Author's Note: Not to spoil too much, but there's some magical gender-bending ahead.
31 – Imoen's Revenge
"And it was after that wild night of experimenting with alteration spells that I vowed to never drink again." –Jermien Velgont, Transmutations Great and Small
Giant spiders. Why did it always have to be giant spiders?
Xan shuddered and looked away from the upturned, twitching legs of the dying creatures. Eight legs each, twenty-four in all, and each one curled and hairy and far too long. Yuck!
Unfortunately no matter where he turned his eyes fell upon thick gobs of webbing that ran between the branches and the sacks of desiccated remains that hung from them. In the end he looked down at his moonblade, trying very hard not to imagine what sorts of bones filled those web sacks.
"Ha!" Shar-Teel shouted, in one of those hearty growl-laughs of hers. At the same time she rammed the end of her sword down into the thorax of a convulsing, upside-down spider, heedless to the thrashing and the small geyser of green-black ichor. "You look like you're going to be sick."
Glowering down at his blade, Xan simply mumbled: "I just do not know why it always has be giant spiders. Why not giant bees? Or scorpions? I'd even be happy with giant snakes."
Shar-Teel shrugged. "Because the giant spiders ate all of those things long ago?" she suggested. "Quit your sniveling. There are worse things out there."
Swallowing hard, Xan turned his back on her. He didn't want to imagine what could be worse than giant spiders.
With a shuffle of sharp, chitinous legs and a sudden waver in the air the answer appeared before him, as if conjured up by his fear.
What's worse than a giant spider? A giant spider that appears and pounces on top of you through a warp in space like it's leaping from a funnel-web to catch a fly, of course.
With a high-pitched yelp Xan leapt backwards, the moonblade flying up almost of its own accord between himself and the parting mandibles and slathered fangs of the creature. A jolt ran through his arm from the impact and his entire vision was filled with flailing legs and way, way too many eyes. Pinching his eyes shut, Xan turned and tried to shield his face with his free hand, the fabric of his robe tearing as the sharp tips of the spider's legs lashed at him.
Another jolt to his arm and the weight was ripped away. He backed a step before tumbling onto his backside and scrambled through the grass, his sword still raised protectively and dripping with ichor. Tensing, he kept his sleeve over his face for a few moments as his heart drummed furiously in his ears, but a high-pitched, inhuman squeal drew his attention and he dared a look.
The teleporting spider had been about the size of a large wolf, but it was curled up now, legs twitching as Shar-Teel bore down on it from the side, leaning against her longsword. She turned towards Xan and gave him a toothy smile. "You surprise me, elf," she snarled, yanking her sword free. "Nice reflexes. I thought that fancy blade of yours was just for show."
Catching his breath, Xan gave his sword a long, incredulous look before righting himself. Had she saved him? No, from the look of the blade and the wound between the spider's many eyes it seemed he had actually delivered a mortal blow to the creature himself, and then Shar-Teel had stepped in to finish it off. "Well, I prefer spells," he managed, "but I am sufficiently trained to wield a blade."
Shar-Teel rolled her eyes and turned away. "More like you just got lucky and the spider landed on your sword. I've no patience for men who are afraid to get their blades wet." She walked towards Ajantis and Kivan, who stood back to back, carefully watching the trees and the great webs between them. "But maybe you'll prove you can actually wield that pretty thing of yours. We'll see."
Blanching, Xan frantically wiped his sword on the nearest convenient web sack. Had that been…innuendo? Alright, now he was really going to be sick.
Somehow he managed to hold the bile down as he gingerly dodged spider corpses and filed in at the back of the group. The terrain deep in the Cloakwood was just as rough as they had been told: all jagged gorges and steep hills packed tightly with hearty trees that clung to the rocks or hung above the ever-present streams. There were hardly any real paths and never a level surface to be found.
They spent the afternoon struggling with the hills and rocks as they tried to climb their way north and west towards what they guessed was the heart of the forest, but thankfully the spider webs thinned out quickly and the next few hours were free from the chittering legs. "Maybe this is the territory of the giant snakes," Shar-Teel suggested at one point with a wolfish grin.
In the end they reached the bank of a great river as the sunlight began to fade, nothing encountered more dangerous than mosquitos. They searched briefly for a bridge or ford, but soon set to finding a good campsite instead.
