Flamewalker

by Daishi Prime

The event which catapults a young Faerunian Sorcerer on the path to adventure. It's a background & personality sketch for an RPG character. Rated for violence.

Flamewalker

By Daishi Prime

Author's note: this was written as a character sketch, something to let me settle the personality of an RPG character before a new campaign. Not much for development, just me putting a personality on a stack numbers on a page.

I ignored the servant holding the door open and strode into the office like I owned the place. Not true, but I long ago determined that if you acted powerful, everyone assumed you were, and were accordingly respectful. It didn't always work, but that was why I carried a big-ass sword everywhere. Made the arguments shorter.

The large, airy chamber beyond the servant was, to say the least, opulent. The polished sandstone of the construction wasn't much, but the silk carpets, hardwood screens, and the sapphires studding every available surface screamed of wealth. More impressive to me was the darkwood desk, blatantly elven work, from Cormanthoor if I read the decorations right. Always loved their woodwork, it's almost as smooth and graceful as a well-tended fire, if lacking in the energy and exuberance.

Sitting behind that desk, watching my entrance through narrowed eyes, was a soft-looking middle-aged man who easily put the room's decorations to shame. Cloth of gold, multiple rings on each finger, a sapphire the size of my eye on one pendant amongst many more, the man wore enough wealth to set me up comfortably for months. And this was, from what I'd seen of him before, his 'casual' outfit. I kept my face expressionless, but inside I couldn't make up my mind whether to shake my head in sorrowful pity, or laugh my ass off. Fool of a noble probably had no idea why this was happening to him.

The other figure in the room was much more interesting. Short, thin, with a weasel-like face that watched every move I made, he was sitting in a chair to one side, unarmored and lacking in obvious weapons, but I managed a glimpse of the contents of his book, and he moved to put it away, and recognized a wizard's arcane writings I had no need of such myself, but could recognize them when I had to, and respected the power, even if the approach was far too convoluted for me.

"Lord Sana," I said, once I reached a comfortable speaking distance and bowed, "Thank you for your offer to meet."

"Bin Haseid," the soft man behind the desk intoned, nodding in acknowledgment of my courtesy. Polished, smooth, the man was obviously accustomed to power. Time to bother him, then.

I held up a hand before he could continue the usual greetings, "Please, Lord Sana, one of the few things Father and I agree on is the acceptability of my first name. Please, call me Zasheir." Nobles hate informality, especially the ones who have never left Calimshan. Formal behavior leaves so many subtle ways to insult someone and get away with it, while the informality I preferred made it ridiculously easy to ignore those same insults.

Lord Sana merely nodded, and waved to the wizard. "This is Joral, a thief-taker of some repute in this city."

I quirked an eyebrow, "Joral? I think I've heard of you. Brought in the boy who stole the Caliph's sword, yes?"

The wiry man nodded slowly, obviously weighing my appearance. "That's me," he confirmed, "but I don't know you."

"Oh, you don't want to, either," I told him, grinning, "I have it on very good authority that I'm bad company."

His eyes narrowed slightly, then went to the sword over my shoulder. "Apparently, with that pig-sticker. Compensating for something?"

My grin grew wider. I do love a good exchange of insults "Most assuredly," I told him, "A lack of suitable opponents willing to come within arm's reach. They're all so scared of me, I need a bigger sword to catch them."

"Gentleman," Sana interrupted, "If I may have your attention?" He waited until both of us were facing him again, Joral rising to stand in front of the desk beside me. "I asked the two of you hear for the different reasons, but the same objective. Yesterday afternoon, my youngest daughter was kidnapped out of the silk market, in broad daylight. One of her guards was killed, and the other two wounded grievously in the battle. Shortly after sunset, I received a ransom demand from the kidnappers. Due to the probable identity of the kidnapper, I dare not use my own guards, and must minimize my contacts with both of you, so this will be our only meeting. This is going be, I believe, dangerous more than difficult."

When he paused, I asked, "Are we delivering the ransom, obtaining revenge, or rescuing your daughter?"

Sana snorted, "There will be no ransom. I cannot afford to pay one, on many levels. Revenge, on the other hand, can be had quite cheaply, and does not require skills such as yours. The two of you are tasked with finding and rescuing my daughter. Bring her home to me, by sundown tomorrow, and I will pay you six hundred gold each. Can you do it?"

