16 – Caravan

"Oh, it was just the usual stuff. Hours of crushing boredom punctuated by brief moments of pants-shitting terror. And lots of card games." -Olway Lezard, on the Battle of Thurgabanteth

The groan of wagon wheels, the braying of oxen and the snap of the whips became a constant and comforting song along the road. Of course all too often the snap of bowstrings, the clash of steel and the roar of battle cries would rise up to accompany them. On the very first afternoon of their journey they were attacked by a band of hobgoblins, and from there bandit ambushes became a regular occurrence.

Fortunately the elven scouts proved their worth. Always riding ahead of the column and slipping silently into the woods at regular intervals, the pair managed to sniff out every ambush beforehand and report back to the captain. Instead of a surprised target the raiders found themselves on the wrong side of a well-planned and lopsided battle over and over again.

During the first attack Garrick also showed that he wasn't entirely worthless: he was a skilled marksman with that light crossbow of his, and along with Xan and another archer with a talent for weaving magic into song he helped keep the animals calm when the hobgoblins were charging. Beyond that the lad also knew a smattering of useful spells, including one that briefly paralyzed enemies with laughter and a few minor healing songs.

Unlike some of the other teamsters who hid behind the wagons when the raiders charged, the 'sisters' showed that they were no slouches either. The plump one kept a small crossbow handy and was an adequate shot with it, and once when a hobgoblin got too close to the oxen the scrawny sister beat him to death with an oaken cudgel.

That first day they managed to repel two attacks and take no casualties before finding a spot on the mountain road the captain deemed suitable to hitch the animals and make camp. Between the scouts, the spell-slingers and careful and deliberate planning all seemed to be going well.

"For half a month," Eddard announced from the back of his carriage as the company parked their wagons and worked at the ox harnesses, "unpoisoned iron has been flowing from the Nashkel mine. A few have tried to move the raw stuff up the Tradeway and so far all have failed. But we shall be the first! I know this. We have the manpower, we have the magic, and we have the organization. This iron," he gestured towards the low-sitting wagons, "shall be the first to cross the River Chionthar, enter Baldur's Gate, and bring us all fame and fortune!"

There were some cheers and claps, generally from the drovers and somewhat muted. Nevertheless Eddard beamed like he was a grand duke overlooking a city square. Ashura couldn't help but think that neither of their commanders would meet the approval of the Tome of Leadership and Influence. The lording tried to act the part, but he was obviously a coward, hiding in his fortified carriage behind paneled windows when they approached each ambush site. Kagain, on the other hand, was ready and eager to swing his axe and take command in battle, but there was something stone-cold about the way he ordered the guards around, and he never let an unnecessary word of encouragement slip from his mouth. It seemed like the captain saw the guards more like pieces upon a game board than people.

When the lordling's little speech was over and he had retreated into his carriage with an arm around his girl it was time to get familiar with the routines of a fortified caravan camp. Captain Kagain patiently led the greenhorns through much of it, and this time Ashura was as clumsy and unsure as Imoen and Garrick. She knew her way around military drills and forming up and fighting, but digging latrine ditches and setting up barriers for the pickets was all new.

Once everything was dug out and the tents were pitched the mercenaries who weren't assigned to the first watch queued up for eveningfeast. They passed a large cooking pot and were each ladled out a grey-brown stew. Ashura expected tasteless gruel but the stuff was actually pretty good: thick with potatoes, well spiced, and the tender beef tasted vaguely of red wine. My compliments to the chef.

She sat down with Imoen and Garrick and surveyed their motley little crew while she munched. The elven scouts were nearby, one of them trying to make small talk with the other and being completely ignored. They were an odd pair, even more mismatched than Ashura's drovers, and unlike the sisters these two didn't seem to get along.

Both scouts were copper elves, but where one was short, weather-worn and jolly, the other was tall, handsome and downright hateful. The shorter elf had auburn hair, tied back over his head by some sort of band and cut in an odd, asymmetrical pattern. There was a permanent smirk on his face along with an odd green tattoo around his eyes that vaguely resembled a bandit's mask. For one of the fair folk he looked a bit wrinkled and aged, though Ashura was not certain if it was from time or lots of laughter and drink. The elf had a certain charm to him though; his complete lack of a care seemed to infect those around him, and Ashura had seen several of the women guards giggle while talking with him. Of course she'd also seen at least one of them slap the elf.

