Author's Note: The eternal dilemma of the CRPG player: do you follow the seemingly urgent main quest or flitter off to do a bunch of sidequests while the Darkspawn/Reapers/Jon Irenicus/etc. are on the march?

26 – Duty, Obligation and Treasure

"For some reason you almost never hear of a band of adventurers with more than eight members. Is it because the gods have mandated that too many powerful warriors and spellcasters in one place would be dangerous? Or maybe it's the prima donna factor: put too many elite specialists in one place and they simply become incapable of getting along. Nobody knows for sure." – Ribald Barterman, Old Ribald's Guide to Dungeoneering

Once again Ashura found herself in the middle of the inferno, the sprawling bandit camp turning to flame and ash in every direction. This time the hot earth beneath her feet parted and she found herself plunging into the black, searing depths. Somehow she landed on her feet, finding herself in a vast cavern where streams of magma oozed down the distant walls, red as blood. Closer by the floor was smooth and cold, and man-made arches stretched across the chamber, giving it the appearance of a mausoleum.

Beneath each arch rested a statue, detailed and dressed in every style of clothing or armor imaginable. Some were human, others elves or dwarves or orcs, and still others were more exotic and bizarre: a man with a draconic tail and wings, a gnoll, a fire giant…

Several of the statues were broken as well; piles of dust surrounding shattered feet. Ashura's eyes were drawn beyond those to one statue in particular, tall and ominous, with a horned helmet and spikes rising from his baroque armor.

A figure she well recognized. In fact…

Stepping closer she examined the statue's face, looking into its blank and empty eyes. There was something about the figure, about her father's killer, that she had not realized before. He was familiar, and had been all along. She knew this man, it was absolutely certain.

The nose, the ears, the flat features and satisfied smile. Yes, she had definitely seen him somewhere. But where? Who had he been?

Something made her turn around and Ashura let out a gasp. There beneath another arch was an even more familiar sight: her own face. Her statue was clad in chainmail, a short sword in each hand, long hair flowing like a wind-swept banner. And there upon her breast was the symbol again: the leering skull surrounded by swirling droplets. The same symbol her father's killer wore. In fact some form of the sigil marked each and every stone figure.

What did it mean? Was it the sign of some demon prince? Some god?

You know the answer.

Once again Ashura whirled and her heart lurched at a new shock. Another statue stood nearby, just as horrifyingly familiar. Imoen's colorless visage stared back at her, cradling a bow and dressed in fine clothing marked by the haloed skull.

Nimbul told you.

Ashura shook her head. Not you…

Yes me. You, me, him, Nimbul, and countless others. We are all of us children of Death. And one of us will emerge his favored.

The statue seemed to come to life, reaching back and pulling an arrow from its quiver as it made a gravely groan. It knocked the arrow and took aim at Ashura's chest. Her swords appeared in her hands but Ashura made no move, watching as the statue slowly drew the bowstring back. She felt a tug from the weapons. She was supposed to fight. She was supposed to strike the statue down.

But she couldn't. She just couldn't. Not Imoen.

Anyone but Imoen.

Imoen's voice chimed in once more, harmonizing with another, deeper voice that Ashura recognized but could not place. A weakness, they chided her. You wielded fear so well last night. But you too can know terror. Hopelessness. That which was given can be taken away.

The bowstring let out a twang and Ashura awakened with a muffled cry.

Panting and gasping she found herself in a dim, grey space, looking about through bleary eyes. A hand squeezed her shoulder and when Ashura turned she saw Imoen's round face once again. With a gasp she shrank back and Imoen's blue eyes widened with concern. "Shura?" her friend asked. "Shura, what's wrong?"

Shaking her head Ashura took her surroundings in. The interior of a tent, fairly well lit. Imoen's head and arm poked through the flaps, and the bright light behind her showed that it was well into morning if not past noon. "I…" Ashura caught her breath, wincing at the way she'd been cowering from her friend. "It was a bad dream, sorry." She shook her head. "A really bad dream."

Imoen nodded, withdrawing her hand. With a pensive look she slipped back and out of the tent.

And she's still mad at me, Ashura thought with a deep intake of breath, gathering herself and then her equipment as she slid out of the sleeping-roll. Ugh.

It was bright outside, well into midmorning. To the north and east faint wisps of smoke were visible high above the trees, rising from the dying embers of Tazok's camp several miles away. What remained of their battered little group had picked through the devastation a bit that night before retreating back to the spot the Flaming Fists had been using as a staging camp. They could probably return and search the ashes at their leisure now, but Ashura doubted that anyone felt inclined, and they were all wary of encountering any stragglers from the Black Talon forces.