Xan was grateful once that was all settled and he could finally ease his aching feet and study his spellbook by the firelight. Unfortunately the evening's peace was swiftly interrupted, and by the oddest of things: a strange humming sound began to emanate from one of his pockets. Curious, Xan reached into his robe and grasped his small, cloth-wrapped hand mirror. He had gone so long without the magic activating that he had nearly forgotten he carried the thing.
Was Everska finally calling? His heart lurched as he pondered the possibility. Could they be…withdrawing me from this doomed mission? An alien, unfamiliar feeling welled up briefly in his chest. Hope.
But when he held the mirror up and spoke the command word it wasn't an elven face that appeared on the smoky surface of the glass. Squinting at the blurred image, Xan found himself peering at a round human face framed by red hair.
"Yippee!" a female voice chirped from the mirror. "Finally got this thing to work."
"Imoen?" Xan asked.
"Yup," the fuzzy image replied.
"Is there uh…some sort of emergency?"
"Nope. Just wanted to see if I could reach you. And I thought it might be fun to have a pen pal! Or um…a mirror pal? Is that what you call it? Hope that's okay."
He felt like he should scold her for using such a powerful magic device for something so frivolous, but as he furrowed his brow and thought a moment Xan couldn't come up with a good reason not to use the mirror. Each mirror could only be used to contact another once per day, but he doubted that Imoen using the daily charge simply to chat would lead to any harm. If his superiors in Everska were ever going to call they still could, and truth be told it was nice to talk with someone who wasn't dour or psychotic.
"I…I suppose it is," Xan eventually managed. "Did you find...oh what was it you were searching for? Pirate treasure?"
"We did. Sort of. We're camped in an old shipwreck now in fact. Not sure if it was a pirate ship, but I like to think it was. Was quite an ordeal tho. Safana betrayed us and almost fed us to a tribe of sirines!"
"Of course she did," Xan muttered.
"Aw, come on. Don't tell me that you actually predicted that she was going to betray us, Mr. Wise Wizard. And if you did you should have bloody told me before we set off!"
Xan shook his head slightly. "No, I did not foresee that exactly. But I find it practical to always expect the worse. I assume Shar-Teel is going to attempt to murder me the moment the geas gets dispelled or wears off, for instance."
"Of course you would." Imoen seemed to purse her lips thoughtfully. "It's probably a good philosophy though. If you always expect terrible things you can't help but be pleasantly surprised most of the time! Maybe I should try taking up pessimism."
Despite himself Xan felt a hint of a smile pull at the edges of his mouth. "I doubt it would suit you."
"So how's yer adventure going?" Imoen asked.
"Adventure? I nearly got eaten by a giant spider today. The kind of giant spider that can teleport out of nowhere and appear right on top of you. Most disturbing."
"Yick!" Imoen made a sour face. "The part of adventure stories with giant spiders was always the part I'd skip."
"I wish I had that luxury." Xan shrugged slightly. "Still, we all survived, somehow. I suppose that is the best one can hope for."
"Ya, we all made it too. Well, 'cept for Safana, but I don't think anyone's missing her. But let me tell you, sirines can be scary creatures. Maybe even worse than giant spiders!"
"Perhaps." The hint of a smile on Xan's face grew. "Tell me about it."
In the end they talked late into the night, and when they were finished Xan found that his neck was sore from leaning over the scrying mirror, his spellbook almost forgotten.
The old shipwreck proved an excellent spot to camp for the evening; sturdy enough to block wind and surf and rain, and the hull of the ancient caravel was perched a bit above the current tideline. Better still the ship had not been fully plundered, and along with barrels of fish and fruit that had rotted to nothing decades ago the party found several sealed casks of wine sitting deep in the hold.
There was no way of telling where the dark stuff in the casks had originally come from, but to Ashura it tasted as rich as the Westgate Ruby they had recently finished. Coran proclaimed it a fine vintage as well, for what that was worth. A humble celebration broke out in the hold, a few rounds of drink used to wash down much of their remaining provisions.
Ashura was into her third cup when she noticed that the group was short one person, and she excused herself to carefully make her way up rickety wooden steps to the slanted deck of the ship. From there she climbed further onto the stern, following the sound of harpsong. The shipwreck was slanted a little to one side and the bow leaned heavily towards the ground, making the railing at the back of the stern the highest point (or as Imoen had put it: 'The ship's butt is sticking up in the air!') and a fine spot to look out over the ocean.
