9 – Carnival

"Would it really be so cruel a fate? To wait the ages out as strong and still as stone?" –Deekin Scalesinger, The Shadow of Undrentide (Edited for spelling and grammar by Grobnar Gnomehands)

"Oh! Oh! I wanna ride the unicorn!" Imoen announced, pushing her way through the milling crowd.

"I'm pretty sure that's just a horse with some ivory stuck to its nose," Ashura pointed out. The comment got her a playful slap on the shoulder.

'Pish!" Imoen retorted. "I've read the bestiaries too. You're missing the point!"

Ashura shrugged. "The point is that they put on a good show?"

"No, the point is that I'm a pretty princess who's going to ride a unicorn."

Ashura rolled her eyes.

"Didn't you ever want to be a princess? We were surrounded by so many stories of 'em in Candelkeep. Swept away by gallant princes or returning from exile to reclaim their kingdom and such. And occasionally getting fed to dragons. I guess that's the downside."

Ashura shook her head. "Always preferred a different sort of story. Like the ones with the stoic barbarian who rolls into town and ends up slaying all the asshole sorcerers who get in his way. Maybe at the end he winds up with a naked slave-girl clinging to his ankle while he broods on a throne."

Imoen raised an eyebrow. "You want to be a slave-girl? Now that's a side of you I've never seen."

"Nah. More like I'd like to be on that throne. Maybe replace the slave-girl with a naked slave-boy or two. Hm, and make it a throne of skulls!" She flexed her arm a bit and added an: "Argh!"

Imoen giggled. "Doubt there's a ride like that here."

"Then maybe I'll try hatchet-throwing. Don't think I'd even know what to do with a slave, and thrones of skulls are probably best left in the storybooks."

The Nashkel fair stretched out before them; rows and rows of colorful tents haphazardly arranged along a series of wide forest clearings. The smells of roasting meat and cooling confections wafted through the air along with jaunty drum-and-fife music and harpsong. Several companies of minstrels could be heard at once. Their styles and voices clashed a bit, adding to the overall din along with the cries of children and the murmur of adults.

Imoen skipped ahead to the makeshift corral where the 'unicorn' shuffled around with two children clinging to its back. Ashura turned away and absently browsed the stalls. That Imoen. Next thing she'll be buying one of these stuffed dragons.

Ashura purchased a skewer of candied fruit and quietly began to munch, watching the crowd pass by. It was good to have a bit of peace. Even better to have a lot of money. Days ago she had replaced Jaheira's armor with a new chainmail tunic that she wore over a padded black doublet and a skirt of interlocking black leather strips that came down to her knees. She also wore thin leather gloves and the magical boots they had pilfered from Mulahey. Apparently the boots conferred some resistance to electricity, though she was not eager to test it. She had left her helmet back at the manor house but wore the chain tunic to the fair. Can't be too careful when there's a bounty on your head.

"Art thou the heroine of Nashkel?" a feminine voice asked in an archaic dialect.

Looking up from her snack Ashura saw a very short woman with dusky skin and a round face standing across from her. The woman's nose was upturned a bit, her manner serene, giving her an air of haughty nobility. Small hoop earrings decorated with animal teeth hung from her ears and three bronze hoops were wrapped around her neck above a round golden amulet. She wore a purple dress of sturdy fabric that displayed a generous amount of cleavage.

Behind the woman stood an imposing warrior, tall and broad at the shoulders with a bald pate and what appeared to be a permanent, good natured smile on his face. A wide circular tattoo in purple ink decorated his head above and across his right eye. His armor was a light combination of lacquered splints and boiled leather. The man looked vaguely Mulan and Ashura guessed that the woman might be Rashemi. They were both rather young, perhaps in their early twenties if that.

Ashura snorted. "Heroine? Hardly."

"Ah," the man said in a thick accent similar to the woman's, "but that humility is the true mark of a hero!"