Of Lieutenant Vai's unit only three soldiers remained, their leader gone. Kagain seemed to be dead as well, and all of Safana's men had been lost with Credus' betrayal. Grim as the victory had been Vai's soldiers took some comfort in the prize they had carried away. Taugosz Khosann had been found alive in the ruins, and the three Flaming Fists planned to parade their glowering, naked and heavily bound prisoner up to Baldur's Gate as soon as they reached the Coastway.

Ashura certainly wanted to crawl back to civilization. She had slipped a fair amount of gold and jewelry into a bag when they were looting Tazok's tent, and she figured it could go a long way in Beregost. It had been harrowing but they had made it: free from the bandits, gold and gear back in hand, and they had even accomplished Xan and the Harpers' missions in a roundabout way. Her next mission would be to get back on Imoen's good side.

"Tazok is still out there," Kivan noted, breaking the brief silence they had enjoyed as they stood on the cobblestones of the Coastway, looking north then south. The Flaming Fist soldiers had wasted no time, immediately marching north with their bound and hobbled prisoner between them.

"Yes," Xan agreed grimly. "You mentioned that he was traveling to some sort of mine?"

Garrick nodded. "Along with a shipment of stolen iron, steel and uh…slaves." He frowned a bit at the memory of that.

"And where is this mine?" Xan asked. "It would appear to be the true base of operations for whomever is pulling the strings behind the iron shortage."

Ashura rolled her eyes. "Ugh," she protested. "We all very nearly got killed or enslaved seeking the last 'base of operations' and you're right on to the next?"

"It is my mission," Xan stated simply.

Viconia snorted. "A suicide mission by all appearances."

Xan sighed. "I've thought so too, yes." Still his voice was resigned. "In any case my next step is to find these mines. Where exactly did the Black Talons say they were located?"

Garrick frowned. "They seemed to consider that a big secret, from what I could gather."

Once again Xan let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Surely you have more information than that. You were with these people for half a tenday. With a band of drinking, gambling, bragging thieves, and you didn't hear anything useful?"

"Uh…" Garrick mumbled. "Sorry, guess if I'd know that was my 'mission'…" He used the word derisively, air quotes and all.

Before Xan could sigh a third time Safana interjected. "I know where the mines are."

Xan almost seemed to perk up, or come as close as he could to that state. "You do? Hm. Of course you do."

Safana smirked and nodded.

"And I'm guessing there's a price," Xan added.

There was another sly nod. "I have a 'mission' of my own you see," Safana began. "It's what brought me all the way out to these drab woods. I was hoping the group of men I had put together out here would help me complete the last step, but they all died in that messy battle of yours." She reached into her belt and pulled the scroll case out. "This map-""

Xan waved a hand. "Yes yes. It's a map to whatever it is that you're after and you'll tell us the location of Tazok's mines once we help you find it?"

Safana nodded.

"Well, I suggest you save us the time and simply tell us where the mines are."

Safana's smirk contorted, confusion and frustration crossing her face briefly before being replaced by serenity. "Of course darling," she said with a nod. "The mines are in an ancient dwarven clanhold in the heart of the Cloakwood. The old home of the Orothair dwarves, though I'm not sure exactly where it is in the forest. It was flooded and forgotten, but some Luskan slaver named Davaeorn has reopened the place. He is Tazok's superior." She gave Xan a helpful smile, which evaporated a heartbeat later as the spell wore off. "That was a damn dirty trick," she added as a hand slipped to the knife at her belt.

"Perhaps," Xan admitted. "But I've little time for niceties, especially while Tazok's trail grows cold."

"So I take it I won't be getting your help?" Her head turned towards Ashura and Garrick.

Before Safana could even fix them with a look Ashura spoke up. "I'll help you." After a pause she added: "Find whatever it is on that map. You kept the worst of the bandits off my back and offered us an escape plan. Seems I owe you." Turning to Xan she added: "And that was a damn dirty trick." Bloody charm spells.

Safana nodded. "Thank you."

"I'm happy to help too," Garrick spoke up. His face went sour when Imoen giggled and gave him a good-natured poke.

"Yeah," Imoen piped up, "of course yer gonna follow Shura."

