? Heavens no. No there have never been any clerics in my family only mages, demons, Gods of Murder, that sort of thing." She took another sip of her ale.

At the far end of the bar the Bhaalspawn's companions observed their discourse with some interest.

"Who is that shiny man with Thorn?" Minsc asked over an armful of brand new weaponry.

"Probably a barmaid." Said Yoshimo.

"Boo thinks you cannot be right, he is not serving her beer."

"Boo's right I didn't notice that."

Jahiera handed some gold coins to an enormously fat man behind the counter.

"Thank you Bartleby. It has been good to see you again, it brings back many memories of happier days."

"And it's been a pleasure seeing you Miss Jahiera if you ever come again drop by and see me."

"I will."

"Excuse me my lady." She was approached by a willowy looking elf who looked her up and down shamelessly. "You have an earthly wisdom about you. I find that very sensual."

"Off with you."

"Do not spurn me my lady! You burn me with your rejection!"

"And that's not all I'll burn you with if you don't make yourself scarce!" She pushed him off in an easterly direction.

"Jahiera, who is that?" Yoshimo queried.

She looked in the direction he indicated with his finger.

"I thought I told her to be careful! Who knows what the ruffian wants!"

Thorn looked up from her companion's comforting eyes to see her friends at her shoulder regarding Anomen suspiciously.

"Jahiera, Minsc, Yoshimo, this is Anomen. He seeks to become a night in The Order of the Radiant Heart. I have told him of our quest and..."

"Child!" Jahiera gasped.

"And he has agreed to assist us in our mission."

"Well, a knight!" Yoshimo's mouth crinkled into a kind of amused grimace. "Now things should get interesting."

"Boo likes him and so does Minsc!" The gentle fighter chimed in happily.

"Are you sure about this man?" Jahiera whispered. "He may be after our heads for the bounty, or gold or..."

"I am not after your heads my lady." Anomen cut her off. "I find them much more appealing just where they are, and I have all the gold I could want at home."

Jahiera glowered at him resentfully.

"Very well, but if it turns out he's rotten, I told you so! Now we were only able to afford one merchant room. We could have gotten two of the peasant ones, but those are little more then rat holes in the ground. Of course this leaves a rather delicate matter of privacy..."

"I have my own room." The knight said with a slight bow. "It's a nobleman's room, the lady's shall have my room, and we gentlemen will retire in the merchant room tonight. With your permission my lady." His eyes rested upon Thorn.

"That sounds lovely, how very generous of you."

"Very!" Yoshimo added with false enthusiasm, annoyed at having to give up the nicer room.

"Let's go to bed then. I'm dead tired." Jahiera announced, and thus it was that they departed for their first night of quiet repose.

Jahiera gently pulled at the snarls in Thorn's black tresses with a horse hair brush. They were sitting curled one behind the other on the bed the faint light of the candles casting feathery shadows across their bodies.

"You know I rather like him." The druid was speaking to her. "He's handsome, a gentleman with excellent manners. Perhaps you should get to know him better my dear."

"I haven't thought about that yet."

"Yes I don't blame you. I try not to think about love that much now. I can do it easily enough when I'm fighting or talking with friends, but when you're alone, that's when it gets you. When there isn't anyone to drown out the yearning in your own head. Like a persistent buzz. The whole damn thing makes me think of Khalid." Her voice cracked like porcelain tapped against stone. It hurt Thorn more then anything else to see her cry. Jahiera never cried unless something had really come apart.

She turned to face her. The druid's hazel eyes were dripping salty water and she pressed her fist against her taunt mouth.

"Jahiera." Thorn said forlornly, wiping a tear from her brown cheek with her thumb.

The druid recovered herself. "You're right, it's time for sleep. I have need of it here come lay with me." She pulled back the covers and patted the mattress encouragingly. "It helps." Then she kissed Thorn on the forehead like a mother would a child. They burrowed beneath the crisp sheets. The bhaalspawn wrapped her arms about the druid's waist, and breathed in the organic scent of her hair like crushed sweet grass. Basking in the warmth of each others body heat in a cold room sleep eventually took them, but Thorn was uneasy. She felt the tingling dread of something horrible on its way. It started at the base of her spine, and then spread all the way to her neck where it clutched her windpipes like an icy hand.

He came to her that night.