The last hints of sunlight were slipping beneath the waves on the western horizon, casting a few streams of sparkling gold across darkening waters. Above the fading sunset ominous clouds gathered, threatening an early evening storm. Garrick was perched upon the railing, pulling at the cords of his harp in a winding, mid-tempo tune that sounded a bit like a sea shanty to Ashura's ears. Something in the fluttering melody reminded her of birds, like the gulls that were circling higher and higher above them right now; a song of wings and open air. Of surf and freedom.
She thought of telling him that she liked his music far better than the sirine's song, but held her tongue. Best not to remind him of those monsters, and what they had very nearly done.
When she reached the rails and leaned against them Garrick turned to her and smiled. "Nice view," Ashura commented, looking out over the ocean.
"Yeah," Garrick nodded. "Good to have someone to share it with though. I was worried you'd miss the sunset."
"Knew I'd come up here huh?" She raised an eyebrow. "Lured by your song."
He frowned and looked away, and she bit her lip. Damn. Yeah, reminding him of that was definitely a bad idea. "Sorry," she hastily added, offering her tin cup and desperate to change the subject. "Brought some wine."
Cradling his harp in his lap, Garrick reached over and lifted a battered cup of his own. "I still have some myself." He chuckled. "Hm. So how about a toast then?"
"Sure." Their cups approached each other, not quite clinking. "To..?"
Garrick's eyes twinkled. "Freedom, of course. Freedom…is glorious." The cups tapped together and they both drank deep.
Once again Garrick looked out towards the waves. "A nice high point where you can see everything, the wind in your hair, and the ability to set your feet wherever you please. Tis glorious indeed."
Ashura chuckled a bit at him waxing poetic. Then the bard turned to her once again, smiling bright. "That said, I am at your service. Truly content to follow you wherever you lead."
Mistress Ashura, Imoen had said. Hrm. Ashura shook her head just a little. "Really, you don't owe me anything. There's no reason…"
"Oh, there are plenty of reasons. You're tough and clever and and inspiring, and what we've gone through already seems like it would make a great adventure story. Maybe tidied and dramatized up a bit. When it's all said and done I could be your biographer."
"My flatterer, more like."
"That too. You're also very beautiful and-"
She leaned in over the rails and shut him up with a kiss. A fine idea, she decided after a time. His taste and warmth were far more pleasant than his fumbling attempts with words. And there were no more words for a good long while, just the sound of the waves and the cry of gulls and Garrick's harp gently sliding to the deck between kisses.
The sun was long gone and the darkness had deepened when they finally slipped down a hatch and found themselves in the old captain's cabin. Carpet and whatever bedding had once been there was mostly moldered away, but much of the space on the boards was dry and clean. With a loud clink Ashura's chainmail shirt hit the floor first, followed by her arm and shin guards.
After a time Ashura broke away and placed a fingertip on Garrick's lips. "Wait here," she whispered, then disappeared briefly below deck. She returned a moment later with a lantern in hand and her bedroll under her arm. Spread out fully, the wool made a fine nest for them in a corner of the room, and from there she guided Garrick down and playfully climbed on top, pressing the smiling young bard to the floor.
Minutes later their remaining clothes were scattered across the boards and they were rolling on the bedroll, laughing as they shifted. Eventually Ashura tilted her hips and guided their bodies till her partner rested on top. Her lips close to his ear and her hands gripping his behind with a firm squeeze, she arched her back and whispered to him, her tone both inviting and challenging: "Come on. Be a man!"
She could see his grin in the dim lamplight as he whispered back: "With joy, ma'am." Not quite the attitude she had been trying to summon from him, but a moment later when he found his position, and then his rhythm, she couldn't think of a reason to complain.
As she finally waved a hand above her mirror and Xan's face faded from the surface of the glass Imoen glanced up at the ceiling, shaking her head slightly. There was a distinct, rhythmic sound of groaning wood somewhere up above the hold, as if the ship were rocking on the ocean. From time to time other sorts of groaning sounds echoed down as well.
"They always think we can't hear them," she whispered, "but then they never go far enough away. Branwen and Minsc were just like that. Khalid and Jaheira too, one night out in the woods."