Joral spoke up first, "She was kidnapped by street-thugs, milord, good at what they do and striking from ambush. I heard of the incident yesterday and have already made a few inquiries" I had heard of him, all right. Moderately famous up-and-coming 'counter-thief'. Someone stole from you, he'd steal it back or bring you the thief. "As for who arranged this, and why, the ransom a ruse, and I think you already know who ordered the kidnapping." Sana nodded, but I was confused. Almost asked, but Calimshite politics are sort of like wine – the good stuff is nice in moderation, but the bad stuff can be surprisingly fatal. Joral continued, "It will be a relatively straight-forward matter to find her, then, as the thugs won't have taken her out of their territory. If you have an item of clothing, perhaps something she was wearing yesterday or the day before, or some of her hair, I can probably find her this morning. After that, it's a simple matter of getting through the thugs to get her." The narrow face turned towards me, challenge glinting in those beady eyes.

"If you think I'm going to be afraid of street toughs, relax. I'm guessing that you'll be hiding somewhere safe when I go in?" I reached back with my left hand, fingering my sword's scabbard where it came out past my left hip, making sure they saw the gesture. "That'll be fine, I fight better with room to swing."

"Won't be just street thugs, idiot."

I shook my head at his obvious blindness, "Neither am I. I am quite capable of eliminating whoever is guarding the girl. Do me a favor, though. Make sure she gets out while I'm keeping the muscle busy, yes? Things tend to burn when I kill them, and I'd hate to see her get singed 'cause you're relaxing somewhere."

He didn't like that, and started fingering a pocket, probably where he had a dagger hidden. "I'll get her out. You just make sure not to hit her by accident."

The sound of metal on wood returned my attention to Lord Sana, who was tapping the hilt of a dagger on his desk. "Boys, save the posturing for later. You have until sundown tomorrow to find my daughter and return her to me." He reached into a drawer and pulled out a folded piece of cloth, and a scabbarded punching dagger. The first he gave to Joral, the second he set on the desk. "The silk is a wrap my daughter is fond of. She had it on the day she was kidnapped, the thugs left it behind in their rush to flee the scene. Similar story with the dagger, it was the weapon used to kill my guard."

While Joral studied the silk, I picked up and drew the dagger, studying it. Unlike my weapon, there was no glow, but I could feel the faint magical energies in it. I took a few moments to study the blade and hilt, turning it about. Beneath the cross guard, where a wielder's hand would conceal it, was the maker's mark I was looking for, and it told me quite a lot. "Not many people import Thayan weapons here," I mentioned, "I know both of them, sort of. Father's competitors."

Joral grunted, and slipped the silk into a pocket. "Come on," he ordered me, rather abruptly, "let's get out of Lord Sana's way, and find his daughter." He bowed, and headed for the door. I gave the gesture a bit more flourish, and followed.

Before any of you get the wrong idea, no, I'm not a follower. I just break a few stereotypes, is all, and I'm used to not being the 'thinker' in the group. Every other arcanist in Calimshan is a dyed-in-the-wool wizard, more brains than sense, less personality than the floors they walk on, and domineering like you would not believe. On top of that, I prefer beating my opponents into the ground to talking to them. Actually, I prefer burning them, it's much prettier and usually cleaner, if harder on the nose. So no, letting Joral take the lead wasn't demeaning, or contrary to my nature, or any of that crap. I just learned long ago that it's better to let a wizard get himself in deep trouble and then point out that I know more about what's going on than he does. Besides, I'd heard of Joral, and according to those rumors, he was almost as smart as he thought.

Joral lead the way out of Lord Sana's house, and towards the servants' entrance to the walled compound. "I'm going to need some time at my place to localize the girl," he told me as we made our way out into the street. "A couple of hours, at least. No offense, but not many people know where that is, and I don't want to add you to that list."

"No problem," I said. Didn't care, in all honesty. If I ever decided to harm him, I'd be able to find him. I did, however, hand over the dagger, "Try this, if the scarf doesn't help. I'm going down to the market where she was nabbed, take a look around."

"Already been there," Joral commented.
"Yup. But you were looking for a bunch of thugs and a little girl. Me, I'm looking for a good Thayan blade," I nodded to the one he was now weighing, "and not for the tattooed monkeys themselves."

"Be careful," he cautioned, "the man behind this..."

"Is an old associate of Father's," I told him, "whichever one he is."

We parted company, and I headed for the market. Admittedly, I figured the chances of my finding where the girl was being held were minuscule, at best. But I hate sitting still, and I hate waiting for others to do their work. I'd much rather be doing something myself, and since I'd gotten all kitted up, I figured I'd take a risk and see if these kidnappers were stupid enough to try and eliminate someone asking questions.