"If you say so," Ashura responded, "but I'm really just a survivor. Well, me and Imoen over there." She pointed at the redhead, who was happily making the 'unicorn' trot around as she gave an exaggerated, queenly wave to onlookers real and imagined. "We were following along with more experienced adventurers and they all turned on each other and wound up dead."

The woman in purple inclined her head. "We have heard rumors of such. I am sorry for thy loss."

"Thanks," Ashura said, examining her candied stick. Much like Gorion's death she had relived the incident dozens of times in her head, wishing there was something she could have done. Gorion had ordered her to run, and she could blame standing by in the mines on Xzar's charm spell, but that didn't make her feel like less of a failure.

"I am Dynaheir," the woman said, inclining her head, "and my companion is named Minsc. We are travelers from distant Rashemen."

"I'm Ashura Adrian, as you probably already know." She was nervous about her real name being spoken around town, but it had gotten out and there was nothing she could do now. Imoen and her damn giant mouth.

"If I might impose on thee further," Dynaheir asked, "canst thou tell me what thy learnt of the iron crisis in those mines? Rumors abound, but we wish to know the truth."

"Ya, everyone and their mother seems to be investigating that around here. What's your interest? Rashemen is pretty far removed from the Sword Coast iron trade."

"Tis true," Dynaheir admitted, "but there are rumors that the shortage of iron is an Amnish plot in preparation for war with Baldur's Gate. If war breaks out along the coast it is in the interest of mine people to be told when we return from our dajemma."

"I suppose," Ashura said. She repeated the story she had found herself retelling several times over the past few days about the orc in the Nashkel mines with his army of kobolds and iron corroding potions.

"He was a priest of Cyric too," Imoen interjected, returning from her 'unicorn' ride. "Nasty fellow. He had an army of skeletons and stuff. Oh, I'm Imoen by the way."

"Half-orcs and worshippers of the Prince of Lies art plentiful in Amn," Dynaheir noted. "And though Nashkel art officially an Amnish town it would not be beneath some of their nobles to poison the iron. They are a duplicitous lot down there. Or so I have heard."

"I've no idea," Ashura admitted. "And honestly I've had enough intrigue. There was a Greycloak agent that we rescued from the orc's chamber deep in the mines. Named Xana…something. One of those long elven names with way too many vowels. He said he'd continue investigating the orc's 'true masters' up in Beregost, if you're really interested."

"And thou art not?" Dynaheir asked.

"Nope. No more secret societies or plots within plots if I can avoid them. We're thinking about hiring ourselves out as caravan guards once the fair's over."

"Yup," Imoen said with a devious smile. "We're just good honest mercenaries."

Dynaheir gave them a dubious frown. "We shall be passing through Beregost, methinks, though for other reasons. I've an interest in seeing Candlekeep."

"Oh!" Imoen squeaked. "We're-"

Ashura shot her a look.

"Well, we've been there. Nice place," Imoen muttered.

"The price of entry is rather steep," Ashura warned.

"Aye," Dynaheir said. "A rare and valuable book. Worry not."

A somber look crossed Minsc's face. "Boo will miss that book of Rashemi folktails. Our witch," he pointed at Dynaheir, "has been reading us a story every night and he does not know how he'll manage to sleep without them."

Dynaheir closed her eyes and placed a hand on her forehead.

"Who's Boo?" Imoen asked.

The witch muttered something in her language as Minsc smiled gleefully and held his arm out. A small brown-and-white rodent scurried out of his sleeve and sat in the palm of his hand. "This is Boo!" he announced proudly, "my stalwart animal companion and dearest friend!"

Imoen bent forward and peered. "A…mouse?"

"Heavens no!" Minsc roared and the little rodent ran in circles on his wide palm. "He is a miniature giant space hamster. The only one in existence. A prince among his kind!"

"Oh. A hamster," Imoen said as she reached out to pet the little guy with a fingertip. He scuttled away, back into Minsc's sleeve.

"A miniature giant space hamster," Minsc corrected. "I apologize for his shyness. He does warm up to people eventually."

Imoen smiled. "I'm sure he's a very polite young hamster."