"One of the hazards of adventuring," Coran suggested dryly, shrugging.
"Yup. Traveling close I guess you learn all sorts of things about yer companions, like it or not." She was hoping for a quip or something, but Coran had turned away, and was absentmindedly peering at the rim of his wine cup. He'd probably had more of the stuff than anyone else, his face flushed and his head bobbing. The elf also looked uncharacteristically morose.
Hrm. Is it jealousy? She had watching Coran go after Ashura plenty of times, but then again he seemed to make a pass at every woman at least once or twice. Hard to tell.
Then an odd thought occurred to her. Maybe he was morning Safana, despite the betrayal. He had certainly seemed obsessed with the pirate woman for a time. Or maybe he was just generally upset with how things had turned out. Or (Yick!) how things had failed to turn out with the Sirines.
Or maybe she was giving him too little credit. It seemed she had seen this look on the elf's face once before, when they had parted ways the last time. He was usually so puffed up about excitement and adventure, but deflated once messy reality got in the way. Maybe he just wants to go on a straightforward adventure for once. Something with enough danger to be exiting, but not the sort of danger that involves betrayal or armies of human enemies. In fact that was exactly the sort of adventure she would love to find as well. Great peril, great beauty, and no mind-controlling monsters or horrifying twists in between.
Maybe some sort of hunt. Hmm.
The sounds from the captain's cabin were picking up a bit, and now Imoen thought she could hear some words. Really shouldn't listen. But she cocked her head a bit anyway.
"That's…oh…that's right…" Yup, it was Ashura's voice. Growly as usual, but a bit throatier. "Be…a…man!"
Oh gods! Blushing and burying her face in her hands, Imoen stifled a groan of her own. The incredibly-embarrassed-for-your-friend sort of groan, that is. That settles it. Definitely time to get my revenge.
"Wake up Shura."
The voice was low, soft, and a little distant, but Ashura's eyes snapped open instantly and she propped herself up on an elbow, still entangled in Garrick's arms. Being a light sleeper was probably an advantage, out here in the wilderness. On the other hand it often kept her from getting a good night's sleep. Garrick had no such problems; he barely stirred as she shifted against him and peered out into the dimly lit cabin. He didn't even move when Ashura hissed into the darkness: "What is it?"
"Watch duty," Imoen explained. "Not letting you get away with being completely lazy tonight."
Oh yeah. She hadn't even thought about that when she had pulled Garrick along with her to the cabin. The ship had seemed pretty safe but they were still out in the wild. Foolish. Sitting up more on the makeshift bedding Ashura looked around. "Alright. I'll be down in a moment."
"I'm gonna get a few winks then," Imoen said. "It's nearly night's end, so it won't be a long shift." She seemed to be in the cabin doorway, and had her back politely turned to the two lovers. That was a relief. It was even more of a relief when Imoen disappeared below deck without a teasing word.
Garrick rolled over and groaned a bit as Ashura disengaged from his arms and sat up fully, finding her padded black doublet in the dark and slipping it over her head, then smoothing the fabric out. She rubbed her head a moment as she sat there. That wine had been stronger than she had thought, ugh. Next she stepped into her leggings, noticing that the thin black wool was nicked and torn in half-a-dozen places. She'd have to find some new clothes when they got back to Beregost, though they could certainly afford them now.
Next she cinched her belt around her waist. Odd. It didn't quite seem to fit right. Surely she hadn't gained weight recently. If anything she looked forward to adding a pound or two when they got back to civilization and they could find some real food. Old Winthrop would have teased her about wasting away, what with all the hiking and living on nuts and dried fruit.
But as she shifted on the bedroll in search of her boots she felt more and more odd. Clumsy and slow, and the space around her was all kinds of off. The wine hadn't been that strong had it?
Garrick was sitting up now, stretching his arms above his head and yawning, and Ashura realized that she could make out his features pretty clearly. The light filtering through the window and the cracks in the wall was more the faint blue of predawn than the darkness of night's end. Imoen must have let them sleep in a bit more than she had let on.
"Morning," Ashura said, then her mouth snapped closed with shock. Her voice sounded wrong.