His partner was completely immune to that charm as well. The second wood elf seemed to have dark hair, though it was hard to tell since so far he kept the hood of his cloak over his head. Glimpses of a black widow's peak came here and there as he moved, over a forehead that was covered in green tattooed streaks. There were similar tattoos on the elf's chin; obviously some sort of tribal symbol. He glared down into his bowl of stew as his partner eventually gave up on trying to make the other talk or laugh, and instead slid over a few feet to chat with a nearby female guard.

Ashura had finished her bowl of stew and was rising to place it in with the other dirty dishes on the provision-wagon when the laughing elf and the guardswoman stood up as well. They turned and quietly made their way towards the woods, the elf's arm draped over the woman's shoulder all the while.

The next day they formed up and continued down the mountain road. It had been a long journey from Beregost to Nashkel the first two times, but with the caravan it was even slower. Between the heavy carts lumbering along the Tradeway and the long period it took them to set up or break camp they covered perhaps half the distance each day that a lone hiker could. Imoen guessed it would be a seven day journey just between the towns, provided all went well.

They were slowed down further by the day's ambush, served up this time by a small pack of ogrillons led by a full ogre. They were simply waiting at a bend in the road, easily spotted by the scouts, and between a preemptive spell of confusion from Xan and a blast of fire from the other mage the big creatures became easy targets.

That night by the firepit Ashura watched the red-haired elf slip off into the woods with the chubby drover-sister (who Ashura had recently learned was named Chera.) She turned to make a comment to Imoen but the girl didn't seem to notice. She was curled up rather close to Garrick, listening to him play the harp and whispering something to the boy under a cupped hand. Great. What is this, a Greengrass festival?

On the third night, after yet another ambush (this time another small band of hobgoblins,) it was Ashura and Imoen's turn to be approached by the smiling elf. He nimbly slid onto the grass between them as they ate their eveningfeast, turned to Imoen and asked: "What's this I see before me? Why, it appears to be a vision of Sune herself, fiery hair, apple cheeks and peerless beauty."

Nearby Garrick had been leaning against a stump and strumming his harp. He frowned and struck a sour note.

"I dunno," Imoen replied without looking up from her stew. "I'm pretty sure Sune has brighter hair. And bigger boobs. Doubt I can compare."

"Indeed," the elf said, unperturbed. "Lady Firehair can't compare to a beauty such as thine."

"Oh," Imoen jokingly cooed. "Now there's a clever twist." She turned towards Garrick. "Can you top that?" she teased.

Garrick thoughtfully plucked at the harp strings. He hummed for a moment then softly began to sing.

"Some may compare her,

To Lady Sune herself

The superficial observations

Of a vain and flighty elf,

But he missed the brilliant twinkle

In her ever-shining eyes,

As he plies her with the usual

Shallow bedroom lies

But the lady sees right through him

For you see, in the end

Lady Sune's not half as clever

As Lady Imoen."

The elf laughed and pressed his hand against his chest, pantomiming an injury. "Such a sharp tongue with that harp in your hand. I'm impressed lad," he said with a grin.

Imoen gave an approving clap and Garrick went back to thoughtfully strumming. "Hmm," he said. "It's a little rough still."

Rising to her feet Imoen danced over to the bard's side and plopped down next to him. "Well, maybe I can give you some ideas," she said. Turning briefly to the elf she added: "Seems I have a bard composing an ode to my beauty and brilliance. Don't think you can top that." From there she went to whispering in Garrick's ear.

The elf raised his hands in surrender. "I will not make the attempt." Turning his attention to Ashura he said: "Alas, it seems I've been used like a pawn."

"You'll find no apple-cheeks here," Ashura muttered at the elf, not looking up from her bowl of porridge.

"No," the elf agreed, "for yours is a sharp, angular sort of beauty. I'd be closer comparing thine to that of Hanali Celanil rather than Lady Firehair. Where your friend has a pleasant round softness your features are solid, as if chiseled from stone. Not to mention that you're…cheeks seem much more firm and compact than hers."

Ashura looked up from her meal and raised an eyebrow. "Straight from flighty talk of beauteous goddesses to complementing me on my butt? Really?"

"You struck me as one who prefers the direct approach," the elf said with a wry grin.

"I should strike you right now," Ashura replied, but instead she took another spoonful of eveningfeast. It was blander fare than the meal the previous night: wheat porridge sweetened slightly by sliced apples and some sort of syrup.