"In any case," Dynaheir said with an obvious look of embarrassment on her face, "we need to move along. A good morn to you."

Ashura nodded as the pair turned and walked in the direction of one of the large tents. "And to you," she replied.

Once they were out of earshot Imoen noted: "I'm pretty sure that was just a hamster."

"I don't know," Ashura said with a bit of a grin. "Giant space hamsters do exist. And shrinking spells aren't unheard of."

"Giant space hamsters?"

"Yeah, I read about them in a bestiary."

Imoen shook her head. "You shouldn't believe everything you read in those."

"Well, they sound more believable than an owlbear."

"Exactly. I don't believe in those neither. Not until I see one for real. I mean an owlbear? Seriously? Next you'll be telling that crabrhinos and mooseeagles are real."

"I stand corrected," Imoen said with a wicked grin as she pointed to the wooden marquee near the outdoor stage. "Maybe they do have something here with thrones made of skulls and naked guys."

Ashura gave her friend an incredulous look after glancing at the playbill. "A post-eveningfeast showing of A Waltz with Brigands? I thought they only showed that play in brothels. No way they haven't cut a bunch of stuff out."

"Ha. Like the whole scene at the docks? We'll just have to see for ourselves eh?" She giggled. "Remember when we found those books in the locked room under the Hall of History? Dreppin blushed so hard when we showed him. I think he especially liked that manual with all the illustrations."

"Looks like we're in time for the midday show at least. Elminster in the Abyss."

"See," Imoen said, "that doesn't sound very family friendly either. Wanna check it out?"

"Of course," Ashura replied with a smile. They handed two silver tarans to a young man at the gate to the little outdoor theater and a second man walked them to some wooden bleachers in front of the stage.

A little bit later half-a-dozen stage hands in black bodysuits were climbing around arranging props and soon the play began. It told the story of how Elminster, the mythic "Sage of Shadowdale" (played by a fairly young looking actor in a heavy white beard and wig,) became trapped in the Abyss and how his lover (one of the legendary Seven Sisters,) mounted a rescue into the underworld itself.

For a small country production it seemed quite lavish, with constantly moving wooden backgrounds and elaborate demon costumes. When it was over the audience gave a standing ovation.

"What did ya think?" Imoen asked.

"A little silly to be honest," Ashura replied. "Especially towards the end. I got tired of how they solved everything with bigger and bigger bursts of magic."

"Ya. They say some of the earlier Elminster plays are better, with a lot more of him being clever. That's how real mages do it." She waved her fingers. "Prestidigitation!" A small ruby ring appeared in the palm of her hand, and then vanished when she briefly waved her other hand over it. Ashura didn't bother asking where it came from. "But I liked it anyway," Imoen added.

Ashura gently boxed Imoen's shoulder. "Hey, so did I! Especially the part with Demogorgon."

"Nah, the best part was Graz'zt. That was quite a costume! Or lack thereof."

Ahead of them a man in extravagant looking hooded red robes was talking to several fairgoers. Looking up from the crowd he spotted Imoen and Ashura and began to walk his way, eyes fixed upon them. Ashura found her hand hovering over her sword-hilt, memories of assassins fresh in her mind.

The man was tall, his robe hooded, and when he noticed Ashura's ready hands he rolled his eyes and made a placating gesture with an open palm. He wore a gaudy circlet beneath the hood and appeared to be bald underneath. There was a permanent smirk on his face covered by a trimmed goatee and an elaborate, braided moustache.

"I know you barbarians love nothing more than to display your swords and compare their size," the man in red said with a thick accent, "but there's no need. I merely have a question, then I shall be on my way (and none too soon. No doubt standing here close to your stench will test my constitution.)"

"Hey!" Ashura objected. "I bathed last night."

"Yeah," Imoen added. "You're Thayan right? Aren't you one of those super 'civilized' peoples who bathe about once a season and cover it up with heaps of perfume the rest of the time?"