And Garrick had noticed too. His bleary eyes suddenly bulged open, wide and clear. He let out a high pitched squeak upon seeing her, then scrambled backwards off the bedroll, his hand searching for a weapon. When his fingers closed around the hilt of his rapier he squeaked again, managing words. "Who…who are you?"
"It's me," was all Ashura could think to say. "Me. Ashura." Her hand pressed to her chest for emphases, then her mouth fell open. There was something very wrong about her chest. Or two things. Missing. Her hand shot to her face. It felt the same as ever, though her hand seemed to cover more space than it should, as if it had grown. As Garrick gaped she fumbled around with her hands a bit more, eyes widening.
Big hands, a deep new voice, chest flat and extremely firm, and something below the belt that she didn't even want to think about. Maybe 'she' was the wrong pronoun to use. And the belt! Fumbling around some more she realized that it wasn't her normal swordbelt at all. More fumbling made it clear that she couldn't find a way to unfasten it.
A memory came back to her: of the ogre they had fought, and the strange transformation it had undergone when it died. And how eager Imoen had been to snatch up the magical belts it had been wearing...
"Imoen!" Ashura's new, resonant voice boomed through the ship.
Alright. Straight face. Act like yer surprised. Imoen's attempt at that lasted about half-a-heartbeat after Ashura stormed into the hold, wide shoulders and lanky limbs and all. Then she burst out laughing. A hand on her forehead, neck tilted back, Imoen laughed and laughed and laughed, from her belly to the ceiling of the hold. Soon Viconia, who had been sitting cross-legged on the floor, had her head back laughing as well; a more dignified, sly sound than Imoen's unabashed guffawing.
Coran simply looked on, wide-eyed with shock.
Ashura crossed her…urm…his arms over his broad, newly acquired chest. "Very funny," he growled, then twisted his head, annoyed by the deepness of his voice. He made a pretty fetching young man, with a face that was more pretty than handsome but not quite delicate looking, especially with the light scars and slightly bent nose. The curse hadn't made him bulky, just given him slightly longer limbs, corded with muscle. Looked almost like some sort of skilled acrobat, though there was no grace in the way he awkwardly held his new body.
"It sure is," Imoen managed between breaths. "Wait. How did you instantly know I did urm…anything?"
Ashura rolled his eyes. "Oh come on. This is only slightly worse than Fuller and the shrinking potion. Or the conjuring wand and the frogs."
Imoen giggled at the memory of that. Big bull frogs tumbling out of every drawer and closet, and Phyladia had screamed every single time. She covered her mouth and tried to turn the giggle into a cough.
"So you've had your fun," Ashura growled impatiently, pulling at the wide belt that had wrapped snuggly around his waist. "Now how do I get this thing off?"
Imoen cocked her head and tried to look confused. "You can't? I thought it just came off."
By now Garrick was dressed and making his way down the steps to the hold, a sheepish look on his face and his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Ahem," he coughed shyly. When Ashura turned and looked up at him he said: "I'm uh, pretty sure that's a cursed belt. You can't remove it without a priest breaking the curse."
"Ugh." Just to make sure Ashura pulled a little more. "An unremovable belt? That's going to make bathing awkward."
"Well you…urm…could probably slip clothes out from under it. Really that's the least…uh…the least awkward thing, given the circumstances." He examined the floorboards.
"True enough," Ashura grumbled, looking down at his left hand, trying to hold it steady and wiggle his fingers. With every motion his body seemed to jerk, as if he were throwing his limbs around, and every movement made the scowl on his face deepen as well.
Aw. Never seen her look so clumsy.
"So we need a priest," Ashura muttered, then looked up at Viconia, suddenly realizing. "Oh. Can you break the curse?"
Viconia gave him an exaggerated, taken-aback look. "Whyever would I want to do that? You make such a fine male. In fact I daresay this new body," she gave him a full, unabashed look from head to toe, "is much more to my liking than the old one."
Ashura groaned. "Well, I guess I'm stuck in it until you can call for the proper prayer tomorrow, so enjoy yourself. Then can you lift the damn curse?"
"Once again," Viconia said through a mischievous smile, "I ask: whyever would I want to do that?"
"Don't make this difficult."
"But it's so much more enjoyable that way. Come male. At least beg for my assistance."
Ashura's eyes narrowed, the same ice-blue as always despite the new face. "That's not happening."