"Well, you haven't yet," the elf teased, "so I'll consider that a small victory."

Looking up at him she reached out, gently, and pointed at the elf's almond-shaped eyes. "What's the deal with that tattoo of yours?" she asked by way of changing the subject. "You're a wood elf. Is it some tribal thing?"

"Why it's a mask of course."

"Why a mask?"

The elf's mischievous smile deepened. "Because I'm a thief," he explained.

Ashura gave him an incredulous look. "Of women's hearts and maiden's virtue?" she asked sarcastically.

"Well, that of course," the elf purred, "but also of jewels. All throughout the wealthier corners of Baldur's Gate. As a youth I had a talent for climbing any tree in the forest of Tethyr, and when I came to the city I found that third-story windows are just as easy to climb to. It was a grand adventure while it lasted: lifting jewelry from those stuck-up nobles and enjoying wine, women and song with my well-deserved gains. I became so accustomed to wearing a mask that one night I had one tattooed on. That's before old Ravenscar found out about me and they ran me out of town."

"Ravenscar?" Ashura asked.

"The head of the local thieves' guild," the elf explained.

"Guess I have to watch my coinpurse around you," Ashura noted.

"Seldarine no!" the elf protested. "I only robbed from the rich. And gave to the poor. Well, poor barmaids and inkeeps that is." After a time he tapped the green ink around his eyes and added: "This is far from my only tattoo you know. I'd be happy to show you the others."

"Another time. Perhaps."

Later that night as they were laying out their bedrolls by the wagon, Chera sauntered over to Ashura and gave her a friendly tap on the arm. "Saw you talking with Coran," she said with a randy smile on her freckled face. "He's worth a go, if yer so inclined. For a spindly little elf he packs a lot in those britches of his."

Ashura made a face, not entirely sure how to respond.

"Just be warned: don't expect much from him afterwards. Elf's got a lot more conquer than cuddle in him. I'm sure you know the type." She spat.

"He told me he has a 'lot' more tattoos than the ones around his eyes," Ashura prodded, a bit curious.

The other woman brightened. "Aye. Flowers in all sorts of colors on vines about his navel, elven writing on his legs, some dancing maidens drawn on his back. And a very intricate portrait Hanali Celanil just above his…" she pointed in the direction of her groin.

Despite herself Ashura's eyes widened. "Oh my."

"Yeah, I think that's the reaction he was going for with the tattoo. He had some line about how Hanali had 'blessed' him many times, so he felt he needed to pay tribute to her. I suspect it's just an excuse to show the area off." She chuckled, and then made her way to the wagon and her bedding on the top.

Not knowing what to think Ashura laid out on her own bedroll and started up at the stars for a time. Coran. So that's his name. She hadn't bothered asking. Much to her consternation when she finally did sleep her dreams were filled with brightly smiling elven eyes and strange tattoos.

With the ponderous clacking of hooves and the creaking of the wagons the caravan made its way down the last stretch of the mountain road. Ideally they would make it to Beregost early the next day and finish the first leg of the journey. Of course when did things ever go as planned?

It was early afternoon when word went down the line that an ambush was ahead. The biggest one yet, according to the scouts. A mixed group of hobgoblins and humans about forty strong, with teams of archers positioned on a ridge that would be in sight when the road wound around a tall forested hill. There was also a second team of brigands lurking in the woods, armed mostly with spears and swords and waiting on the low ground. Doubtless the plan was to pepper the caravan with arrows from the ridge while the warriors swept up and took them from the other side.

Guards and drovers alike chattered in low voices, and soon the decision was made: they would continue forward and walk warily into the ambush, ready to maneuver as soon as they cleared the bend in the road. Lovely. The column and time itself seemed to slow to a crawl as they approached and passed the hill that the scouts had warned them of. Garrick had begun humming and then singing a melodic, wordless song, but it did nothing to ease the tension. A few notes in Ashura recognized the cadence and melody; some sheparding song used to sooth beasts of burden.

A few carts ahead Imoen nervously muttered something and received a hearty slap on the back from Branwen for it. With a jolly laugh the Northlander announced: "'Tis a fine day to die."

Clear of the bend, with all their eyes on the ridge above, they watched and waited for the hidden bows to appear. It was a great relief when the captain finally raised his axe and shouted: "Halt! Take cover!" The order came just in time as well. The swish of arrows filled the air as every guard and teamster on the west side of the caravan dove and scrambled to get behind their wagons.