Which ambition left me bored, annoyed, and dusty several hours later. The markets in Calimport are always open, always busy, and ridiculously esoteric. But when you've seen it all before, and had occasional responsibility for cataloging it since you were a little kid, there isn't really much fun to be had in a market. The fact that the only 'trouble' I found was a bad pick-pocket (honestly – working-class outfit with no pockets, no pouch, and no pack, and a full-blade strapped to my back, what in all the Hells was that kid thinking?) and a pair of guards too new to the city to recognize yours truly. Though they did recognize the name, quick enough. Right apologetic about it they were, too. That would be one of those love/hate things – I can't stand the thought of going into the family business (either of them), yet I love taking advantage of the fact that Father is one of the small number of people in Calimshan who's power doesn't change with the rising and setting of the sun. I know, I'm a hypocrite.

So I was wandering through the warehouse district, making sure I remembered who owned which buildings, when a braver urchin than the rest tugged on my sleeve. He didn't say anything, just handed me a slip of paper and vanished into an alley. I debated pursuing, but decided that I'd never catch someone that small in those quarters. So I unfolded the note, praying it wasn't another exploding-rune like my dear brothers so enjoy sending me. They don't hurt anymore, but gods above they were annoying. Instead, I found a plain note, in surprisingly bad handwriting

Z, Dockside, fifth or sixth pier, second or third warehouse in. Sunset. J.

"Short and sweet," I muttered, stuffing the note in a pocket of my armor. Sunset gave me a little over an hour, and a brief mental debate led to me heading home. I was wearing most of my gear, but I'd gone out dressed to impress a prospective employer, not for actual combat. There were a couple of items I wanted from my stash at home, to cover the possibilities

I managed to get in and out without encountering anyone who might inconvenience me, like a family member. A couple of the servants saw me, but they were all used to my coming and going at random times, and by the time the word got to father, I was already gone again, heavier by a number of potions and my old bow. I was at the docks well before time, picked a piling that was mostly out of the way, and enjoyed a light supper (snagged from the kitchen on my way out) while watching the sun settle over the town. Quite pleasant, actually, aside from the smell, the noise, and the sailors. But those're problems everywhere, so I ignored them.

Joral settled down next to me on one of the lower piling shortly before sunset, polishing off his own supper. "The scrying showed me pier five, or pier six, through an open cargo door. There was a building between the observation point and the dock, but I recognize the piers here."

"You scouted any of the candidates yet?"

"Second one back from here. No luck, figured I'd meet up with you before trying the next one. Ready?"

"Sure," I told him, sliding off the piling. "Third from here, or move to Pier Six?"

"More regular our search pattern the better. Third in from here. I'll go up on the roof, in through the ventilation windows, take a look around. Ten minutes per warehouse. You hang about nearby like the foppish wastrel everyone thinks you are, and try not to look like your planning on burning down the city. If you hear shouting, you get your ass into that warehouse. If I find the girl, I'll come out, tell you where and how many, and then follow you in."

I was somewhat insulted by the 'foppish wastrel' comment, except I'd heard it before. "You're going to fight?"

He laughed, moving to walk beside me as I headed up the street between two warehouses, "I'm not that stupid. I'm going to get the girl, while you take care of making sure no one follows me. Lord Sana knows we plan to go in tonight, he'll be waiting nearby, with most of his family guard."

We reached the warehouse he was going into, a massive stone edifice occupying a ridiculous area of ground. Like most of the city's warehouses, it had few windows, all small and near the top of the walls, but plenty of doors, big cargo doors in each wall and smaller human-sized at each end. The roof was nearly flat, just enough of a peak to ensure sand didn't build up. To my surprise, Joral didn't bother with a rope. He pulled his gloves tight, waved me off to the side, and started free-climbing the wall, like a spider going up its web. He paused at a window, and vanished inside.

For my part, I loosened my sword, settled the potion-belt a little better, and leaned against the wall of a neighboring warehouse, testing my spells while I waited. It wasn't long before Joral came sliding out a different window. He squirreled his way up onto the roof, then glanced over to look at me. He shook his head, then pointed at the building I was leaning against. I shrugged, and while the weaselly little punk jumped from one building to the next, I moved to lean against the warehouse he'd been searching.