Safana gave the scrollcase that was looped into her belt a tap. "This map shows the spot where Black Alaric stashed his treasure before being captured by the Amnish fleet. It's a hoard far greater than anything Tazok could gather, and I've been seeking it for quite some time."

Imoen's eyebrows rose. "Black Alaric's treasure! Wow."

"You've heard of such?" Safana asked.

"Well, I never read anything 'bout him having a big stash of treasure, but I've read a lot of stories about Black Alaric of the Nelathner Isles." She laughed. "He was always the villain of course. Think there were at least three different stories where he died in wildly different ways."

"He was real enough," Safana insisted, "and over a thousand years ago he left his treasure hidden somewhere on the coast."

Kivan shook his head. "This man buried some trinkets a thousand years ago, but Tazok is out in the Cloakwood right now." He gestured towards the trees to the west. "We hunt him."

Shar-Teel snorted. "Would much rather hunt treasure myself." Her armor clinked as she crossed her arms over her chest for emphasis. She had recently replaced her scavenged leathers with the sturdy sort of scalemail that the Black Talon mercenaries wore, minus the insignia.

"Good thing it's not your decision," Xan stated curtly.

Though Shar-Teel always seemed to be glaring, the look she gave Xan had never been more dangerous. "There's nothing I hate more than my decisions being made by a spindly, arrogant little man," she growled. "The moment this geas lifts I may start making decisions you find very unpleasant. Like deciding to slice you open from balls to throat."

"Hey now," Imoen protested, slipping between them. "Not like he's deciding stuff for everyone. He's not our leader."

Safana smiled. "Well, follow me and I'll lead you to treasure."

"Like I said," Ashura added, "I'll help you."

Garrick nodded beside her.

Xan shook his head. "It's my duty to pursue the iron shortage to its source. I've been very grateful for your help so far, but I understand the call of treasure."

Ashura shook her head. "Don't try to guilt me. She helped me, I'm helping her. We all have our duties and obligations."

"Though in the end you will no doubt oblige yourself to a share of the treasure."

Ashura shrugged.

"My duties in this matter would seem to be at an end," Ajantis observed. "I was tasked with helping quash the banditry here on the Coastway, and it seems we've done just that." He inclined his head towards Xan. "Still, it feels incomplete without dealing with the bandit leader, and there seem to be greater matters afoot if he is involved with the iron shortage. If you are willing I would be pleased to accompany you on your mission, Sir Xanisteirial."

Xan's eyebrows rose slightly. "That would be…quite helpful," he said, sounding a bit shocked to actually have someone readily volunteer. He looked over at Safana. "I suppose we are parting ways then?"

The Calishite woman nodded. "Alaric's treasure is buried many miles to the south, on the coast."

There was a pained expression on Imoen's face as she looked from person to person. "I'd like ta help you Xan…" she stated weakly.

"It's fine," Xan said.

"I mean, it's what Khalid and Jaheira would have wanted. And Gorion too…" She shared a look with Ashura. "Solving this iron problem and seeing things through and all." She giggled and tapped Ashura on the shoulder. "Not ta guilt you or anything. I'm going where you're going from now on. Stickin' to you like glue. That was a scary time, with you missing and all."

Ashura shrugged. "Maybe after we help Safana…"

"Hm," Xan mused to himself. "If you really mean that…"

"I do," Ashura said with a glare.

Xan raised a hand. "No guilt-flinging. It's just that if you truly wish to find me and help with my mission when you can I can facilitate that."

"Huh?"

Reaching into his bag, Xan removed a small object wrapped in soft grey cloth. He unbundled the cloth to reveal a disc of carved marble, much of its surface covered by polished glass. Delicate, flowing script formed a ring around its outer edge. With great care Xan handed the tiny mirror to Imoen. "A minor scrying device," the elf explained. "It belonged to my unfortunate partner, linked to a mirror of my own and capable of sending messages back to our superiors."

Imoen stared at the tiny object with wide eyes. "Oh wow," she mumbled. "I'm honored. Dunno what to say…"

Xan shrugged. "It would be a waste for me to carry both mirrors into the Cloakwood, where they'd likely end up sitting on my moldering corpse. I understand if in the end you don't want to follow us into the monster-filled forest, but now-"

"Of course I will," Imoen said with a smile and a gentle pat on the elf's shoulder. "As soon as this business with Safana is squared away we'll come find you. Maybe even bring help if we can."

With a careful tilt of his head Xan said: "That would be nice if you manage. In any case it appears we are parting ways now."