The man in red's eyes widened very briefly in surprise. "You know a little of the lands of the east. Quite surprising. Of course your knowledge of my culture's advanced hygienic practices is sorely lacking. Are you some sort of book-learned barbarians?"

"You could say that," Ashura said. "Was that your question?"

Rolling his eyes the man replied: "No, just idle chatter. If you know of my people you may know that we wizards of Thay travel far and wide to sell magical goods, bringing civilization to far flung lands, one might say. My name is Edwin Odesseiron and I am such a wizard and merchant. I recently sold some goods to a traveling Rashemi witch. A magic wand, if you really must know. Unfortunately it has come to my attention that the item is flawed. I seek to track the witch down and give her a refund before she has reason to use the wand. The good reputation of we Red Wizards hangs in the very balance."

"Very dramatic," Ashura stated dryly.

"Indeed. So, have you seen the Rashemi witch? She has rather dark skin and wears hoop earrings and large brass rings about her neck. Travels with a big burly ape of a man with a bald head and tattoos. Her bodyguard I believe."

"Yeah," Ashura said. "We talked with them a few hours ago. They might still be around the fair."

"I am fairly certain that they have left. But perchance did they tell you where they were heading?"

"I think they were going north," Ashura said. "To Beregost and then to Candlekeep."

"Most helpful," Edwin said with a slight nod of his head. "And you were correct. You don't smell nearly so bad as these other barbarians." With that he turned and made his way through the crowd once again, already heading north.

"Thanks I guess," Ashura mumbled.

"The good reputation of the Red Wizards of Thay?" Imoen mused dubiously. "I thought they were all backstabbing assholes. That's what the books say at least."

Ashura shrugged. "They say that about all wizards. Not that that guy wasn't an asshole."

It was early afternoon when the gnomish barker in bright green clothes caught their attention. He was standing on a dirt path that led to a series of smaller tents, a bit away from most of the bustling carnival stalls and gambling pavilions. Behind the gnome stood a life-sized statue of a human woman, and his hands were waving wildly at every passerby.

"Come and see the amazing Stone Maiden," the gnome shouted. "A wonder of Nashkel and longtime curiosity! Long ago on this very spot this mysterious woman was turned to stone, perhaps by a gorgon or in a duel with a sorcerer! It was thought that her mystery was lost to time, but not today! For I have right here," he dramatically pulled a rolled up parchment from his breast pocket, "a scroll that restores stone to flesh! And for the meager price of five hundred danters it can be yours!"

The gnome aggressively waved the scroll at passersby, most ignoring him. "You can be the first to learn the true nature of the Stone Maiden and receive her gratitude. Could she be the long lost princess of the north? A powerful sorceress who will grant you a boon for freeing her? You can't afford not to know!"

"I think we should do it!" Imoen whispered enthusiastically to Ashura.

"Um, come on Ims, it's obviously a scam," Ashura whispered back as she approached the statue for a closer look.

Imoen shook her head. "Look at her pose," she said. "And for that matter look at her. She doesn't look remotely like any artist's model."

Hm. Imoen had a point. The statue was nude but had a broad, blocky body that could hardly be called statuesque. It was roughly as tall as Ashura, muscular in a stocky sort of way with larger breasts, wider hips and a rounder belly than she had. The statue's face was not that of a young woman, though it seemed more weather-worn than truly elderly.

And as Imoen had said the statue's pose was very odd: the body was a bit hunched, eyes wide with shock or panic, and its left arm was raised and curved before it, as if the woman depicted was hoisting an imaginary shield. Bending down Ashura ran her fingers through the dirt and grass at the statue's feet. There were tiny flecks here and there of rusted metal. That could be the remains of the woman's armor, if the wild petrifaction theory were true. Or it could be anything.

She stood and brushed her fingers along the granite surface of the statue. Very smooth, with little bumps here and there that appeared to be moles and even a few light scars. "Well, the artist was certainly going for realism. And an unusual look."

"Bah," Imoen protested. "What he was going for was a petrified woman. Look at the fear in her eyes. The awkward stance, like she was just caught off-guard. Come on! I'm sure about this."