Thorn eyes snapped open to find in terror that Jahiera was no longer in the bed. She felt him coming like a knife steadily weaving toward her belly. He stepped through the delicate membrane of her dream causing her to groan with the spasms of anguish that followed, shooting up her legs like white, hot, ropes. She pulled the covers up around her throat as if for protection. The bed creaked as another body slipped under the blanket. Two arms encircled her waist causing her to shiver convulsively. She clenched her eyes shut, she tried to twist her stomach into a rock. Hot breath seared the back of her neck.

"Go away." She whispered.

"I can't now." It was His voice.

It sent waves of panic spinning over her brain. She rolled away from the arms to see him laying there his distorted face even more hideous then in the undulating light of the candles then she remembered it. The necromancer's skin was like blue ice across his chest and his fair eye flashed upon her crouching at the edge of the bed arms wrapped about her knees, face drained of blood.

"I'm sorry if I've given you a shock."

"How did you get here?"

"This is a dream. They are not easy things to penetrate. They pop rather like soap bubbles unless you're given an opening. Unless the dreamer calls upon you."

"I never did."

"You thought of me. That was the opening."

"What do you want from me?"

He sat up an expression that was hard to define written across his ashen visage.

"To teach you."

Thorn looked at him bemused.

Suddenly he leaned towards her, and she thrust a hand against his chest.

"Don't!" The glacial temperature of his scarred flesh chilled her like death.

He smiled amusedly at her reaction, and reclined against the headboard.

"Are you dead?"

"This is your dream. I'm whatever you want me to be."

"What do you wish to teach me?"

"Magic, you have immense talent for the art. I can smell it on you, but it can only be cultivated by a highly skilled teacher, and there is not one in existence more skilled then I."

"Where did you learn it?"

He paused; the rush of melancholy swamped his mismatching eyes momentarily and then was lost.

"In my former home, it has both served me and killed me, but really all things magical are a matter of will. The caster's to be precise, so if it killed me it is really I who killed myself."

Before Thorn had time to swerve aside he lent forward and catching her in both his arms pulled her to him.

"Listen." His words burned like fire against her ear. "You do not know the true power you possess, but I do, and it is glorious. I will come again, and when I do we will begin your training."

She felt his lips brush against her throat, and all was swallowed in a vortex of pain.

Thorn sat up gasping. Jahiera was snoring gently beside her. She burrowed closer to her sleeping friend in an attempt to stop the shaking as she looked up at the shadows dancing on the ceiling. And so began her first real episode of insomnia. Lying with open eyes stinging in the dark all night, she didn't want to sleep, she didn't want to sleep.

Irenicus awoke from his trance to the pitch and roll of the ship. Sweat was coursing profusely down his bare torso. He pounded the walls with his fists and contorted his countenance into an expression of deepest agony.

"Oh God!" He wailed, and tore his nails down the side of his face.

Sorry this took so long, but I have a very demanding life, so don't be surprised if it takes a couple of weeks for me to update. I realize that this chapter was pretty much all talk, but you action junkies out there have nothing to worry about. Adventures will being falling thick and fast next time. Thanks again to everyone for all the wonderful reviews, and keep them coming!

sammie teufel- Thanks! Um... If by class you mean like what her profession is she's a mage/sorcerer.

Suicide Minion- Thank you. Jahiera's one of my favorite NPCs too. She just seemed to be the most complex, have the most interesting back story, and I admired her strength. Yah no Anomen bashing, it's not my style.

angelus 2040- Many thanks! I am positive that you are right and that I spelt his name wrong. I could only remember that it had an r and a v in it so I just kind of made it up.

celestine 1- Hey great to hear from you again my faithful reviewer! pats self on back Thank you very much, I try my best. I think I heard the term "of Elvin make" in The Lord of the Rings book, so I think it's valid, but I'm not sure.

Offshoreecho- To make you cry has now become my goal. I'm sorry, but I'm terrible with punctuation, and I don't have anyone to correct it for me, but I try to get it right, (which rarely happens) You have really got to tell me more about this spider that bit you. Ewwwww! It gives me the willies. Anyway lots of love to you and I'll be sending lots more reviews on your story as well.

Asrayu- Thank you very much for the wonderful literary criticism! It's always the best kind to get. Could you give me an example of a line that does not fit? It would be most helpful. A reference to Don MacLean? Gods no, it never even crossed my mind where did you see that? And don't you worry, they'll be plenty of Irenicus in here, it's as much his story as Thorn's. Do review again, it would be a pleasure! P.S. The thing about the better reader correcting my story is that I would never show it to my parents, and none of my friends save one former friend now enemy of mine have played Baldur's Gate so they would be bored. In addition most of my friends are worse then me believe it or not.