Crouching with her back against the side of the cart Ashura heard and felt the arrows strike the wood with a thunk-thunk-thunk. There was an ugly gasp from another cart as a guard who had not ducked low enough went down, one arrow through her neck and another in her shoulder.

In the nearby woods branches snapped and crunched and voices both human and not roared, announcing the approach of the charging bandits. Backs braced against their carts, the caravaners readied their weapons to meet them. The raiders leapt into full view a breath later, hopping over the lip of an overgrown ditch and bristling with spears and shields and swords. Almost all were hobgoblins, their orange skin covered in mismatched armored plates over leathers. Every shield up and down the row of warriors was identical though: hide stretched over wood and painted with the upturned fist on a white nimbus of the Chill band.

Ashura took all this in just before a crackling ball of flame streaked by from somewhere behind her and met one of the hobgoblin shields with a woosh and an explosion. The blast and furnace-heat forced her to turn her head and cover her eyes. With the wave of searing air came the foul smell of burning hair and leather, and the enemy line faltered and fell apart. Charred bodies were knocked flat to the ground and living bandits hopped back or ran, patting flames out if they weren't completely on fire.

As some of the heartier raiders shouted "Regroup!" a second spell flew by into their midst. It took the form of a quick ripple through the air; a heatwave that came and went in a flicker and left fainting bodies in its wake, all but two of the raiders collapsing in a heap. From there the battle turned into a slaughter as Kagain gave the order and they rushed forward, finishing off unconscious and burning bandits.

Bending down a bit Ashura drove both swords through the nearest sleeping hobgoblin's back. Stomping and yanking brought her up and searching for the next kill. She was startled from the search when there was a sharp crackle nearby. As she cringed away she saw a streak of white lightning leap up and strike the nearby ridge. Tracking the source after blinking away streaks of light she realized the blast had come from Imoen. The wand she lifted from Silke. It had gone to good use during several of these little ambushes. The girl also carried Nimbul's old fire wand, but it was nearly out of magic.

Turning back to the charred ground and fallen bodies nearby she saw that Garrick was walking about, trying to do the same job as the rest of them. He took aim at an unconscious hobgoblin with his crossbow, looking away as the bolt struck the creature's head. The boy had a rapier at his belt but Ashura had never seen him use it, even now. His face was pale and maybe even a little green.

"Not the most romantic aspect of 'adventuring' eh?" Ashura asked her partner as she knelt down, yanked the hair of a sleeping man back and opened his throat.

In response Garrick muttered something, turned his head away from her and promptly vomited up his highsunfeast.

Ashura bit back a laugh. Not the lad's fault he wasn't used to the sounds and smells of death just yet, especially the smell of burning flesh with its reminder of what all meat really is. For a brief moment she wondered why she wasn't more bothered by the scene herself.

Once they had made sure all the attackers from the low ground were dead and no arrows rained from the ridge the caravan guards took stock. In addition to the slain guard one of the drovers (a somewhat elderly man who's name Ashura had not caught,) had also been taken down by an arrow. Their treatment was not terribly reverential. The captain ordered their bodies stripped of everything of value and dumped in the nearby ditch. Supposedly their belongings and hazard pay would be passed on to the next of kin they had written down when they signed their contracts, but the look Kagain gave some of the female guard's jewelry put some doubts in Ashura's mind.

It seemed if any of them took a stray arrow they would be unceremoniously dumped on the side of the road, minus armor, jewelry, pouches and boots. That definitely didn't seem like something the Tome of Leadership and Influence would advise to keep up moral.

Before the carts began rolling Branwen did manage to give the dead a brief blessing, bowing her head and intoning: "A battle-death is a holy ending."

In addition to the fallen they had lost a couple of oxen to the first large volley of arrows. On the upside, that night as they camped within sight of the outlying farms of Beregost they enjoyed a feast of fresh beef.

"Luck be a lady," Coran sang out happily as he palmed the pile of copper coins and swept it close.

"Well yeah," Imoen replied, sounding a bit confused. "Her name's Tymora."

Coran raised a finger and started to speak, then bit his words back, thinking for a moment. "Well…hrm." Eventually the jaunty smirk returned to his face. "I was more philosophizing about the nature of fortune and the nature of ladies…but yes, you're right." Wild copper hair sailed about as he shook his head. "But must you be so literal?"