Ashura began to say something about it being a lot of their funds, but Imoen was giving her a mischievous look that she had seen many times before. Shrugging slightly Ashura walked over to the gnome and began to haggle. He refused to budge on the price but did eventually agree to take some of the payment in midgrade gems along with a stack of three hundred gold coins. They made their exchange and he happily pocketed the coin while she handed the scroll over to Imoen.

"If this doesn't work…." Ashura growled at the gnome, tapping the hilt of one of a sword.

He gave her a bright, toothy smile. "Worry not." The grinning quickly turned to fidgeting and his eyes roamed about, giving her the impression that he was looking for the best path of escape. Great.

After unfurling the scroll Imoen gave it a cursory glance and nodded. "Seems legitimate," she announced, promptly turning towards the statue. "One stone-to-flesh coming up. Creunis olva tugar marnos sespina…"

While Imoen droned her way through the incantation Ashura noticed movement at the edge of her vision. Quick as a cat she turned and snatched the gnome by his collar before he was out of reach, yanking him towards the statue.

"Hey!" he whined. "I was just-"

"Stuff it!" she snarled.

The draconic runes on the scroll had begun to glow a faint green, one letter after the next, and a light of the same color had sprouted from the heart of the statue, slowly growing. As Imoen raced through the incantation now the light expanded until it briefly covered the entire page and the full surface of the statue.

With a whoosh the parchment disintegrated between Imoen's fingers. At the same time there was a sharp crack and the light that had covered the statue went out. What had been a still figure of smooth granite was now a woman with lightly tanned skin and golden-blonde hair. She stumbled and blinked several times, her left arm still pantomiming like she holding a shield. Gradually her arm fell to her side. Next she looked around with confusion in her eyes.

Then she looked down. Her lips formed a large O and a gasp of shock and embarrassment left them before her arms shot out; one across her chest and the other attempting to cover her loins.

"Oh!" Imoen squeaked. "Sorry." She rushed forward and unfastened her cloak, standing on her toes a bit to throw the garment over the taller woman's shoulders.

The blonde woman nodded slightly in thanks and wrapped the cloak around herself, then looked up at the fair and forest around her. When the confusion left her face it was replaced by a content smile. "Ah," she said in the thick accent of Ruathym and the Norheim Isles, "tis good to be free again."

"Gods be good!" the gnome gasped as Ashura let go of his collar. "It actually worked. Urm…I mean…"

The woman with the northern accent cast her eyes upon the gnome. "It worked?" she asked. "So you were the one who found a key to my stony prison? If so I am very much in thy debt."

Imoen giggled. "You could say he had the key. Of course he was charging a huge heap of gold for it."

The northerner's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You charged a fee for the magic to free me? You…you profited from my curse?!" She raised a hand, forgetting her modesty for the moment as the cloak slipped down a little. There was an electric crackle in the air as energy extended from her palm and a hammer formed of flowing blue magic popped into existence in her hand. The gnome cowered and covered his head as the northerner stomped towards him.

"Miss," the gnome stammered, "please. I never would have left you in the stone. I…I…"

She held the crackling weapon aloft.

Imoen's hand shot up and grasped the woman's wrist. She caught a cold glare from the northerner and held her gaze. "Does it really matter?" Imoen asked. "You're free now."

The woman's eyes softened a bit and after a time she nodded. She shot the gnome another glare and he turned and ran as fast as his little legs could take him. "That's right!" the woman shouted after him. "Flee while you can you little rat! Before I change my mind." The magical hammer winked out of existence and Imoen let go, allowing the woman to pull the cloak up and wrap it tightly once more.

"I should be more grateful," the northerner said, turning to Imoen once again. "I thank you for my freedom and owe you a great debt, especially now that I know you paid in coin for it."

"No worries," Imoen replied. "I'm just glad to see a day go by without bloodshed. We have a nice streak going."