This time we had more luck. He didn't even get all the way in, just head and shoulders, before he jerked, rolled back out of the window, and tumbled to the ground. I almost went to catch him, but intellect over-rode instinct, and instead I pulled my bow off my shoulder and set an arrow. Joral hit the ground, and a second later some fool tried to come out after him with a dagger. The fool, pulled back his arm to throw, and gave me his entire torso to aim at. It's only a short bow, but at that close a range, against a target pinned in by a small window...

I grabbed Joral by the shoulder and hauled him to his feet as the yelling picked up inside, "You okay?"

"Good enough," he grunted, getting his balance back, "stuck my head in the window right over the girl. She's tied up, blindfolded, but doesn't look hurt at all. Small room, don't know what the rest of the place looks like."

"Doesn't matter," I told him. "Get your breath back. Give me a couple minutes, then go back in through the window. Get the girl out that way, I'll keep everyone busy out front."

"Good luck."

I grinned, hearing the first door open behind me, "luck is good, fire is better."

I turned around using the action pull the full-blade. The massive weight swung around and up right, the enchanted blade glowing a soft white, the blue runes up the blade shining with a full charge. The warriors trying to pile out of the door stumbled to a halt, obviously expecting one rogue, with a collection of swords and scimitars. In the first instant, I noticed the arrogant fool in the back actually had a pair of scimitars, as if he could use them.

Their hesitation gave me enough time to trigger a spell, throwing a small sphere of fire into the leader. He was too busy trying to disentangle himself from his compatriots to dodge, but my aim was off – the orb detonated against his leg instead of his chest, but it was still enough to send him screaming to the ground, clutching his leg. It also caused his compatriots to lunge back, the natural fear of fire overriding their sense.

Ignoring the warrior on the ground, I charged for the two still standing. The arrogant one, with his two scimitars, recovered first. He moved to meet me, swinging his blades high and low. I have a bad habit of leading off with a lunge, the blade level at about my hip, so I let the tip drop, dug it into the street, and shoved it vertical with my arm at full extension. His two scimitars clanged off my blade, and he took a moment to look rather surprised. I wrenched the sword out of the ground, and swung it vertical in a short, harsh arc that caught him in the gut and split him through the chest.

He stumbled back, still alive but no longer involved in the fight. The other guy lunged back through the door into the warehouse, screaming something unintelligible. I checked, saw Joral already climbing the wall again, and almost charged through the door after the last warrior. I checked, feeling paranoid, and instead rammed my blade into the wall beside the door. The stonework was tough, but not that tough, and the blade passed through into the warehouse beyond. Someone inside the building cried out in surprise, unfortunately not on the same side of the door that I attacked, so I triggered the sword's spell to break it free, causing a burst of fire to scorch the wall.

The sword led the way through the door, angled into an off-balance lunge that accomplished nothing except to drive the ambusher back. He stumbled away into the morass of crates and barrels, and I gave chase Better the enemy I could see than getting surprised by someone else. I charged around the corner to find him already lost in the warren of barrels and crates, around a corner.

"Distraction," I muttered to myself, thinking of both the guard I'd just lost, and my mission here. It took me a few seconds to realize I had an answer to take care of both questions. "Well, when in doubt..." I muttered, smirking to myself. A moment later, another sphere of flame leaped from my hand, to land in a stack of barrels covered by hay. If those had water in them, it wouldn't amount to much, but I was really hoping for oil or alcohol. I didn't stick around to see, heading towards the back of the warehouse, but when I heard a crate shatter, there was a rather encouraging rush of noise, heat and light.

The back of the warehouse proved more problematical. There were several rooms up on a second floor, accessible from a stairway that let down into the middle of the warehouse. That area was relatively clear of goods, but not of men. Whoever was in charge had apparently decided to meet me there, and it was a fairly good idea, given that I had to get up stairs to get the girl. However, with my little distraction, five of the eight men at the stairs were now rushing towards the fire, probably to pull flammables away from it. That left three for me to deal with, two thugs in chain mail, and the probable leader of this little bunch.

He was big, I'll give him that, easily a foot taller than me, and I'm not short. He was also wearing less armor than the others, just some leather studded with darkwood and some sort of hooked plate on his right arm. The scimitar dangling loosely from his left hand was glowing slightly, a weird greenish tinge that made me queasy just looking at it. He was also the only one not looking at the fire, but scanning the rest of the warehouse.