"Good," Shar-Teel snarled. "Black Alaric's treasure has a nice ring to it, and I can't wait to get away from this whiney little man, but…" A look of shock came over her face as the next words fell out of her mouth. "…I'm afraid I must decline and follow him into the Cloakwood." Her face tightened up. "Torm's flaming blue balls! Are you fucking kidding me? Even after that runt died?"

Xan nodded very carefully at the woman glaring daggers at him. "It appears the geas binds you most specifically to me. We are still a 'group,' it seems."

"And you'd really rather go chasing after this ogre than Black Alaric's damn treasure hoard?" Shar-Teel growled.

"I've no interest in treasure," Xan stated flatly.

"Nor do I," Ajantis added. "My order forbids me from accumulating more wealth than is absolutely necessary for my mission."

A thoughtful look crossed Shar-Teel's face. She turned towards Kivan. "You. Wild elf. Do you care about treasure?"

"I only seek Tazok," Kivan stated simply.

"Got that impression," Shar-Teel said. "Ha! Well, if I can take any loot I can carry then maybe this little foray to the Cloakwood mines'll be worth it."

Imoen giggled. "You're gonna follow this group of men around?"

Shar-Teel gave her a wolfish grin. "Maybe this way I'll get to see one of these scum die a horrible, horrible death." When Xan gave her a suspicious look she raised her empty hands. "Which I will in no way be responsible for. Just a happy observer."

"Indeed," Xan muttered, turning from the rest. "We'd better get underway if we are to track down the bandit king." Over his shoulder he added: "Good luck with your uhm…treasure hunt."

"Yeah," Shar-Teel said, sauntering up beside Xan and giving him a slap on the bottom that made the slender elf tense and jump "Let's get to it, partner." Ajantis and Kivan filed in behind them and after a few waves they began to head north, in search of a good spot to enter the Cloakwood.

The rest turned south and began to follow the Coastway road. "You coming with us?" Ashura asked the drow woman, who had been silently following along. Viconia was fully wrapped up in her hooded cloak now, and had added a plain black bandana that covered the lower half of her face.

"If none object," Viconia replied.

"Fine by me," Ashura said with a shrug. "Your choice."

There was a smile in Viconia's muffled voice beside her. "I'm most pleased to travel with you at the moment, since we are putting distance between us and those three males who seemed apt to kill me." She glanced back. "I'll miss the big rowdy woman though. She was most amusing."

"Never thought I'd see so many monsters on one highway journey," Safana complained as they trudged towards the welcoming lights and chimney-smoke of Beregost.

"It was an exciting trip, to say the least," Garrick agreed. Over the past four days traveling south along the Coastway the little band of travelers had been attacked five times: first by a swarm of gibberlings that sprung from the darkness while they were making camp, then by a pack of direwolves that seemed intent on hunting them down. Later the next day an enraged bear crossed their path, and an ambush by the blue-skinned, big-headed goblins that were common in the area followed (Garrick claimed they were called xvarts.)

The strangest encounter of all occurred just north of Beregost, where they were attacked by a berserk ogre wearing a comically large number of assorted belts and girdles over its fur loincloth. Once they had brought the creature down with a combination of arrows, crossbow bolts and slashes the ogre's body had wavered and changed; hips widening, waist narrowing slightly, and breasts sprouting from its muscular chest.

"So the ogre was actually an uh…ogress?" Imoen had gasped as they watched. Still, she was the first to recover from the shock and start pulling the valuable looking belts from the corpse (some were incrusted with jewels.) "Well, at least he didn't morph into a handsome prince after we killed him," she had commented as she worked. "That would've been embarrassing."

As they trudged down familiar streets of Beregost Ashura turned to Safana. "It's unusual, I take it? So many monsters prowling the road?"

"Heavens yes," the older woman responded. "We seemed to attract them like a lodestone."

"Yeah," Imoen agreed. "It's been like that since Shura and I left Candlekeep, and I've been thinking it's not normal. I figure one of us might be cursed or something. Or maybe we both are." She said it half-joking, but Safana gave the pair a serious look, like she was rethinking her choice of companions.

Bloody ingrate, Ashura thought to herself. Not like they hadn't killed all the creatures handily enough. They were getting rather good at that, and the drow woman Imoen had befriended certainly helped. Much like Xan she seemed to choose spells that hindered the enemy: calling upon her goddess to bring down clouds of darkness, waves of paralysis, summoned creatures or crippling curses. She wasn't bad with her throwing-ring either.