"I am Branwen Yuriksdater, by the way," the blonde woman said with a slight inclination of her head, "a Warpriestess of Tempus from the Isle of Seawolf. I have seen many a campaign, and would be happy to join your war-party to repay my debt if you will have me."

Ashura chuckled. "It's not much of a war-party at the moment but I suppose we could use your help."

"Yup," Imoen said. "We can at least help you get used to the world of the non-stony. How long were you petrified for anyway?"

"That," Branwen noted, "is a very good question. By your manner of dress and speech I am guessing it has been quite some time. Not to mention," she glanced around, "that when last I saw this place it was an open battlefield."

"Well," Ashura said, "it's thirteen sixty-eight."

Branwen gave her a blank look.

"The year. Uh, thirteen sixty-eight by Dale Reckoning."

Branwen shrugged slightly.

"It's the Year of the Banner, if you go by the prophecies of and Augathra the Mad."

Branwen shook her head.

"Oh boy."

"So when exactly where you petrified?" Imoen asked.

"By the manner my people reckon time," Branwen said, "it was the fifty-ninth year since the crowning of the first Iron King, but I doubt that means anything beyond the Northeim Isles." Now it was Imoen and Ashura's turn to give blank looks. "When I came to these lands the people I met reckoned time by the coronation of some lord in Waterdeep. I believe they called it the…two-hundred and twenty-ninth year? Something like that."

Imoen snapped her fingers. "Oh! Northreckoning. Ahghairon was coronated in ten third-two D.R. So that was…" She tapped her fingers in the air, doing the math in her head. "Twelve sixty-one D.R. So uh…you were a statue for a hundred and five years. Ouch!"

"I see," Branwen said with a solemn nod. "Well, when I set out from the isle I did not intend to return. Still…knowing there is no one to return to is unsettling."

"Sorry."

"No matter."

"So uh…we probably aught to find you some clothes. Shouldn't be much of a problem, I think there's several tailors around here hawking their wares. There's also a couple of armor venders."

Ashura frowned at Imoen. "Um, we've already spent-" she began but was cut off when the redhead gently placed a bag that clinked with the sound of coins and jewelry into her hand. "Oh, guess we can afford some armor." To Imoen she whispered: "I never even saw you get close to the gnome? How in the world did you..?"

"Told ya before," Imoen teased. "If you didn't see it means I did a good job."

"Perhaps I can assist in the purchasing," Branwen said, walking over to the spot she had occupied for over a century. "I would hate to feel that I owe still more than I already do." Careful to keep the cloak tightly wrapped about her she got on her knees and began to sift through the dirt with her fingers. After a few minutes she pulled something from the ground that gleamed. "Tis just as I had hoped!"

"Buried treasure?" Imoen asked.

"Not exactly. Tis simply that no one thought to dig beneath my feet where my old coinpurse fell. No doubt the coinage is of a different make than what you use here and now but gold is gold, in any age."

Imoen giggled. "Quite true."

After collecting a few coins from the dirt Branwen gave a slight "Ah ha!" and pulled up something else. It was a small, dirt-caked piece of jewelry. Eager swipes of the northerner's fingers knocked the grime away, revealing a thin, circular piece of gold that curved around a greenstone the size and shape of a large pebble.

"Now I just need a string to tie this about my neck," Branwen said happily.

Imoen eyed the amulet. "Oh, is it magical?" she asked.

The northerner shook her head. "Just a reminder of home. Far across the sea." She glanced at the small crowd of onlookers that had gathered around them and the bustling carnival beyond, and added: "And very long ago."

Author's Note: As some may have noticed I changed Branwen's backstory significantly. Ever since I first played Baldur's Gate I really liked the idea the guy selling the scroll suggested that the statue was ancient and mysterious. I was disappointed when I learned that she had been petrified for maybe a week, and by some guy you bump into as part of the main quest. I don't think her being older significantly changes the character: an exiled warpriest searching for battle and waiting for a good day to die.

Also I wanted to leave it up in the air whether or not Elminster actually exists in this story/version of the Realms, so he's appearing in stories and legends instead of dropping in to give cryptic exposition.