"Ah, so proud and willful. That can be enjoyable too, sometimes even more than begging. I'll tell you what, male. You need not beg." She took several bold steps forward. "I will remove the curse if you first show me what that delightful looking new body of yours can do." On those last words she reached out and traced a fingertip against Ashura's chin, a bright, inviting smile on her face.
Ashura just looked confused for a beat, then scowled again. "That's definitely not going to happen."
Viconia was unperturbed. "Well, there shall be plenty of time to change your mind."
The look of shock on Coran's face had finally turned to full-blown horror. "What?" he stammered, a hurt tone in his voice. "With…him?" The 'and not me?' hung unspoken in the air.
Well I guess he's adapted. And this is probably far enough. "Viconia?" Imoen asked. "Do you actually have the power to lift the curse?"
After a chuckle, Viconia let out a theatrical: "Hrmph," then added: "No, I must admit this sort of curse is slightly beyond me." She gave Imoen a smirk. "Must you ruin my fun child?"
"I must. So we need a high priest or something?"
Viconia's smile faded and she looked like she was choosing words carefully. "A high priestess could lift the curse, yes. Or someone under her with significant power."
Doesn't like to admit her limits, does she? "Well, the Temple of Lathander in Beregost is sure to have someone powerful enough," Imoen stated. "That's just…" she couldn't help but giggle a bit, "a few days travel. And they don't charge a huge amount for curse-removal."
"It's coming out of your share of the pirate's treasure," Ashura snapped.
"Bah!" Imoen chuckled. "Spoilsport!"
Ashura rolled his eyes, arms crossing against his chest, followed by a wince.
"Still totally worth it." 'Be…a…man!' She had been thinking about waiting 'till they were closer to civilization to pull the prank, but she had just totally had to switch the belts at that point. Our big manly, commanding leader. Ha! It would be expensive, but at least she'd get to milk this thing all the way back to Beregost.
"Ashura's a feminine name. Just doesn't sound right now," Imoen mused as they carefully made their way around the towering rocks and scrubby trees of the canyons.
"Asharo maybe?" Garrick suggested, voice a bit meek and eyes fixed warily on Ashura. He looked like he was expecting a smack.
"Now that just sounds weird," Imoen said. "Can't just put an O on the end of a name and call it masculine, no matter what the Amnish think."
"Yeah," Ashura growled. "Sounds like some sort of fop swashbuckler from a bad adventure story."
"You're not a fop swashbuckler?" Imoen asked. "You kind of look the part now?"
Ashura glared slightly.
After a few silent steps Imoen spoke up again. "How about Ashar? It's got a nice, harsh, simple ring to it."
"Ashar." Ashura chewed the word a bit. "Yeah, it's much better."
"Sounds like a Calishite pirate or something. 'Captain Ashar!'"
Ashura chuckled, then winced. Her deep, rumbling voice was still annoying her (and she was not going to start calling herself 'he!') Of course it was not nearly as annoying as walking. 'How do you walk with these…things in the way?' she had grumbled when they first set out. 'I mean, really?' She had genuinely been looking for advice from Garrick and Coran, but they were no help at all. Explained why men tend to have wide stances and take up lots of space, at least. She had always figured that was just a territorial thing, but maybe it was just practical.
"Your name would be harder to masculinize," Ashura said. "Im-o…what exactly?"
"Imonin? Nah. Hrm." Imoen rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Maybe just Imo? Kind of a simple name I guess, like a street thug or something. Viconia's an easier one. Viconio sounds pretty silly, but I think Vico's a nice, strong name."
Viconia flared her nostrils and twisted her head at that, as if to say: 'The very thought!'
"A short name wouldn't suit her though," Ashura noted with a grin. "Or 'him' in that case. How about 'Viconius.'"
"Oh I like that!" Imoen chirped. 'Viconius' looked even more annoyed, and the two friends burst out laughing.
It would be great to get to Beregost and be rid of this big, awkward body as soon as possible (and Ack! Every so often she would take a step wrong and it would be downright painful.) Still, sometimes you have to take things in stride.
Author's Note: I don't know if I'll ever take these characters all the way to Baldur's Gate 2, but now if Ashura ever bumps into Edwina she can say: "Yeah, I got magically turned into a man once. It was kind of annoying. Now quit your whining."