It was late into dusk as they made their way down the wide streets of Beregost, the smells of a dozen cookfires prickling their noses. The familiar sound of jaunty fife-and-drum music greeted them as they neared the Jovial Juggler, and when they pushed past the wooden door and into the smoky common room they found a dance in full swing. The crowd of young people were tapping their feet away upon the nicked hardwood, hand-in-hand. Last time Ashura had been in town she had learned that the dance was called the wereshark (something about the joined hands turning like a fin and swishing about, she guessed,) and it seemed to still be popular.

Passing the dancers, the weary group made their way to the bar and set about negotiating with the innkeep, settling in the end on two spacious and adjacent rooms. As Ashura climbed the stairs, keys in hand, she found Imoen beside her. Silently they entered the first room together, setting their packs down by a pinewood dresser.

"The rooms here only have one bed each," Imoen noted, pointing at the wide feathered bed in the corner. The bedroom was spacious and well-carpeted, with a porcelain tub in one corner half-hidden behind red silk drapes.

"We can make Garrick sleep on the floor," Ashura said with a shrug.

"Or you two can share one of the rooms," Imoen teased. "We can call it the honeymoon suite…"

"Ims," Ashura sighed. "Please. It was just a fling."

Imoen shook her head doubtfully. "Well, whether it was or not I'm still getting my revenge," Imoen said in the same teasing tone, lightly tapping her friend on the arm. "So you might as well have some fun eh? Honeymoon suite's still yours if you want it."

Ashura sighed again. "I thought you might be dead. I thought we were stuck in that camp for the rest of our short lives. I just-"

"I understand. If I were in the same situation I'd've maybe sought some comfort the same way. And I'm not hung up on the stupid boy." She dismissively waved her hand. "Just a little miffed still that you made a promise and…"

"Sorry."

"You should have known I was coming to rescue you. Remember that next time." She gripped Ashura's arm. "Even if I am dead and you're on the other side of Faerun, I'll find some way to you."

Ashura gave her friend a slow nod.

"Just such a shame you had to go and ruin poor, innocent, virginal Garrick."

"Don't think he was a virgin."

Imoen raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Now you just havvve to give me details."

Ashura frowned. "Are you sure-"

"Have to!"

Another shrug. "Well alright. He never said it outright but I'm pretty sure him and Silke…"

"Oh! I should have known."

"I think she taught him some tricks."

"Probably housetrained him too. Ha! From 'Mistress Silke' to 'Mistress Ashura.' Tricks huh?"

"Well…"

A little while later the two friends descended the stairs, both laughing away. "Just promise me you won't pointedly call him 'little Garrick' alright?"

"In that fancy Silke Rosena voice?" Imoen asked.

"Seems like something you would do."

"Well, I promise I won't! Confidential information and all."

They found that the rest of their little group had settled in to the common room. Viconia and Garrick sat at a table in the coziest corner available, the dark elf keeping her mask and hood tight about herself with her back to the wall while the young man enthusiastically dug at a plate of steaming mutton and boiled potatoes.

Safana was at the bar, perched on a stool and leaning casually against the wood with her legs crossed. Ashura's eyes widened when she noticed the elven man on the stool next to the Calishite woman. He had his back turned, but the slim figure, long auburn hair and casual slouch was familiar, not to mention the purple dye in his woolen shirt. Imoen recognized him too, and the pair took a direct path to the bar.

As they drew near Ashura could hear the swaggering cadence in the elven man's voice, and knew for sure who it was. A small world, but then again if the elf were in Beregost what other tavern would he go to?

"A treasure hunt you say?" Coran asked, tracing a finger round and round the lip of a wine-cup. "Nothing would delight me more than seeking out some pirate booty. Why, I'd go after it this very eve if possible."

"Har har," Safana retorted, taking on the mock-tones of a stereotypical pirate before switching to her more sultry voice. "Now there's a pun I've simply never heard before."

"A pun? Why m'lady, whatever are you suggesting?"

Ugh. How bloody predictable. Stepping right up behind the elf Ashura gave him a firm tap on the back. When he turned his usual self-satisfied smirk was there on his lips, but it instantly evaporated as his almond eyes widened.

"Nina!" Coran shouted, leaping off the stool and pressing his hands to Ashura's shoulders. "You're alive!" It was good to see the swagger melt for the moment, some honest emotion crossing the elf's face.