I watched all this from the corner of a crate, and ducked back behind it to think for a second. I Could ignore the guys dealing with the fire, at least for a few seconds, but the two with Boss-man would be a problem. I couldn't afford to ignore them while fighting Boss-man, but at the same time, I couldn't ignore Boss-man long enough to fight the two of them. I had no doubt he'd be right on top of me the instant I stepped into sight. So I fell back on a spell an old Mystran cleric, a friend of the family, taught me when I was just starting to follow the sorcerer's path. The old man claimed to be a cousin of some sort, which annoyed Father no end, so I spent as much time with him (and talking about him with my family) as I could get away with. He only ever managed to teach me the one spell, but he did give me the basics of control. He was also the only person to ever encourage my interest in fire, but I didn't really need that. According to my mother, I learned how to start fires before I learned how to crawl.

So, standing behind my crates, I muttered the incantation, shaping the power, and the world got a little brighter as the spell triggered. 'Concentrated light of a Lantern Archon', Melchizedic had called it, 'like them, it's not much, but a little light can go a long way, if you know what you're doing.' He'd been right, too. Never has been a major spell, but it's usually just enough to get the job done.

Feeling the energy of any spell was nice, the crackling sense of alive, of creation shaping itself to your will, it's indescribable. This one, though always felt better, a cleaner charge, less of the wildness and unpredictability, just clean power. One of the more minor abilities it provided was timing – I could, as I did now, cast the spell but delay its effects briefly. So when I stepped around the corner, the first then I did was toss yet another fire-orb at one of the flunkies by Boss-man. A moment later, as the two were still reacting, I triggered the other spell. The light in my eyes dimmed slightly, and a single beam leaped from them to strike the second guard.

Watching both strikes go home almost perfectly, I realized two things rather quickly. First, I'd just used the last of my actual spells for the day, which left me with nothing more than cantrips. Second, I'd been had.

Boss-man was not only perfectly well aware of where I was, he was now standing less than a foot to my left, wickedly curved sword raised over his head. He brought it down in a flashing arc, and not even my reflexes were fast enough. The razor-sharp metal sliced through the sleeve of my robe and down, scraping along the bone with a nasty ratcheting sensation that, to this day, remains one of the most horrific sensations I can remember. Of course, the fact that he took a strip of skin and flesh a good six inches long off my forearm probably contributes to that. Still got a scar, too.

Being the proud warrior I am, I did the only smart thing possible in such a situation – I screamed like a girl and bolted. I needed to check my arm, and I needed room to swing my own sword. That's the one drawback to a full-blade – it hit's like a mountain, but it's not so good in tight quarters. I dove back amongst the creates and cargo, using my ruined sleeve to staunch the bleeding. The hand still worked, mostly, so he hadn't gotten any of the muscles that run through there, but damn that hurt like hell.

I ran into another flunky, which cost me the impromptu bandage I was working on.. Had to barrel the poor bastard into the fire now raging through the crates, but kidnaping's never been a safe line of work, and he's the one that rolled the dice. Boss-man was close enough behind me that he took another swipe while I was rebounding, almost joining his junior. His recovery gave me enough time to open the range, get set, and freak him out a little.

See, my ancestors were a really funky bunch, in several meanings of the phrase, so when Boss-man was getting ready to charge, I took advantage of that lovely bloodline by shoving my arm right into the burning stack of crates I was standing next to. Yeah, not the brightest thing I've ever done – again with the pain – but it was only for a few seconds, just enough to cauterize that hideous wound, then my arm was back out. I think I did a fair job of turning the grimace of pain into a psychotic grin, and I sure as hell know Boss-man was now thoroughly freaked.

Still, that wasn't enough to make him run. Didn't expect it to, either. But when you convince your opponent that you're crazier than he is, you rattle him, get him to start thinking that maybe you're crazy enough to deliberately bring him down with you. That's gotta be one of my most effective tricks, even if I've never really trained for it. Something about the scales around the eyes, I think, and the fact that I haven't cut my hair since I learned how to use a sword.

Boss-man was still debating if he was being paid enough for this when I struck, sliding towards him with my sword over my shoulder, ready for an overhead strike. He flinched back slightly, not afraid, but gaining that extra second for thought, then moved to meet me. I started my swing before him, and his scimitar swept up before my blade even cleared my head, setting up the deflection and counter-strike perfectly. I could see that, clear as the sun at noon. I could also see his flicker of surprise when I smirked at his pre-emption. Then, instead of the pause and swing he was expecting, I lunged forward and used both hands to ram the pommel of my sword into his face.