"Yup. I must," Imoen said with a giggle. They were using a weathered stump as a card table, and up until that point Imoen had been cleaning the rest of the players out. There was still a fairly tall pile of petty coins in front of her, but Coran was beginning to catch up. Garrick and Ashura were no match for either of them. The young actor had shown off an impressive repertoire of card tricks earlier, but winning at Archers wasn't one.

The second elven scout sat nearby, quietly inspecting his arrows and fletching a few new ones. He had at least relaxed enough to remove his hooded cloak when he was around the rest of the guards, but despite Coran's constant pestering he still wouldn't join them in anything else.

Bracing her hands on the stump Ashura rose to her feet.

"Nina?" Coran asked. "You're leaving already?"

Ashura shrugged. "I'm out of coins."

"Aww. Stay. Stay." He patted her hand, tugging lightly, and she found herself plopping back onto the grass. "You know," Coran went on with a wicked grin, "there are other ways to wager. More interesting ways."

Ashura and Imoen both rolled their eyes in unison. "For the last time Coran," Imoen said, "we're not playing Strip-Archers."

"I'll find some way to get you out of your clothes," he replied, unperturbed.

"Heh, doubt you'd really like that," Imoen shot back. "We've been in these clothes for most of a tenday now, getting covered in sweat and road dust, and blood in Nina's case. Ya might like what you see but not what you smell. Hells, I bet I could clear you all out just by taking off ma boots."

Coran wrinkled his nose and made it wiggle a little, though the playful look never left his eyes. "Well," he said dramatically, "if the clothes must stay on perhaps Kivan would be so kind as to join us and add a fresh infusion of coppers." He gestured towards the other elven scout.

Kivan continued glowering at the arrow in his hands and didn't say a word.

"I wager you'd be fantastic at Elemental Empires," Coran went on, "what with that permanent scowl on your face. It's perfect for bluffing."

"Some of us don't consider this a pleasure outing," Kivan finally replied.

"I don't know. You seem to take a special pleasure in filling bandits with those arrows of yours." He turned slightly and as an aside to Ashura he said: "He worries me sometimes. We're supposed to just scout the bandits out but whenever there's an opportunity he silently picks a lookout off."

"I'm careful," Kivan retorted. "Better to silently take out a scout than be spotted. And we haven't been spotted yet."

"True, true," Coran accepted. "You just give me an impression it's something personal. There's a story there, and I'll whittle it out of you some day."

Looking up from his arrow Kivan shrugged. "Instead of whittling you could just ask."

Imoen chuckled. "Alright then," she interjected. "What's your story Kivan? You're here to kill bandits?"

The elf nodded. "I owe Tazok -the bandit king- a great debt of pain, and by the Night Hunter I will make him pay it."

There was a sour look on Coran's face now. "Perhaps I shouldn't have asked," he said. "I get the impression yours is the sort of story that would lower the temperature a bit, and it's such a nice, warm night."

"Well I wanna hear," Imoen whined.

"There's not much to tell." Kivan shrugged, eyes focused on the tip of the arrowhead between his fingers. "Near a year back the ogre and his band waylaid my betrothed and I. They took her from me…very slowly." That seemed to be all he intended to say on the matter. Ashura had a thousand questions bubbling up about Tazok: the weapon he favored, his strengths and possible weaknesses, but she held her tongue. It was something in itself to learn that the creature Xan had them chasing after was a dangerous sadist. Lovely.

Later as Ashura made her way towards her wagon Coran stood and offered to 'walk her' there. She shrugged at that and let the elf stroll with her. "Trying to follow me into my bedroll?" she asked.

He playfully waved his hands. "Heavens no! I'm simply being gentlemanly." After a pause he added: "Of course if that's an offer…"

She shook her head and laughed. "There's always Chera's bedroll," she pointed out.

"I don't think you understand me," Coran said. "You see, I'm ever on a search for perfect beauty. No woman is perfect (though you come quite close,) but womankind experienced as a…whole gives me more and more of a clear look at that perfection."

Ashura chuckled. "Wow. That's the most transparent excuse to be a horny little lecher I've ever heard."

Coran was unphased. "Or," he said, "to put it another way there is great beauty in variety. Chera's inviting eyes and swinging hips had their own beauty, but so does your relentless feisty rejection. A beautiful challenge, one might say."