He cried out and stumbled backwards, blood fountaining from his nose, but it wasn't a clean hit, he turned his head at the last second, enough that I broke his nose and cheekbone, instead of ramming his nose back into his brain. Too bad, I was hoping for a quick fight.

He got his stance back fast, faster than I could have, managing to avoid falling into the fire a second time, then moved to the attack. Both swords slammed together, then again two more times in a series of fast exchanges. I learned several things in those exchanges, and I'm sure he did too, before we fell apart to evaluate. As my mind caught up with my reflexes, I couldn't help but smile at him.

"You know," I commented, putting as much arrogant confidence into my voice as possible, "you're going to loose this fight, yes? I'm faster than you, stronger, and you have to worry about the fact that this place is burning down around us."

"Don't get cocky now, kid," he snarled back, circling to my left. I moved to mirror him, and he continued, "You've gotta get the girl out before she's roasted. And there ain't no help coming for you, now or ever. Even if you make it out of here, you're dead."

I laughed at that, "Idiot. I don't need help. I am 'help'. The girl's already on her way back to her family. Me," I laughed again at the dawning comprehension in his eyes, "I'm just the distraction."

He cursed, some rather foul language I won't repeat here, and lunged. He actually had a speed advantage, given his lighter weapon, and in skill, but was now too distracted to utilize either. The lunge was too fast, and he overextended. A full-blade makes a mighty fine fence-post, and his sword scraped off one side as I, reversing my hands on the grip, coiled around it the other way. I didn't see the dagger in his off hand until I was already reversing, but I bloody well felt it, halfway up my side just over (thank the gods) my left kidney.

I was already coming out of the coil by then, spinning back to the position I'd started in. All the power of legs, back and arms went into lifting the full-blade out of the dirt in a long arc. His reaction was fast and smart, forsaking balance for speed in an attempt to leap backwards, but he had over-extended too far, especially to get that knife strike. The tip of my sword caught him just under the sternum, passing clean through the cartilage and then snapping his head back as it caught his chin on the way out. He slammed back into a pile of burning barrels, cracking several and sending up a cloud of cinders and dust that promptly exploded into flames, a billowing cloud of heat that, luckily for me, went more up than out.

For my part, I almost mirrored him. The only thing that kept me standing was a big-ass sword going over my shoulder and into the ground. I stood there for a few seconds, catching my breath, then pushed myself upright again. The knife came out with more pain than it went in with, and was promptly pocketed. Never know when an extra blade'll come in handy.

Looking around, I realized I'd been right in more ways than one. Whatever I'd lit on fire originally was apparently both very flammable and very easily spread. Everything on the ground was now burning, some parts of it more cheerily than others, and the support beams for the second floor and the roof were probably going to go up soon. Outside, over the roar of the flames, I could hear a crowd gathering. Most likely, the wouldn't try to fight the fire, but just keep it from spreading. Easy enough, since the exteriors of the surrounding buildings were brick. Inside, I couldn't hear anyone else, which probably meant everyone else was gone.

So, that being determined, I started walking. A muttered cantrip, and weak magical energies rose up to shield me, somewhat, from the flames. First stop, was back where I first saw Boss-man. The stairs were starting to burn, but still looked stable, so I charged up them, patting out where my robe caught. A couple of rooms were up on the second floor, but most of it was simply platform. I checked both, finding a records room and a meeting room, both empty. That meant Joral already had the girl out, and it was time to go.

Bad thing about burning stairs – once they start, they don't stop on their own, and they've got this bad habit of burning more as time goes on. By the time my scouting was done, the stairs were fully involved, which left me the not-so-good choice of either rushing down them again (not a good idea, considering how much pain I was in already), or trying to scale a support column that wasn't entirely aflame yet. Second option won, and the sword went on the back, back in the baldric.

Now, climbing isn't my strong suit, and doing it with a twenty-pound chunk of steel on your back in a burning building ain't easy, so let's just say that I got down, and leave it at that.

So I come strolling out the door of the warehouse I went in by, a little crispier than I went in, definitely bloodier, and what do I get but screams and shrieks. I stopped in surprise, reaching for the sword automatically, as a couple of guys with pitchforks started making menacing moves. That was entertaining, apparently they thought I was a demon or something, walking out of the warehouse and not being on fire. Calming them down took a few minutes, followed by several more minutes of finding Joral.

He was, for some unfathomable reason, helping to organize those preventing the fire from spreading. Not that I objected, mind you, but I didn't expect it from him. He's a wizard, after all, not what I'd call an 'active' type. He saw me as I approached, and handed off the rabble-rousing to someone else, pulling me off to one side and out of the way. I was feeling pretty tired and out of it by then, so I didn't object, particularly. Especially when he found a barrel for me to sit on.

"You look like shit," he said bluntly, checking my arm first. "What'd you do, cast fireball at your own feet?"

"Wouldn't've hurt as much," I muttered, "stuck it in a fire, had to stop the bleeding somehow, no time for bandages. My head hurts," It was starting to throb, right between my eyes, "my head never hurts."

"Too many spells in too short a time," Joral answered. He turned away for a second, shouting something, then turned back. "Any other wounds?"

"Knife," I said, lifting my arm out of the way so he could see the blood. Didn't show up too well in the dark on my red robes, but hey, there was a pleasant little fire not forty feet away shedding some light. I pulled the knife I'd kept from where it was under the potion-belt, "this one."

He grabbed it and cursed (again with the foul language, what is wrong with the kids today?). Someone else arrived, and I found myself staring at the traveling robes of a cleric of Mystra, my own personal favorite deity. Looking further up, I smiled, a much friendlier expression than I'd been using back in the warehouse, "Melchizedic! Long time no see, old man. What're you doing here?"

The old man glaring down at me had square features weathered by years of wandering, no hair, and a glare fit to make Father cringe (no mean feat, I assure you). "I was going to stop in, say hello, and continue south to put some fear in those cannibalistic barbarians down south. Instead, I'm going to have to haul you're useless ass out of yet another ridiculous foray into stupidity!" While he was muttering at me, he took my arm from Joral and started inspecting it. None too gently, I might add. "Fool of a boy! Fire is a thing to be harnessed, controlled, directed! Not let loose to do as it will in one of the largest ports on the shining sea!"

"Especially not in el Sadeen's personal warehouse," Joral commented.

Melchizedic froze in his examination and stared at Joral for a moment, before very slowly commanding, "Say that again."

Joral grimaced, "Found out while I was 'talking' with one of the guards. Head of Calimshan's thieves, only man in Calimshan vicious enough to scare the Syl Pasha."

Melchizedic's gaze returned to me, and he finally stopped abusing my arm. Instead, he slammed his closed fist down on my head, rather hard. "Foolish boy! Idiot! Over-eager pyromaniac! You're dead, do you understand that? El Sadeen will not stop hunting you until your head is on his mantle!" He cut off, long enough to snarl his way through a prayer. I instantly felt worlds better, although the queasy feeling remained. My arm was almost as good as new, and the hole in my side was nothing more than a scab. Didn't last long, though. He smacked me upside the head again, "I've told you again and again, your habit of burning first and thinking later is going to get you killed!"

"Relax, old man," I told him, probing the tender stretch on my arm that was already scarring over. "No one else is going to die after this. Where's the girl, anyhow, Joral?"

"Her father took her," he said. "I arranged to have him nearby in case we found her early. She's safe at home by now, surrounded by a small army."

"Good, mission accomplished."

"Then we're leaving," Melchizedic ordered, hauling me to my feet, "tonight, before word reaches el Sadeen." He let go, and I promptly sat back down. My legs weren't working right, and I finally started to suspect why when Joral wordlessly held out the knife I'd kept. Melchizedic took it, examined the blade, then his lips curled in a sneer. "A coward's trick, for a cowardly corpse." He turned and threw the blade, hard and fast, into a flame-filled window.

He turned back, smacked me once again for good measure, and began a longer, more complicated prayer. Have I mentioned that he believes in, as he once put it, 'the efficacy of high-velocity physical contact in sharpening a student's mind'? I think he just likes to hit me for some reason. A moment later, the weird imbalanced sensation, throbbing head and shivering knees started fading out, and I once again found myself hauled to my feet.

"Thanks, old man," I muttered, checking my balance carefully.

"Don't mention it, boy," he said, then grabbed my arm and started walking, "let's get moving."

"Don't you think you're over-reacting? Like you often accuse me of doing?"

I really should know better than to question him. While he dragged me back to Father's, he started up a running history of el Sadeen. Let's just say it wasn't pretty, and I had some bad dreams for a couple of... well... years, now. Joral didn't help matters, explaining that the warehouse I'd just burned down, and all its contents, were where el Sadeen kept his favorite trinkets and valuables, like rare silks, rare gems, and rare (flammable) wines. The sort of thing to generate a long, pain-inducing grudge.