Ashura rolled her eyes. "How about you go challenge yourself?" she asked with a laugh and a light tap to the elf's shoulder.

He shook his head, ever smiling. "Someday I'll find a way through that armor of yours Nina."

"Doubt it. I've got no desire to raise a permanently smirking little half-elf."

"Ah. Now if that's your worry," Coran said as he opened a pouch at his belt, revealing a few pinches of some sort of green powder, "I can perhaps relieve your fears."

Raising an eyebrow Ashura peered into the bag. "That's um…dried cassil right? 'The Dalliance Shrub.' Expensive stuff. You really do see this as a pleasure trip don't you?"

"Life is a pleasure trip. An adventure."

"Maybe. For tonight how about you go adventure on your own."

"For tonight." He grinned at that little perceived victory and sauntered off.

Ugh.

The stopover in Beregost was very brief. Just enough time to restock a bit and drop off a few crates of iron at Thunderhammer's and a store that Kagain owned and then they were off along the north road.

By now Ashura had grown accustomed to the life and routines of a caravan guard. There was a surprising amount of boredom and downtime that they filled with games of cards, dice, knife tossing, and gossip. She soon learned that soldiers were as bad as a knitting circle when it came to that. All that boredom was spiced with moments of surging adrenaline and sheer terror when they repelled the near-daily ambush.

Thankfully none of the attacks were as large as the one before Beregost, but they did lose two more guards over the next few days. The first casualty was an archer with a big bushy yellow beard who took an unlucky arrow to the forehead. The second death was a bit more gruesome. A scrawny youth who looked just out of his teens was overwhelmed on guard duty one night by a feral pack of gibberlings. It was Ashura's first glimpse of the creatures: small furry beasts that stood hunched and upright and attacked in horrifyingly large packs. By the time the rest of the guards had gotten the gibberlings off the lad his body was virtually torn apart, and Branwen's healing magic did little good.

The danger and constant proximity instilled a deep sense of companionship in the guards and teamsters both. Even Kivan joined in on some of their games, and he developed a friendly rivalry with Coran when it came to knife-throwing. Through all of this Eddard was virtually invisible, always retreating into his carriage when there was violence and appearing later to make decisions. He did join them occasionally during meals, along with his lady, and he showed off a fine, deep singing voice when Garrick played familiar songs.

The flipside of constant companionship was having absolutely no privacy or sense of independence. The captain made it very clear that for the duration of their mission they were all attached at the hip, especially the partnered pairs and wagon-mates. Every morning when Ashura relieved herself on the women's side of the latrine ditch there were others there beside her, and the skinny sister packed a surprisingly loud snore that woke her up a few nights. She had thought life in the dormitories of Candlekeep had inured her to such things, but at least back then there were privacy screens in the privy room and walls you could put between yourself and someone who had gotten annoying. She had never realized how much her time alone practicing swordplay on the battlements had meant until then.

Everyone's bad habits began to grate on her. The chubby sister's raunchy jokes, the skinny sister's snoring, Garrick's constant need to perform (the things she wanted to do with those damn juggling balls!); it all got under her skin, bit by bit. At least with Garrick she found an amicable solution: she offered to train him in swordplay. An excuse to raise some bruises on the boy really, but the training built a bond as well. It was hard to despise the lad when she was offering him a helping hand out of the dirt. He even impressed her once or twice and she collected a few bruises of her own.

She also wanted to hate Coran's constant flirting, but the elf was just self-effacing and silly enough to make her laugh it off. Of course despite his attitude she just couldn't see anything romantic about their journey. As Imoen had pointed out they all stank, and each day of marching under the blistering summer sun and gathering extra layers of sweat, blood and dust did little to improve the smell.

It came as some relief when the walls and flag of the Friendly Arm Inn finally rose into view. It came as even more of a relief when the captain announced that they would be allowed to use the baths and laundry services of the inn.

Provided they paid their own way of course. Damn that dwarf was stingy.

Author's Note: A little Realmslore: Cassil is an herbal form of birth control used by men, and Archers and Elemental Empires are card games.

Also Coran's incredibly silly line about searching for 'perfect beauty' and finding a piece of it in every woman is something I paraphrased from the Baldur's Gate NPC Project mod. And Coran himself got introduced a little earlier than usual because I thought partnering him with Kivan would be fun.