We got home, and Joral split. Melchizedic dragged Father and Ras Mostana, the head of our family guard, into Father's office, ordered me to pack, and slammed the door in my face. Feeling thoroughly concerned by then, I didn't really object. Twenty minutes later, I had everything I really wanted and stepped back out into our courtyard to find that Melchizedic was still running off at the mouth with father. More worrisome, Mostana's favorite horse saddled and packed, and Mostana himself was holding the reins, giving me a funny look. I couldn't tell if he was amused, angry or frightened, so I wandered over to find out.

"Got a bit of trouble, eh, kid?"

"Didn't know it at the time," I answered. "You going with us?"

The grizzled warrior shook his head, "Nope, had my fill of riding through nowhere in search of nothing. Sadie here's for you. Old Mel said you needed a good horse now, and she's the best in the stable." He stepped around the massive warhorse, gripping one of the saddlebags, "this here's got your rations, one opposite has water, bedroll, the like. Pack behind the saddle has her barding. You've seen me clean that stuff often enough, you know how it goes on?" I nodded, and he continued from there, reminding me of things I already knew, things he had taught me, often enough.

Finally, Father and Melchizedic concluded their discussion, and moved to join us by the horse. "Well, son," Father said, "I'm feeling a rather strong urge to say something along the lines of 'I told you so,' but I'll refrain. You need to get moving. El Sadeen won't take long to identify and pursue you."

"What about you," I asked? "He's not going to accept that I've disappeared."

"Son, I built our trading cartel from my father's potion shop in less than a decade. I didn't do it by being nice. El Sadeen will accept it when I tell him that you have left the country. He won't be happy with me, but you took this contract, and you did the damage, making it personal between you and el Sadeen. And the family of any of his guards you killed, but they are a small concern compared to el Sadeen himself."

"True," I agreed, "the big man alone's gonna be interesting."

Father shook his head, "Do not allow your disrespect for me to cloud your judgment. I did not accomplish all I have by being stupid, either. Once you ride out that gate, you will not be coming back. To preserve the family, I will have to cut you loose. You understand that?"

I shook my head, amused and terrified at the same time. I'd never planned to leave Calimport, let alone all of Calimshan. Now, I was heading north into unknown territory with a nasty piece of work looking to turn me into a personal decoration. "Father, I've been trying to get you to do this for years. You're just too contrary to indulge me."

"Gods preserve you, son," he told me, reaching out to shake my hand. Then he turned, and walked back into the house.

"Luck's blessing," Mostana added, and followed Father.

"Luck," Melchizedic snorted, "luck is good, skill is better. Remember that, punk. You're going to need all the skill you can muster to survive. Not the next year, not the next couple of years, but the rest of your life. El Sadeen won't stop just because time passes, and whoever replaces him probably won't see a reason to, either."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, swinging up into Sadie's saddle, shifting around for a bit to find a comfortable seat. Mostana'd even given me one of his old saddles, comfortably broken in. "Look, old man, I'm now fully aware that I'm going to die unremarked and un-mourned in some alley from a knife in the back. You wanna maybe drop the lecture and let me enjoy the last few moments of my life?"

That got me smacked again. "Don't be snippy with me, boy! I trained you, practically raised your useless ass myself. You aren't going to die in an alley, you aren't going to die anytime soon. I bloody well trained you for a purpose, and you're going to fulfill that purpose! When I bloody well tell you to!"

He'd been saying that for years, as well. First words I ever heard from him, in fact, 'I've got a purpose for you, boy'. "You've been saying that for years, old man," I muttered, but further comment was cut off by Joral's arrival, on a smaller horse than my new one, with a pack horse on lead behind him. "What in the Nine Hells are you doing here, wizard?"

"Not finding out if el Sadeen knows my name," he countered. "Your cleric friend invited me along, weren't you listening?"

"You boys play nice," Melchizedic ordered, "head north until you pass the Cloud Peaks. Once there, pick a direction and go. I'd suggest splitting up there as well, but that's up to you. Get moving. I'll keep el Sadeen looking the other way for a while. Zasheir bin Haseid, you still have your amulet?" I nodded, fingering the small Mystran symbol he'd given me when he started training me, "I'll find you in a few months. Don't get dead."

And those were the last words anyone said to me in Calimport. Would've been depressing, except it was such good advice. I've remembered that night often, usually right when I'm in the middle of a near-death experience. Gotta say, it's not the worst departure I've ever had from a city, and it sure was fun.